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cantwritethetword · 1 month

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That's Cheating

Fic Descript: During a training session, it's revealed that Miles is ticklish. Pavitr thoroughly enjoys the experience, and just when Miles thought it couldn't get worse, Miguel decides he wants to wrestle him. Surely Miguel wouldn't use Miles' weakness against him, right?

~ A/N - My first ever Into/Across The SpiderVerse fic !!!!

I absolutely adored these guys when they came on screen, and I finally have the fic idea to do their group dynamic justice!

By the way, this is also absolutely me being super self indulgent sdjsklhfkls cause I've had this whole scenario running around my head any time I'm training with these 3 specific people and it KILLS ME so I need to get it on paper lmao I'm so lee for so many of my wrestling friends it's not even funny jsdfhdfjhafk.

ALSO QUICK WARNING THIS IS A LONG ONE SDJHLKSDHAFLK ALL THE ONES WHERE I PUT ALL MY LITTLE LEE THOUGHTS INTO END UP SO FUCKING LONG LMAO APOLOGIES FAM IT'S LIKE ALMOST 3K

I hope it's good!

Enoy! ~

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Miles never turned down the chance to train with his fellow spider people. Since he first walked through the doors an was offered the chance to practice, Miles had grabbed the opportunity with both fists.

Not just because it was one of the few places he could properly use his skills and abilities to their full potential (without risking revealing himself as spiderman or injuring a civilian in the process), but there was something about training at the spider society headquarters that gave him almost limitless energy.

He wasn't sure how much of that energy was adrenaline, how much was power from the spider bite, or how much was just because he loved spending time with his favourite people.

But no matter the reason, this little quirk of his enabled him to continue sparring round after round when most would need a few minutes of reprieve between sets. And he would be lying if he said it didn't give him a little mood boost when the other spider people commented on his incredible stamina.

"Ugh, Miles do you ever get tired?" Pavitr groaned as he managed to flip Miles onto his back and clamber on top of the kid, pinning him to the ground. "We've been at this for like ten minutes straight!"

Miles grinned, his arms pushing against Pavitr's knees that were currently either side of his ribs to wriggle himself out. "You giving up already?"

"No way." Pavitr grunted, as Miles's movements had almost made him topple. "But I'll take a rest while you figure this out."

Pavitr, the asshole, decided to take this moment to shoot webs onto Miles's wrists - sticking them to the floor next to Mile's sides. Straining against the webs, Miles silently thanked the fact that it was Pavitr he was with. If this were an actual fight, Miles knew his face would currently be a punching bag.

But just because Pavitr wasn't going to injure him, it didn't mean there wasn't a threat.

"Come on Miles! Get out!" Pavitr teased, poking Mile's unprotected forehead.

The kid shook his head to try and get rid of Pavitr's annoying fingers.

Bad idea.

In the process of protecting his forehead, Miles had encouraged his friend to move his poking elsewhere. And it only took a few prods to Mile's neck for him to break into giggles.

"Agh- Pahahav-" Miles squeaked out before he could stop himself.

Pavitr stopped, an amazed grin across his face. "What was that?"

Miles froze for a second, realising just how severely his body had just betrayed him, before starting to thrash a little more desperately against the webbing trapping his hands.

"Are you ticklish?" Pavitr questioned with a teasy smirk, poking Miles's neck another few times.

"NO-!" Miles grunted, using every inch of willpower in his body to resist the laughter bubbling in his chest. "Don't!"

Completely ignoring Miles's pleads, Pavitr moved his prodding fingers down to Miles's collarbones.

And that was where the kid cracked.

"NOhohoho!" Miles squealed, shoulders trying their best to scrunch up and protect himself. "Pahahav stohohop!"

Pavitr beamed, absolutely ecstatic at his newfound discovery. "Oh my god, you are ticklish!"

"Shhhh!" Miles begged through his giggles, giving up on resisting his own reactions and focusing his efforts on preventing his ticklishness from becoming the newest piece of gossip.

"Why?" Pavitr laughed. "You're the one who's making all the nois-"

"What's this?" A voice chuckled from behind the two.

Pavitr paused his attack, and - after recognising who it was - Miles breathed a sigh of relief. Both because he could finally actually breathe again, and because the voice came from his old mentor - someone who already knew how ridiculously ticklish he was and hadn't told a soul.

Peter B, clearly having just finished a spar with someone by the looks of his flushed face and sweaty t-shirt, made his way to kneel down next to the pair before chuckling again.

"Ah, I see you've found Miles's little weakness."

Pavitr let out an indignant noise. "You already knew about this?!? And you didn't tell us?"

Peter shrugged. "Figured you guys would find out eventually, he's too ticklish to hide it for long."

"Peter!" Miles groaned. "Guys can we not talk about this right now!"

With a grin, Pavitr turned back to Miles. "Oh we can stop talking if you'd like..."

Before Miles could realise what Pavitr meant, ten fingers began tapping against the front of his ribs, and he was once again sent into a helpless fit of giggles.

"NOnononono Pahav people ahare gonna see!"

"Who would see?" Pavitr laughed. "It's just us over here; you, me and Peter."

"Plus Miguel, somewhere..." Peter added, looking around them for his friend. "But I doubt he's listening to your little situation kid, he's probably off doing Miguel things, as Miguel does."

Half expecting a beetlejuice moment at the three mentions of the guy's name, Miles flicked his eyes around the room (as best as he could - he was still pinned on his back) to try and spot Miguel. Thankfully, it seemed the slightly intimidating spiderman was too busy helping another pair of spiders with their match on the other side of the room.

"See!" Pavitr continued, digging a little harder into Miles's ribs. "Nothing to be worried about buddy!"

"IHIHIT'S STIHIHILL CHEHEATING!" Miles whined through his laughter, somehow managing to swallow the scream that almost burst out of his mouth at the sensation of Pavitr clawing into his sides.

"Ehhhhh..." Peter tilted his head with a grimace on his face. "Technically it's not, there's no specific rules against it."

Miles shook his head violently. "IHIHIT'S CHEHEHEATING!"

"You having so. much. energy. is what's cheating!" Pavitr responded, poking to emphasise his words. "But fine, let's ask Miguel."

Miles's eyes went wide, and his laughter turned to desperate begging. He couldn't possibly live through the sheer embarrassment of giggling like a child in front of someone as stone-faced and important as Miguel.

But no matter how many 'no's the kid strung together in rapid succession - a rather impressive display of his lung capacity to be completely honest - his pleading was fruitless, as Pavitr had already waved down Miguel, and the man was making his way over.

Thankfully there were a few seconds of rest until Miguel arrived that were completely tickle-free, so Miles had a chance to somewhat compose himself. Still, he knew that he would need much longer to reduce the redness his face had taken on in the last few minutes of torture.

"Yes?" Miguel said as he knelt down, one eyebrow slightly raised at the position the two boys were currently in.

"Is tickling illegal?" Pavitr asked genuinely, much to Miles's surprise. He was expecting some kind of teasy grin shot in his direction, but it seemed Pav was just as interested in Miguel's answer as he was in taking Miles apart at his fingers. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad.

Even more to Miles's surprise was the quiet chuckle that escaped Miguel's mouth.

"Technically not, why?" Miguel responded, a small (but definitely present) grin on his face.

"Oh no reason..." Pavitr smirked at Miles (who was quickly realising he spoke too soon about how easy this interaction would be). "Just that I found out Miles was ticklish and wanted to try and see if he would submit because of it."

Miles could feel his face flush even redder than before, and he couldn't even cover his cheeks cause his damn hands were still stuck. So he resorted to rolling his eyes above his head to avoid looking at anyone for the remainder of the conversation.

Miguel once again let out a breathy chuckle. "Well, I haven't seen it happen before, and we're about to finish up the official training session... But we can always find out later."

That last comment snapped Miles's face back into Miguel's line of vision.

And, if this whole situation wasn't already flustered enough, Miles could have sworn Miguel winked as he stood up and called out to everyone to finish their current drill and pack up.

After chatting for a few moments with some of the other spider people, Miles watched as most of the group cleared from the gym. Aside from Miguel and Peter (who were practicing something on one side of the mats), the gym was practically empty.

Which made the sound of thudding feet all the more terrifying coming his way.

Miles yelped as someone tackled him to the floor and climbed on top of his hips.

"You didn't think we were finished, did you?" Pavitr grinned down at his friend, before digging his thumbs into the pocket right above Miles's hips.

"NOHOHO PAHAHAV!" Miles shrieked, caught so off guard he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

Pavitr laughed. "Glad we're on the same page then!"

"Stohohop ihihit!" The kid giggled, pushing at Pav's wrists - a much easier feat now that his hands weren't spider-webbed to the floor (but still not quite easy enough to push Pav's hands away).

With Miles now being able to fight back, there was actually a fight to be had. Still a very one-sided fight, but enough of a back-and-forth match to eat at Pavitr's strength.

And Pavitr's energy drained far quicker than Miles's did.

Keeping a very wriggly Miles consistently trapped and tickled was quite the challenge for India's favourite spiderman, so most of Pavitr's efforts were concentrated on Miles's hips. Certainly his hips were effective, but the hope of escape kept Miles going just long enough that Pavitr's teasy smirk started to fade into an open-mouthed grin (for maximum oxygen intake).

By the time Miles's breathing was wheezy, Pavitr sounded just as exhausted. Both boys were drenched in sweat, and neither were sure where their own ended and the other's began. Pavitr's thumbs slowed, and Miles was finally able to push those troublesome fingers away from his sensitive hips with one final residual giggle.

Letting himself breathe for a moment, Pavitr gave Miles's shoulder a friendly pat. "Damn you put up a good fight, I'm dead after that!"

Miles chuckled and nodded in agreement, still a little woozy from the post-tickle haze.

"You up for some food?" Pav asked, standing up and offering to help Miles to his feet.

"Sounds gr-" Miles began.

"Actually," Miguel interrupted the pair, making Miles freeze for a moment.

How long had he been watching them?? Had he seen Miles get absolutely wrecked?? Oh god, would Miguel ever take him seriously again after that??

Miguel continued. "Miles, want to have a round?"

That was definitely not the direction Miles thought this conversation was going. Thank god, Miguel must have only just finished with Peter. And now that he was looking, Miles could see a (somehow even more) sweaty Peter gathering his stuff and heading out of the gym.

Perfect. Miguel hadn't seen a thing.

Miles nodded, slightly intimidated with the idea of attempting to wrestle someone as experienced as Miguel, but keen to try (and perhaps get a little closer to the reserved leader of the Spider Society).

"Excellent." Miguel gave a small nod, and positioned himself in the centre of the mat.

"Well, good luck." Pavitr smiled, clapping Miles on the back before heading out towards the cafeteria.

Miles took a breath, calming his racing thoughts and tired lungs, before moving to face Miguel.

The pair moved slowly to start, attempting a few takedowns and swings at each other but not fully committing to any, before Miguel swiftly spun to the floor and knocked Miles straight off his feet.

God it was frustrating that Miguel could do that with so much control that it almost seemed to happen in slow motion.

Without even letting himself catch his breath on the floor, Miles tried to scramble to a crouched position, but Miguel was either too quick or predicted his movements too well.

One moment he was almost to his feet, the next Miles was flat on his back with the side of Miguel's chest pressing against the front of his. One of his arms was trapped at an outward angle by Miguel's hand, but Miles couldn't quite see what was going on past that with Miguel's back in the way.

Then Miles tensed.

A soft but unmistakably sharp sensation was gently tapping at his side, enough to fill Miles's chest with tickly anticipation but not so much that he was convinced that was what was happening.

Surely not. Surely Miguel was far too mature for something as childish as tickling.

Still, as Miles struggled to escape Miguel's hold, he struggled even more to contain the laughter threatening to spill out of his mouth at the tickly sensations radiating from his side.

"Mihi- Miguehel?" Miles strained, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

Miguel chuckled, and spoke with possibly the teasiest voice Miles had ever heard come out of his mouth. "What's the matter?"

Oooh that motherfucker. Miguel knew exactly what was happening, Miles could feel the smirk radiating off Miguel's face. And somehow that made it significantly harder for the poor kid to control himself.

"Whahat- Wahait- Mihiguehel-" Miles stuttered, giggles already peppering every word he spoke.

"Pavitr wasn't kidding..." Miguel hummed, his claws switching from tapping with all four talons to scratching a single finger up and down every-so-gently. "You really are ticklish."

Miles whined (though it came out sounding more like a laugh), his hips trying to squirm away from the tortuous feeling. "No, noho no no Miguehel plehease-"

"And I was curious what he was saying about submitting you just by tickling..." He continued, bringing back the rest of his hand to softly claw against Miles's lowest ribs.

Even that gentle sensation brought Miles almost to the brink, his eyes practically popped out of his head and a stream of uncontrollable giggles flooded from his mouth. How the hell was it already tickling this badly??

"Mihihi- Mihihgue- Nohoho stohohop!"

"Huh." Miguel chuckled again, god that sent shivers down Miles's spine every time it happened (which really wasn't helping). "Already that bad? What about if I do this?"

The agonisingly slow clawing turned to full-handed squeezing up and down the soft part of Miles's side, and Miles shrieked. As if waking a sleeper agent, his brain seemed to suddenly (and conveniently) remember he had two arms - and only one was stuck. Half punching his opponent in desperation, Miles thudded his free hand against Miguel's back to try and push himself out.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL PLEHEHEASE!" He begged, legs kicking wildly without reason or result. "STOHOHOP!"

Miguel paused, lifting his head and turning it as much as he could towards Miles (only being able to see the kid from the corner of his eye). "Is that you tapping out?"

Whilst momentarily catching his breath, Miles paused. On one hand, he was rather close to death, and wasn't sure how much more of Miguel's teasing he could handle. But on the other, there was something almost precious about seeing such a weirdly personal side of the stoic man. Should he submit, and cease the frankly torturous situation he had found himself in, or should he push onwards, hoping Miguel would eventually show mercy if Miles actually needed him to (though at this stage, it was hard to say he wasn't slightly enjoying the playful interaction).

Eh, Miles was always a stubborn kid. And he was proud of it.

"Nohohope!" He shook his head, bracing himself.

Miguel gave a surprised scoff. "You really do have a ridiculous amount of stamina, huh."

Miles tried to grin cockily, though even he knew it probably looked more like a nervous invitation for Miguel to continue.

And continue he did.

Like a switch had flipped, Miguel launched his clawed hand into a rapid tickle-assault against Miles's entire torso. Within seconds, every inch of the kid's sides, ribs, stomach, and hips had been poked and squeezed and vibrated against before Miles even had the chance to react. The sudden zero-to-a-hundred spike of intensity caught the younger superhero completely off-guard, making him squeal at a pitch he genuinely didn't think he could each anymore.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL!" Miles cackled, twisting and writhing under his attacker.

Miguel gave a surprised laugh at the increased movement. "Hey, you asked for it kid, not my problem."

"NONONONO IHI CAHAHAN'T!"

"Ok, Ok..." Miguel playfully rolled his eyes, not that Miles could see (or really pay attention), and released the kid from his grip.

Miles flopped both arms over his face, covering his burning cheeks, and laid there for a few moments panting. Miguel chuckled, reaching to give the kid a few sympathetic pats at whatever body part was closest to him.

Seeing a hand move out of the corner of his eye, in the general direction of his stomach, Miles yelped and curled away from it in a mess of giggles. "Nonono plehease, I'm dohohone!"

Giving the final laugh of the interaction, Miguel grinned at the kid. "So there is a way to tire you out... I'll keep that in mind."

#crow's tickle fic #across the spiderverse tickle fic

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pearlparty · 10 months

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It’s Cuffin’ Season

Brat/Sub!Austin x Reader

Summary: It all started out as a fun little game of teasing, harmless. Except this time he broke one of the rules. And then he broke another rule, because he just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t expect being tied up, gagged, and edged to tears as a result though. Furthermore, he’d never have expected himself to like it. Check that, no, love it.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, heavy dom/sub dynamics, Brat!Austin (but one could argue that it’s just banter and not bratty), Sub!Austin, handcuffs, teasing, edging, masturbation (f/m), oral (f/m receiving), hand job, use of a tie as a gag, a tiny bit of degradation, lots of praise, momma kink, ma’am kink, usage of the nickname “baby boy”, lots of begging and apologizing, male whimpering, a dash of dacryphilia (if you can even call it that), tons of dirty talk, brief discussion/use of the color system safe words, unprotected penetrative sex, spitting/swallowing spit, cockwarming, creampie, no use of Y/N, first time writing smut, super quick/rushed ending probably

Word Count: 9k

Note: This is my first time writing smut, so please provide ANY/ALL of the feedback (and I really mean good and bad because I really want to step up my game with this, so feel free to be mean lol). I wrote this for @purejasmine who asked for some apologetic and crying Austin. Hope I could do it justice, babe, and sorry it took five-ever lol. This has been sitting in the archive for a while because I’ve been so anxious about posting it, so the end wraps things up super quickly--if you have any suggestions about how to properly wrap it up, please, message me! If I’ve written anything that has concerning themes that I’ve not addressed, please let me know. I also feel the need to mention that this is takes place in an established relationship with switch dynamics that aren’t really discussed. This is filthy, God, I’m sorry.

The two of you had been apart for what felt like forever (in reality, it was only about a month, but it felt like forever to two idiots who were hopelessly in love and obsessed with each other). You’d been in Paris boss bitching your fall fashion designs to a couple of top executives and he’d been gone for press tours.

It was easy at first. You’d call every night to check in and say your sappy goodnights (even though the time difference usually meant one of you was saying good morning). FaceTime provided some element of comfort to satiate his need for you, but the small screen of blue light did little in comparison to your soft touch and warm skin. Still, he held out because at least he could see you.

The second week was a little harder. A little game had started up between the two of you. Phone calls littered with subtle innuendos had turned to lightly provocative selfies and texts which turned into downright filthy messages sent to each other during the work day. In fact, it got to the point that whenever your name popped up on his screen, he had to check his surroundings before he looked at the message. Unfortunately, he had also learned the hard way to make sure his brightness and volume were low, thanks to a sexy little voice note that had him jumping out of his skin and nearly throwing his phone into the street—which had earned him a poorly hidden side-eye from one of the PAs that had been nearby.

The game of teasing had begun, and while he absolutely loved it, you’d set an impossible finish line: wait until we’re together again. He’d audibly groaned when the words left your mouth, dripping with sex. “Just think how much better it’s gonna be when you’re fucking me instead of your hand. Can you wait for me, baby? Wait for me to come home and take your cock in whatever way pleases you?” He reluctantly agreed, but the images in his phone had been tempting enough as it was. The rest of the time away would be a nightmare.

It’d been easy in the day—there had been a few moments where he zoned out staring into the middle distance, pulling his lip between his teeth, as flashes of your face creased in ecstasy graced his imagination, but the tasks before him always pulled him back to the present without a problem.

Nights on the other hand? That was a whole different problem—it was awfully easy to let his mind wander in an empty hotel room when his phone was right there with a variety of scandalous pictures of you on it. Well… let’s just say that he’d used the pictures you’d sent to hype himself up a bit, but he’d held out despite that little horny voice in the back of his head that tempted him to undo his pants for a quick couple strokes. He might have taken a cold shower or two (or six), but he’d managed to do it.

The four weeks away had him aching to spend a few blissful moments in your presence; it’d be a chance to hold you and recount your trip’s details—touch your face, caress your curves with his fingers, and bury his face in your stomach as you lightly play with his curls.

Right before he railed you into the mattress.

But that’s not how things worked out, huh? Unfortunately, your flight had been canceled due to the weather in Rennes, France, so your schedule had you just barely getting home before the charity gala the next day. You hadn’t been too worried on the phone, brushing it all off with a lovely, “C’est la vie,” but Austin held back an annoyed groan. The man had been waiting to have you all to himself, tucked away in his arms in your little corner of the world, and now he’d have to wait even longer to have you.

Now, that pesky little voice seemed a little louder. His horniness, and perhaps slight jet lag, had begun to eat away at his resolve and soon he found himself leaning back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, filthy thoughts rolling through his head. He glanced at the clock. Around 3. She’s not going to be home for a few hours, the little voice offered. And you won’t be able to have her until after the gala. She’d never know. Besides, it’s good for stress relief, and you’ve been so worked up for so long. You deserve this.

His patience had worn thin and he gave into those carnal urges before you got home. He had the images pulled up on his phone, listening to the voice memos, over and over again as he pictured you coming undone beneath him. He rode that wave to the peak.

And then you walked in on him. His heart (and impending orgasm) stopped. Everything seemed to freeze as you locked eyes with him and pursed your lips.

“Is that any way to greet the love of your life after a month apart?”

Heat rose in his cheeks and ears with embarrassment. Shit, he thought. Not only had you caught him masturbating, you had caught him masturbating after you explicitly told him not to masturbate while you were gone.

It was only a few seconds, but it dragged out for an eternity. Austin let go of his cock and sat up a little straighter, eyes darting around the room as he started a defense, “Babe, I, uh--”

“Needed me that bad, huh, baby boy?” you purred as you strutted towards him, lidded eyes never leaving his panicked and confused ones as you closed the distance between you. You dragged your hands up and over his knees and thighs, leaning down enough to give him a little bit of a show with your loose neckline dangling open. His mouth fell open into a small O-shape, still confused, but not unhappy, that you were acting like this.

“Hm?” you hummed, nails ghosting over his cock as you leaned down close to his ear to taunt him with a salacious, “Oh, honey, we both know that your hand can’t hold a flame to me. Do you need me now?” You leaned in closer with a breathy sigh. “Want me to take you right here? Wanna come inside me after a month of being apart?”

Austin’s eyes rolled back in his head as he listened to the sin fall from your lips. For a moment he’d completely forgotten about the promise he’d broken. For a moment he just had you.

“Oh yes, baby, yes. I do,” he moaned as your hands slid over his shoulders, teasing the fabric of his white tee up his torso just a couple inches. He gently let his hands slide up the sides of your waist. “Need you so bad.”

A light chuckle resonated in your chest before you continued in a breathy whisper, “You know I was going to make it special.” He barely processed the words as he melted into your touch on his neck, spellbound by the way your fingernails lightly scraped over his scalp and mussed his curls. And then you were a lips’ distance away and he could only marvel at the way you’d enchanted him with your touch, hypnotizing him with your soft tone and bedroom eyes.

“Think of all the sinful things we could have done before the gala tonight, Aus,” you breathed as you leaned in even closer. He nearly closed the distance between your lips himself, but--

“Since you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, I guess we’ll just have to wait a little longer, won’t we.” You pulled away harshly, leaving him chasing your skin with a small protesting whine and a small “no” as you drew back and met his gaze with maliciousness, still gripping his hair in an iron vice like some sort of seductress. No.

Dominatrix.

Austin gulped.

“Now, you’re gonna listen to me, baby, and you’re gonna listen good,” you admonished, making him nod, suddenly struck dumb at your quick mood change. You had never spoken to him like this before… and he couldn’t say that he didn’t like it. You kept your voice low and level, but not angry. If anything, your words almost contradicted your sultry tone. “We’re going to go to the gala in a couple of hours. We’re going to have a real good time. You’re going to be on your best behavior—keep your hands to yourself, be the perfect arm candy for me, and then,” you leaned in again, “if you’re good,” your lips just ghosted the shell of his ear as you brought your voice down to a whisper, “I’m going to fuck your brains out when we get home.”

The brazened words sent a thrill straight to his cock, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore.

“But,” you jerked his head back to look at you fully, a fire burning in your eyes as you laid it out crystal clear. “You put your hands on yourself or misbehave for the tiniest fraction of a second, and I will have you crying and begging for mercy.”

The next words left his mouth unbidden, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You licked your lips and cocked your head to the side, looking him up and down. “Huh,” the tip of your tongue grazed the bottom of your front teeth, “never woulda pegged you as a brat, Mr. Butler.”

You released his hair and caressed your fingers over his cheek before running your thumb down his full bottom lip. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He hummed in response, his half lidded gaze and smirk doing well for himself. A thrill shot through your abdomen. This was turning out to be one of the best games you’d ever played, it seemed. You gripped his jaw and went in for a slow kiss. A simple kiss to greet your lover with affection after the weeks apart. “I missed you, by the way,” you muttered to his lips, allowing the persona to take a backseat for a moment and let your mushy feelings out before you had to become the stern woman in charge again.

“Missed you, too,” he muttered back, letting his fingers tease the seam of your pants by your knees.

“Trust me, I’m aware.” You glanced down to his still exposed dick and smirked a little as he blushed. “Now,” you gently tapped his cheek, “get your ass into the bathroom and take a cold shower for me, yeah?”

Needless to say, putting his hands on himself had been one of the few thoughts rolling around in his head as he stepped under the cold water—which didn’t help much besides shock his body back to homeostasis, by the way—and then changed into the dark blue suit set you’d picked out for him shortly after. And as he watched you slink out from your closet draped in a shimmery gold dress that left little to his raunchy imagination, he had to turn and mentally bite his fist to calm himself. The slit in the skirt revealing your leg practically screamed, “Easy access, easy access, easy access!” His fingers itched to slide up your waist and slip the delicate straps from your shoulders. They ached to caress your stomach, thighs, and breasts, but your warning played on repeat in his head and he restrained himself to stick to the rules of engagement you’d given him.

But what would happen if I didn’t play by the rules? he thought. Austin wasn’t sure whether it was unbridled curiosity or some unchecked internal masochism that he’d yet to address, but something had prompted the thought as the two of you climbed into the back of the car. He wanted to see just how far you’d take things.

How could he push you to the end of your rope? And what would lie in wait for him once he’d done it?

A smirk played on the corner of his mouth as the car stopped at your destination. He’d play his part, yes. He’d be the perfect arm candy to the fashion executive woman who needed to hobnob with the rich for a while to maintain those business relationships. He’d open doors, help you from the car, make small talk with individuals with inflated senses of purpose, fetch drinks, and smile for pictures. Yes, he’d do all of that.

But he wanted to have a little fun with you, too. And after two and a half hours of watching you do your job accepting the praise from your colleagues, he finally allowed himself to do just that. Maybe it was his own sexual frustration, or even the three glasses of gin, that pushed him to such uncharacteristic public boldness, but he couldn’t ignore the way he felt drawn to your body as you and a small group of stylists listened to your colleague Jean-Luc Gaultier speak about his defeats and triumphs with his latest line of men’s trousers.

Austin appeared to be listening to the Frenchman intently, but his mind was elsewhere as he let his hand snake around your waist and caress the silk material. His fingers pressed into the front of your hip bone in a tantalizing motion as he slid them impossibly close to your hip flexor for the briefest of moments—just teasing you with the idea of the possibility of where he would go next. Your breath hitched, but you maintained your decorum and covered it up by clearing your throat as you shot Austin a look out of the corner of your eye. He ignored it.

Jean-Luc didn’t seem to notice either, and continued to prattle on about the season to the group of people in the small circle. The other designers in the conversation didn’t pay you mind, only eager to please the executive with fake laughter and ingenuine flattery.

Austin’s hand wandered again, gently sliding up your waist to allow his thumb to ghost the underside of your breast before dropping to cop a feel of your ass. Your eyes widened at the sensation, and you snatched his hand in yours. Without even looking at Austin, you could tell he had that stupid smirk on his lips.

“Excuse me, Jean-Luc,” you gently interjected with a tight smile on your face when the executive came to the end of his story. The graying man looked over his round pink sunglasses with a quirked brow. “I think I need to go out for a smoke. I’ll be right back.” You finally turned to shoot a warning look at Austin. “Come with me, dear?”

You didn’t even give him a chance to answer as you dragged him away towards the large door out the back, keeping an eye out for any lingering guests that might have gone out as well.

The heavy door slammed closed as you and Austin stepped into the cool night air. Alone. Without a second thought, you whipped the tall man around you and roughly shoved him into the red brick with a huff, your dark nails biting into his neck.

“What the hell was that?” You hissed through gritted teeth. You’d been patient up until now, but this recent disobedience flipped the switch pushed all the pent up sexual frustration from the past month to something a little more aggressive than you’d ever expected. “You really think you can get away with that fiasco back home and then you come here and pull that shit? You’re a little too cocky for your own good.”

“Oh, c’mon, darlin’,” he rasped out, throwing in a little bit of that southern twang that you’d never openly admit to loving so much. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. Was he trying to get out of this or make it worse on himself? A wave of inappropriate ideas flooded the forefront of your mind. You couldn’t help but grin a little.

“You’re not too good at following rules, are you?” your low voice sent a shiver up his spine, and he met your half-lidded gaze with one of his own. You pulled your lip between your teeth in contemplation. “What on earth am I gonna do with you?”

“Nothing I don’t deserve, I’m sure,” he goaded you. This was uncharted territory for both of you, but he was more than eager to push the limits to fill in the blank edges on the map.

“Who’s to say you deserve anything?” You shortened the gap between your lips as much as you could given Austin’s insane height advantage over you.

He nearly moaned at the bite in your words and the feeling of your nails on his neck. “Ooh, I like it when you’re mean, baby.” Ever the perfect scene partner, he improvised in this little game of yours while eloquently giving you the green light to lay on in thick. And you’d do just that.

You hummed. “You’re a pussy hungry, arrogant little whore, aren’t you? You go home and jerk off to the thought of me when I explicitly told you not to and then you come here and let your hands wander after I asked you to be a good boy.” You let your words drip from your mouth with a sickeningly sweet glaze. “Do you think it’s funny disobeying me? Where exactly do you get off with that, huh?”

“With you, hopefully,” he rasped, keeping his words between the two of you as he smirked. Currently, nothing seemed more appealing than wiping that smug look off of his beautiful face. Your fingers twisted around his tie as you wrenched him closer, a sinister smile spreading over your lips.

“We’ll see,” you whispered before dragging him inside like a dog on his leash. It didn’t take him long to catch up, and you quickly dropped his tie and slipped your hand around his to lead him instead—better not to attract more attention than necessary, though part of you would have liked to drag him out like that and let everyone know that he was your little puppy.

You found Jean-Luc near the bar; the swarm of groupies and outlandish fashion made it easy to find him. “I’m so sorry, dear,” you began, pulling the older man’s attention to you. “But I’m afraid I’m feeling a little faint after that cigarette, so Austin and I are going to head home for the night.” You didn’t give him a chance to object or offer any remedies he might have up his sleeve. “Your designs are fantastic, mon ami, and I can’t wait to see what you have this fall.” He blushed and pulled you in for a kiss on either cheek in his typical farewell before you muttered a few more goodbyes and led Austin to the car.

You ushered him into the backseat, and he wordlessly followed your directions to buckle his seatbelt. A thick sexual tension settled into the back of the car as you gave the driver directions to your house, and you might have worried that the driver knew what you were up to had you not been busy running your nails through the curls at the base of Austin’s neck.

When the car pulled into the driveway, you unbuckled Austin’s seatbelt and directed his eyes to yours with two of your fingers on his jaw. You kept your voice low enough so that only he could hear you. “Get your ass in the house, baby. Go sit on the couch and wait for me there, okay?”

Austin pulled his lip between his teeth and you could have sworn that you heard a shudder in his breath. You smirked, taking a moment to admire the state he was in before you reached across him and pulled his door open. “I’ll take care of this and be up in just a second, okay?” you said at normal volume, but the edge in your voice wasn’t lost on him. Austin nodded once, sucked in another breath and clambered out of the car. You couldn’t help but watch his long legs carry him through the front door.

“Long night, huh?” the driver’s deep voice sounded so suddenly in the quiet private neighborhood that you nearly jumped. It made you let out a small laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” you muttered as you pulled your wallet out of your purse. “Thanks for the ride.” You handed him a $100 bill and quickly stepped out. The beams from the headlights softened as the car backed out of the driveway, and soon it was just you and the porch light on a warm summer evening.

Austin sat obediently on the couch like you’d asked—manspread and smirking, but obedient nonetheless—as he watched you saunter into the living room. A part of you couldn’t decide whether he was trying to show that he maintained dominance or if he just wanted to piss you off. You wordlessly made your way over to him, slowly drinking him in and letting your eyes roam every inch of his lanky body draped over the cushions. He’d taken off his suit jacket and laid it over the couch’s armrest. He did look rather handsome in what you’d picked for him. Dark blue always brought out his eyes, and the white button up perfectly complimented his tan skin.

“See something you like, babe?” The snarky comment left his lips as he leaned back and looped his arms over the back of the couch. You cocked an eyebrow, surprised at his audacity but didn’t answer his question.

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s deserving of a punishment,” you hummed, grabbing your dress and parting it from the slit at the top of your thigh so you could straddle him. It had been a risk forgoing a pair of panties with a high slit in your dress, but the gamble had paid off if the look in Austin’s eyes meant anything. You didn’t put any pressure on his lap, though. No, you would take your time with him.

“And what if that’s the very thing that has me so chipper?” Austin’s husky voice hit your ears and you sighed at the sound.

“Well then, darling,” you matched his tone, tugging lightly at the knot of his tie to bring him closer. Your whisper sent a chill down his spine. “I’d say you don’t know what you’re in for.”

He groaned at the sound as you lowered yourself down to his lap, allowing your naked body heat to tease him through his pants. He snaked his hands up your waist, eager to rid you of your golden dress and touch your soft skin.

“No.” You snatched his wrists and yanked them from your body. “No touching. Not ‘til I say so.” Austin’s blue eyes blinked up at you a couple of times. Oh, sweet boy didn’t really think he was going to be punished, did he? You kept your tone firm, but didn’t raise your voice as you spoke, “You’re being punished so you don’t do anything until I say so.”

“O-okay.” He stuttered out, and you released his wrists before wrapping your fingers behind his neck and redirecting his gaze up to yours by pressing his chin up with your thumb.

“That’s all I get? After you disrespected me and disobeyed me?” you questioned with feigned innocence and a pout. Your thumb gently swiped back and forth over the smooth skin on his flushed cheek before you went back to your stern voice. “It’ll be ‘yes, ma’am’ from here on out. Understood?”

Austin swallowed thickly. “Yes, ma’am.” He planted his hands firmly beside him on the couch cushions.

You smirked. “Hm. Good boy.” You turned your attention to his clothes, aching to run your hands down his toned chest. Nimble fingers moved to loosen his tie as you spoke again. “You remember the color system, baby?” It was rhetorical, but he nodded anyway. “Can you tell me what each of the colors mean?” His tie came undone and you pulled it from his shirt collar slowly to lay it over the back of the blue couch, reveling in the way his breathing quickened ever so slightly. His eyes never left your face even though your attention was on each of the buttons on his shirt.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sucked in a breath as you undid the top two buttons. “Green is all clear,” the next button came loose, “yellow is slow down,” Your nails grazed his chest as two more came undone. His breath hitched at the sensation, but he pushed through the last color. “And red means stop.” You finished undoing his shirt and ran your fingers down his chest and towards his toned stomach.

“Very good,” you purred. Gently, you eased the garment off of his body and discarded it to the floor haphazardly. Your eyes raked over his bare chest, the light dusting of chest hair between his pecs. Fuck, he was pretty.

Finally, you met his eyes again. Those familiar blues you loved so much had that little ring of green on the edges that only showed up when he was horny, blown wide with lust. You gently cupped his chin as you spoke seriously, the game taking a time-out so you could clearly express to your lover what you thought to be so important. “So you say ‘red’ at any point, and I’ll stop everything, okay?”

He nodded and sucked in a breath. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, sincerity in his eyes. He was ready for whatever you had for him.

That wicked smile returned to your face. “Good.”

Austin couldn’t suppress the thrill that shot down his spine. Oh, lord have mercy. He barely had time to perceive the handcuffs you’d pulled from your bag before you gently grabbed his left wrist. His eyebrows shot up at the sight—he hadn’t expected this, by any means. The gears clicked as you squeezed the single strand snuggly around his wrist. Your eyes flicked up to his, and he nodded, giving you the go ahead.

“Lean forward for me, baby.” He did as he was told, his eyeline meeting your decolletage as his face nearly collided with your plunging neckline. He gulped. Had he not promised to be a good boy and wait for permission, he’d press kisses all over you right now. Over your collarbones, down to the plush flesh at the top of your breasts, right down to—

“Do you know why you’re being punished, Austin?” Your voice interrupted his thoughts as you secured his hands behind his back. You hummed as the other handcuff clicked around his wrist slowly.

“Yes, ma’am.” he breathed out slowly, eyes glued to your neckline. Oh this really was a punishment.

“Go on.” You withdrew your hands from behind him and pushed his back to the couch. “Tell me all the naughty things you did to deserve this.” Your nails scraped down his shoulders to his chest, making him hiss at the delightful sensation. You leaned in close, pressing light kisses to his neck—the kind that just barely grazed his skin and drove him mad with the sensation of your hot breath fanning across his pulse point. Austin adjusted his arms behind his back a little so the cold metal of the handcuffs wasn’t pressing into his wrists too hard before he spoke.

“I-I touched myself before you came home,” he choked out when you ground your hips into his pelvis. Tilting his head back for more access, you slowly dragged your hot lips up his throat and across his jaw, hands traveling closer and closer to his hardening cock. You hummed.

“Mhm. You couldn’t wait for me, could you?” You grinned as you lightly took his chin between your teeth and shook your head in response to your own question. Then you got dangerously close to his lips. “Mm, you got off without me, so I’d say it’s only fair that you wait a little longer while I get off, yeah?” Austin wanted to choke out a defense that technically he never really got off because you’d interrupted his climax, but the words died on his lips when you let out a small moan with another roll of your hips. His eyes rolled back at the sensation and sound. “You’re going to make me come two times, and then if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you put your pitiful cock inside me. Does that sound okay, darling?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he moaned, ready, willing, and able. Even with his hands behind his back, he knew he’d be able to pull a couple of orgasms out of you. Hell, maybe he’d make it three and overachieve—get a gold star and extra praise for his good deeds.

But just like that, you were off of the couch and strutting away. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately. It made him go mad with hunger and he had to suppress a whine at the loss of contact he’d been aching for.

You slowly turned and sank to the loveseat across from Austin, arching your back just enough to draw his attention to your chest. His brow furrowed.

“Uhh,” he stammered out, “how am I supposed to get you off from here?”

You tisked. “Oh, Aus, I never said anything about you getting me off right away.” You leaned back on the velvety cushion and slowly spread your legs, leaving everything on display for Austin—everything you knew he wanted but couldn’t have. His mouth watered at the sight. “Seems it’s only fair that I get myself off just like you, right?”

You didn’t break eye contact as your hand dipped to the pooling arousal between your legs. Suddenly, he realized exactly what kind of torture awaited him now: you were going to get yourself off first. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but watch. A breathy satisfied moan left your mouth, “Oh, Aus.” You drew his name out in a long sigh, but the word left him empty since it wasn’t him that provided the pleasure (not that it made a difference to his quickly hardening cock). Austin shifted in his seat as you let out a gasp and gripped the back of the loveseat over your shoulder.

“Eyes on me, baby. Only me.” you taunted, screwing your eyes shut as you began a rhythm on your clit that tightened the coil in your abdomen. “Mm, this could have been you, Aus.” You pulled your lip between your teeth, attempting to make an extra show for him.

Truth be told, the performance wasn’t quite as pleasurable as you made it out to be as you normally liked Austin to be the one to get you off, but he’d been naughty and you deemed the performance a necessary punishment to get him irate or apologetic, whichever came first. After all, this was your game, so it seemed only fair that you make up the rules—even if they were unfair.

“This could be your hand touching me, but you couldn’t wait, could you?”

Austin had his eyes glued to your fingers moving through your wet arousal and over your clit, as he shifted again in his seat. “No, I couldn’t wait,” he choked out, the words leaving him hoarse.

“Such an impatient man.” The coil began to compress, and you picked up your pace to chase the release. “You’re so desperate for me aren’t you, baby?”

A whine edged into his voice, “Yes, ma’am. I need you so bad. Please.” He leaned forward to the edge of the couch, letting out a strained breath. A jolt of arousal bolted down your spine, but you chose not to respond to his plea and instead let out an obscene moan to tease him a little more. He continued, more of that delicious whine lining his words, “Oh, please, baby, can I make you come. Can I please touch you?”

The begging sent you over the edge and a lovely wave of white pleasure washed over you as you came, knuckles going white as you clutched the back of the couch. Toes curling, head thrown back in ecstasy, your quick breaths echoing off the walls; it might as well have been pulled straight from a porno, and it had Austin captivated and straining against his slacks. If you hadn’t been recovering from an orgasm, you might have taken a minute to soak in the power you held over him at the moment.

When the aftershocks finished wracking your body, you met Austin’s lustful gaze from across the room with a hooded one of your own. He licked his plush lips, eyes raking over your form as his chest heaved, his cheeks flushing a light pink in his excitement. You smirked, pleased with the effect you were having on him.

“You wanna taste me, sweetheart?” The question had barely left your mouth when Austin nodded feverishly. You crooned, “Awfully greedy, aren’t we?”

You retracted your hand from your pussy and swiftly crossed to Austin to straddle him again, pushing him harshly back into the couch. He offered no resistance to your fingers slipping between his lips, savoring your taste and running his tongue over your fingers. You smirked.

“I love how eager you are for me, Austin,” you purred, slithering your hand back to the base of his skull and tugging gently on a few of his curls. His eyes rolled back at the praise.

You straddled him again, pulling your fingers from his mouth and pressing a hot, sloppy, open mouthed kiss to his worry-worn lips. He kissed you hungrily, like kissing you was the only thing that would put air into his lungs. You were right: he was desperate for you.

“I love when you’re begging for it. Begging for me.” You gasped the words between kisses, rolling your hips into his. He hissed at the welcomed sensation. Your hands wandered down to his belt, pulling the buckle free.

“Touch me,” he gasped. “Please touch me, ma’am. Please.”

Your eyes flashed up to watch his pretty face express the pleasure you supplied as you palmed his cock. Slowly, agonizingly, you undid the button and zipper on his slacks. Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband and shimmied it down his hips just enough for his cock to spring free from his underwear. You couldn’t help but grin. It seemed every single part of Austin was pretty.

“Can you behave for me, Aus? Are you gonna listen to me this time? Gonna tell me when you’re about to come?” you cooed, dragging your hand up and down his dick in long languid strokes.

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I promise. Please. Just—please,” he choked his whimpers down as best he could but you could tell he was losing that battle. You made a mental note to draw those whimpers out of him later.

You hummed as you slid off his lap and sank to your knees, eyeing his throbbing erection, the precum already oozing from his tip. Without wasting any more time, you took hold of him by the base and licked a long stripe along the underside of his cock. He let out a breath, one that let you know how much he’d been trying to hold back earlier. You suppressed a grin and leaned forward to kiss the angry red tip, pressing a few little kitten licks to the top. He squirmed at the sensation.

“P-please,” he whined, “no, teasin’.”

You pulled away. “You want me to stop?”

“No! Please, ma’am, I--” he started, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Then you’ll take what I give you, and beg for more.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, “Yes, ma’am.” A flash of hot arousal whipped down your spine and straight to your throbbing pussy. Fuck, that was hot.

“Good,” you hummed, before turning your attention back to his cock.

When you took his tip into your mouth, a shudder shook his chest as he moaned. You pumped your hand along him a few times, reveling in the way you could see his strong arms tugging and squirming to break free from his restraints, the way his eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.

You pulled away for just a moment to tell him, “Love the way those pretty blue eyes roll back when I’m sucking you off, baby.” Your voice dripped over him like honey, smooth and salacious—all he wanted in that moment was the feeling of your tongue swirling around his head.

You bobbed your head, taking his long cock back as far as you could, pumping the rest of him with your hand.

“Y-yes, ‘slike that,” he moaned. “Kee-keep, goin’ like that.” His eyes screwed shut and with a gasp and a grunt, he cried out, “Oh! I’m gonna come, baby!” The pleasure had been building all day and it had gotten so intense. You bobbed your head a few more times, pulling him closer and closer to the peak. “Oh! I’m—”

You pulled back, letting his hard wet cock spring back to his stomach in a pitiful display of arousal and no relief. Those beautiful ceruleans blinked open, and for a moment you thought you could see a line of tears in his waterline. His chest rose and fell quickly with heated breaths as he spoke, “Why’d you—” he stopped for a moment to think as you crawled back onto his lap and wiped your mouth, “b-but I’ve been good for you, haven’t I?”

You pressed a searing kiss to his open mouth to shut him up, allowing his cock to barely graze your cunt. His breath hitched at it, and you pulled his head back by his hair to let him get a look at you.

“Please,” he begged, “can I please come?”

“Patience, darling. You’re doing so well, but you’re not there yet,” you teased, dragging the back of your index finger down his cheek. You tugged on his hair again, easing another whine out of him. It sent a thrill straight to your core.

“Color?” Your voice softened as you asked the question. You might have been in the driver’s seat tonight, but he had control of the situation.

“Green, baby. So green.” His answer came immediately.

“Good,” you cooed with a smirk. You stood again, only this time, you beckoned him to follow you to the other couch.

“On your knees, Aus,” you commanded, and the tall blond obeyed. “So good for me, aren’t you?” You sank back to the love seat, spreading your legs again for him. “Make me come, Austin.”

His eyes went wide, and a small smile graced his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he affirmed before diving in like it was his last meal on earth, letting you swing your legs over his shoulders and crush his head between your thighs. The man was a master with his tongue. He crudely licked a long stripe along your pussy before lapping gently at your clit.

He ate you out like it was his job, plunging his tongue into you and stimulating your clit with practiced perfection. Up and down, up and down, sucking here, nudging there, swirling and finally adding in a little nip that drove you wild. A string of praise fell from your mouth without you even realizing. “So good t’me. Oh Aus, yes like that! Keep going for me, baby!”

His tongue plunged inside you, and you let out a gasp, gripping the back of the couch again. He could tell you were getting closer, closer, closer, and maintained his pace on your clit as you let out another cry, “Yes! ‘M close! I-I—”

The words wouldn’t come, but he knew exactly what you meant. He drank the words down and let out a grown at the sound of your voice, your cries. Ultimately, that tipped the scales and you came all over his face with a cry.

He didn’t stop though; his tongue continued its magic as he helped you ride your orgasm out until the wave of white passed over you and you had to push him away with your hand. He didn’t back away fully and instead pressed more wet, heated kisses to the inside of your thighs, stealing glances up at you as you caught your breath. Finally, your eyes locked and he stopped with a slow and intimate kiss on your leg.

He grinned at you in the dimmed light, his chin glistening. The man wore your arousal like a damn badge of honor. It was filthy, positively filthy.

“Did I do good, momma?” he rasped, voice deep and gravelly. You might have just climaxed, but the nickname suddenly ignited a new kind of feral desire for him, and you felt yourself getting hot and bothered all over again. You took a few steadying breaths before you spoke.

“You did very good, baby boy. Oh, fuck, you did so good for momma.” You lunged forward to capture his lips with yours, not caring in the slightest that you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your lips moved together in practiced perfection, sliding, sucking—you even nipped at his lower lip and pulled a sigh from him.

“Can you sit on the couch for me, darlin’?” you asked between kisses.

“Yes, ma’am.” With a little helpful balance from you, he returned to his seat and it was clear that his erection needed some attention, so you straddled his lap again with a little more room for you to jerk him off.

“Doin’ so good for me, Aus,” you purred in his ear as you took his cock in your hand. He hummed at the contact and moaned as your hand pumped him at a slow and agonizing pace.

“Please, baby, please,” he begged and let your name fall from his lips. “C’mon, baby, make me come!” Your hand stuttered on his cock and you pulled away, making him pant and whine some more for relief. “Baby, I’ve been good!” His voice was desperate, but verging a little too close to demanding for your liking. He didn’t get to demand things like that tonight.

“You’re not playing by my rules, Aus,” you chastised flatly as you leaned away to retrieve his tie from the other side of the couch. “You don’t wanna call me what I told you to call me? Fine.” You rolled up his tie in your hands and watched his eyes widen. “You don’t get to say anything else either. Open.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed and you pressed the tie into his mouth as a gag. “You need to earn back your words, so make all those pretty little noises for me, yeah? I want you a moaning, whimpering mess by the time we’re done here.”

You grabbed his cock by the base again, maybe a little more sudden than you’d intended because he jumped and let out a muffled yelp. “C’mon, Aus. You can do it for me, darlin’.” You pumped his long shaft quickly, soaking in every little gasp or groan he’d give you. His muffled little whimpers made your cunt clench in anticipation, and arousal slipped between your legs. “Just like that, baby boy. Just like that.”

It only took a few more motions of your hand for him to be right on the edge. Tears spilled over his pretty lashes as he moaned into the tie. “Gonna come for me?” you asked. He nodded feverishly, ready to end the cycle of punishments you had for him, but you smirked before pulling away, pleased with having edged him to tears.

You took the wet gag from his mouth, a string of spittle following it as you placed it on the floor. Before he had the capacity to speak, you swiftly halted any communication with a heated kiss to his open mouth again, adoring the drooling sobbing mess that he’d become in the past couple of minutes.

Your fingers softly traced the angry veins in his cock without enough pressure to provide any relief, but enough contact to tease him and make his hips buck forward.

“Oh please, ma’am! Please let me come!” he whined again, another set of tears falling onto his cheeks. “Momma, please.”

You met his tearful gaze with a small smile and tilting your head to the side. “Didn’t you disobey me, though? You’re a greedy little boy who doesn’t know how to follow rules, and that kind of behavior deserves punishment,” you sighed as you peppered his face with light kisses—small rewards for all the noises he’d made.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I-I’m—momma, I’m sorry.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth again, looking him over and taking in the whimpering man underneath you. “You’re being awful good for me, baby boy. Get me off one more time and then we’ll talk about you coming. Can you be good for momma and get her off one more time?”

He seemed to sigh a breath of relief at that. “Y-yes, ma’am. Please, I’ll be g-good—I’ll make you feel so good.” Oh, that sounded like music to your ears.

“I’m going to take these off of you now, okay?” you grabbed the key from your purse. He eagerly leaned forward to allow more access to his wrists.

“So, I can touch you now?” he rasped, his hot breath fanning over your chest and making your breath hitch. Your eyes rolled back, suddenly eager for his lips on your body.

A light chuckle escaped your chest as you leaned closer and spoke, “Yes, you can touch me, Aus.”

Austin’s eyes closed in a silent prayer of thanks as he feverishly planted kisses along your neckline with small whispered promises of ecstasy and faint love proclamations. It all made the process of unlocking his right hand from the handcuffs a little hard to focus on, but the quiet click of the lock releasing came nonetheless.

As soon as the strand came loose from its gears and freed his wrist, Austin wrenched his arms forward, greedy hands roaming up your waist as he pulled your body closer to him. You gasped and clutched at the back of the couch and his head for the balance that he’d robbed with his lurch forward. The handcuffs still dangled from his left wrist, clinking together as he groped your body.

“Want me to get—“ you started offering to unlock the other handcuff, but he cut you off with a growl and more desperate kisses making their way up your neck.

“Just wanna feel you.” His low husky voice reverberated at your throat and you hummed in appreciation, dropping the key to the floor.

“You wanna feel me, baby?” You asked as his right hand took a fistful of your ass and his left slid up the side of your neck. You shivered at the cold metal of the handcuffs brushing up along your heated skin.

“Yes, ma’am I do,” he whispered.

“Go ahead, darlin’. Make me feel good like you always do.” And with that, he slipped the thin golden straps from your shoulders and pulled your dress down to reveal your breasts, nipples erect and ready to be worshiped by Austin. His left hand slipped down to massage one while he licked a stripe down to your nipple on the other side.

Oh, god. Your eyes closed on their own accord, focusing purely on the pleasure he supplied. His fingers moved from your ass to between your legs, dipping his middle and ring finger into your dripping pussy.

“Aus.” His name came out in a breathy mewl as he began a rhythmic circle on your sensitive clit with his thumb. Your breath hitched again when he curled his fingers and hit the spot just right that you couldn’t suppress a pornographic moan. “Oh, yes! Just like that!”

An orgasm lay right around the corner, and you were practically shaking as he continued. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry for disobeying you before.” The words fell from his lips in a slur, his voice rough and wet from neediness. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, squelching, moans, and heavy breathing filling the air around the both of you.

“Right there! Right—ah!” you exclaimed as the ecstasy blinded you. He muttered more incoherent apologies into your chest between your breasts as he palmed your skin and breathed in your scent. You rode his fingers as the world slowly lost its rosy hue, your fingers tangling themselves into the golden tresses at the nape of his neck.

“Yes, oh yes,” you panted, holding his head close to you. Austin hid his face into your neck, nibbling gently on the exposed flesh near your collarbone and pulse point.

“Such a good boy for me, Aus,” you praised, catching your breath and steadying yourself before pulling his head back by his hair. The lighting allowed you to see his wet cheeks and swollen lips. His pretty blonde lashes seemed to sparkle. He really was an incredibly beautiful man. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he was yours.

You brushed a stray tear from his cheek. “Good boys get their rewards. You ready to come? Want to come inside me?” God, it was dirty.

“Yes, please. Please let me fuck you,” he choked out. Music to your fucking ears. You loved it when he talked like that.

“Give it to me, Austin.” Despite being messy and overstimulated, you’d be damned if you didn’t get to come on his cock tonight.

You leaned up on your knees and gently guided his cock to your dripping cunt, hissing when the tip of his head brushed against your clit. Fuck, you were sensitive. You didn't care though; you sank down onto him quickly and he hissed a curse. You gripped his shoulders as you gasped, nails biting into his skin.

“Fuck, you feel divine,” he moaned. He clutched you closer. You didn’t respond as you began grinding a slow pace up and down.

“Whose cock is this?” You asked between pants. Austin’s face creased in pleasure and he gasped when you clenched down on him.

“Yours, baby, it’s yours. I’m yours.” He spoke with awe and passion, and when his eyes opened again to meet yours he looked at you like you were the world. You crashed your lips to his desperately. “Take me,” he gasped between kisses, “use me,” his hand slipped to your neck to pull you impossibly closer, “love me,” another kiss before he pulled away to growl, “own me.”

“‘S’right, Aus. You’re mine,” you breathed out. When you dropped down again, he hit that wonderful little sweet spot inside you, pushing you to the edge. Oh god! You picked up the pace a little, eager to chase the nearing euphoria.

Grinding, heaving, moaning, you tapped your fingers to his lips. “Open your mouth, babe.” He did, and you did something you never thought you’d ever do: you gathered all the saliva in your mouth and spat it into his. He was yours, yours, yours. Without missing a beat, a smile played on his lips. He never broke eye contact as he did something he didn’t think he’d do.

He swallowed it.

It was like a bolt of lightning. You were so close, so close, you wanted to sprint to the finish line. And from the looks of it, he was too, growling clutching your closer as you rode him at a now impossible pace. “You wanna come, Aus?”

“Please, momma! Please!” He moaned, his glassy eyes screwing shut as his sensitive head hit your cervix. You tightened your grip on his strong shoulders at the feeling.

“Come for me, Austin. Come inside me. Come for momma.”

One, two, three thrusts and you were both seeing stars. A string of curse words fell from his lips as he pumped his hot come into your cunt. Your nails bit into his shoulders, no doubt leaving crescent shaped indents in his skin. You trembled in his arms, over sensitive and catching your breath, and he was transported to another dimension—his long awaited orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and the aftershocks pulled him closer to your skin as you both came down, clutching each other.

You held his head to your chest, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings and praises as he rode out his orgasm, thrusting deeper into you. “That’s it, baby, let go. Did so so good. Love you so much, darlin’. So much.” His eyelashes fluttered against your neck and his breath and hips gradually slowed. He slowly kissed your collarbone before raising his head to look over your equally flushed face.

“Shit,” he puffed, that post-orgasm glow highlighting his lopsided smile, “that was…” He couldn’t find the words. Seems you’d fucked him stupid.

“Earth-shattering?” You finished for him with a smile. He chuckled.

“Yes, ma’am. Earth-shattering.” You couldn’t help but giggle at that.

You bit your lip and turned your gaze downward as you spoke. “So I—it wasn’t… too much?” Daring a glance up, you met his pretty blues again, slowly returning to their normal sea shade. You’d never really had the chance to let your dominant side out in the past, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d taken things too far with him.

“Too much?” Austin repeated with a laugh. “Baby, listen to me carefully when I say this: you could have stepped on me and I’d have thanked you.” He grinned at the melodic laugh you let out at that.

“You like it when momma’s in charge?”

Austin grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a moment it was just you and Austin. You in his lap, his delicious cock still inside you, stroking his face, his fingers running up and down your arm. This game had finally come to a close and you both dropped the personas you’d adapted for the fun and it really was just two people hopelessly obsessed with each other again. But one thing was sure: this had opened the door to an entirely new set of sexual experiences that you could have in the future.

After all, you still had those handcuffs that would need to be broken out every now and then, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they might feel like on your skin one day too.

***

And that’s the story of how Austin found out he enjoyed being a sub. The End.

#this is pure filth #he’s a switch who got in touch with his subby side #i love subby men #austin butler #austin butler elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis #elvis movie #elvis presley #austin elvis imagine #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis film #austin butler x reader #austin smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #x reader #fanfic #fanfic smut #austin butler x you #sub!austin #austin butler imagine #now that no one is reading the tags anymore I wanna confess that this was far more impactful on me than I thought it’d be #and now I have a thing for men becoming whimpering messes #I’ve been agonizing over it for too long and finally said fuck it and posted it lol #and if you’re reading this take a sec to let me know how I can improve because I’m not 100% happy with this piece and want to get better #I’m rambling in the tags to procrastinate posting now aren’t I

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reebmiester · 4 months

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Obsessed with butler Bruce and doing mental gymnastics to come up with a reason why he'd reach the conclusion that's what he wanted to do, and how he got multiple generations proud career butler to let him. Maybe Alf tried to do both and Bruce wanted to take something off his plate? Ultimately won the argument with a critical hit of "you're also my dad"?

no but anon it works PERFECTLY think about it (they're talking about this btw)

Alfred, retired veteran, fresh off the death of his best friends, decides not on my fucking watch. Eight year old Bruce, pissed and angry at the world and all the criminals in it, is pacified by the knowledge that Alfred is fixing it. Alfred will help. So instead, Bruce follows his dear old dad's footsteps and become a doctor (he got plenty of practise patching up his dad). Alfred refuses to quit his night job even as he ages, which only means Bruce has to patch him up more, and deal with his bad knees and back pains. And if that means cooking for Alfred because jeez don't get UP you have a bullet wound and cleaning up the cave because you're gonna pull something old man.

And then when a tiny child with plans for vengeance follows Alfred home, Alfred's gotta agree to help him kill his parent's murderer because, well, pot meets kettle.

Well now Bruce needs to take care of him too. Alfred's out on patrol who's gonna read the kid bed time stories??? Who's gonna shop for tiny robin hood pyjamas? Who's gonna sit and teach them algebra? Bruce of course.

And then another shows up. And then another. And then another. And then another.

Alfred starts the Justice League with Ma and Pa Kent who need a better world for their little baby alien boy to grow up in. Clark and Bruce bond over their vigilante parents and Clark grows up to be a great reporter.

#batfam #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batman #batfred

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linkspooky · 1 year

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Superman vs. All Might

Hello, this is a post comparing My Hero Academia to the comic books it was inspired by. Despite the title of this post, this is not going to be about the power levels of the individual characters. Rather, a comparison between what kind of heroes Superman, and All Might are respectively, and how All Might compares to the all-American super hero.

1. With Great Power

It's pretty obvious All Might takes his influence from Western / American ideas of superhero comics. He studied in the USA before returning to japan as a part of his training. He wears red, white and blue and shouts the names of American states before his attacks.

Before we begin have you heard about Superman? Really, never? That's kind of unlikely. If you want to read more about him though, there's this post with several recommendations of short comics that help you get the idea of his character. I personally recommend "All Star Superman" which is only twelve issues and is it's own self contained story.

There's also "Superman the Animated Series" which I believed watching just the first few episodes will give you everything you need to know about his character. I also recommend watching the Justice League episodes "Patriot Act", "War World", "Hereafter" and "For the Man Who has Everything" to get a glimpse of his character. I'll be referencing a line from the series finale of Justice League later on in this post, though I don't reccomend watching that because all the above are one shot episodes and the finale has spolers obviously.

So, All Might like Superman the single strongest superhero in his country. The only one of them that could truly be called "Superhuman", to the envy and amazement of others. There's an arc in My Hero Academia Vigilantes, where every single hero struggles only to fail to save a building full of people from collapsing. Only for after an entire arc of more minor heroes completely failing to stop the building from falling down, across the street All Might hears about it and arrives at the last second saving everyone inside and a couple of cats too.

The basic concept of All Might and Superman is basically the same, they are both the respective strongest heroes in their world's, and they are both defined by the fact they use their great power entirely altruistically. They work themselves to the bone saving other people.

In fact, in comparison to Superman All Might overowrks himself so much it can be considered a flaw. It's shown in the overhaul arc that All Might used to have a sidekick who was devoted to him, who quit and left him entirely because he could not stand to see how much All Might was ruining himself to help others.

I wouldn't say Superman doesn't work himself to death, or risk his life just as often, because he is a character with a long history, there are times he's been overworked and in crisis, heck he's even died before (Google: The Death of Superman), but working himself to the point of self destruction is not really a character flaw of superman's the way it is for All Might. I wouldn't say it's because Superman is any less selfless than All Might, though.

Rather, it has to do with the underlying difference in their motivation is. Now I said above, they are both people who use their powers to the best of their ability to help the others around them, but that's their actions not the internal motivation that drives those actions.

I've been calling him "Superman" so far, but that's not really his name. Everyone, meet Clark Kent. (This is from Superman: Secret Origin).

Wholesome geek from Smallville Kansas. He was adopted by Ma and Pa Kent, and raised on a farm, with no clue that he was an alien orphan from outer space until about his teenage years when he began all of a sudden to develop superhuman powers. What was his reaction to learning he has those powers? That he's something stronger than any other human?

He didn't want them. Clark Kent didn't want to be different from everyone else, and he never saw himself as better than them. He only comes to term with his identity, when he realize that these abilities are a gift, the same as any other gift, like being a fast runner, or being good at math, and Clark can use these gifts to help others.

This is essential to understanding Clark's character, he sees himself as gifted yes, but he's never seen himself as superhuman, or better than others. Clark is not superman, Clark is Clark.

He's a reporter at the Daily Planet who helps the city by writing expose articles with his colleague Lois, and who occasionally hears about disasters and puts on his pajamas to save people from a burning building, or catch Lois when she's flying out of a window. Being superman is community service for Clark. Clark never makes himself out to be a savior.

This all comes from Clark's fundamental desire, to be normal, to be a part of the planet that adopted him, and to feel connected to the world. Clark, unlike All Might values both parts of his identity (This is from Superman: Birthright).

There's a lot of things I can tell you about Clark Kent, he's a farm boy, he has a home life, a wife, however I could not tell you anything about Toshinori Yagi, both his past, and what he does when he's not being All Might.

The quirkless Toshinori Yagi may as well have stopped existing the moment he inherited One for All. As for why he has no identity outside of the costume he puts on, and why he devotes everything to being a superhero, it all falls back to that idea of motivation and origin again.

Superman never wanted to be a savior or a symbol, but that's exactly what Toshinori wanted to be, to become what the world needs him to be at the expense of everything including his own identity. Toshinori is not allowed to be human, because he needs to be superhuman. Once again, that makes it seem like Toshinori is more selfless, after all he sacrificed everything. They're both gifted with powers yes, but Toshinori doesn't let himself have anything resembling a normal life because he must be what the world needs him to be.

However, this is where I want to point out, that self-destruction is never a good thing. It's you know, destructive, hence the name. I think one of All Might's greatest flaws is not just that he's "So nice, and so selfless that he always hurts himself helping others", but that he genuinely began to buy the fact that having superhuman powers made him superhuman. He didn't overextend himself just because he was genuinely that selfless, but because he believed HE was the only superhuman with the power to do so and therefore HE had to do it.

We see shades of this in the Dark Deku arc, where this complete selflessness ends up veering into egoism. "I'm the only one in the whole world who could possibly do this, you all are too stupid and slow to catch up."

All Might is known for always flying solo, to the point where he only ever had one sidekick who quit on him because he refused to accept help. Clark cooperates with other heroes all the time, watch literally any episode of the Justice League cartoon.

All Might believes he has to become a superhuman symbol in order to help people, but then he starts to genuinely believe he is superhuman and that's where all the differences between them start to branch out. Superman wants to be a part of the world he wants to be with everyone, All Might wants to stand above everyone as a superhuman symbol. Yes, his motivations are still altruistic, he does it because he wants peace for the general population, but it's still a toxic attitude on his part.

Superman is a character who grapples with his own ability to help everyone too, because someone with his abilities should be able to do just that. (Superman: For all Seasons)

However, unlike All Might who pushes himself further and further away from his own humanity, when Superman reaches his limits, he instead goes back to his humanity instead. Superman's friends and family remind him, he may be strong, but just like anyone else in the world he's not capable of doing anything.

Clark's the kind of guy who when facing a crisis in the big city, comes home to talk with his small town parents, and then is deeply touched and learns a lesson from his father talking about growing corn, because to Clar, his father's efforts at growing corn are the same as him being a hero. They're both just trying to do the best they can do with the skills they have. That is the difference, Clark is rooted in the people around him, and his community, and is basically human in everything but biology.

Toshinori crumples under the expectations of being the perfect symbol that he places for himself, because he has no connection to the world outside being a hero. For Clark, what makes him a hero is the farm boy raising and the good values that his mother and father gave him as a child. For Toshinori, for a long time in the manga at least, he genuinely seems to believe that powers are what make him a hero. (Superman: Brainaac Action Comics #866).

Somewhere down the road, All Might began mistaking power for morality. You know, "All Might Makes Right." This could be partially because All MIght's not entirely based off of superman, Horikoshi has gone on record saying that My Hero Academia is like an exploration of two kinds of heroes, Spiderman and Goku.

Goku being the kind of reassuring hero who always wins a fight. So, All Might himself has two different distinct images, he's someone who's powerful enough to always beat the bad guy, and he's also someone who shows up to save everyone. All Might never really reconciles those two sides of himself though, and because of that he ends up representing a lot of Hero Society's Toxicity.

2. All Might Makes Right

So, I hope the lengths I went to establish "Superman does not think he's superhuman, All Might does, or at least expects himself to be..." have convinced you, because now we're moving onto the more toxic parts of All Might's nature.

All Might set out to do good, yes, but he also inspired a lot of the toxic parts of quirk society, the idea that the only people who can be heroes are people with strong and flashy quirks, the idea that defeating evil is just brutally punching a villain in the face. All of this because, at some point down the line All Might seemed genuinely convinced it was his superhuman powers that made him capable of saving so many that made him the hero.

Hence why we get scenes like All Might whining in front of his All Might Statue that he can't be ahero anymore, because he's too injured to continue fighting on the front lines.

Stain even compares himself to a god, that has now fallen upon the earth and became mortal. Superman was never superhuman or above anyone else, Toshinori can't really cope with being stripped down to having the same powers as everyone else, because he thinks his power lies in showing up to fight the villain.

The one time he's called upon to stop Deku from the same self destructive spiral that he went on, he can't, because All Might hasn't really overcome his own self destructive mentality that being a hero requires him being superhuman.

It's not just self destructive though, All Might clearly believes in the ideal image of a hero that the rest of hero society supports of an overly strong hero, bashing the brains in of a completely evil villain. He never stops to question himself, or the other people who imitate him. To quote League of Legends Arcane of all things, he's so busy worrying about greatness that he doesn't stop to ask himself if his actions are good. Every time we see All Might fight a villain, no matter who it is, it's a complete and absolute beat down.

"A hero's always ready to smash his way through trouble, tell me villain do you know the meaning of, plus ultra?"

All Might himself might have brought in AFO alive despite him being the worst villain ever and kept him in prison without executing him, but he's inspired an entire society of top heroes who are in fact, totally cool with brutalizing villains. Heroes who when they hear the only way to fight the Nomus is to kill them, and killing them is completely okay, are actually excited and find it fun.

"Oh wow, we can kill them? Cool, that's way easier!" All Might himself might not kill, but the attitude he promotes that a hero is someone who punches his way through a villain no matter what, promotes this line of thinking.

I could go through the manga and nitpick All Might, like how he never had any reaction to finding out his close personal colleague abused his own family, how he called Dabi the child Endeavor abused a maniac right in front of his brother's face, I bring these up but they're nit picks, I don't think they're in the spirit of the argument. Horikoshi is not trying to say that All Might is cool with child abuse, I'm nitpicking inconsistencies in the writing there. However, the dual nature of All Might's influence on society and the double nature of heroes themselves has been a long running plot thread.

All Might is completely unaware of the toxic influence he has on others, and also refuses to self-evaluate and look at his own flaws because as I stated above he mistakenly believes that All Might needs to be Superhuman in order to be a hero. Therefore, he can't have flaws. All Might seems to believe it's his ability to perform superhuman deeds that makes him a hero, unlike Clark Kent who's greatest ability is his sense of right and wrong.

Clark also, does not support the brutalization of villains in any way. If you want to watch the animated series, there's an episode called "When there's Smoke" where Superman meets a villain who's the victim of government experimentation, and spends most of the episode trying to talk her down, and de-escalate the fight.

Clark: Don't do it volcana. I can help you. Volcana: No thanks. These days I can help mysrlf. Clark: Listen, nobody will blame you for what you've done, but the stealing has to stop, now. Clark: You have to trust me, Volcana. Volcana: DO you know how many times I've heard that? From my parents before they shuffled me off to the institute? From the institute just before they turned me over to the feds. And from the government just before they took away my life.

At the end of the episode, he doesn't even hand her over to the feds or the government because he knows they're going to experiment on her.

Superman usually attempts to de-escalate first, whereas All Might always skips step one. In fact, one of Superman's most legendary animated scenes in the DCAU is a scene where he shows just how much he always holds back in a fight.

youtube

"That man won't quit as long as he can draw breath. None of my teammates will. Me, I've got a different problem. I feel like I live in a world made of cardboard. Always taking constant care not to break something, to break someone, never allowing myself to lose control even for a moment, as someone could... die. Now, you can take it can't you big man? What we have here is a rare opportunity for me to cut loose, and show you just how powerful I really am."

Clark is constantly concerned that if he doesn't hold back perfectly he might hurt someone more than he intended to, even a bad guy, whereas All Might is always going Plus Ultra on those purse snatchers. When Shigaraki brings up the possibility that All Might might be just as violent as the people he fights, he just laughs it off and pounds Shigaraki into the pavement.

Here's another clip where superman disavows violence. Quoted Here:

"Yes, they did see. They saw the ugliness as a solution and it frightens them. It frightened me too when I decided to cross that line and do what you do. It's so easy, anger, vengeance. *Fake punch* Luckily, I'm not you and I never will be." [...] "You think that's it. It's not over you poncey twit. If you think I'll just go to jail and rot you're living in a dream world." "Good, dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us into something better. ANd on my soul, I swear that until my dream of a world where dignity, honor and justice are the reality we all share I'll never stop fighting, ever..."

Clark deliberately holds himself back from violence, because he knows he's a role model other people look up too and he doesn't want them imitating him.

Clark does not think his powers make him a hero, which is why he is so mindful of them. While I don't think All Might is convinced that powers make you a hero, to the lengths that say Endeavor absolutely seeps convinced that being a strong hero, and having strong powers should make him good.... I do want to compare how Clark and All Might act when they're called to save someone in a situation where their powers don't help.

Shigaraki Tomura, the villain of the manga is the grandson of All Might's mentor Shimura Nana. At her request, he never looked for her son after Nana decided to abandon him for his own safety, so they could remain hidden. As a result, when Shimura Tenko lost control of his own quirk and killed his family, no hero came to save him. Not only was All Might unaware of the situation because he was keeping his promise to his old mentor, but in the society that All Might created, Shimura walked the streets for days and not a single person stopped to help him.

Tenko is the child that All Might cold not save. However, upon learning of his existence, that All For One kidnapped the grandchild of his mentor, and then raised him for years into a villain and twisted him as a pawn to use against All Might... learning those circumstances All Might still doesn't try to go after him.

When All Might learns there was someone he did not save, someone he also has a personal connection too because his grandmother abandoned her family in order to raise him up as a hero, his reaction amounts to "Shucks, what can you do?"

"Shucks, what can you do?"

To compare All Might's dilmena with Tenko, the child he could not / did not save, there is a superman comic called "Superman: Up in the Sky" a six issue self-contained story, about Clark as he attempts to save a single girl who was abducted from earth and taken to space.

It examines the morality of such an action, Clark leaving the earth and going out of his way just for the sake of one person. After all, Clark is the most powerful hero. If Darkseid, or Brainiac shows up, you're going to need Clark fighting on your team.

The comci doesn't brush over the fact that Clark leaving just to save one little girl's life means he won't be there to help whatever natural disaster people need saving from, in fact Clark himself said it was a reason he shouldn't go, and Clark during the comic has constant hallucination and fear sequences of someone on earth dying because they needed his help and he was off saving a little girl.

Clark even has the option of leaving the search of the little girl up to the Green Lantern Corps, who are basically the universe's police with magic rings that let them fly practically anywhere and far more members than Clark, but he doesn't.

And his reasoning is simple. "No, I can't save everyone but maybe I can save her."

Superman even has a crisis of conscience with the two halves of himself, while hallucinating on an alien planet, the human half of him that wants to save one little girl, and the superhero sdie that's responsible for guarding earth from threats.

The alien himself says he only kidnapped her because she was a nobody, because she's someone who would never come after, because she's not worth that effort.

This is the defining scene which makes Superman, Superman. He came to save her, because superman isn't a set of powers, superman isn't a guy who fights bad guys, superman helps people.

Which is why I think All Might is just too different a character from Clark to really be comapred to him in the end, he's too wrapped up in his society's toxic ideals of heroism and too unwilling to bend from it. After all, if All Might had learned something, wouldn't his final stand be doing what Superman did in this comic? Giving everything he had left to save the child he failed to save? Instead, what do we see him do? Go to fight All for One in a giant robot suit.

The child who most needs to hear "I am here" is Shigaraki, but All Might's essentially already given up on him. "Shucks, what can you do?" Indeed. I want to point out in this same chapter though, All Might gives a very touching motivating speech to Todorki, reminding him he doesn't have to beat the big bad All for One, and it's okay for him to go after Dabi, and reassure his family and everyone else as a hero. THAT is the hero All Might could be, even without his powers. THAT is the hero who could try to talk to Shigaraki and bring him down, who could make an effort to be there for him now because he wasn't in the past. All Might's genuine altruism, and his moments where he uses his words and idealism to inspire people shows us what he could be, if he just divorced himself from this toxic notion that being a hero means standing up against a bad guy and beating them up.

However, we have not seen him do that yet. Because in the end All Might is no Superman. And he's DEFINITELY no Clark Kent.

#Youtube #my hero academia #mha meta #superman #dc comics meta #dc comics #clark kent #all might #toshinori yagi #my hero academia meta #my hero academia theory #bnha meta #boku no hero academia #superman comics

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burins · 6 months

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trick or treat! -blorb

another little snippet! this was originally the start of the clark POV to mission parameters and then i realized that if i continued the fic like this it was a) going to be so so depressing and b) it was going to be a real challenge to get clark to the place he actually is in mission parameters.

Clark was seven, the first and only time he saw his father cry. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and so he’d snuck down into the kitchen to get a glass of milk and see if he could stand in the kitchen doorway and make out the tail end of one of the late night shows Ma and Pa stayed up for. Only Ma and Pa weren’t in the living room. A puddle of golden light was spilling from the kitchen doorway, and Clark thought he’d be in trouble for being out of bed, but neither of his parents noticed him. Ma’s hand was on Pa’s shoulder, rubbing small circles into the worn fabric at his collar. Pa had his face buried in his hands. There was a pile of papers on the table. “Well, maybe we can take out another loan,” Ma was saying, in the soft soothing voice she used when Clark had a nightmare. “Just to get us through the year.” “There are no more loans,” Pa was saying, muffled through his fingers. “I talked to [name] at the bank last week. They’re going to start taking the land if we can’t make payments. Martha, we have to seriously talk about--” And then Clark was fleeing back up the stairs, but up the stairs was no good, because his hearing was getting better and better every day, and he could still hear the low, desperate drone of his father’s voice, the words he did not yet understand-- mortgage, interest rate, loan term-- and the tone he did.

the long backstory to this is that while doing some background reading for mission parameters i realized that if i set it when i set it (roughly the mid-2000s) Clark would have been growing up during the height of the 1980s midwestern farm crisis, which is a hell of a time to be an alien kid in Kansas. 300,000 farmers defaulted on their loans! a number of banks failed completely! and so you have Clark growing up in this environment where a) everyone over 60 still remembers the great depression and b) everyone he knows is being absolutely screwed over by the banks. because agriculture runs on credit-- you need credit to buy equipment and supplies and seeds, and then you pay it off at the harvest. or you can leverage the value of your land. except that in the 80s the farming land bubble that had ballooned in the 70s completely collapsed, and lots of farmers saw the value of their land crater. so they've mortgaged their property to get capital to farm, and now their property isn't worth shit, and also interest rates are peaking at 21% on these loans. AND there were two droughts that decade, plus the price of grain dropped because of an export embargo on the USSR. just a whole shit deck stacked against you if you're a farmer. (as a side note this also led to an upsurge in right-wing white extremism and xenophobia in rural areas of the country as well as a corresponding surge in progressive and left-wing organizing.)

this is a lot of infodumping to say. oops! i made a guy with serious economic trauma and then i paired him with a billionaire! and i tried to wrangle with that a bit in mission parameters but it's uh. well! it sure is a thing!

we have long passed the point at which this is a "little snippet" but i do think Clark growing up in a community where his friends at school were losing their homes and moving to cities would have really shaped his sense of justice. and i'm attached to the idea that Ma and Pa were doing their best to help their neighbors and modeling that for Clark.

#my fic #mission parameters #superman #dc comics

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damn-stark · 1 year

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Chapter 2 Isn’t it strange?

Chapter 2 of Moon Star

A/N- Thanks for all the love and support on the first chapter :)

Warning- Violence, blood and weapons, angst, fluff?

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x03 & (the beginning of) 1x04

————

*6 YEARS AGO. CHICAGO*

“Okay, I’ve thought of it,” you interject happily. “I want to go live with you. I want to take a gap year after high school.”

The breeze was chilly, the night was clear, letting the stars, and the moon in its full phase shine brightly from the dark sky. Yellow lights basked the park's paved path, and the smell of sweet cinnamon swirled in your nose as you held a cinnamon pretzel in hand.

“But—”

“I know,” you cut your father off and meet his gaze as he glances over at you with uncertainty. “I know what you’re dedicated to dad, but I don’t care. I mean It’s kinda cool,” you giggle. “You’re like a…hero.”

Marc scoffs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t call it that,” he murmurs and averts his gaze.

You shrug softly. “You have a cloak,” you quip. “Hero.”

“That God that came to earth, Loki, also had a cloak, he wanted to rule us,” your dad argues. “He was evil.”

You shake your head. “No, pa, that was more of a cape,” you argue.

He tilts his head and squints his eyes as he sucks in air through his teeth. “Was it?”

You nod and blurt. “Yes! You have a cloak okay?” You jump and drop cinnamon sugar all over your hand. “It’s a cloak, I said so. Just like I say you’re a hero! Because Khonshu is into justice, punishing the ones who did wrong already. Hero.”

Your dad sighs and nods as he can’t help but smile. “Fine, but I think you’re the only one who’s gonna think that.”

You shrug and grin. “I am okay with that. Makes me special.”

Your dad looks up at you and smiles wider.

“So?” You press. “Can I go live with you?”

His smile begins to fade away, his eyes fall, and he swallows thickly whilst he comes to a stop towards the end of the path that’s near the parking lot. You mirror his actions and wait in silence.

“First,” he adds. “I need to tell you something. Something about me.”

You tilt your head just slightly and squint your eyes as you grow curious in your wait.

Your dad looks up at you to meet your gaze all seriously and upset. “I have—”

Before he can finish his sentence though he cuts himself off as he throws his arms around you and shoves you to the ground the moment a car comes flying through the park, ending up crashing in a tree close to where you were both just standing.

“What the hell?” You gasp in shock as your dad helps you off the ground.

“Stay here,” your dad instructs as he turns to walk towards the car crashed into the tree with smoke coming out of its completely obliterated hood.

Regardless of what he just said you slowly follow him towards the car, noticing the broken window and a conscious passenger, but no driver.

There wasn’t a driver inside.

“Help me!” The passenger yells when they notice your dad approaching. “Please! My husband he just, oh god! Oh my god!”

Your dad throws his hand out and begins to run towards the passenger. “I’m coming! I’m going to help!” He exclaims.

However, once your dad reaches the door, you stop in your tracks as the passenger inside suddenly begins to turn to dust.

“What the—” your dad mutters.

The passenger reaches out for help from your dad, he tries to speak but then all of him just disappears.

“Pa, what’s going on?!” You yell in between pants.

He doesn’t turn, he begins to talk to himself—or really the God you can’t see, so you wait in horror over what just happened to those people.

However, as you wait, all of sudden you catch your pretzel fall to the floor without you feeling it. As you begin to look down to try and find the reason why it suddenly dropped, you see your hand beginning to disappear, to turn to dust.

It doesn’t hurt, but seeing yourself vanishing begins to freak you out more than you already were. You could hardly breathe now, hardly hear anything with how fast your heart was beating. But you did know who to call for, the man that brought you comfort and safety.

“Dad?” You call in a quivering voice.

He looks over and immediately his eyes widen and he doesn’t fret to break into a sprint towards you as you continue to turn to dust.

“Pa,” you cry as you’re unable to hold back your fear and the tears that ensued. “I’m scared. Please, please.”

He grabs your shoulder with one hand, whilst with the other one he grabs your cheek as he shakes his head in denial. “No, no, just, I’m going to help—Khonshu!” He bellows. “Baby,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Nothing stops what was happening though, you’re vanishing; your arm is gone, your legs are disappearing, making you fall. Luckily your dad catches you and crouches down with you.

“No,” he sneers. “No. Y/N, just….”

You hold his gaze and see tears in his eyes, and that’s when you feel a sudden wave of comfort; being in his arms, holding his warm brown eyes. You were no longer scared. You smile even if it’s wobbly

“I love you,” you whisper and grab his cheek. “I'm glad you’re my—“

“No, stop it,” he cuts you off with tears rolling down his cheeks.

You try to wipe them off, but your hand begins to disappear now too.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers and tries to cradle your face. “Baby…”

And you were gone, all he held onto was dust, all he felt was the sugar grains on his cheeks that had been stuck to your hand.

You were gone.

He couldn’t—he didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want to accept that he couldn’t save you. He didn’t want to believe you were gone. Even if the truth was clear, even if he couldn’t change it, he didn’t want to….

But he had to. That made him break.

He broke into a grief and pain stricken sob as he held onto the dust still on his hands.

Anger then overwhelmed him too, so much so that he began to smack his hands against the cement until they were red and raw, until there was nothing but scrapes on his hands.

And then in the midst of it all he was gone too, he escaped his pain and let another come through.

——

*NOW. CAIRO EGYPT*

“Okay….he’s…now he’s less than a quarter of a mile to the east. We’re close,” you say and look from your phone in hopes you’d see a glimpse of him, of his hair, his face, or his eyes. But no, there were too many people crowded in the streets of Cairo to see him right away.

“Come on, stay close,” Layla intructs as you both swerve past bodies of people to follow the tracker you had on Marc.

You scoff. “How do you think he’ll react?” You ask her.

“Anger,” she responds right away.

You laugh and nod.

“Look, he’s—”

Her words albeit get lost in the breeze as the sight of a clothes stand nearby steals your attention—more specially a particular jacket on display.

When you rush over there you instantly fall in love and can’t help but swindle the man into giving it to you for cheaper. Sure you disobeyed Layla for something insignificant, but on the bright side even if you had broken away from Layla’s side it wasn’t hard to find her again, using the tracker led you right to her and Marc.

“Layla,” you make yourself known with excitement.

Said woman looks past Marc’s shoulder, and Marc slowly turns to face you and instantly groans and shakes his head at the sight of you.

“Great, you brought her too,” he mutters without the accent.

As much as his words stung, you ignore him and smile at Layla as you put your hands out. “Look at my jacket. I just got it. Like, just now.”

Layla nods. “I see that. After I told you to stay close.”

You flick your wrist down to brush off her concern. “Look. The sleeves huh,” you point out as you rub the black sleeves. “The many pockets to hide stuff,” you point to the pockets on your sleeves and on the dark green torso part of the jacket. “And watch this,” you pause and put on the hood before connecting the mask that went over your nose and mouth. “For the sand! I got it for super cheap too.”

“What are you doing here, y/n?” Marc asks and crushes your excitement.

You pull down the mask and scoff. “I’m here with Layla,” you spat. “Marc? Or Steven?” You point as you fold your arms over your chest. “Who am I talking to? Or are you pretending to be someone new?”

Marc sighs deeply and turns his head to face Layla. “Layla, explain to me why you brought my daughter with you?”

Of course he’s ignoring you now.

“Your daughter,” Layla clarifies in your defense. “Is 19 now, Marc, she can do whatever it is she wants.”

“But if you’re so concerned,” you interject and walk over to face him. “I’m here for Layla. To help her. So save whatever fatherly concern you suddenly feel. Also,” you sigh. “I’m going to need my tracker back. It’s still a work in progress.”

Marc eyebrows furrow and he slightly narrows his gaze in confusion. “Tracker? What tracker?

You roll your eyes in annoyance and reach behind his ear to pull the tiny tracker you had managed to tuck when helping “Steven” try and calm down.

“This tracker,” you say and show off the tiny tracker that looked almost like an earring bud. “Undetectable against airport technology and new metal detectors.” You put it away in your bag and smile with pride. “I’m working on the kinks. But hey, it tracked you all the way over here without you feeling it, so it works nicely even if it’s made out of scrap materials.”

Marc’s scowl falls and his lips begin to lift to a smile, but you don’t get to fully see it since you look away and Layla interrupts.

“Come with us, we’ll help you find what you need.”

You don’t add anything else, nor do you let him tell you anything in any regard, you stay close to Layla and make it known you don’t wish to talk to him. Not like there was a lot to add from either of you besides, Mogart, Layla’s contact that knows about what Marc is looking for, Senfu’s sarcophagus.

It's a ways away from where you were, in some property past some river. And the entire way to the river was painfully quiet, there was some conversation, mostly between Layla and you but since Marc was close, you didn’t feel like talking much. It’s just that he…he angers you, he makes you furious over old reasons, and over the fact that he hasn’t tried to explain himself about this Steven character. It’s like he expects you to know already, to piece it together on your own instead of simply explaining it, instead of telling you.

Is it so hard? It was so easy before, talking to one another. There were ups and downs of course, but you liked to think that you had a good relationship, you understood him and his job. But now after coming back, he’s like a completely different person. When you look at him, you see your dad, you recognize his face, but everything about him is new, he’s a stranger full of anger.

Unbeknownst to you though, he was trying. He would think of things to say in his own way, things that feel right, things he knew you wanted to hear, a genuine apology and a good ass explanation. But as he looks at you, as he watches as you listen to music while you try to nod to sleep with the rocking of the boat, he couldn’t work up the courage even if he had it all planned.

It’s just…if Khonshu got to you because of him, because he got close to you again, he wouldn’t forgive himself. It seems it’s too late to avoid getting you in harm's way, but he wouldn’t permit Khonshu to make you his next avatar. No matter how much the distance hurt him, not even if Layla was trying to encourage him with pointed looks to say anything to you.

Yet that only hurts you a hundred times more, the avoidance. Even if you have music playing in your earphones to pass the time, you don’t have it loud enough to block out the conversation between Layla and Marc. You hear him, the kind things he says to her. “I am sorry for whatever that’s worth.”

You stiffen and your breath trembles, you try not to but you can’t help but look over at your father, in pain, in betrayal. You watch him, you see his sincerity and it hurts.

That’s what you wanted to hear, all of it. It’s that simple. You wouldn’t hold a grudge for him missing your graduation, or for not calling you when your grandmother died because you knew about their strained relationship, you wouldn’t hold a grudge about anything. But he didn’t even look at you. It’s like you weren’t there to him.

“So, this Mogart guy. He’s really gonna have this sarcophagus?” He asks Layla.

“Yes,” Layla assures him. “I asked around. Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities.”

Their conversation comes to a halt and they drift to personal stuff as the music from the other passengers gets louder and someone begins ululating.

You try not to listen in, but you can’t help yourself, or the jealousy that begins to ignite within.

“You could’ve told me. You know. What’s its been like for you. About Steven.” Layla says, making you glance over at Marc, and notcing him avert his gaze for a moment before focusing back on her and interjecting.

“For what it’s worth I had it under control until very recently.”

You glance back at your phone and listen to Layla question him. “What happened?”

“I-it doesn’t matter,” he tries to dismiss her, but she leans forward and grabs his hands. “We could’ve handled it together.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

You clench your jaw and let out a deep breath. You hide well.

“That’s not really what I do, is it?” He continues. “Never really been able to just talk about everything.”

“Anything real?” She questions and he nods in agreement.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t have.” Layla says.

Marc nods and ends up pushing her hands away. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe. A little too late for that now, though.” He pulls away from her, and you watch him look away and just go cold. And honestly their distance makes you happy.

It sounds vain, selfish perhaps, but it’s an honest truth.

“Okay, let’s get our story straight. Y/N.”

You pretend to not hear right away so it doesn’t seem like you were listening in.

He proceeds to lean over and nudges your knee, and you finally pretend to give him your attention. “What?” You lower the earphones from your ears and look between him and Layla.

“We’re discussing our cover,” he lets you know.

You sigh and nod along in comprehension. “Okay.” You blink and begin to smile. “Can I pick my own cover?” You meet Layla's gaze and wiggle your eyebrows.

Layla purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Sorry, kid, I already have a cover for you,” she lets you down.

You groan deeply and sink in your seat.

“Your name is y/n Estrada.” She lets you know, and you groan again.

“I keep my own name, how boring,” you grumble.

She shrugs nonchalantly and looks at Marc. “You’re Rufino Estrada. We just got married and we just got back from our very first family trip to the Maldives.”

Marc nods along and you throw her a thumbs up since you have no other choice.

“And,” Marc says and looks over at you. “Listen to me, Wolfie, you stick by me the entire time, got it?”

You meet his gaze with nonchalance and scoff. “I can protect myself,” you rebuttal. “I don’t need you to protect me. I made sure of that.”

Marc gets ready to argue back, but you scoff and tear your eyes away and make it known that the conversation was over between him and you.

“You got all your weapons?” Layla directs at you.

You look over at her and pat your pockets before shaking your bracelet with a smile. “Got it. Small pockets,” you show off. “Useful.”

“Okay,” Marc interjects. “We’re almost there get your bags.”

You duck down and pull your backpack from under your seat, feeling your phone vibrate in the meanwhile.

It’s probably just your grandfather Elias, you think at first. As you pick up the phone to check, you grow wary as you see that it’s not actually your grandfather, but an Unknown ID.

Weird.

You unlock the phone and pull down the notification bar to read the message.

Unknown

Does texting first earn me a name?

Oh—oh my god. Oh.

You turn off the phone and drop it back on your lap to stare off at the water ahead of you. You try not to get excited but it’s late, you read it, you know it’s Spider-Man, you can’t stop the butterflies from fluttering or your heart from racing because that’s close to what you said to him.

It’s him!

“Oh my god!” You exclaim as you’re unable to contain your excitement, causing Layla and Marc to instantly look over at you in confusion. “Ah!” You giggle and jump up to your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe out and face Layla. “Remember the job we did in New York the other day?”

Layla slightly narrows her gaze and nods.

“Well,” you continue and briefly cover your mouth before clenching your fist and dropping your hand. “I might’ve given Spider-Man my number and he totally just texted me!”

“Spider-Man?” Marc mumbles.

“Spider-Man?” Layla retorts in disbelief.

You nod. “Yes! Spider-Man!”

“Are you going to text him back?” She asks. “Text him. Go for it,” she encourages you.

Yet someone isn’t as thrilled.

“You don’t even know him,” Marc complains. “What if he’s some old man? A real weirdo.”

You scoff. “And what if he’s like…” you pause and realize that you’re talking to your father so you just sigh and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. And,” you point at Layla. “I will, but not yet, I don’t want to sound desperate. If he’s interested he won’t care if I let him wait.” You smile happily and sit back down even if the boat is about to dock.

And just as the boat comes to a stop and you let everyone else get down first, your phone begins to ring.

“Oh, fuck,” you blurt and turn your phone away. “It’s ringing—” you swallow thickly and feel your heart pound faster. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t answer,” Marc grumbles.

Without a second thought you hand your phone to Layla. “Tell me who it is,” you mutter rapidly.

Layla chuckles at you and grabs your phone to check the caller ID. “Not who you think,” She reveals and hands you back the phone.

You grab it and once you read that it’s your grandfather you let out a frustrated sigh. Nevertheless you answer as you stand back once everyone on the boat is off.

“Hello,” you greet more calmly and watch Marc get off first.

“Y/N, honey,” your grandfather responds with happiness. “Just checking up on you.”

You smile and hand Marc your backpack so he can hide it under the dock before you climb out of the boat, whilst you respond. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t call, I’ve been busy. But we’ve got our hotel now, and we’re out…exploring,” you lie so he wouldn’t worry.

“That’s good,” he says. “I’ll keep it brief then so you can get back. Wear sunscreen, keep your head covered so you don’t overheat, drink lots of water…”

You giggle and peer over your shoulder to make sure Layla was off the boat now—which she is.

“And take lots of pictures,” he finishes.

You nod even if he can’t see it and begin to walk away from the dock, knowing Layla and Marc were right behind you. “Okay,” you say. “I will. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“I am, don’t worry about me.” He assures you.

You sigh and smile softly but feel bad you had left him all alone. “I’ll call tomorrow, or I’ll text you, okay?“

“Okay. I love you.” He says.

You grin at the phone. “I love you too, have a good day”

“I will, don’t be scared to call whatever time, my phone is always on.” He continues to assure you.

You nod. “Okay,” you assure him. “I love you. Bye.”

“Bye,” he responds and hangs up, letting you put your phone away, and getting an immediate reaction.

“Who was that?” Marc asks.

You side eye him since he’s walking at your side and scoff. “My grandpa Elias,” you reveal bitterly. “Unlike you he actually tries to check up on me everyday.” You roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

Marc drops his head and nods as he licks his lips and sighs deeply out of his nose. “Okay, I get it you’re upset—”

“No,” you cut him off and don’t bother to look at him. “Don’t give me some shitty ass apology now. Let’s focus on the job.”

Marc goes quiet and nods stiffly, and you slow down your pace to end up walking behind him and Layla as you begin to approach the ring where there’s security guarding, and men playing El-Mermah inside.

“Bek,” Layla greets a tall man in a fancy dark suit.

“Layla,” the man greets and takes a look at Marc, and then at you behind them.

“It’s been a while,” she says as they shake hands.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He pulls away and begins to turn. “Right this way,” he says and leads the way to the ring, making Layla and Marc hold hands to make the cover believable.

Albeit you know it’s not just for cover.

“He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Bek adds. “After Madripoor I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about. Excuse me for one moment,” he excuses himself as he brings you to stop in front of the ring. “Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

Once the man is gone you approach the ring, and prop your arms on the fence to lean forward and watch with interest as a shirtless man rides around in his white horse.

“So what?” Marc interjects. “This joker just puts on El-Marmah games in his backyard, for fun?”

He can if he wants to, you think to yourself as you watch him with a sly smirk.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard,” Layla corrects Marc, whilst you see as the man brings his beautiful white horse to a stop to hop off and get his fancy red robe put on him.

There’s just something about hot older men that have a way to just turn you on. Mr. Mogart definitely is one of those men.

“Cool,” Marc comments. “I like the robe.”

“Layla,” Mr. Mogart addresses her with a charming smile. “Come in.”

Layla leads the way, and Marc and you follow after her.

“Such a delight to see you,” he continues.

“You too,” Layla says.

“How have you been?” He asks as he takes her hand so elegantly.

“Good,” Layla responds as Mogart presses a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you for having us over on such short notice.” She pulls her hand away and the man does not drop his smile.

“Oh, please,” he assures her. “I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by.”

Layla then proceeds to turn to Marc and pats his shoulder to introduce him, causing Mogart to look over at him as she did. “This is my husband, Rufino.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marc responds and offers Mogart his hand.

“Pleasure. Oh right,” the man mutters and wipes his hands on his robe to shake Marc’s hand.

“And that’s my step-daughter,” Layla points to you as you stand beside Marc. “Y/N.”

The man steps away from Marc and offers you a much kinder and much more charming smile than the one he offered Marc.

“Hello, it’s nice meeting you,” you greet with a smile of your own.

And as you stretch out your hand Mogart takes it and leans down to press a kiss on your knuckles. “Delight,” he says, causing you to smile wider and hold his gaze.

Meanwhile, Marc beside you was slowly furrowing his eyebrows and trying not to pierce daggers into the man with his glare.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Mogart tells Layla as he lets you go and turns to walk you away from the ring. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

Layla sighs. “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?” She asks.

And once you walk out of the ring with Mogart, the men that were inside continue with their game.

“Well,” Mogart answers. “I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation. Now if I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?” He asks as he brings you to stop in front of a small glass pyramid that has what Marc is looking for inside.

“Oh, actually our purchases are—”

“I’m sorry,” Mogart cuts Layla off before she can finish her explanation. “I’d like to hear from your husband, if you don’t mind.”

He’s playing with her.

Marc hums, and Mogart hums in agreement as he folds his arms over his chest and waits.

“I think that…” Marc begins to say. “But I think I just would love to take a look.”

Mogart keeps quiet for a moment before commenting, “funny man.”

You keep your gaze on him for a moment to try and figure him out, to try and read what he’s playing at, but you get interrupted by Layla grabbing your arm to pull you inside the pyramid.

“Please, just let Steven out before you blow this,” Layla tells Marc as you walk to Senfu.

“Not a chance,” Marc retorts. “All right, what do you see?”

You begin to walk around as you study the sarcophagus, noticing text carved on the wood.

“Well,” Layla answers before you can. “The burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts.”

“The what?” Marc questions.

“It’s legit,” you answer as you come to stop to look inside, noticing something over the corpse.

“But all I see is literature to guide the dead,” Layla adds. “There’s no location indicated.”

You sigh and point to the dark material within. “Don’t think it’d be that easy. Must be uh, coded or something, right, with this?”

“Okay, uh,” Marc cuts in. “Will you guys give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven…just keep him occupied.”

So it is real. Is it? This Steven character.

Nevertheless, after some hesitance you end up trusting him and walk off with Layla to rejoin the men watching from the outside.

“He just needs a couple minutes in there alone,” Layla tries to explain. The guard tries to walk in, but she grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Please, yeah. He is…he’s praying,” she excuses his actions.

When you look over you see him talking to himself with his back turned, so you understand why it’d look weird, why the guard continues watching him without as much as listening to what Layla has to say. Nor does Mogart actually pay any attention to her or you whatsoever anymore.

Furthermore, before you the guard doesn’t wait and departs from the group.

“Wait,” you try to stop him, but he doesn’t stop, he walks in the pyramid.

When you go in after him he immediately pulls out his gun. “What are you doing?” He demands to know from Marc.

You try to pull apart your bracelets but as Marc hears, he instantly turns and manages to steal the gun and point it at the guard instead, causing more guards to point guns at both Layla and you in retaliation, and forcing you to stop from grabbing your own weapons.

“Marc!” Layla exclaims, “don’t.”

Said man looks over and his eyes widen as he sees what unfolded.

“Shit,” he hisses and hands the guard his gun back, letting one guard point at both Layla and you so he the other could walk over to Marc, before finally letting Mogart walk in after Marc.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart spats. “Get on your knees.”

“Anton, stop!” Layla tries to talk him down.

But Mogart ignores her. “Get on your knees,” he repeats himself. And to your surprise Marc does as he’s told—“Layla,” Mogart says and looks back at her. “I was so ready to make peace with you.”

The guard behind you nudges both Layla and you inside with his gun high, causing you to peer back and glare at him.

“You don’t understand,” Layla rebuttals. “We’re trying to save many lives.”

There’s four guards in here with guns, Mogart is too pretty to be holding anything, so it’s just the four guns. You have weapons, Layla also has her own daggers, and Marc has the suit so it can be manageable, you can take ‘em together if you try.

“Hey, pal,” Marc interjects. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus.” Marc points his head to said object. “There’s somethin’ really, really big.”

Mogart slowly gets closer, but his guard then walks to him and whispers something in his ear that makes him turn to look at the three of you.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Mogart says a bit smugly. “It appears we have a concerned third party here.” He begins to walk out now. “Get up.” He orders Marc

Said man does as he’s told, and as you all get walked out, there walking towards you is the same older gentleman from before, Arthur Harrow Marc said his name was.

“Whatever they’ve told you,” he adds. “I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.”

Sure just like how he offered that poor old man food and shelter only to kill him. So much for justice. He’s nothing but an evil old man.

Regardless, Harrow shows off the scarab in his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you have the treasure,” he continues to try and convince Mogart.

“Anton,” Layla tries to talk to him. “Anton, don’t listen to this man. He’s trying to stop us from reaching—”

“Please, stop,” Mogart cuts her off as he turns swiftly to point at her.

“He’s gonna kill millions, trust her!” You exclaim out of annoyance that he was being so ignorant.

Mogart glances at you and then glares at Layla. “Do you seriously want me to trust you, Layla?”

“Please,” Harrow interrupts, making you groan—“there’s no need to descend into violent accusations. Each one of you has so much more in common than you know. Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your fathers murder from reopening. But something stands in your way. Your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.”

You look between Layla and Marc in confusion and worry, hoping that what this man was talking about was out of his ass to just turn them against each other.

“And Marc,” Harrow continues to say and creates more tension. “You don’t tell her because you know if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

“You piece of shit—”

“You distance yourself from your daughter,” Harrow cuts him off, making your breath catch and your eyes narrow. “In hopes that will keep her safe from that within, when reality that’s not what will destroy her, but yourself.” His eyes slide to you and he tilts his head. “And you, you use violence to silence the pain your father caused, but there's also a small part of you that enjoys it. That control. Just like him.”

The balls on this man.

You scoff and narrow your glare on him. “You fucking piece of shit,” you grumble, but he just ingores you and turns to Mogart.

“Anton,” he says and lifts his cane that begins to glow purple once again. Just like last time. “The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it’s real.” He begins to walk ahead and continues to speak. “This sarcophagus does not belong to anyone.”

Suddenly as the man stops speaking the lights around begin to flicker, and the breeze begins to pick up.

“Anton,” Harrow speaks, “would you like to see for yourself?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mogart’s response let’s Harrow begin to chant, it makes the wind blow harder, the lights flicker with more urgency it seems, and that purple hue begins to grow brighter and surrounds the sarcophagus before destroying it.

“That's just a taste of the godly power I offer.” Harrow says as he continues to walk away.

Nevertheless, it’s while you were busy focusing on what was happening around you that you don’t notice Marc disappear until people from within the ring point it out.

However, you don’t lose him for long because as you look up at what stands on top of a glass pyramid, you see Marc in his suit.

He’s there, looking down at everyone, and you can’t help but smile.

Nevertheless, since everyone else sees him, Mogart is taken away, the guards around you lift their guns to shoot. But Marc quickly throws one dagger and takes out the guard by Layla, leaving the one still pointing his gun at you.

It seems that Marc is going to jump down and attack him that way, but the man instead hooks his arm around your throat and presses his gun at your head. “I will shoot her!” He bellows and begins to step back.

Marc lands on the ground and pulls out two more crescent moon daggers, whilst Layla begins to approach with a gun she grabs from the ground.

“Back off!” The guard yells at Layla and points his gun at her too, making Layla stop in her tracks.

“Please,” you feign a shaky voice and slowly begin to raise your hands in the air. “Please let me go.”

“Tell him to—”

Before he can finish his demands you flip the blade hidden in your ring and stab his jaw, making him groan and step back as he grabs his bleeding wound. You then spin around and kick him in the gut before pulling out the dagger from your bracelet and slicing his throat.

When the man falls you pick his gun off the ground, and then turn to see Marc’s glowing white eyes slightly widened.

“G-Cool,” he stammers.

You shoot him a smirk before you catch a line of guards approaching from the ring. When Layla notices she grabs your hand and pulls you towards Marc as he pulls his cloak around the both of you as the bullets fire…without as much as making a hole.

“Buy me some time,” Layla tells Marc.

Said man, without hesitation assures her, “I can do that.”

He then pulls away and twirls around to throw daggers at most of them out of his cape, before throwing his crescent daggers at the stragglers, leaving you in awe.

Layla then tries to take you with her, but you pull your hand away from her grip and shake your head. “No,” you protest. “Go, I'll stay here with him.”

Layla tries to argue but you turn away before she can and follow after Marc.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts when he notices you.

You lift your earphones and put them in your ears. “Helping,” you retort. You then turn your music on before jumping over the fence and throwing out a small explosive at the group of approaching guards, whilst Marc takes down more by himself.

Of course before you vanished into nothing but a pile of dust, Marc told you about his alter ego Moon Knight, who was brought thanks to Khonshu. But you never got to witness his capabilities. Marc always tried to tell you but stories aren’t the same as actually witnessing it for yourself. And now that you see him you can’t help but feel that same awe you felt when he’d tell you.

It’s not something you wouldn’t tell him though. Not anymore. Nor will you let him catch the awe on your face, so before he can see any sort of reaction, you use your gun and shoot at two approaching men, before Marc covers you and throws daggers at the other two that began to shoot.

More come from behind so you break away from Marc and pick up a spear from the ground to hurl it one before throwing a paralyzing gadget at the other three. One man tries to sneak up behind you, but you catch a glimpse of him and throw your elbow back on his nose before twirling around and slamming your bracelet on his neck to electrocute him, before using your ring to cut his throat.

As he falls to the ground you turn and see that Marc is getting overwhelmed, even more guards come out from who knows where and all continue to try to surround him, and you. Mostly him, so you look around for something else to use to help him, and actually see a horse someone abandoned still tied at a pole by the fence.

Alas, on your run to the horse one guy tries to rush you, while another tries to shoot you. But the one with the gun out gets a crescent dagger thrown to his chest, letting you use the gun to shoot at the one running at you.

After that you make it to the horse without an obstacle, but the horse gets spooked, and when it sees you approach it exclaims and jumps up on its back legs.

“It’s okay,” you try to assure the horse and throw your hands out. “Shh, it’s okay, I just…want to help,” you continue and slowly step towards the rope.

The horse gets back on all fours but fidgets. Yet it doesn’t try to kick you when you untie it, it stays put and lets you approach it—“that’s a good horse,” you whisper and brush your hand on its side before climbing on. “Now, let’s go take out those bad men.”

A smirk plays on your lips, and as you get the horse to run forward, as you feel the breeze on your face, you begin to grin and keep your eyes on Marc, and those guards who wants to kill you both. As you approach the spear you hurled at one guard, you throw your hand out and grab it, but as you try to pull it out of his body as the horse runs ahead, you almost get your arm ripped out of your freaking socket.

“Oh by the—fuck,” you grumble and roll your shoulder back. “Mother fuck—”

Nevertheless, you brush your pain aside and make the horse run faster. As you approach Marc, you lift your arm and smirk mischievously before you throw it at the man he had behind him.

Marc tries to look over as he notices but another guard tries to take him from the front and distracts him. So you nonetheless have your back turned to him as the horse continues forward. When you turn, you see Marc in a different outfit, in the plain white suit.

“All right, time out!” He shouts in the british accent—Steven. “That’s it, time out! Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? We’re all worked up! Let’s all just, like, chill the F out and talk for a second…” Before he can finish, his spear gets thrown at his back. Another man on a horse comes racing past you and stabs another spear in him.

When you get close to him again he suddenly changes again and he’s in his previous outfit with the cloak on.

You would’ve asked why the sudden change, but there’s no time now, so you make the horse run faster and head towards the man on the other horse. He sees you approaching him and raises his spear as he makes own horse sprint towards you.

One of the other men nearby rushes you and ends up pulling you off the horse. When you hit the ground you land on the man. He tries to push you off, but you slam your bracelet on his neck and electrocute him first before punching him and knocking him out.

Now albeit, when you stand to your feet, the man on the horse comes running at you. He lifts his spear, but you raise your gun and shoot him first, leaving no one in front of you so you turn.

However, when you do turn, you see Marc with spears all over his body, and see Layla get cut by Mogart.

“Layla!” Marc shouts before you could.

You try to run to her, but Mogart grabs a spear and turns on his horse to face Layla now. Meanwhile, Marc was on the floor with the spears still on him.

There was a choice to make, help Marc so he can help Layla, or help her and risk Mogart getting her first.

No matter what jealousy brewed by the attention Marc was just giving her and the apology he gave her first, you love her too much to lose her, so you make your choice and run to Marc. There were only three men, so you raise your gun and shoot, but find the gun without bullets, so you just throw it out and grab your dagger to hurl at one man’s back.

The second one on Marc’s side looks over and grabs his gun to shoot at you; and he actually does shoot a bullet, but you slide down on your feet and use your last dagger and hurl at him.

He deflects it and continues to shoot, but Marc then uses the man’s own spear and pushes him back before turning to get the other.

And while Marc is distracted on the third man, the second one tries to cut him, but you pull your dagger out of the other man’s body and throw it at his hand this time, causing him to drop the spear. You then pick his gun off the ground and shoot him just as Marc turns to deal with him.

Marc then looks over at you and you meet his glowing gaze, and in between pants point to Mogart with your head. “Go.” You mouth.

Without a second to waste Marc turns and breaks into a sprint towards Layla. Mogart does the same. But just before Mogart reaches Layla, Marc grabs her in time and flips her over, forcing Mogart to continue running ahead, this time towards you.

His eyes then proceed to fall on you, but you don’t move and just hold his gaze with a scowl since you see Marc throw his dagger at him.

Mogart furrows his eyebrows in confusion at your reaction, but in that moment before he can even try and hurt you, the dagger stabs him in the back and he goes on ahead and leaves you.

When he’s out of sight and no longer a threat, you pick up your daggers and clip it back on your wrist before heading towards Layla and Marc.

“Y/N, are you okay?!” Marc asks as he turns to meet you halfway once he’s secured Layla.

“Yeah,” you assure him without the attitude. When he reaches you and you both stop, he grabs your shoulders and makes his mask disappear so his face is visible now.

“Are you okay?” He asks again and scans you for any injuries.

You look at his hands before you meet his gaze and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I told you,” you pant. “I can protect myself.”

Marc cups your cheek with one hand, making you stiffen and avert your gaze to look over at Layla now. Once she meets your gaze you quickly pull away from Marc and run to her.

“Layla,” you exclaim, and quickly grab her arms once you reach her. “Are you okay?”

Said woman nods and grabs your wrists to redirect your question. “Are you okay?”

You offer her a half smile and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. I'm glad. I’m proud.”

You smile wider and let her go to turn and face Marc as he approaches the both of you.

“Do you have it?” He directs at Layla.

“Yeah,” she assures him. “We need a car.”

He nods. “Yeah, come on.”

——

*LATER*

You: You’ll get a name when you give me yours so for now I’ll just tell you my name is wolf.

You press send without regret and wait now, hope Spider-Man might answer back—given you were going to answer earlier but well the fight happened.

“Ay,” you hear Marc comment from the front of a…borrowed car. “I really liked that jacket.” He throws his jacket back over the pile of backpacks set beside you, and turns his neck to steal one glance at you before turning back again.

“What was Harrow talking about?” Layla asks Marc, and you lower your music as your interest is piqued.

“What do you mean?” Marc asks as he takes off his shirt.

“He said I had a right to know,” Layla adds.

“I have no idea,” he assures her as he throws his shirt back before you catch him, from the corner of your eyes, pointing at his bag. “Y/N, pass me the white hoodie in my bag.”

You put your phone down and pretend to be uninterested as you reach over and unzip his backpack.

“I never told anyone why I really moved,” Layla says, whilst you pull out what he asked for as he answers her.

“I don’t know, he’s just trying to mess with you….”

Your phone vibrates with an incoming message so you quickly push the hoodie to Marc to pick up your phone, noticing it was Spidey, and going unaware that Marc lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning away.

“…you know he’s trying to get in your mind. No, don’t let him do that. You know he’s got this idea that can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?” Marc finishes saying while you unlock your phone to read the message.

Unknown

Alright, fair. That’s fair. By the way, wolf is a cool name, or alias or whatever.

You scoff softly in amusement and continue to listen to the conversation happening from the front of the car.

“So, it’s not true?” Layla asks Marc. “What he said about you and…”

“No, it’s not true, of course not,” Marc cuts her off to assure her. “No, he’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head.”

So what Harrow said about Marc and you, what is it? Is it true? Or is it a lie?

If it was a lie though, why would he say that Marc is trying to protect you from the bastard god that has him imprisoned?

Maybe he’s just trying to get your hopes up to then get them crushed when Marc reveals the actual truth that he doesn’t care.

Maybe that’s it. Which would prove your grandmother right.

“Every time I learn something new about you,” Layla adds. “I think, “that’s it. There can’t possibly be any secrets left between us.” And then something else pops up, and it’s like I’ve not known you at all.”

“Yeah,” Marc doesn’t fret to agree. “You haven’t. You don’t.”

As conflicted as you currently felt, you know for sure that what he said now to Layla was rude. She doesn’t deserve that even if it might be true.

Which is why you get discouraged to bring up your own questions on the same Harrow regard. Marc would just turn you down, lie. There’s no point. So you leave it alone and get back to answering the message.

You

Thanks :) Now tell me Spider-Man and be honest are you an old weird man? Cause yes I might be into older men but I need to know who I’m talking to. Weird? Perv? Too young?

You leave the message app and turn up your music, you look up again and now see both Layla and Marc as far as apart as they can be. Layla's eyes are watery, and Marc wears an…upset frown on his face as he stares out the window.

Now you feel shame for feeling happy that they had gotten into an argument earlier.

Yet deep down not really. Part of you…that deep flawed part of you doesn’t want them to reconcile, to be happy, not until he can talk to you first, not until he apologizes to you first. No matter how much you do love Layla.

Is that bad? Does it make you a bad friend? A bad step daughter? An even worse daughter?

Maybe. But you can’t deny what you feel.

Regardless, your phone vibrates and a message from Spidey pops up.

Unknown

No to your first two questions. At least I don’t think I’m weird. But I’ll tell you my age when you do. Cat burglar.

You scoff and don’t wait now, you’re too intrigued.

You

I TOLD YOU! I DO NOT STEAL! everything I take is already stolen and sold on the black market. I just steal from the actual stealers and return the items to their rightful owners.

And! no. You’re a man, I know men. I’ll take my caution. Tell me your age first.

As you wait now, you glance up to try and look out the window, to try and watch the stars, and the moon follow the car, but you end up catching Marc’s stare through his side-view mirror.

“Tell me you’re not actually texting that spider guy,” he says when you catch his stare. He then turns around on his seat to look at you.

You scoff and blink in disbelief before you narrow your glare on him. “Why should it matter?” You snap.

“Why—because y/n he can be a creep, you don’t know him!” He argues.

You pull out one earphone and quickly defend yourself. “If he was a creep would he go on saving people. And think about it, when you meet someone, you initially don’t know—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t give me that crap. I don’t want you texting him.”

You feign a laugh and shake your head. “I am nineteen now, I can text who I want. And please don’t you give me that dad crap because you will not like where I’ll take it. Unless you want to talk about shit?” You wait and hold his gaze for him to say something, anything. But he just presses his lips togehter and sighs.

You wait longer, for a moment longer in hopes he’d add anything, but he continues to keep quiet and turns back around.

“Exactly,” you grumble, and ignore your eyes beginning to sting and just put your earphone back on to blast music in your ears to block him out.

When you look down at your phone you see Spider-Man had texted you back.

Unknown

I’m 19. Now you. I need to know who I’m talking to.

You let out all your frustration through a deep breath and answer him.

You

I’m also 19. Yet I’m not so convinced about you.

A couple minutes pass and a message is sent back.

Unknown

Well, girl who gave me her number without knowing me I don’t know what to say

You’re gonna have to trust to me

You slowly smile at your phone and counter his comment

You

Will I regret it? Be honest.

This time when you wait, he takes longer to respond. You try not to let it get to you. You try not to get anxious and check your screen in hopes you just didn’t feel your phone vibrate, or maybe while you were checking the message somehow hid from you.

You try to watch the stars that you pass, the glowing moon that follows the car—

Perhaps it’s the time difference. Maybe he’s working, in school. Or…maybe he fell asleep.

Maybe you came on too strong? Or—

You break from your train of thought as you feel your phone vibrate. When you check you see that it was him.

He did respond.

Unknown

I don’t know

You hum at his response but find it intriguing so you answer.

You

Okay, Spidey, I’ll risk it.

You smirk and look up, noticing now that everything around you was darker as the city lights began to get further and further the deeper you drove into the desert. Now all that basked the car and your surroundings was the car's headlights, and the stars and moon’s hue that was nothing compared to London, Chicago or New York’s stars and moon shine.

Out here, even if it was in the middle of nowhere the stars shone a lot brighter, more beautiful. The Milky Way was actually visible from the desert.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you mumble as you shut the car door and look up at the night sky.

“Until you get lost,” Marc mutters while he pulls out something from his backpack before shutting his door and joining Layla at the hood of the car to begin piecing together some sort of astrological map.

However, it doesn’t turn out to be so easy, seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to an hour.

“Try that,” Marc tells Layla as he hands her a piece.

Layla tapes it to the other piece and then adds, “maybe, actually.”

“This one?” Marc suggests as he hands her another larger piece.

Layla takes it and presses it down. “Uh…no. Anything else?”

“I’m not getting any whole constellations,” Marc says. “It’s just little pieces and fragments.” He then proceeds to slam his hands on the hood out of frustration. He sighs and walks by you. “This is gonna take forever,” he adds.

You sigh and look up at the sky before you look down at Marc. “Maybe Steven can come out?” You suggest and begin to swing your feet from where you sit on the hood of the car.

Marc sighs and picks up head to look over at you.

“From what I’ve gathered he has a good understanding of all of this,” you continue. “I think it’s worth giving him a shot so we don’t waste more time.”

Marc stays quiet and hesitates, making Layla interject. “Marc, we can’t wait. It’s okay, just let go. We don’t have time.”

Marc suddenly groans and storms over to rip the side view mirror off the car and take it with him as he suddenly walks over to grab all the pieces off the hood without any sort of explanation.

“What are you doing?” Layla questions.

Marc continues not to answer and walks away from the car. He doesn’t walk far but in the spot he stops at he dumps out all of his stuff before looking through the side mirror he ripped out.

“What’s going on?” You question as both Layla and you continue to watch him.

Layla sighs and shrugs, whilst you see Marc get down on his knees and stick the pieces together. Which meant…he was Steven now?

You slide off the hood and begin to slowly follow Layla towards…Steven.

“…I don’t need that,” you hear him whisper as you approach him.

Layla gets down on her knees beside him and calls him out, “Steven?”

Said man turns and looks at her. His gaze lingers for a brief second before he interjects, “Egyptians invented modern navigation.” He pulls out more tape and bends down. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert. So they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. It’s bloody genius, isn’t it?”

It’s weird now, now that you’re grasping that your dad has alters, that Steven is an alter born out of a dissociative identity disorder. It’s just that’s the only thing that explains this accent, this change, and the fact that he knew nothing about you.

It’s something you’ve seen on tv, you’ve read in textbooks, but you never imagined you’d actually meet someone that has multiple personalities. So it’s weird because his face is your dad, a man you’ve known for nineteen years, but this accent, this completely different personality is a different person.

It’s weird to get used to. And it’s especially hard not to be mad at him because Steven does carry the same face as Marc.

How does Layla do it? How can she differentiate them so quickly?

“Et voila,” Steven says and shows off the map pieces he turned to a star.

“Whoa,” Layla gasps and takes it from him.

“It’s French,” Steven mumbles as he can’t take his eyes off her.

Layla laughs. “I know.” Her gaze lingers on him before she looks back to show you the star-shaped map.

You get closer and squint your eyes, and find yourself actually smiling in awe as you can actually see the constellation.

“So,” you add. “What do we do with it?”

“Well,” Steve says and takes the star back. “I’m not sure, but if…” he moves it and then puts it against the light. “Hand on a minute. You see that? You see those little pinpricks there? That’s a constellation.”

“We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right?” Layla asks and pulls up her tablet. “Let me just scan it.”

You scoff. “I don’t think it’s gonna work,” you point out and prop your hand on your hip. “You see if you think about it, uh—”

“It’s not working,” Layla mumbles and puts down the tablet.

“Yes, no it won’t,” you explain to her. “The stars drift over time, not so much, but what was in the sky then won’t be the same now. But it could mean the difference between us searching miles and miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking.”

Layla smiles, and Steven grins as he nods in agreement. “Yes!” He exclaims. “Yes, so basically, Senfu marked that tomb, like, two thousand years ago. So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date, we’re beggard.”

You sigh, “yeah.” You look away from the map and look back at Steven, noticing that he seemed to be a thousand miles away himself now.

“Steven?” You call out softly and follow his line of gaze, seeing nothing.

Said man looks back at you and Layla and points ahead. He begins to walk off and Layla and you follow. Albeit you follow with more caution than she does.

Once you reach a sandy hill, Steven calls out. “Khonshu?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the sound of the name and you continue to watch Steven until suddenly the air begins to pick up and sand rolls back.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Yet you get no answer, instead Steven puts his arms out, looks up at the sky and gets his suit on.

You glance down at Layla and she glances up at Steven. When you look at him again he has hands up and suddenly purple begins to color the night sky before the stars begin to spin around, as if it’s some earth globe.

“What,” you gasp in awe and feel shivers down your spine. The sky turns brighter and spins faster until suddenly it stops and the constellation from the map shows up on the sky.

“That’s it,” you mumble and watch Layla lift the tablet to record it.

“This is surprisingly painful,” Steven comments.

“It’s working,” Layla mentions and begins to walk around him to get the entire constellation overhead.

“I can feel my energy leaving me,” Steven groans, and you see his mask disappear from his face, whilst the stars in the sky begin to shake—“oh, god, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

You look back at Layla and see that it’s almost complete. “Just hold on, a while longer,” you assure him.

Seconds later the computerized voice speaks the coordinates.

“I got it,” Layla exclaims. “29 degrees north, 25 east.”

Steven falls on his hands and knees and groans in pain, causing you to rush over to him to help him up, whilst his outfit completely disappears and the sky turns back to normal.

However, Steven falls again and you fall to your knees with him, noticing now that he went unconscious.

“Da—Steven?” You call, and Layla rushes over to help you flip him over. “Steven,” you try again and pick up his head. “Hey. Steven? Dad? Come on. Come on.” Your voice begins to quiver and your eyes begin to sting. “Come on.”

“Steven?” Layla calls out too and brushes back his hair. “Marc? Where are you?”

He continues to lay unconscious and his pulse feels weak.

“Hey,” you call out quieter. “Come on. Wake up. Please.” Your heart begins to race, and your stomach begins to churn as your mind races with the worst. “Wake the hell up!”

“Let’s take him to the car,” Layla says and walks to grab his legs, whilst you grab him from his arms to begin slowly carrying him down the sandy hill to reach the car.

Albeit, you don’t end up making it far at all because different car headlights show up whilst an engine is heard nearby.

“Shit,” you hiss and get down to begin carrying your fathers body that way.

Yet guns begin to get fired, so you have to let go so he can roll down and get down faster. His body then ends up tripping Layla and she rolls down with him.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim as you slide down the sandy hill.

The car begins to drive down so you break into a sprint and almost trip on your way down. Luckily you don’t roll down and end up stumbling close to Layla.

“Explosive,” she whispers. “They have explosives in the back of the car.”

You look over and see them beginning to turn.

“Go,” you urge her. “I’ll stay back with him.”

Without a second thought Layla begins to sprint over. The moment she makes it to the car the other car turns and begins to head towards her, making you clench your jaw and dig your nails in your palms.

You see Layla opening the trunk, but you also hear people speaking in Arabic as they drive closer. Once they begin to drive towards the trunk you hold your breath and let your body slide down a little bit.

Nevertheless, they don’t get off or spot her, they continue to turn and point their lights in your direction, so you gasp softly and lay on the ground to close your eyes and pretend to be dead.

They don’t seem to get out of the car but they also don’t fucking leave. Albeit you do hear one scream before they smack their car and finally turn away. As you look up you see them facing Layla holding a red match before they begin to shoot and drive towards her.

You want to yell out to get their attention, but Layla then gets down and hides the light, making them stop shooting and drive closer. And the moment they’re closer, Layla crawls to the other side and lights another match to throw it in their trunk and set off their explosives. Finally making them stop.

“What’s—”

At the sound of Steven’s voice you gasp and jump back. “<What the hell is your fucking problem?>” You swear off in Spanish as you clutch onto your chest and push yourself to your feet.

“Did I scare you?” Steven asks as he follows you towards Layla. “I'm so sorry!”

You wave him off and let out a deep breath as you head back towards your seat in the back, missing the way Steven stares at Layla in awe until she comments on it. “What?”

Is it weird to be confused about their relationship? It feels like Steven is being weird with Layla since she is married, but at the same time she is married to him…his body, his face, so is it weird to be rooting for their reconcile and at the same time their downfall?

Ah. It’s too confusing.

Music should help.

Yet…

“What are you listening to?” Steven asks as he crawls into the back with you.

“Uh,” you hum as you watch him struggle to swing his legs over. “Just, uhm,” you mumble and lean back so you don’t get hit by his body. “Yep, just….”

He falls on the bags and groans softly before turning around and pushing the things aside to sit down.

“Okay,” you laugh softly. “Yep.”

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly.

You glance at him and then back at your phone and nod slowly. “Hi,” you say back.

“So, what you listening to?” He presses.

You sigh and turn your phone on to show him the song that popped up first when you hit play.

“Ah, This Feeling by Alabama shakes, cool. That’s cool.”

“One of my favorites,” you mumble.

“You know,” he scoffs lightheartedly. “I really like this song called, Lobo-hombre en Paris by, uh, La Unión.”

You lick your lips and look up at him. “Really?” You probe. “That’s crazy, that's one of my favorites…”

You heard it from Marc actually.

“Oh, really?!” Steven exclaims. “That’s so cool! Cool.” He nods.

You hum and sigh softly, whilst Steven rummages through his jacket pocket until he pulls out something small.

“I think,” he interjects, “this belongs to you. Maybe.” He opens his fist, and there on his palm is a small carved wooden wolf. It was once yours, it was a gift from Marc.

“Uh...” you swallow thickly, and pull your headphones off. “Yeah. Well it was mine.”

He hums and holds it between his fingers to study the gray and brown wooden wolf. “I’ve always carried it with me, I never remember how I got it, but one thing I did know is that it helped me feel…safe. Calm. So I made sure never to lose it.”

Your eyes and throat begin to sting, and suddenly you feel at a loss for words

“I think it’s yours though,” he continues to add. “I mean because Layla calls you wolf, like the animal, so I assume—”

“Again, it was mine,” you interject. “I gave it back to Marc a long time ago. When he was leaving to one of his many trips around the world,” you begin to say and take the wooden wolf from Steven. “I told him it would keep him safe and that it would be like taking me with him wherever he went. Because I remembered that when he gave it to me he said that he picked it out because it reminded him of me. I was around five, so you can imagine how happy that made me.” You sniffle and hand it back to Steven. “Now, you keep it.”

Steven shakes his head and tries to give it back, but you close his hand around the wooden wolf and offer him a soft smile.

“Keep it,” you assure him. “It will continue to keep you calm. And so you can remember me.” You grin.

“But,” he tries to interject. “It’s from your dad. Which oddly enough your dad is…me? My body?”

You giggle. “Yeah, it’s confusing, but just keep it, please. I want you to keep it. It’ll keep you safe.”

Steven holds your gaze for a second before he sighs and nods with a faint smile on his face. “Thanks,” he whispers.

The sight of his face makes you want to punch him less, but he still is your dad so your anger isn’t actually gone completely.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “For the way I acted with you before. You’re obviously not Marc, so my anger is not directed towards you. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

Steven scoffs softly and shakes his head. “No, don't worry about it. I get it. Marc is an arse.”

You nod softly in agreement.

“Can I ask, what did he do? What happened?”

Your eyes flicker down and a shaky sigh escapes past your lips. “Don’t…don’t worry about it,” you deflect his question. “It wasn’t you.” You offer him one last smile before you put your earphones back on and continue to listen to music as you continue towards the tomb.

Unbeknownst to you, while you apologized to Steven, as you warmed up to him, Marc from within was growing jealous that it wasn’t him who you were talking to; that talking to you couldn’t be as easy as Steven was making it out to be.

A/N- Now is y/n’s fascination with older men because of her daddy issues or because it might be leading to something else? 🤔

Tagged: @broadwaytraaaaash

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