A Life in Marvel
Chapter 1
The world didn't so much fade into existence as it did coalesce from a fog of forgotten dreams and the phantom static of a life already lived. One moment, there was the cold, final embrace of oblivion, the next, the warmth of a sunbeam on his face and the distant, happy shrieks of children playing outside. The memories came in a jumble, a chaotic mashup of two lives. There was the life of an office drone, of late-night gaming sessions, of comic books and movies, and then there was the life of Morgan McCann, a scrawny kid with asthma and a penchant for hiding in libraries. The two merged, not with a painful snap, but with a gentle, almost terrifying seamlessness.
He was Morgan McCann now. And he was in the Marvel universe.
The realization wasn't a shock. It was a slow, dawning dread that settled in his gut like a stone. He remembered the headlines, the events that were still years away for this world. The Chitauri invasion. Ultron. Thanos. He knew about the gods and monsters, the super-soldiers and the gamma-radiated behemoths who would one day decide the fate of everything. And what was he? Morgan McCann. A kid with a slightly better-than-average memory for a twelve-year-old and a persistent cough.
That dread lasted for about a week. Then, something else started to surface. It wasn't a mutation in the classic comic book sense, no sudden burst of cosmic rays or radioactive spider bite. It was a quiet, insidious whisper at the back of his mind. At first, it was just a heightened sense of empathy. He'd know his mother was worried about her bills before she even sighed. He'd sense his father's frustration with his boss from the way he gripped his steering wheel. Then, the whispers turned into words. Not clear sentences, but the surface-level chatter of people's minds, the unspoken thoughts that floated just above their consciousness.
*God, I hate this meeting.*
*I hope I remembered to turn off the iron.*
*She's cute. I wonder if she'll say yes.*
It was overwhelming at first, a constant barrage of mental noise. He learned to build walls in his mind, to tune it out like background radio static. But the other part of his power was harder to ignore. When he touched someone, skin to skin, it was more than just the warmth of their body. He could *feel* them. The tension in their shoulders, the flutter of anxiety in their stomach, the low hum of arousal, the sharp sting of pain. He was a human emotional and physiological barometer.
He tested it, cautiously at first. A handshake with a nervous classmate told him the boy was terrified of failing an upcoming test. A high-five with a friend revealed a secret crush on the girl next to him. It was a potent, invasive power, and one that made him retreat even further into himself. He was already an introvert by nature, and this constant influx of others' inner worlds made his own feel like the only truly safe space.
His one constant, his one anchor in this strange new life, was Gwen Stacy.
They'd been friends since they were five, two quiet kids who'd rather read than play tag. She was brilliant, a firecracker of intellect and curiosity trapped in a world that often didn't know what to do with her. With her, things were simpler. He didn't need his powers to know what she was thinking. Her expressive face and the way she'd bounce on the balls of her feet when she was excited gave her away every time. She was his best friend, his confidant, the one person he didn't have to shield himself from.
As they grew older, their paths diverged slightly. He remained in his comfortable shell, while she began to blossom, her confidence growing with every academic achievement. While Morgan was content to coast, Gwen was sprinting toward a future she'd already mapped out. Her goal was a molecular biology degree from Columbia, followed by a research position at Oscorp, and every AP class, every extracurricular, every late-night study session was a calculated step toward it. She was building her future, brick by brilliant brick. He, on the other hand, lived in a constant low hum of other people's surface thoughts—fleeting worries, idle wants, half-formed fears—but what stayed with him most was what their bodies revealed. He noticed the guarded movements that betrayed old injuries, the way stress settled into shoulders and spines, how pain and emotion tangled together beneath conscious thought. It was an awareness that, one day, could be turned outward into healing: restoring function, easing suffering, helping people feel at home in their bodies again. But for now, they still had their lunch spot under the old oak tree in Midtown High's courtyard, their shared sanctuary, a place where her ambitions could pause and he could simply be.
"Seriously, Morgan, Jessica from chemistry?" Gwen's voice was laced with its usual mix of exasperation and fondness. She was tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the cover of the textbook he was pretending to read. "I saw you two leaving the party together Friday. Don't think I didn't see that hickey on her neck yesterday."
Morgan finally looked up, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "It was a mutual decision, I'll have you know. We're both consenting adults who enjoyed each other's company."
"She's a senior, Morgan. You're a junior," Gwen pressed, her brow furrowing. "And 'enjoying each other's company' is your code for 'you slept with her and now you're going to awkwardly avoid her in the hallways until she gets the hint'."
He shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly casual. "The hint was received Saturday morning. She's a big girl. She knew the score."
"The score?" Gwen let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You make it sound like a game. That party was a mess, by the way. Flash Thompson was trying to get a beer bong going with a soda fountain, and Liz almost called the cops on her own party."
"See? A perfectly chaotic backdrop for a poor decision. It's practically tradition," he said, leaning back against the tree. "Besides, it's not my fault she cornered me by the pool table and started quoting Nietzsche. What was I supposed to do, discuss the abyss? I offered her a different kind of abyss."
Gwen rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn't get stuck. "You're impossible. You use all that brainpower to build walls and find the nearest exit. When are you going to get serious about someone?"
He leaned back against the tree trunk, stretching his legs out. "Gwen, we live in New York City. In a world where gods fall from the sky and giant green rage monsters occasionally level Harlem. What's the point of getting serious? Life's short, and potentially a lot shorter than we think. I'm just… enjoying the ride."
His powers, as weak as they were, had become his ultimate tool for that philosophy. He could feel the subtle shifts in a woman's body language, the flicker of interest in their eyes, the subconscious lean towards him. He knew exactly what to say, when to touch their arm, when to make a joke that would land perfectly. It wasn't mind control; it was more like having the ultimate cheat sheet to human interaction. He could sense their desires, their insecurities, and he could navigate them with an unnerving precision. It had led to a string of casual encounters, a litany of names and faces that blurred together. Schoolmates, girls from parties, even a young, adventurous teaching assistant at a summer college course he'd taken. He was a connoisseur of fleeting connections.
Gwen sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. He felt it wash over him, a cold wave that made him want to shrink back into his book. "It's not just about 'the ride,' Morgan. It's about… connection. Something real. Something that lasts."
"I have something real," he said, gesturing between them. "Us. This. What more do I need?"
Her expression softened, but a new emotion bled through her mental walls, one he usually only caught in fleeting, unguarded moments. It was a deep, aching fondness, layered with a frustration so potent it was almost a physical force. A crush. He'd known for years, of course. He could feel it in the way her heart rate picked up when he was close, in the subtle warmth that spread through her chest whenever he gave her his full attention. He'd always politely ignored it, filing it away in the same mental compartment where he kept the knowledge of impending alien invasions. It was a complication he didn't want or need.
"Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"You wouldn't want to know," he replied, only half-joking.
They sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the schoolyard fading into the background. The sun filtered through the leaves, dappling them in shifting patterns of light and shadow. He could feel the knot of tension in her shoulders, the turmoil in her mind. She was wrestling with something, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was.
Finally, she took a deep breath and turned to face him fully, her blue eyes blazing with a sudden, fierce determination. "Okay. Fine. You want to enjoy life? You don't want to get serious?"
"Yeah?" he said, wary of the turn in the conversation.
"Then enjoy life with me, you idiot."
The words hung in the air between them, sharp and clear. For the first time in a long time, Morgan McCann was completely blindsided. He stared at her, his carefully constructed walls of nonchalance crumbling into dust. He could feel everything pouring out of her now, no longer held back by polite restraint. The desire, the hope, the fear of rejection, the years of pent-up affection. It was a tidal wave of emotion, and it was all directed at him.
His first instinct was to retreat, to make a joke, to deflect like he always did. But looking at her, at the raw vulnerability on her face, something inside him shifted. All this time, he'd been 'enjoying the ride' with strangers, with women whose names he'd forget, all while the one person who truly knew him, who truly cared for him, was sitting right here. What the hell was he doing?
The corner of his mouth twitched into a slow, genuine smile. It wasn't the smirk he used for other girls. This was different. "Alright," he said softly.
He leaned in, closing the distance between them. The kiss wasn't hesitant or clumsy. It was deliberate, sensual. He poured all the charm he usually reserved for his conquests into it, but this time it was different. It wasn't a performance. He could feel her gasp against his lips, a jolt of pure, unadulterated surprise and pleasure shooting through her. He deepened the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her soft blonde hair. He felt the last of her resistance melt away, replaced by a wave of dizzying exhilaration.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily. Gwen's cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mixture of disbelief and a dawning, triumphant joy. Morgan could feel it all. The frantic, hummingbird beat of her heart, the heat blooming across her skin, the sheer, unadulterated want that rolled off her in waves. It was intoxicating, more potent than any of the casual flings he'd had before. This wasn't a fleeting spark; it was a bonfire that had been smoldering for years, and he had just thrown gasoline on it.
He looked at her, really looked at her, not as his best friend, not as the sister he never had, but as the woman she was. The sun caught in her hair, turning it into a halo of gold. Her lips, swollen from his kiss, were parted slightly as she panted for air. In that moment, the entire philosophy he'd built his second life around—the idea of being a passive observer, of just 'enjoying the ride'—felt hollow and stupid. Why had he been sampling appetizers his whole life when the main course was sitting right in front of him?
A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. It was a look Gwen had seen him give other girls a hundred times, but this time it was different. This time, it was for her. And it sent a jolt of delicious fear straight through her.
"You said to enjoy life with you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm going to make you enjoy this."
Before she could form a coherent reply, he was moving. Not with the frantic haste of a teenager, but with a deliberate, confident grace. He shifted from his spot against the tree, kneeling in the grass before her. The position was one of supplication, but the look in his eyes was anything but. It was dominant, hungry, and promised a world of pleasure she had only ever read about.
"Morgan, what are you doing? We're at school," she whispered, her voice a panicked hiss as she glanced around the courtyard. It was their spot, relatively secluded, but not *that* secluded.
"Relax," he said, his hands resting on her knees. He could feel the tremor that ran through her, the conflict between her rational mind screaming 'no' and her body, already humming with anticipation, screaming 'yes'. "No one comes over here this time of day. And even if they did, they won't see anything." His hands began to slowly slide up her thighs, pushing the hem of her skirt up with them. The rough denim of his jeans against the sensitive skin of her inner legs sent shivers up her spine.
He was using his power, not to read her mind, but to read her body. He could feel the goosebumps rising on her flesh, the way her muscles tensed and then relaxed under his touch. He could feel the heat gathering between her legs, a growing inferno of desire that was already short-circuiting her protests.
"This is crazy," she breathed, but her hands didn't push him away. Instead, they gripped the grass beside her, her knuckles turning white.
"The best things usually are," he chuckled, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her simple cotton panties. He looked up at her, his eyes locking with hers. "Tell me to stop, Gwen. Right now. And I will."
She stared down at him, at the man who had been her constant companion for over a decade. She saw the challenge in his eyes, but she also saw the question. He was giving her an out. But the thought of stopping was unbearable. All those years of watching him with other girls, of longing for him from afar, and now he was here, on his knees for her. She shook her head, a silent, breathless 'no'.
A triumphant smile was his only answer. He slowly, tantalizingly, pulled her panties down her legs, the delicate fabric whispering against her skin. He tossed them aside, a discarded symbol of their old platonic relationship. And then he leaned in.
The first touch of his tongue against her was a revelation. It wasn't clumsy or uncertain. It was a firm, confident stroke that sent a bolt of pure electricity from her core all the way to her fingertips. She cried out, a sharp, shocked sound that she immediately muffled by clapping a hand over her own mouth.
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"So," she said, her voice a soft murmur. "What now?"
He thought about it for a moment. The old Morgan would have been panicking, already thinking about the exit strategy. But that Morgan was gone, burned away by the fire of what they had just shared. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. "Now," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I take you on a real date. A proper one. Dinner, a movie, the whole nine yards. No more sneaking around under trees."
She laughed, a light, happy sound that made his heart feel full. "I'd like that."
"And then," he continued, "I do this again. And again. And again."
"Good answer," she sighed, contentedly.
They lay there for a while longer, just enjoying the feeling of being close. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and purple, they knew they had to move. They reluctantly separated, straightening their clothes, their movements shy and awkward in a way they hadn't been before. He found her discarded panties and handed them to her, a sheepish grin on his face. She took them, her cheeks flushing, but her eyes were sparkling.
As they walked out of the courtyard, their hands found each other, their fingers intertwining naturally. It felt right. It felt like coming home. They were no longer just Morgan and Gwen, childhood friends. They were Morgan and Gwen, boyfriend and girlfriend. And as they stepped out into the bustling hallways of Midtown High, a new chapter of their lives had just begun. The world was still full of gods and monsters, falling skies and impossible odds. It felt like the beginning of something real—maybe even the beginning of the best ride of all.
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