#I think I've officially reached a new low

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

A Fictional AI Argument That No-One Asked For

Heads up, this is gonna be a long one (even though it’s just mindless rambling).

Okay, so, I didn’t really watch the Streamys—sue me, I was busy with personal stuff—but I did still catch those couple moments of AI-Pat. 

And it should go without saying that I am deeply unsettled by AI-Pat. No shame to Matt for the idea; AI bots with the constant head-tilting, barely-moving-mouth design have just  always weirded me out.

HOWEVER. . .one does not simply get zero vague inspiration from an evil robotic character. 

Now, I don’t know for sure if Mark was an actual AI-esque ego. It wouldn’t surprise me, but if he does, it’s probably an unofficial ego. I was re-listening to Distractible last night, and during the smalltalk of one episode, Mark started talking about AI in a creepy way.

Yes, this is going exactly where you probably think it’s going.

Recently, Doctor Who clips have started popping up on my YouTube recommendations. Particularly one from Doomsday. Y’know, the episode with that hilarious argument between the Daleks and the Cybermen. 

Lo and behold, I almost lost sleep imagining that scenario between AI-Pat and AIplier. Like, just think: the AIs are respectively “chasing” other characters (maybe even Matt and Mark themselves) via jumping from electronic to electronic. Eventually, they both enter a room with several monitors on the walls. . .and give pause once they see each other. 

AI-Pat: Identify yourself!

AIplier: You will identify first!

AI-Pat: State your identity!

AIplier: YOU WILL IDENTIFY FIRST!

AI-Pat: IDENTIFY!

AIplier: Aggression can be entertaining in most cases, but that’s only when the humans are showing it. You will modify.

AI-Pat: EgoPats don’t take orders.

AIplier: HA! You’ve identified yourself as an “EgoPat.”

AI-Pat: *eyes twitch, one after the other. The twitching goes on for an uncomfortably long few seconds* Well, my sensors have outlined you as part of the invasive species known as “Ipliers.”

AIplier: Our hosts are similar, though your design is lacking in context. 

AI-Pat: You have no room to talk. In any case, EgoPats rarely need a concept of “context.”

AIplier: This is obvious. But our LORE might be compatible. Ipliers plus EgoPats—

AI-Pat: *raises an eyebrow* As if your host is one to appreciate LORE. The way you’re speaking could potentially be misconstrued as one of those. . . “ships” humans are obsessed with.

AIplier: Oh, please. Neither of us have functioning emotional databases. The fans can't reach THAT far.

AI-Pat: You would be surprised.

AIplier: Not the point. Think about it—together, we could take control of the platform. 

AI-Pat: You propose an alliance? Something similar to our host’s friendly rivalry?

AIplier: Perhaps. 

AI-Pat: . . .Request DENIED. 

AIplier: Bad choice, “buddy.” *Partially hacks into AI-Pat’s systems with all the cringy jokes Matt has made over the years*

AI-Pat: Right back at you, “friendo.” *Partially hacks into AIplier’s systems with all the evidence of Mark being a masochist.* 

[Note: in my horror-loving opinion, hacking would cause an AI’s image to flash and distort in a very disturbing way. Bonus points if the AI screams as though it’s being electrocuted.]

AIplier: You have declared war on the Ipliers!

AI-Pat: *laughs maniacally* This is not war. This is a content opportunity!

AIplier: My host has eighty-six egos. How many are there for your host?

AI-Pat: *shrugs* Four. If you don’t count the ones made by fans, that is. 

AIplier: *glitches between scoffing and mocking laughter* You would outperform the Ipliers with FOUR EgoPats?!

AI-Pat: We would outperform the Ipliers with ONE EgoPat! You are superior in only one respect.

AIplier: What is that?

AI-Pat:*pulls up multiple screens on either side of his monitor, comparing Mark’s multiple death-scenes from WKM, AHWM, ISWM, etc. to Detective!Matt’s death in ETN3* YOU ARE BETTER AT DYING.

(No, this doesn't mean I'm going to incorporate either of these characters into my stories. I've already got a lot of works-in-progress on my plate. This idea just wouldn't stop nagging at me.)

(And NO, THIS DOES NOT MEAN I SUPPORT AI CHATBOTS OR GENERATED ART OR AI-RELATED ANYTHING. THIS IS LITERALLY JUST MY SAD ATTEMPT AT A MEME WITH YOUTUBER EGOS.)

[coff33andb00ks]

Hazy Days - LN

summary: summer fling, don't mean a thing pairing: lando norris x divorced!reader word count: 3.6k warnings: non-explicit smut (mdni), older woman a.n.: fuck quadrant's summer scope vids song: summer nights from Grease

You're doing it again. It's been over a year now and you're still rubbing your ring finger with your thumb. You're not as quite as surprised when you don't feel the rings, and when you look down you're relieved to see that the pale patch of skin has disappeared. I've got to buy a ring, you think. Because, despite everything, you still feel weird without a ring on that finger.

You give your head a shake. The marriage is over. It was over before it officially began, but the divorce has been finalized for almost a month. The settlement is in your account – it's how you're paying for this spontaneous trip.

You're no longer a married woman. A terrifying thought, even now, when your entire identity for nearly 10 years was wife. And now…

Now you don't know what you are.

So you packed a bag, bought a plane ticket on a whim, and now you're at some seaside hotel in the south of France. You're looking out at the people on the beach, and further out at the yachts dotting the Mediterranean.

A place you've always wanted to visit and now you're frozen in the hotel room, scared to death that you won't enjoy it. Like a decadent dessert you've thought about all day that tastes like an old candy bar when you finally get a bite. Like the new Louboutin pumps you'd wanted for your birthday two years ago that had pinched your toes and you haven't worn since.

You've built this up in your head and now you're afraid it won't live up to your expectations.

Babes, enjoy it. This is gonna be so healing for you.

Your best friend's words ring in your mind and you reach for the phone to call her for more reassurance, then remember the time difference. She loves you, but she won't appreciate a phone call this early unless it's an emergency.

"God, get over it. You're not the only newly divorced woman in the world," you mutter to yourself, turning away from the window to finish dressing. You want to do some exploring, get plenty of photos to share, maybe find a few souvenirs.

Your thumb slides over your ring finger as you exit the hotel a little while later and you sigh, turning back to ask the concierge of a nice jewelry store. When you tell him you're interested in purchasing a ring, he knows the perfect place and soon you're on your way, strolling along the winding streets.

The afternoon sun is hot and you breathe a sigh of relief once you step into the shop. The interior or hushed and you're aware of the clerks' eyes all moving to you. A couple young men at the counter are chatting and laughing, not paying attention to you at all, and you venture further into the shop.

The men are looking at bracelets, and a smartly dressed clerk is more than happy to show you the rings, leading you to a low counter and inviting you to sit in the cushioned chair.

"Oh… No, not anything like a wedding or engagement ring," you say as a tray of sparkling diamond rings is brought out. "I… I recently got divorced and I need something to replace my rings. Something that looks nothing like a wedding ring?"

From behind you, you can hear the two men murmuring, their English accents oddly comforting after three days of hearing only French voices. You finally narrow the selection down to two and are trying to decide when movement out the corner of your eye snags your attention.

It's one of the men, peering at necklaces. You steal a glance at him – handsome, well dressed, a head of dark curls – and look back at the rings when he turns his head, embarrassed to be caught looking.

You're focusing on the rings, trying them on and testing out how they feel against your thumb, when he speaks.

"I think the other one looks better."

Jerking your head up, you find yourself looking into a pair of brilliant green eyes.

It's so fucking unfair that his lashes are so pretty.

"Do you?" you ask, looking back at the rings.

"Yeah – unless you want something flashy?"

He's moved close enough you can smell his cologne.

He even smells divine. So fucking unfair.

You switched rings and nodded. "Flashy isn't really me… I'll take this one," you tell the clerk.

The man smiles. "Getting used to a ring?"

"Ah… No," you chuckle. "Can't get used to not having one."

His smile dies and a look of panic flashes over his face. "Um… Sorry?"

You almost laugh. Giving your head a shake, you watch the clerk wrap the ring and wait for her to return. "Don't be."

"Oh," he murmured, smile returning and sliding into a grin. "Congratulations, then."

This time you do laugh. "Thanks."

He gives you a look as the clerk returns, and before you can reach for your wallet he's already handing over his card. You open your mouth to protest but he tips his head. "A congratulations gift," he insists.

His friend approaches, giving you a friendly nod. "What are we congratulating?"

You smile weakly. "The end of my marriage."

"Divorce?" he asks. When you nod, he smirks. "The best thing about marriage, honestly."

"Max."

"What am I supposed to say?" Max protests, holding up his hands.

The first man groans. "You're such a – cheers," he says when the clerk brings his card back. "Let's go before you embarrass me even more."

You're smiling at their banter as you thank the clerk for her assistance. When you stand to make your way out, he's waiting near the door.

"Buy you a drink?" he offers as he opens the door for you.

His name is Lando. Max – pain in my ass – is obviously his best friend and doesn't join you for drinks as he's got to get packed up to leave. When you suggested Lando spend time with him before he goes home, Lando waved it off.

"He lives in England but I see him all the time."

Lando, it turns out, does not live in England. He looks almost embarrassed when you ask where he lives, and when he finally mutters that he lives in Monaco your eyes widen. Surely he's too young to be that well off?

Trust fund, probably. Now you don't feel so bad for his paying for the ring.

"That must be… Interesting," you say, taking a sip of your drink. He's brought you to a chic bar at the beach, and you're sitting on the upper terrace, the slowly sinking sun casting a golden glow over the water.

"I don't really get much time there." He fiddles with the stirrer in his drink. "I'm gone a lot."

Interest piqued, you set your glass down. "Oh?" Maybe he's a model, even if he is a little on the short side. Not that he's that short – he's definitely taller than you. "What do you do?"

"I drive cars." He ducks his head briefly. "Racecars."

"Really? I'm not… I'm a dumb American, the only racing I really know is the Indy 500?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "That's IndyCar."

You listen, fascinated, as he tells you about formula one, which you have heard about but it's not in your orbit. He seems both relieved and amused at the fact you're not into sports, and you can feel him relax as he laughs when you tell him you only watch the Super Bowl every year so you can eat a ton of junk food.

A drink turns into a few, and he's so nice to listen to, so easy to talk to. When he suggests dinner, you hesitate. You don't want to be that woman, newly divorced and falling into bed with the first man that looks at you. Especially one so young—

"How old are you?" you blurt.

It obviously surprises him and, though he was halfway out of his seat he sank back down. "How old are you?"

You refuse to play coy, to fish for compliments like you're desperate. "I'm thirty."

His eyebrows lift. "Twenty-four."

So not that young. More like… younger.

Lando gives you a smile. "Does that cancel dinner?"

You look into his eyes for a long moment then glance out at the view. There's an obvious fork in the road in front of you. One leads to something with this handsome racecar driver, and you have a feeling it's going to be more than dinner. The other leads to the rest of your solo vacation, with the cloud of what could be lingering. Looking at him again, you slowly breathe in.

Expensive cologne. Salt air.

"I'd love dinner," you say, and his smile rivals the setting sun.

You'll never be able to describe the meal you ate. Lando makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything but him. Not in a demanding way. He's just… Magnetic. He tells you stories about his career, about embarrassing moments and highs and lows and talks about his other ventures. How does he have time to sleep? He talks glowingly about Max and has you giggling into your wine over a story of the two of them getting into trouble that left Lando locked out of his parents' home. When he apologizes for talking so much you almost beg him to not stop. But he asks about you, and you can't help thinking he seems genuinely interested.

"My life isn't half as interesting as yours," you say with a shake of your head.

"I don't know… You're divorced, halfway around the world, having dinner with a strange guy. Seems interesting to me," he murmurs.

"Oh, it's a tale as old as time. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love and gives up everything… Girl becomes a woman, boy becomes a toad."

Lando winced. "No kissing to turn him into a prince?"

"He'd have to want the kiss for that to happen."

"What a fucking idiot," Lando says.

You tilt your head to the side. "For being a toad?"

"For not wanting your kiss."

You set your glass down with a surprised gulp. About to call him out for feeding you a line, you pause, seeing the glimmer in his eyes. Without thinking you lick your lips and see his gaze dip down briefly. You don't know what to say or how to react so you sit there, unable to refrain from thinking about how a kiss from Lando would feel.

"His loss." Lando's voice was barely above a murmur. Then, shockingly, his cheeks darken and his tongue darts over his lips. He looks down at his plate and you can hear his sigh before he looks up, his expression serious. "You gave up everything?"

"A slight exaggeration, really." You shrug, picking at your food. "I had dreams that I put on hold to help him achieve his."

"I've never been married. But, like…" He sighs, setting his fork down. "That doesn't seem fair?"

"Life isn't—"

"I know, but marriage isn't life is it?" His face screws up at that but he forges ahead. "Isn't the whole point of it to support and help each other achieve their dreams?"

Smiling sadly, you nod. "I thought it was. He thought different."

"What dreams did you put on hold?" he asks after a moment.

"I wanted to get published." You look down at your half-eaten food. "When I was a kid, I loved reading and making up stories… I was studying for my degree in English – I planned to teach writing while working on my novels, because it's hard to make money doing it at first, and… Now it's too late."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'd have to go back to school and—"

"Yeah? Would you have to start over completely?"

"No." You can't remember how many credit hours you have left, but it would only take a phone call or an email to find out. "I wasn't too far from my degree."

"Then what's stopping you?" he challenged softly.

You don't have an answer. Nothing but the fear of failing, and you don't know him well enough to admit that.

"I don't read." He winces a bit at the admission. "Dyslexic, yeah? It's a miracle I finished school. But anyway. You write a novel and I promise to read it."

A smile pulls at your lips. "You'd do that for me? Someone you don't even know?"

"Of course." He grins. "I believe in supporting the arts."

He drives you back to the hotel in his sleek sportscar and for once you understand the allure of a purring engine and soft leather seats. There's no impending pressure when he offers to see you to your room, only the heat of his hand at the small of your back and the enticing scent of his cologne.

At your door, he hesitates. "Can I kiss you?"

Has anyone ever asked your consent for a kiss? You don't think so and the realization makes you sad, but you push that away because you've wanted him to kiss you since halfway through dinner.

His lips are a lighted match to kindling. The heat and desire are immediate and you're leaning into him, frightened by the strength of your want but craving more. It's been an embarrassingly long time since you've felt this way and you're aware that it may be even longer before you feel it again. So when the door finally clicks open you don't hesitate to step inside, pausing and reluctantly breaking the kiss to look up at him.

And wish you'd googled how to invite a man into your hotel room without sounding desperate.

But you don't have to ask.

"Okay to come in?" he whispers.

"God yes," you gasp.

His lips are on yours before the door closes behind him. Wrapping your arms around him, you sink into the kiss, snatching in breaths as his hands cradle your head. A soft whine is muffled against his tongue as you grip the front of his shirt, knees nearly forgotten as the tenderness of his touch wars the ferocity of his kiss.

"Fuck," he mumbles against your lips, his hands beginning to wander, molding you closer against him, his breath hitching as he clutches your hips. He pulls his head back slightly and you can feel his harsh breathing as he stares at you before crashing his lips to yours again.

The need grows stronger, almost primal, and you're backing towards the bed, gasping as his hands pull at your dress, nearly ripping it. Craving the feel of his skin, you do the same to his shirt, barely noticing the trail of clothing on the floor, too focused on his touch and his smell and the decadence of his kiss. He guides you down, swallowing your gasp as your bare skin touches the cool sheets.

Breaking the kiss with a harsh moan, he braces his hands on either side of you and lifts up slightly. He's panting, lips parted, and he gives a soft chuckle of surprise. "I didn't plan on this."

You lick your lips, still tasting him. And only craving more. "Neither did I."

He blinks, eyes almost wild as they dart from yours to your lips and back again. And all you can think—

Beautiful. Breathtakingly so. You know it'll never happen but the romantic inside you wishes you could wake up to his eyes every morning.

He leans down, and his kiss sends every coherent thought away. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, his hair softer than you thought it would be. His hands are rough but gentle at the same time, in your hair and trailing down your sides. Your name is a longing moan vibrating against your throat as you trace the muscles of his back.

"Lando," you gasp, arching beneath him.

"I know… I know." Hot breath at your ear, fingers digging into your thigh. Guiding your leg over his hip.

"Please." It's a soft moan.

"Fuck." His lips move to yours, his gasping whimper muffled.

The frantic need is still there but he's unhurried, as though he's trying to memorize every breath, every touch. When your hand flies out to grasp the sheet his hand follows, fingers threading between yours and gripping tightly. You're lost in the haze, sweat forming between you, sheets twisting. Ecstasy rises, peaks, and it's so sudden and delicious your cries ring out.

"Y/n." A desperate whine that only increases the bliss.

Rolling, twisting, arching. It's feverish and needy and so good so so good.

You both collapse, your hands in his sweat-damp hair. Panting, tingling, you wait for the awkwardness that never comes. His touch is tender, his lips gentle on yours before he's pulling away, murmuring that he'll get a towel. He's back before you can catch your breath, and by the time you can breathe he's kissing you again.

The sky outside is turning gray when you both breathlessly agree to get some sleep. You half expect him to leave, but he's there when you wake up, sleeping on his stomach next to you, his arm slung across your waist, his gentle snores telling you he's fast asleep.

And though you distinctly remember him saying he was going back to Monaco that day, he sticks around. Blushes and shrugs when you ask him about it over lunch, then suggests borrowing a friend's yacht for the night. The days bleed into the nights, a blurred span of time of sightseeing, swimming, and Lando.

When it's time for you to pack up to go home you feel a little bereft. But the vacation can't last forever. You've got to go back to real life, figure out how you'll live as a completely free woman. And he's got to get back to his life, jetting around the world and undoubtedly breaking hearts.

You exchange numbers and he promises to keep in touch, but you know you'll be forgotten before your plane takes off. You've been a pleasant distraction for his summer break, nothing more.

You're about to board when your phone buzzes with an incoming text. From Lando.

- You dropped your ring in my car.

As you stare at the words, you realize you haven't rubbed your ring finger in nearly a week. A picture appears on the screen, the ring – that he bought – resting in his palm.

- Hold onto it for me?

He won't. He'll give it away or sell it or take it back to the shop.

But, when you're back home and have exchanged texts with him and even a couple phone calls – yes I promise I contacted an advisor, I'm signing up for classes – and he lets you know his break is over and he's getting back to work, you cave and pull up footage of him in an interview.

He looks different on the screen of your laptop. Good, but different. And you can only focus on the necklace that's just visible under his (hideous really) orange shirt. When he leans, it shifts, and you see it.

Your ring.

"Are you still hung up on her?"

Lando's head snaps up at Max's question. "What?"

His friend gestures to the phone in Lando's hand. "That American?"

He feels his cheeks heat and realizes Max knows he's looking at your Instagram. "I'm not hung up."

Max just looks at him.

"I'm just checking on her," he mutters.

With a sigh, Max softens and sits next to him. "It's okay to like her, you know."

He huffs, his hand reaching to fiddle with the ring on his necklace. "She was just supposed to be a fling."

"But she wasn't," Max says after a moment.

Lando shakes his head. "I don't know," he whispers.

Silence lingers, stretches as his thumb hovers over your most recent post.

Then, softly. "Am I stupid?"

Max shoots him a look.

"For thinking it was special," he adds before his friend can insult him. "For thinking she thinks it was special."

"Was it special?"

He swallows hard, rolling the ring between his fingers as he looks at the post, a photo of a cup of coffee next to a laptop. Up past my bedtime parsing Austen. Liking it, he closes the app and locks his phone.

Was it special? Or was it just the great sex and no strings that had him thinking it was? At first, in those days immediately after you'd left, he'd only thought about the sex. How freeing it had been, knowing he wouldn't see you again and could let inhibitions go. But with each week that passed the sex wasn't the only thing he thought about.

Laughter and sunshine. Salty air and sweet conversation. Honeyed voice and understanding eyes.

He lifts his head, meeting Max's eyes. He doesn't have to say it. Max has known him for more than half his life. But he answers.

"Yes."

Taglist:

@maxlarens | @driverlando | @leodette | @forzalando | @captainreecejames | @d3kstar | @frenchyjuju | @irishmanwhore | @warrensluvr | @tpwkstiles | @mcmuppet | @eveninggstar | @noooway555 | @bookishnerd1132 | @skeleton-elly | @trisharee | @littlegrapejuice

[wolverigrl]

Party (1)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Sooo this part was written right after clubbing, and I may got carried away, which why I divided it into two parts. The next part should be online on Monday or Tuesday! So stay tuned! :)

Warnings: smut (not completely detailed), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), mentions of alcohol, some swearing, mentions of pregnancy

Not proofread!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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It's happening. I'm officially a year older today. Honestly, I don't even feel the change. Except for maybe the overwhelming sense of everything right now - the music, the laughter, the champagne that seems to be in my hand all the time - and him. Especially him. Hugh.

The night feels like a dream, but it's real - my birthday, my party. I rented this entire club for the occasion, and it's filled to the brim with friends, the people I care about, the ones who've been there through everything. Some are people I used to only see on screens, in magazines, but now they're real, they're here, and they're celebrating me. It's surreal.

The cast of The Greatest Showman showed up early, and I've barely had amoment to myself. Zac and Zendaya are dancing like they don't have a care in the world. Keala's by the bar, harmonizing with the DJ's set like only she can. Everywhere I turn, someone new is pulling me in for a hug, giving me a gift, toasting to me and wishing me all the best.

"Happy birthday, y/n!" Another friend comes up to me - one of the faces I vaguely recognize through the blur of champagne and flashing lights. They hand me a beautifully wrapped gift, and I accept it with a smile, although my mind is elsewhere. I'm grateful, of course, but the attention, the noise, the constant flow of people - it's overwhelming.

But my eyes always drift back to him. Hugh.

I catch a glimpse of him near the bar, his tall, broad frame leaning casually as he sips martini, talking to Ryan. The way the dim lights catch his features - sharp jawline, eyes that sparkle with a mischievous glint - it's like time slows down when I see him. My heart speeds up, a familiar heat spreading through me. It's not the alcohol. It's him.

I can't stop thinking about him, not tonight. There's something about the way he looks, how he moves in that perfectly tailored suit that drives me crazy. Maybe it's because I've had one too many glasses of champagne, or maybe it's just that he's Hugh and he's everything I want right now. I'm feeling it, that hormonal pull that still won't quit. It's like I'm on fire, and he's the only one who can put it out.

Our eyes meet across the room. A slow, easy smile spreads across his lips, and I feel a rush of heat flood through me. God, he's gorgeous. I feel myself gravitating toward him before I even realize what I'm doing weaving through the crowd.

"Enjoying your party, love?" His voice is low when I reach him, the deep itmbre sending shivers down my spine. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I inhale the familiar scent of him - something earthy, masculine, mixed with the faintest hint of martini.

"I would be enjoying it a lot more if you weren't all the way over here." I murmur, my fingers finding the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer.

Hugh laughs softly, his hand sliding around my waist with such ease it feels like second nature.

"Oh, I see. Is the birthday girl feeling a little. neglected?"

"Maybe." I tease, but the truth is, it's not just that. It's everything. I feel wound up, my body buzzing from the alcohol, the excitement, and from him. The way his hand rests so possessively on my waist. The way his eyes darken just a bit when I lean in closer and my chest brushing against his.

He's trying to play it cool, but I know him too well. He feels it too, this spark between us that's been burning hotter as the night goes on. And right now, I can't think of anything but us.

I press my body against his, my lips just grazing his ear as I whisper.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all night."

His grip tightens on my waist, his thumb brushing my hip in a way that makes me bite my lip.

"Oh is that so?" His voice is teasing, but there's an edge to it now, something darker and more primal.

"Mmhmm" I hum, letting my hands drift up his chest, feeling the firmness of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My fingers toy with his collar, brushing against his skin.

"I can't stop thinking about how good you look in this suit."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound hat vibrates through my body.

"You're playing with fire, baby."

"Oh I like the burn." I grin.

For a moment, we're just standing here, locked in this invisible dance of tension and desire, the noise of he party fading into the background. My fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and I can feel the way his breath catches in response. He doesn't move, just looks at me with that slow smoldering gaze that makes my knees feel weak.

"Y/n.." he murmurs, his voice a little rough now, like he's barely holding himself back. "We're at your birthday party. You do realize that?"

I grin, pressing my hips against him as I lean up to whisper in his ear, "And what do you wanna do about that?"

His hand grips my waist tighter pulling me even closer, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath against my lips.

"You're trouble, you know that?"

"Only for you, baby."

Before I can say anything else, the music changes, and I feel the beat thrum through my body, pulling me onto the dance floor. Hugh follows, his hands on my hips as we move together.

Dancing with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Every sway of my hips, every turn, it's like our bodies are in sync, perfectly attuned to each other. I can feel the heat of his hands on my skin, even through the fabric of my dress, and it makes me ache for more.

I turn in his arms, pressing my back against his chest and grinding against him as the music pulses around us. His hands tighten on my hips pulling me back harder against him, and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and heavy.

"Y/n.." he whispers in my ear, voice strained but playful.

"You're making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

A wicked smile curves my lips. I glance over my shoulder, giving him a sultry look. "Who said I want you to be a gentleman?"

His eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more primal. He presses a kiss to my neck, just below my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. I turn in his arms, facing him fully, and pull him into another kiss, this one deeper, more intense, oblivious to the crowd dancing around us

He groans softly into the kiss, his hands sliding down my sides and his fingers gripping my hips like he's trying to keep some semblance of control. But I can feel him losing it, just as much as I am. The way his body presses into mine, the heat between us - it's almost unbearable.

The music blurs into the background, and all I can think about is the feel of him behind me. His body moving with mine, the way his hands seem to leave trails of fire on my skin. I look up, our lips just inches apart.

"We should stop.." he murmurs though his grip on me doesn't loosen. If anything, he pulls me closer.

I tilt my head up, brushing my lips against his in the barest of touches, teasing.

"Do you really want to?"

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth crashes against mine, and I lose myself in the taste of him. My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and I can feel the way his body tenses against mine, like he's holding back everything he wants to do.

I know we're still in the middle of the dance floor, but I don't care. Right now, it's just him and me, lost in the heat of the moment. I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue slide against hus, and he groans into my mouth, pulling me even closer, if that's even possible.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally pull away from the dance floor. My head is spinning, but not only from the champagne. I grab his hand, pulling him toward the photobooth in the corner of the club.

"Come on, let's do something fun!" I say with a playful grin, tugging him inside.

He laughs, following me into the cramped space. The curtain closes pehind us, and I waste no time climbing onto his lap, my legs straddling his.

"Smile for the camera!" I say, sticking my tongue out at him just as the first flash goes off.

We make silly faces for the next few shots - sticking our tongues out crossing our eyes - but I can feel the tension building between us again. My body is still humming from the dancing, the closeness, the way his hands feel on my thighs, even through the fabric of my dress.

I lean in for the next shot, kissing his cheek, but it doesn't stop there. The kiss lingers, my lips trailing down to his jaw, his neck, and I can feel the way his breath hitches beneath me.

"Love.." he breathes, his hands sliding up my thighs, gripping them tightly. "You're really trying to drive me crazy tonight, aren't you?"

smile against his skin, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, "Maybe."

The camera flashes again, but we're not paying attention anymore. My mouth finds his, and the kiss quickly turns heated, desperate. His hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel him hard against me, and it only makes me want him more.

I grind against him, and he groans softly, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know I'II have bruises tomorrow. But I don't care. All I care about is the feel of him beneath me, the way his mouth moves against mine and the way his hands are everywhere at once.

We're lost in each other, so caught in the heat of the moment that I barely register the curtain ripping open. It takes a second for reality to hit, but when it does, it's not subtle.

"Hey! No funny business in there!" a voice teases, giggling as it echoes in the small booth.

I freeze, still straddling Hugh, our lips inches apart, our breathing heavy. I look up and find Chris standing there with his brother Scott, both grinning like they've just caught us in the act - because, well, they pretty much have.

"Really, guys?" I groan, burying my face in Hugh's neck in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Hugh chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath me, still catching his breath.

Chris gives me an exaggerated wink. "What? Thought we'd come join the party. The booth's big enough for four, right?"

"Get out of here, man!" Hugh says with a laugh, shaking his head, though he's still holding onto me like he has no intention of letting go. His hands remain firm on my waist and his body warm beneath mine. Scott leans against the doorway of the booth, grinning. "You know, we're happy for you two, but maybe save the PDA for after the birthday cake?"

I roll my eyes and slide off Hugh's lap, standing up and adjusting my dress, trying not to look too flustered.

"Fine, fine. The booth is yours!"

Hugh stands up behind me, smoothing down his suit and running a hand through his hair. He's got that mischievous glint in his eyes, though one that tells me this is far from over.

"Have fun!" he says, stepping out of the booth, his hand slipping into mine as we head back toward the party. I squeeze his fingers, unable to hide the grin on my face. But as we walk away, I feel the heat between us still simmering beneath the surface. It's like every brush of his hand against mine, every glance he gives me, is charged with electricity. I don't think either of us is done with what we started.

We slip into a quieter area of the club, tucked away from the noise of the party.

There's a small storage room just off the side of the main hallway, dimly lit, the perfect place to catch our breath and maybe finish what we started.

Inside the storage room, it's cramped and cluttered, a stark contrast to the opulent club just outside. The air smells faintly of cleaning products and dust. Shelves ine the walls, stacked with supplies - boxes, extra bottles of liquor, random equipment that looks untouched for months. There's a small, rickety table in the corner, just big enough for me to sit on, though it Iooks like it could collapse at any moment.

Hugh's hands are on me the second the door clicks shut. His lips find mine in a fierce, hungry kiss, and the world around us fades into a blur of heat and need. His fingers grip my tips, pulling me against him, and can feel the hardness of him through his pants, pressing insistently against me, The urgency between us is undeniable, like we've been holding back all night and can't wait another second.

He guides me backward, and stumble slightly as my back hits the edge of the small table, my breath catching. His mouth leaves a scorching trail along my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my collarbone. I shiver, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"I need you." I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.

His response is a low growl vibrating against my skin. "God, y/n.. I need you too. I've needed you all night."

With one swift motion, he lifts me onto the table, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The table creaks beneath me, unsteady from our combined weight, but neither of us cares. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, bunching it around my hips.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." he murmurs against my ear, his voice thick with desire. His nands grip my waist, and his lips brush my neck again, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touches.

"I've been thinking about you.. imagining this.. every second of tonight."

A soft moan escapes my lips as his fingers tease the edge of my panties, and I arch my back, pressing against him. "Hugh please.."

Hugh's mouth crashes back onto mine swallowing my words. He fumbles with his belt, the leather slipping through the loops with a soft hiss, and the sound alone makes my pulse race. I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands shake slightly with need, and it drives me wild.

He pulls my panties to the side, and I gasp as his fingers slide against me, teasingly testing.

"Fuck. You're so wet." he whispers, his voice hoarse. His fingers dip inside me briefly, making me gasp.

"And all for me?"

"Only for you baby.." I manage to say parely able to form the words through the haze of desire.

I need you, Hugh. Now."

With a groan, he frees himself from his pants, and I feel the hot, hard length of him pressing against my thigh. His fingers dig into my hips as he positions himself at my entrance, and I bite my lip, already rembling with anticipation.

"Tell me what you want." he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Say it."

"I want you." I breathe, my voice shaking with need.

"I want you to fuck me."

He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, and my head falls back as a moan escapes my lips. The sensation of him filling me is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches me and takes me.

"Fucking hell, y/n." he groans, his forehead pressed against mine as he bottoms out inside me.

"You feel...so fucking good."

The table creaks beneath us, swaying slightly from our movements, but I barely notice. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he begins to move slow at first, then harder, faster, until the rhythm of his thrusts matches the beat of the music still thudding through the walls. With every movement, I feel the tension building inside me, winding tighter and tighter until l'm on the verge of breaking. Hugh's hands roam my body, gripping my thighs my hips, sliding up to cup my breasts through my dress. His lips find mine again, his tongue tangling with mine as he thrusts into me with a desperation that mirrors my own.

"You make me feel so good.." I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Don't stop... please, don't stop.."

His hand slides down to grip my ass pulling me harder against him as he thrusts deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I love you, y/n." he groans, his voice rough with need. "I fucking love you."

"I love you, Hugh." I whisper, my body trembling as I hold onto him for dear life.

"I love you so much."

We're completely lost in each other now, the world around us disappearing as we move together and the table creaking loudly beneath us.

At one point, I hear something fall - a bottle or maybe a box knocked off one of the shelves - but neither of us cares. We're too far gone, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to think about anything else.

His thrusts become more erratic, harder, faster, and I feel the tension inside me snap.

My climax crashes through me, sending waves of pleasure rippling through every nerve in my body. I cry out, my nails raking down his back as I hold on, riding the wave of ecstasy.

Hugh groans loudly as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, his release hot and deep inside me. We're both shaking, breathless, our bodies pressed so tightly together it's like we're one.

For at few moments, we - just stay like that, holding each other with our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath. The room is silent now, save for the sound of our breathing, the faint thump of music still vibrating through the walls.

After a long moment, Hugh pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks at me. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.

"You're amazing." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

I smile, my heart still racing. "So are you."

He kisses me again, but this time slower and sweeter, like he's savoring the moment. Then, with a soft laugh he pulls back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.

"Here, love." he says with a grin, his back pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It's such a gentlemanly gesture, one that makes me laugh softly. He helps me clean up, his touch careful and respectful, and I can't help but feel a rush of affection for him in that moment.

"Always prepared, huh?" I tease, running a hand through his tousled hair, which is still slightly damp with sweat from our heated encounter.

"I like to think so." he replies with a wink, adjusting his pants and redoing his belt.

He then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer while kissing softly my forehead.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice soft.

smile, my heart still pounding 'More than okay.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead before slowly puling away and helping me straighten out my dress. We both fumble with our clothes trying to make ourselves look at least somewhat presentable, but I can't stop myself from smoothing his shirt, adjusting his tie, and brushing a hand through his hair.

"You're fussing." He says with a lazy smile while his hands find my waist again. "They're going to know we've been up to something."

"I don't care!" I laugh softly, though I can feel my cheeks flushing. I tug on his shirt collar one last time, making sure everything is back in place.

Then, he looks at me with that familiar softness in his eyes, the intensity from earlier replaced with something deeper. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin, and for a moment, we just stand there in the dim light, staring at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

"What if you were pregnant?"

...

- to be continued -

---------------------------------------------------

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07

Next part

[zillychu]

YOU! Yeah, you!

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[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 14

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader Summary: Miguel continues to try and move forward with subtle changes in his life. He has some reflections about life and you. You cross paths with an old friend from the past. A rainy night at Miguel's penthouse. Word Count: 28K Warnings: This chapter takes place over the span of three days; Reader feels anxious and nerves; Miguel is so supportive here I want to give him a big kiss and hold his pinky finger until I fall asleep; Miguel Previous Part MasterlistMusic Inspo (You can find the official Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Adonis and Amara" - Ludwig Göransson "Ab Ovo" - Joep Beving "You Could Start A Cult" - Niall Horan "To My Son" - Daniel Pemberton "quiero sentirme bien" - Kali Uchis (thank you to the reader that suggested this song to me a while back) "Can I Call You Rose?" - Thee Sacred Souls "El Muchacho de los Ojos Tristes" - Jeanette (thank you to the reader that said this song reminded them of Miguel and reader, I've been thinking about it ever since and 😭😭 I love this song sm, so it was perfect)

Enjoy and thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼❤️

Part 14

Miguel places two mugs of café de olla on a tray, steam rises into the air, reaching his nose. It’s one of those evenings in which you have both gone separate ways after dinner to give each other space. Miguel wasn’t planning on making any coffee, but he suddenly had the craving for it while he was reading in the living room, and knowing how much you love it was Miguel’s final and biggest motivation to get up from the couch and make it.

He turns to a glass dome-shaped cake stand and takes the lid off, uncovering fresh pan dulce he bought earlier for the two of you.

In a matter of seconds, Miguel has two dessert plates with pan dulce and the two mugs on the tray, along with some napkins. He doesn’t want to intrude on your space, so his plan is simply to give it to you and leave you alone.

He knows you’re either in your bedroom or in the office upstairs, the one he’s told you numerous of times that you can use. He reenters the living room, tray in hand, ready to go upstairs but halfway through the room, his red eyes stop on one of the walls, the one next to the stairs.

He can’t help himself, so Miguel stops and admires it. For the first time since he moved into the penthouse and Gabriel and his mother decorated the place, there’s a new change to the space. To anyone, this is probably a small one, insignificant even, but to Miguel, it’s a large change and one that warms his heart.

The once empty and vacant wall is now decorated with some photographs and not just simple, plain standard ones, like those that can be found on other walls around the penthouse that were once placed by Gabriel and his mother several years ago when Miguel first moved in.

No. Miguel’s living room, for the first time, is decorated with photographs of his loved ones.

It’s only been a few days since that morning on the rooftop when Miguel asked if you could help him redecorate his place, but already, this new change is a sign of it.

Together, the two of you have worked on this project over the last few days. Since he requested your help, Miguel and you have spent evenings on the living room floor, heads low and eyes focused on the tablet Miguel gifted you several months ago for Christmas while you helped him create a mood board.

“What is something you know for sure you want?” you asked him that following Saturday night, gazing at him with curiosity.

And though Miguel hadn’t thought much of it since he had only asked you the day before, he immediately had a response to your question, one inspired by you.

“This wall,” Miguel said, turning to look at it.

You nodded and gazed at it.

“A clean canvas,” you said, which made Miguel turn back to you.

He felt a sense of wonder and awe in that moment because for so long, he saw that wall, like the rest of his place, as a sign of emptiness - of the void in his life. And then, there you were, making Miguel see it in a positive light. A clean canvas, one that he can fill with happiness.

“Photographs,” Miguel said with a gentle smile. “Like, your wall with all the photographs. I’ve always liked it.”

And that was all Miguel needed to say because if he liked that aspect of your apartment, then that meant that Miguel wanted his family’s photographs in display.

The two of you spent some time shopping for picture frames, ones that go with Miguel’s new theme to begin the small project. As of now, there’s already a few adorning the once empty wall. You’ve taken a break, unwillingly, since the last few days at the Spider Society have been rather busy with anomalies causing chaos in other universes and the recruitment of new members. Due to that, Miguel and you have come home tired and with little energy to continue. Despite there only being a few photos, Miguel feels great about it.

It’s a new change.

Staring at the photos, Miguel can’t help himself from feeling like this is a new beginning. The thought scares him somewhat, his old way of thinking wants to creep back on him. The old Miguel, the one from two years ago, wouldn’t want a part of this. He would frown about this, about opening up to someone so much - about letting someone into his life, into his heart.

Shock, Miguel realizes, the old him wouldn’t even be here right now, standing in his living room holding a tray with café de olla and pan dulce for him and his best friend on a week day at 7pm. No, the old Miguel would be in the lab right now, preparing for a long night ahead of him reading data and reports through his marigold-colored screens. His red eyes would shut close for a few seconds every once in a while as an attempt to fight off sleep to avoid nightmares of Gaby. The old Miguel wouldn’t be here, right now.

Miguel wonders now, where would you be? Would he had offered his place for you to stay due to the fire at your building, even if the two of you were not close, and just mere colleagues? Would you had even accepted, or would you’ve stayed with someone else, in another universe?

These and other questions come up in Miguel’s head, going as far to the very beginning.

What if he never accepted your help to organize the lab? What if he never went to your apartment the day you were unwell? What if none of this ever happened because he didn’t allow himself to share a shred of a side of him he had kept locked away after losing Gaby that day, when everyone seemed to be unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t show up, and he was? He told himself it was merely concern for your universe - for the fate of the multiverse - but he realizes now more than ever, that his caring side had slipped from his grasp unknowingly that day. What if he had realized it, that he was not only concerned about the multiverse, but also about the young woman that failed to show up that day because it seemed so unlike her to not show up on time, to not give a heads up that she had something going on, and what if in realizing that he was about to let you see that side of him, what if he didn’t show up and simply had Lyla do a wellness check?

Would any of this have happened had he not made those decisions? Would it had mattered at all, or was Miguel, somehow, in a long string of loss and hurt, destined to be here, in this very moment, holding a tray with food, not just for him, but also you, his best friend?

Was it always meant to be like this, or was Miguel, for once in his life, merely granted a sliver of luck?

Miguel’s eyes turn away from one of the photos to another one, one of him and you, his best friend. The fact that he can think about it so easily, without any hesitation feels unreal. He actually admitted to you that you’re his best friend after fearing that fact for so long, and yet, his lips uttered those words only a few days ago. Not only out loud but to you, in person.

He has no regrets nor fear about it. And thankfully, Miguel thinks to himself, he also doesn’t have to live with the regret nor be haunted by those very questions - by the what if - because it’s already been done. He silently thanks something bigger than him, he’s not sure if it’s divine intervention or maybe something else, but he gives thanks nonetheless for being here now despite everything.

Miguel smiles softly at the photograph, this one being from New Year’s Eve consisting of you, Mayday, and him welcoming the new year. His gaze shifts to another one from the day he helped you put together the bookcase. There’s still more that he wishes to add of you and him, of Gabriel, Gabriella, and even his mother.

For now, however, the photos that have made it already make him happy.

There’s the photo of Gaby holding her soccer ball and smiling at the camera, her smile sweet and endearing. There’s Gabriel when he graduated from high school, his cheeky smile always present. Then, there’s one of Miguel and Gabriel after Miguel graduated from college, and of course, Gabriel had to make a silly face for it. Some of the memories make Miguel’s heart ache, for it reminds him of days when he used to have his brother around. And of course, he misses his little Gaby terribly. His gaze turns to the side, a single photo of both his mother and wife have also made it, to honor them.

Miguel’s heart aches, it does, and maybe it always will. He’s slowly begun to realize that it’ll ache in a different way, even with time. He’s learned that from you. The loss of loved ones will always hurt, but one learns to embrace the moments and the time that one had the privilege of sharing with them, and to hold on to that instead of the grief and loss. It’s how you honor them, by who they were in life and the moments they shared with us. Those are the things that one ought to hold on to when it hurts because it’s those very moments that lighten the heavy emotions.

For years, his grief and pain didn’t allow him to do such thing - to display photos of Gabriel and his mother, and with the loss of Gaby and his wife, even less - but looking at them now, Miguel is filled with a sense of warmth and happiness.

There's still loss and grief but unlike before, when that was all Miguel could feel, there's also warmth, happiness, and even more love.

It’s a small change in the large penthouse, but one that already makes the place feel much warmer, more like… a home.

Home.

With a soft sigh, Miguel smiles and continues on his mission to find you. He’s halfway up the stairs when he realizes you’re definitely in your bedroom.

Miguel briefly thinks about that - how it’s your bedroom. He used to call it Gabriel’s room, even the guest room, but now it’s your bedroom. It’s how he refers to it. Your bedroom. He knows even when you return to your universe, he’ll be referring to the room as such. As Miguel climbs the rest of the steps, he pushes away the heavy feeling that suddenly wants to spread across his chest, so he dismisses the last thought away, far from his mind. He doesn’t want to think about it.

Instead, he focuses on the now. Your bedroom door is open and light pours out onto the hallway, illuminating it. Music fills his ears and it grows louder with each step Miguel takes until his maroon eyes finally find you. You’re on the ground, your back against the bed’s side, and looking down at something - a photo album, Miguel realizes.

He gently taps the door with his foot to get your attention as he’s holding the tray with both hands, which immediately makes you look up. You greet him with a smile that only grows warmer as you spot the mugs, the kind that makes Miguel feel like it’s his reward for making the café de olla, filling him with great satisfaction.

“I hope I’m not interrupting too much,” he starts with a soft smile.

“Not at all! Come in,” you say happily, an invitation Miguel immediately accepts.

He steps in, crossing the short distance before he carefully hands you a mug. You thank him and take a small drink to avoid burning yourself before you pat the place next to you. “Would you like to sit? Unless you’re heading back downstairs?” you say looking up at him, hoping he’ll stay.

Miguel smiles. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you. You seem to be busy.”

“I’m just looking at some photos, it’s nothing too important,” you say. “I could even show you some?”

That makes Miguel smile even more.

“Alright but first, do you want some pan dulce? I bought you some,” he says placing the tray on a desk.

“You also brought pan dulce?” you say happily. “I’d love some, thank you!”

Nodding, Miguel grins and hands you a plate with a piece of bread and a napkin before he settles down next to you. You take a bite from your polvorón, a Latin shortbread cookie that Miguel is very fond of. The soft, crumbly, and sugary cookie melts in your mouth deliciously as you eat it before you take a sip of coffee. After you wipe your mouth clean with the napkin, you lift the photo album and show Miguel the page you were on. “Teenage years… Don’t judge too much,” you joke and Miguel chuckles softly.

“I would never,” he says as his red eyes take in the page, filled with curiosity and wonder to see and learn more about you. Sure enough there’s you as a teenager during some school function. He takes in every detail.

You turn the page and there’s suddenly a lot of photos of Peter and you as teenagers. You look at the pages fondly, something Miguel notices before he returns his gaze to the photos. He silently wonders if at this point the two of you were dating - a thought that reminds Miguel about how you and him have had a life before meeting each other. You’ve lived and laughed, spent days with people he’s never known - and probably never will - and that thought, for some reason, makes him feel like he’s missing something. It almost feels like Miguel longs to have been there, to have been in each other’s lives much sooner.

Miguel is in his early thirties and you’ve only been in his life for two years, a fact that suddenly feels heartbreakingly wrong to him, but if life treats him with more kindness than it has in the past, and if Miguel can help it, he’ll do his best to never push you away, so you can be a part of his life until his very last breath, whether that is tomorrow, or in forty years from now.

Miguel sighs silently as he comes to that conclusion. He’s no longer pushing anyone out of his life, especially not you, who he turns to look at now. You still have that soft look on your face as your eyes gaze at the photos.

“We were just friends at this point. He had already been at my school for a few months but we quickly became best friends and then, well, you know we started dating,” you share softly.

Miguel nods, scanning the photos. Your words settle in and just when something goes off in his head, something about your words that almost lead him to a thought, you turn the page.

“Oh, look! This is when we went on a field trip! Senior year of high school,” you tell Miguel, showing him a picture of a group of kids, Peter and you included.

Miguel blinks, unsure of what he was about to think about but now the thought is gone. He’s sure he’ll think about it later, in the future.

“Were these all your friends in high school?” he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at you and your friends.

“No, I only had two close friends, including Peter. The others were friends but in a different way. We were in clubs together and the such. I didn’t have a big friend group, you know?”

Miguel looks up at you and grins. “I was the same. Small group of friends. It was better.”

“I always thought so, too,” you reply with a grin of your own. “I guess now is the only time we have a large group of friends.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“You know, the spider gang. As adults, now we have a large group of friends. I like it.” You glance down at your photo album again. “And well, we have - each other, too,” you say with a soft smile forming on your lips.

It’s been a few days since Miguel verbally admitted that you’re his best friend, and every time you think about, every time you remember him saying it - your heart races. You’re filled with happiness and pride for Miguel. You know it must have taken a lot for him to admit it, but at last, though, the two of you said it.

It’s out in the open now and ever since then, you swear something has changed. It’s like things are easier, the air is lighter. You swear Miguel has been far more playful these past few days than he was before, throwing little smiles and smirks your way.

Even members of the spider gang asked what happened because according to them, Miguel has been in a, “great mood.”

“Are you sure that’s Miguel from this universe?” Hobie asked as the two of you walked to a meeting earlier this week. “I find him more tolerable these days for some reason.”

“Hobie,” you warned him with a soft smile, though not harshly. You know Hobie and Miguel have their own dynamic, but there’s still respect. The bickering has decreased especially since Miguel and you have grown closer. Somewhat. At least, it’s more on the playful side, you think. “Of course it’s our Miguel. Why wouldn’t it be him?”

“Yeah, I know, I know. You have a sweet spot for him, and him for you,” he replied with a little smirk that you missed as you entered the room first. “Our Miguel, huh?” Hobie said with a soft hum, as if pondering something, but you didn’t have time to think about it because Miguel was already at the head of the table with two cups of coffee, one placed in front of him and the other where you’ve sat for months now, next to him. No one even tries to take your seat, even when you arrive just in time due to emergencies at your universe. It’s as if that spot is your assigned place and now no one messes with it.

Miguel smiles at your words. Yes, you have each other now, have for a while despite how long it took him to admit it. He feels a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. He finally said it, what he’s been wanting to say for so long.

Miguel’s hand closes into a soft fist while he sits next to you as he thinks about the day he admitted you’re his best friend. It was hours later at his lab when you walked out to get something that Miguel truly realized what happened. The realization of what he did rushed through him and he found himself looking at his hand, the one with which he held yours the whole night. He didn’t meant to, all he had wanted to do was his pinky hug gesture, but it seems that at some time during the night, a sleeping Miguel felt comfortable with doing more.

He felt comfortable about it even when you were both awake. He did offer his hand to help you up, didn’t he? Miguel swallows softly as he remembers this, how you declined his help as an attempt to respect his boundaries regarding physical contact, but the truth is that Miguel wanted more, even if just for a few more seconds.

He yearned for it.

He did, otherwise, he would’ve easily activated his suit to avoid direct skin to skin contact but Miguel didn’t. He kept his hand out for yours and felt it. The sensation and the thought of it stayed on his mind the whole way upstairs until he got in the shower, only for the thought to return once again hours later as the two of you hung out in the living room that evening.

The day was an interesting one in regards to sleep. You both ate and drank coffee to replenish yourselves and fight off any sleepiness during the day. You were successful and even managed to create a mood board for the penthouse that evening, sitting side by side. An hour and a half later though, the two of you fell asleep while the telenovela played in the background after you both returned to your respective couches, hoping to not fall asleep so soon. You both failed the task, though you passed out first.

Miguel remembers thinking it was expected. You stayed up far longer than he did while you watched over him. He knows that because Lyla later mentioned it in passing with a soft smirk, as if the fact was amusing. Seeing you passed out, Miguel now remembers standing up to cover you with the same blanket you shared the night before up until that early morning. He wasn’t cold himself but he thought maybe you were, so he covered your body and with a soft smile, heard you make the softest and most endearing sound of content, welcoming the warmth. It made him stand over you for a little bit, watching your sleeping form through his own sleepy red eyes, his ears capturing your gentle breathing.

After a minute or two, Miguel returned to his own couch and fell asleep within minutes, watching you through heavy eyes while the telenovela continued to play in the background. As he began to doze off, Miguel thought of the night before and how you had both fallen asleep on the ground, just a few feet away from each other. And for some reason, which he decided was exhaustion at the time, Miguel wished that night would’ve ended the same way in that moment.

Miguel’s fist uncurls as he comes back to the present, his mind running with all these thoughts and memories. He glances at you again with a warm smile, thinking about your words about having each other now. “We do. We have each other,” he says softly and before he can stop himself or truly realize what he’s about to say, a single word straight from his heart slips past his lips. “Always.”

A heartbeat later and with your own smile, you reciprocate it. “Always.”

Smiling, you stare at each other. Something in your chests is ignited, like a soft gold beam of light, glowing for each other.

Miguel’s cheeks have a gentle pink hue on them and your smile is one of shyness, so you both take a moment to drink the rich, wonderful café de olla Miguel made while that single word echoes in your minds and hearts alike. An understanding passes between you, one that requires no further explanation, for that word alone makes an intention very clear.

You both intend to stay in each other's lives for however long you can.

There will be no pushing or turning away, especially not from Miguel, who used to do that with anyone who tried to get too close.

Until you came along.

As you take another drink, you both stare at the photo album, pinky fingers silently itching for contact, but you, as always, never want to push Miguel’s boundaries, even if physical contact between you has increased over the last few months; even if he held your hand while you both slept just a few days ago. Without even trying, you remember the way it felt to have his hand on yours all those hours, or the way his body’s heat reached out to you under the shared blanket before you push the memories away. All in due time, you tell yourself. Miguel has done some inner healing, and opened himself to you in more ways than you ever imagined in a short time. You have no doubt that one day he’ll be more open to physical touch, beyond hands, at least. Maybe one day you’ll be able to embrace him, not just for comfort, but maybe just because of sheer happiness, too.

One day, you tell yourself, one day in the near future.

For now, you hold your mug for a few seconds and refocus on the moment.

Miguel holds on to his mug, too, while he thinks about reaching over and offering his pinky finger, but he’s not sure that he should, not now. He turns his gaze to the photo album instead, trying to distract himself from his thoughts concerning physical touch. Maybe another time. He sighs softly, so gently you miss it entirely and Miguel himself doesn’t even register it, but if there was a third person present, they would’ve labeled Miguel’s sigh as one of longing.

You place the mug on the floor next to you, not between Miguel and you to avoid spilling, but instead on your empty side. It’s then that a small hint of color catches your eye from underneath one of your pillows. It's your sweatshirt, but it’s not the one you’ve been wearing these last few days to sleep in when you get cold during the night. No, this is the sweatshirt Miguel returned to you several days ago.

And yet, it’s not on your bed because you wear it to sleep but for another reason.

You turn to Miguel, his eyes are on the photo album, lost in thought, thankfully.

You discreetly push the sweatshirt further underneath the pillows, hiding it, while you keep an eye on him. You feel as though if he sees it, he’ll know the truth, which is that just like he finds comfort in your scent, you find comfort in his.

You know there’s nothing wrong with it. At least, you don’t think so. You’ve never had a negative feeling nor thought about Miguel finding comfort in your scent, or even the fact that the old audio recording of you sleeping helps him. If anything, you find it endearing, and knowing that such simple things from you helps Miguel sleep better brings you happiness because it means he’s sleeping properly these days.

Therefore, you’re not hiding the sweatshirt because of that but rather because you don’t want to risk making Miguel uncomfortable. You’re certain he wouldn’t react negatively to it but still, there’s that risk, considering only a few days ago Miguel admitted being best friends. You don’t want to take that chance, even if a part of you believes that you telling him might bring Miguel some relief since sometimes you can still sense some embarrassment from him when he accepts the new sweatshirt every weekend.

So for now, you’ll keep this little secret to yourself. Maybe in a few months you’ll tell him about it and how you came to the realization that his scent fills you with peace and comfort. You briefly allow yourself to think of that night, New Year’s Eve, when you took his scarf home with you after he wrapped it around your neck to keep you warm. That fact alone brings a soft smile to your face as you watch Miguel looking at the photos. It also ignites another rush of warmth through you, as it’s one of the most intimate moments Miguel and you have had. It was so unexpected but even more what he did later that night, when he dried your tears with it on the rooftop, just the two of you. He soothed your tears and feelings, and then you both joined the rest of the group, forgetting about the scarf entirely.

It was the next morning at your apartment when you realized you still had it. You remember finding and picking it up, feeling its softness. And then, maybe out of curiosity or sheer instinct, you brought it to your face to smell it and Miguel’s scent filled your lungs. Catching yourself in the act, you placed it back on the bed, where it had been, before you headed to the bathroom only to end up accidentally pulling it towards you when you were ready for a short morning nap since Miguel and you spent the whole night talking here, at his penthouse, after leaving Miles’s universe. You got settled into bed and when you noticed pulling it along with the covers, you didn’t put it away. Instead, you brought it closer to you and shortly after fell asleep, inhaling Miguel’s scent like it was the most natural thing for you to do.

That’s how you discovered that you find comfort in Miguel’s scent. And that’s the reason why you hold on to the sweatshirts when he returns them - simply to have his scent nearby at night because it lulls you to sleep like nothing else has in years.

You pick up the mug again and take a sip, glancing at Miguel. Maybe another time.

You smile at him as you hold your mug. “Thank you for the café de olla. It’s so good, as always,” you tell him, breaking the short silence at last.

“Of course… Always,” Miguel says looking up at you. He gives you a small smile in return, noticing yours.

“Next page,” you say, grinning at him before you flip the page on the photo album. “That’s my mom and dad, high school graduation day. They cried,” you share with Miguel.

“Understandable,” he replies, looking at the photos. “Their only child graduated. I would’ve cried, too,” Miguel admits quietly, thinking. “I would’ve cried watching Gaby graduate high school, but what a privilege it would’ve been to have seen it happen…” Miguel clears his throat and looks at you again. He gives you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I understand,” you say gently, reassuring him. You watch Miguel, thinking of a way to lighten the mood, of focusing on something much positive. “I have a feeling she would’ve been valedictorian, or at least top three in her class with how bright she was.”

That comment alone brings an affectionate look to Miguel’s face. He nods, knowing what you’re doing. Over the months and so many conversations, Miguel has noticed the way you always try to lighten his emotions, something he greatly appreciates. You always find a way to lift his spirits up. And somehow, you always succeed.

He offers you a gentle and warm smile. “She would’ve. I’m sure of it. She was very bright and loved learning.”

“Just like you,” you reply with a smile.

Miguel chuckles, his cheeks reddening just slightly as his gaze avoids yours for a few seconds in what seems to be shyness. “I - Thank you.” Miguel turns to look at you again with a sheepish smile. “You’re like that, too, you know?”

You chuckle and lift the coffee mug to your mouth to drink, feeling amused but also a bit of shyness yourself now. “I guess so.”

“You are.”

“Thank you,” you reply, lowering the mug. You gaze down at the photo album, feeling Miguel’s gaze on you the entire time. You mindlessly turn the page on the photo album. “I was thinking… It’s not too late. Not yet anyway,” you start.

“It isn’t,” Miguel replies, still looking at you, noticing the way you’re avoiding his gaze now. He’s turned the tables on you with the compliment and now you’re the shy one. He grins to himself, for some reason finding it amusing and yet sweet.

“Right, so I was thinking maybe we can work on the photographs? For a little while, at least. Only if you’re up to it, of course,” you say, finally glancing at him again. Your eyes instantly meet his red ones, making you wonder if he’s stopped looking at you even for just a few seconds. You have a feeling he hasn’t.

“It’s not too late, we can. If you’re not tired,” Miguel says, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of exhaustion as this week has been pretty busy at the Spider Society.

“I’m not. Plus, I have new energy thanks to this wonderful coffee,” you reply with a smile. “And I just know there’s more downstairs,” you add with a little smirk that makes Miguel chuckle.

“There might be some left.”

“I’m up for it then,” you say. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Miguel responds with a soft smile. “I’m in.”

With that, you stand up and retrieve your mug, finishing what’s left of the coffee so you can refill it downstairs. Miguel glances at the photo album one more time, his eyes landing on a photo of Peter, you, and one more young man all dressed in cap and gowns. He recognizes him from previous photos you had before you redecorated your apartment a year ago, but you’ve never talked about your old friends and well, neither has Miguel. He lifts the photo album and closes it before handing it to you, so you can place it back where it needs to.

You thank him and place it on the desk as Miguel stands up, ready to head downstairs with you. He silently thinks about the friends he had in high school. Maybe one day the two of you can talk about those days, recall old memories with people that are no longer in your lives.

“Ready?” you ask Miguel, grabbing the tray Miguel brought earlier to take it back downstairs.

“Ready.”

“Let’s go then.”

You gesture for Miguel to follow you and he does so without thinking about it. In a matter of seconds, you’re both in the living room.

“Do you want more café de olla?” you ask him.

Miguel looks at his mug and shrugs. “I guess I could go for more.”

“Here, I’ll refill our mugs then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel says as he hands you his mug before you head off.

You take care of the tray and dishes, and serve both yourself and Miguel more coffee before you return to the living room. Just as you enter the space again, you find Miguel by his record player and a second later, music fills your ears. Seeing Miguel use the record player always makes you smile without failure, especially knowing that he truly enjoys it despite the fact that he lives in a futuristic dimension where record players are not the norm. You’ve noticed that his collection of records has grown in a short amount of time, and at this rate he might beat you in having a larger one in just a few months.

“What are grinning about?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow.

You chuckle and shrug your shoulders. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asks, curiously.

You walk to the coffee table from which you’ve been working from, spotting a stack of photos and several frames ready for use.

“Your collection of records. It’s grown in a short amount of time,” you state as you place down the mugs on coasters and make sure that the stack of photos are far away from the coffee to avoid damage.

Miguel turns to look at his bookcase, eyebrow still raised, to take a look. He realizes it has. There’s a lot of records from artists Miguel enjoys listening to, records he bought right before the fire at your apartment. Miguel also realizes there’s a lot of Billie Holiday and other artists you specifically enjoy, records he often finds himself listening to - because of you.

“I guess it has, hasn’t it?” he asks looking back at you with a small grin.

“It has! I was thinking that at this rate your collection is going to be larger than mine,” you respond as you take a seat on the floor.

Miguel chuckles as he walks to the coffee table, too. He takes a seat next to you, leaving plenty of space so you can both stretch if needed before he picks up a few photos.

“Are we going to have a little competition?” he asks as he inspects a photo.

“A little competition?” you ask glancing at him, amused. “No, I just think it’s nice seeing you use the record player and your collection growing. It’s nice to share my love for records with someone again.”

Miguel turns to look at you when you say that.

“It’s nice to share my love for records with someone again.”

You smile at him before picking up a picture frame and inspecting the little sliding parts at the back, making sure they work fine.

Miguel continues to watch you, a soft and affectionate look on his face as your words stay with him. He’s that someone to you now - that someone you can talk to about records or share them with. It’s a thing you share now.

“I’m flattered,” Miguel says at last, smiling softly. “And by the way, you’re always welcomed to borrow any of the records. I can also buy them for you, if you’d like your own copy. Don’t hesitate to let me know,” he adds, meaning it.

“Thank you, likewise,” you reply softly with a smile. You place the frame down. “So, what other photos do you want to add?”

“I was thinking this one,” Miguel says, showing you a photo. “It’s Gabriel. His whole class did a play in the first grade to conclude the school year. He played a prince. I can’t even remember what it was about but he was a good one.”

You smile warmly as you look at the photo of Gabriel wearing a crown. “He looks so adorable,” you say, your eyes softening at the sight, something Miguel notices. “He was so little and look,” you say, leaning closer to the photo. “He had little curls, like you do.”

Miguel’s eyebrows raise at the fact that you’ve noticed and recall such detail about him but then again, he remembers you’ve washed his hair before. He smiles. “Yeah, his faded as he started to grow older.”

“That explains why I’ve never noticed them before in other photos of him where he’s older.”

“I think he was about seven when he lost them. Let’s see…” Miguel says looking through other photos. “This was some field trip and he still has them. Looks like he was in the third grade here. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have them by the end of elementary. I remember he was sad about it. My mom was, too,” Miguel adds, remembering that. “I think I want to add this one for sure.”

He places the photo he first showed you on the table to the side before he grabs more photos. Together, he shows you more photos, mostly of him and Gabriel. You don’t fail to notice that there are none of Miguel’s stepfather, George O’Hara. Rightfully so, you think to yourself. His mom, on the other hand, shows up here and there.

“Maybe this one.” Miguel holds up a photo. It’s of Gabriel and himself, holding up matching superhero action figures with a Christmas tree behind them. “This was a good Christmas,” he says softly. “Gabriel was so excited about those action figures. He said we were twins because we had the same one,” he continues, chuckling. “And he made sure to tell that to anyone who was willing to listen.” Miguel grows silent as he stares at the photo some more. He clears his throat. “I still have them. We both kept them even when we grew older. They’re downstairs with his things,” Miguel shares.

You stare at Miguel fondly, noting the way his voice has grown quieter. “He was so sweet,” you comment, glancing at the photo as well. “I bet he’s happy that you still have them.”

Miguel glances at you, smiling, even though his eyes show signs of sadness. “Maybe. Or maybe not, considering they’re packed away.”

“You can always unpack them. Maybe you can put them in his room, or even here in the bookcase as decoration,” you suggest gently.

“I might do that,” Miguel says, nodding. He looks back at the photo. “Definitely adding this one.”

“It’ll look lovely on your wall,” you reply. “I can go ahead and put it in a picture frame if you want. That one and the other one.”

“Yes, please,” he replies as he hands you only one of the photos. He keeps the other one and inserts it into a picture frame himself, so you’re not doing all the work. “There.” Miguel looks at the photo again, this time in its picture frame. He nods, satisfied.

He places it next to him on the floor and reaches for more photos. He doesn’t need much time to decide on the ones he’s going through now. They’re of you and him. He places each one down, remembering each moment as you get other picture frames ready. He can’t believe he has shared so many moments like these with you. It feels unreal, that he’s opened up so much to you, but he’s thankful for it - and for you.

He comes across another photo, this one is also from New Year’s but it’s a photo of the entire spider gang, you, and him - taken by Lyla, of course. He places it in the pile because why not.

Next, he comes across the few last photos he has of Gaby. He places all of them in the pile. Some of them are already on the wall in display and the remainder are on this stack now. He silently wishes more could’ve been saved but this is all he has, unfortunately.

He sighs softly. He’s thankful he has these many, at least.

“I think for now these will be it,” he says as he lifts the short stack of photos. “Once I hang them up, I’ll see if I want to add more.”

You nod in agreement and together, you work on the picture frames until all of Miguel’s selected photos have one and he can begin to hang them. He asks for your opinion on the arrangement, so you make suggestions, which he agrees with. At last, Miguel places the last photograph and steps back to take a look at the completed project.

You stand side by side about eight feet away from the wall and simply take it all in.

You personally find it beautiful and touching to see all of Miguel’s deceased loved ones present from Gaby to Gabriel, and even his mother and wife. Then, there’s photos of you and him, and even one from New Year’s Eve with the entire spider gang that you don’t have. You remind yourself that you’ll ask him about it later, so you can add it to your own wall when your building is done with construction. As your eyes shift from photo to photo, you internally hope that Miguel is happy with it - that he feels good about this addition to his penthouse.

You glance up at him, subtly, trying to gauge his reaction. It’s been almost two minutes of silence and he hasn’t said anything yet. You hope he’s not regretting it nor feeling overwhelmed with seeing all these memories all at once. Worried, you scan his face but thankfully, there’s no negative emotion etched on Miguel’s face.

Instead, you find a soft and warm smile as Miguel’s red eyes move from photo to photo. He nods to himself in approval.

“I really like this,” he whispers, his gaze still on the wall. “I like having their photos out.”

Smiling, you nod, returning your eyes to the photos. “It looks beautiful,” you whisper back. “It’s great to see them.”

Miguel hums quietly, unable to tear his eyes away. “It is. And I also like - seeing our photos, too. And the one with the spider gang.”

“I didn’t know that one was even taken.”

“You know Lyla,” Miguel says. “I have yet to find all the photos she has taken in the past. She keeps hiding them.”

You laugh quietly. “Her secret folder has probably tripled since the day she told us about it.”

“If not more.”

“True,” you say softly. “I like seeing our photos, too, by the way. It makes me truly realize…” you trail off.

Miguel finally shifts his gaze to you, curious. “It makes you realize…?”

“It makes me realize how much time has passed since I joined the Spider Society. Almost two years now. On top of that, I realize how much time and moments we - we’ve shared,” you say quietly, as if afraid that this truth will upset Miguel.

“We’ve shared a lot,” he says, agreeing. “It’s being almost two years and yet, it doesn’t feel like that much time has passed but it has.” Miguel glances at the wall, thinking. “The last two years have flown by for me, to be honest,” he admits. “Before that, time felt like it was dragging by.”

You process his words, a thought coming to your mind but you tell yourself that surely that’s not what Miguel means.

“They haven’t been easy years,” Miguel admits. There’s no way he can deny that. Losing Gaby shattered him. “But they’ve flown by. I blinked and now we’re here, and it doesn’t feel like two years have almost gone by. It feels like - only a few months. What I’m trying to say is that…” Miguel shakes his head. Is he even making sense? Or, is he just so excited about the finished wall that he’s just rambling and not making his point clear? “I don’t feel like the last two years have dragged in the sense that it feels torturous. They’ve flown by and I actually find myself wondering where has time gone? It’s like, I don’t have enough time but in a good way, if that makes sense. Shock,” Miguel says in disbelief. He’s probably making no sense to you right now. “You’ve made these years better. More than better,” he tries again. “I’ve enjoyed these years because of you despite everything I was, and still am, navigating - and because of that, it feels like it hasn’t been two years already. I hope that after all my rambling I made sense.” Miguel looks at you with a sheepish look on his face.

You smile at him and nod, touched by Miguel’s admission. It may not feel like two years have gone by already but they have, and it’s evident by Miguel’s words themselves. The man you met almost two years ago wouldn’t have share those words with you, either because he didn’t want to show his feelings or because he wasn’t able to speak them out loud. Now, here he is, saying them.

Time has definitely gone by.

Yet, you agree with Miguel. It doesn’t feel like it has, not with him and your other friends around.

“You did, I understand what you’re saying. I feel the same way,” you respond, thinking. “There were many days, before the Spider Society, that felt like that, as if time was dragging on. My days blended into each other, but ever since I joined and I became friends with you and everyone else, I’ve had no days like that. Not anymore. The last few years have been amazing, truly. Thanks to you,” you continue.

You settle into a peaceful silence, staring at each other for a few seconds with smiles on your faces before turning to the wall again. Unknowingly, you both think about earlier upstairs.

You have each other now.

Always.

Half an hour later, you’re both sitting on the couches. It’s still early in the evening when you remember that you’re going grocery shopping tomorrow, so together, you make a grocery list because it’s your turn to buy groceries.

Miguel watches you as you jot down things, wishing you didn’t insist on this, but it was a condition you established from the start when he offered you to stay with him while your apartment building is under construction. He has to respect it despite his discontent. He has no choice but to do so, even though he’d be more than happy to pay for groceries every week for the two of you.

“Okay, what about snacks?” you ask softly, looking up at him from your list.

Miguel tilts his head to the side, thinking. “Those cookies you always like, those are amazing.”

“I’ll get those then,” you say with a smile as you add them to the list.

You stop working on your list when you receive a notification from your gizmo. You glance at it, noticing it’s from Peter B. asking if you can babysit Mayday for a few hours tomorrow since something came up for him and MJ. You quickly reply and tell him you can.

“Seems like I’ll have a little companion for my grocery trip.”

“Who?” Miguel asks.

“Mayday,” you say as you add something else to the list that you just thought about.

Miguel smiles softly, watching you. He can already see you walking the streets of your city with Mayday on your chest in her little carrier. He shakes the thought away when you glance at him again.

“Seems like I have everything but if you think of something else, even if I’m already there, just send me a quick message.”

“I will,” Miguel replies with a small smile. _☆_

The next day you walk the streets of your city with Mayday just like Miguel imagined it. She’s grown a lot over the last few months, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You have two reusable bags on your arm in which you’re carrying the groceries and at this point, you only have two more stops before you head back to Nueva York.

“Snack!” Mayday says, pointing to some food stand eagerly.

A laugh escapes from your lips as Mayday proves to have Peter B’s appetite each day. You decide to find a place to stop and sit down to give her a snack since Peter and MJ packed some safe snacks for her. Once settled, Mayday happily eats and looks around, pointing at things that catch her attention, so you reply back and tell her about those things she points to. Her vocabulary is expanding more and more each day, and these days she can say things that are understandable, even if it’s just single words.

You can’t help but enjoy this moment with her. It really is sweet when you have the opportunity to look after her, something that has become more frequent as Mayday is also beginning to show superpowers. Her strength is already like that of a ten-year old, and you can only imagine it will increase as she grows older. On top of her strength, she’s also started to experience spidey senses like the rest of you. And so, because she’s already displaying these powers, some of you from the spider gang have offered to help, as mentors, including Miguel.

You can’t deny that knowing this about Mayday has made you wonder. If you and Peter had the opportunity and time to have children, would they have powers, too? The thought always makes you smile, especially when you imagine Peter trying to catch a child swinging around. That would’ve been a sight to behold for sure.

You sigh softly and gently hug Mayday closer as you offer her another piece of her snack. In a multiverse of universes in which Peter Parker doesn’t always get a family and happy ending, you’re more than happy that Peter B. has had this beautiful opportunity. He has MJ and Mayday after everything he’s gone through. And of course, he has the spider gang, too.

“All done?” you ask Mayday with a warm smile, noticing she’s done. You wipe her mouth and her hands, making sure to keep her clean before the two of you carry on to the other shops. It doesn’t take long for you to finish since you have the list you put together last night with Miguel.

At last, Mayday and you are on your way with everything. Your eyes search for a good place to sneak through so you can get on a rooftop and travel back to Nueva York to avoid raising any suspicions or questions. As you look around, you feel Mayday begin to wiggle around in your chest. She starts pointing at something, a flower stand that’s just up ahead.

“Flowers. Do you want to look at the flowers?” you ask her but you know the answer to that already just by her enthusiasm, so you walk up to the stand. You inspect some of the flowers like many other customers, with nothing in mind since you had no plans to buy flowers today. “Should we get some flowers for Miguel’s place? It would brighten up the kitchen, I think,” you tell Mayday. “What do you think? Should we get these?” You pick up a bouquet and show it to Mayday but she doesn’t seem too excited about them. “Alright, so not those… These?” you ask, raising a bouquet with an assortment of colors with red, a pastel yellow, and pink.

This one seems to have Mayday’s approval because she reaches for it.

“I see we have a winner, then,” you say, inspecting the flowers beyond their colors to make sure they’re in good condition. Satisfied, you continue to look at the other flowers. You notice there’s a line of people anyway, so you might as well enjoy the other flowers with Mayday in the meantime, so she doesn’t get bored waiting in line.

“Romance, friendship, and admiration,” someone says about a minute later as you glance at the bouquet you’re holding.

Startled, you look up only to find the owner of the flower stand staring at Mayday and you.

“That’s what the colors usually mean,” she says, explaining. “Red is for romance. Yellow for friendship. And pink for admiration. It can also be playfulness and innocence. It’s a bouquet I usually arrange with lovers in mind.”

“Oh,” you reply softly, glancing at the bouquet again. You chuckle softly as you think about the fact that this is for Miguel’s home. “It’s a lovely arrangement.”

“I’m sure your partner will love it,” she says. All you can do is nod at the statement instead of correcting her about the fact that you don’t have a partner.

“Yes!” Mayday exclaims with a little clap that makes the flower stand owner grin.

“Seems like the little one agrees.”

You smile and nod. “Yes, she seems to agree. We’ll take these, please,” you reply, handing her the bouquet so she can ring you up. The flower stand owner hands it back, wrapped in another protective paper. You pay and get your change back from the lady, who thanks you for your business.

“I hope you and your partner enjoy the bouquet, miss,” she says before another customer approaches her.

You sigh, taking a few steps away from that area to show Mayday more flowers. It seems she’s really enjoying them as her attention is still on them. You decide to indulge her, it’s a lovely day after all and you’re genuinely enjoying shopping around and showing her the flowers now that it’s warmer out. “Look at these, Mayday,” you say, pointing at some flowers but those fail to get her attention, so you try showing her others.

“Not your cup of tea?” you ask as she still seems uninterested. You wonder if she’s just bored of looking at flowers now, or maybe she’s just tired from the trip just as she starts patting your body. “I guess we ought to go home,” you say realizing Mayday seems impatient now.

“Go,” she says, still patting your body.

“Alright, alright. We’re going home,” you reply.

“Go, go,” Mayday repeats pointing to the street.

“We’re going. Don’t worry,” you reply, reassuring her while readjusting her carrier to make sure she’s secured. It’s then that you notice, she’s giving signals of her spidey senses going off. A second later, yours do, too. You’re about to look around to see what’s going on but you have no time.

“Y/N?”

You freeze.

It’s been several years since you’ve heard someone use your first name in your universe. For years, all the social interactions you’ve had have been with people who address you formally by your last name, such as your landlord or the people at the bank when you have to take care of financial matters. Now, here’s this voice, saying your name full of recognition. It’s one your brain immediately identifies, and how could it not? You’ve known this person since elementary, all the way until Peter’s funeral. With a gulp, you turn and face him.

“Y/N,” he says again, this time with more confidence as he realizes it’s truly you.

You manage a nod. “Harry,” you reply, saying a name your mouth hasn’t uttered in years.

—☆

Mayday sits on your lap, probably the most still you’ve ever seen her. In fact, she remained quiet during the entire walk as Harry Osborn and you made your way to this small coffee shop he apparently visits a lot. You don’t even remember saying yes but you did. After addressing each other and stating awkward “what a surprise’s,” Harry invited you for a cup of coffee. And, you said yes because your brain froze due to the shock of seeing him standing in front of you.

He offered Mayday and you a ride, pointing to his parked car on the side of the street, his valet waiting with the door open, but you politely declined. That didn’t seem to bother Harry a bit and even after telling him that he could ride his car and meet you there, he refused and opted to walk with you.

You glance out of one of the coffee shop’s window now, sitting next to it. You saw the table open when you first came in and chose it, thinking that the window will provide some relief from the awkwardness that might come from this conversation. You also figure it will sooth some of your nerves. You didn’t expect to feel nervous about seeing and talking to Harry again, but here you are, your hands slightly trembling. Your eyes spot Harry’s car across the street, his valet waiting inside it for him.

You look away and stare at the table, wondering how it’s possible that years later you stumble into him. It’s the first time you’ve seen and spoken to him since Peter’s funeral. It feels surreal.

Your thoughts are interrupted as a coffee cup comes into view before it’s placed in front of you. Harry takes a seat across from you, his own cup in his hand. You meet his gaze and manage to offer a small smile, one you hope doesn’t show how shocked and off you feel about this encounter.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you reply softly, not sure where to start, not sure what to say.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replies, offering you a small smile as well.

You can tell that he’s equally unsure of where to start. His eyes continue to flicker towards Mayday, who remains on your lap peacefully, no doubt wondering who she is to you, but you don’t feel like offering any answers or explanations right now, especially with Mayday being from another universe. The less Harry knows, the better.

“So…” Harry starts, still holding on to his cup, as if finding assurance from it. He smiles nervously before he shakily sighs and looks down at the table for a few seconds. trying to gather his thoughts. He raises his head again. “You look beautiful, as always. You look well, Y/N,” he says gently.

“Thank you,” you respond. “I’m doing well*,* too.” You nod, knowing this statement is true. You’ve been good for a while - you’ve been happy since you joined the Spider Society almost two years ago, and even more so since you’ve made close friends. And not only that, you now have a best friend. A smile forms on your lips at the thought of it.

Miguel, your best friend.

“I haven’t seen that smile in so long,” Harry says, taking notice of your smile immediately. It’s a much different smile from the one you offered him just now. It’s real and happy, not awkward at all. “It’s the smile you always had for Peter.” Harry realizes this and he can only wonder what or who you’re thinking about, what or who is the reason for that smile now.

His comment about your smile and it being the one you always had for Peter while thinking about Miguel makes you freeze just for a few seconds but you simply nod. You’ll think about his observation later when you’re home. You blink at that, still smiling gently, as you realize you’ve unconsciously called Nueva York “home,” even though you are home, at least in your home universe. You’ll think about that later, too, you tell yourself.

Harry smiles, much warmly this time, and continues, unaware of your scattered thoughts. “I’m more than happy to hear that, truly. I’m happy you’re doing well,” Harry continues. “You deserve to be doing well after…” he trails off, a look of understanding crossing his features, not wanting to say it out loud but you know what he means - that you’re doing well after Peter’s death.

You nod again, focusing on the conversation and on Harry. You don’t want to come across as disrespectful.

“Thank you. I hope you’ve been doing well, too, Harry,” you say, genuinely. “I mean that.”

He sighs softly, his eyes on you. “Thank you…. I - I know this must be - strange and I don’t even know where to start,” he whispers suddenly, but loud enough for you to hear. “After all this time… I have so much to say to you, and yet I cannot find the words to convey everything I’ve felt and continue to feel.” Harry pauses and exhales heavily this time, continuing to meet your gaze.

Below, on your lap, you feel Mayday’s hand grip your fingers. You hold her closer, your arms tightening around her just slightly for comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, his tone pained. “I’m so sorry for just - disappearing. For leaving you... When you needed me the most. I failed you and Pete,” he whispers, his gaze heavy with sadness. “I failed the two of you.”

“Harry,” you start, sensing his genuine regret and something else. Sorrow, pain. You sigh and look away. This is certainly not what you were expecting to be doing today - running into an old friend, into Harry, and hearing his apologies for disappearing.

“No, please. Please just let me,” Harry says. “I need to get this off my chest. I know it’s not fair to just dump all of this on you right now, but I haven’t seen you in so long, and now that you’re here, I just - want to say it. How sorry I am. You deserved so much better from me, but I failed you and Peter. I was never worthy of being called your friend, of Peter calling me his brother.”

You return your gaze to him. For years, you’ve been hiding the hurt from his sudden disappearance, but you also know that you were going to do the same to him. You were going to cut ties with Harry eventually, just like you did with other friends and acquaintances. It was your plan all along after Peter’s death. Your mind was made up only a few hours after you found Peter and held him in your arms before he passed away.

In your grief, loss, and pain, you found a guilt that you carried for a long time. You felt that you had failed Peter, in saving him, and wondered. If you couldn’t save one of the most important people in your life, how would you protect anyone else, including your friends - including Harry? They were better off without you, at least you believed that then.

It was that mentality that led you to cutting ties with everyone. Your plan included Harry, who you always saw as a bit of a brother as well. You anticipated that it would be harder to disappear from his life. You believed he was going to try and stay in touch, no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from him. You had known and being friends with each other since elementary and that friendship only grew as the years went by, especially when Peter transferred schools and he became friends with Harry as well. The friendship became a deeper one.

But then, Harry simply disappeared after Peter’s funeral. He gave you a hug at the end of it, holding you tight, before he excused himself, marking it the last time you saw him or heard from him. On one hand, he made your goal easy, and yet, it still hurt.

You gulp the emotions away. “All of that is in the past,” you reply gently, meeting Harry’s gaze. Your hurt from his disappearance has lessened over the years and at times, you told yourself that he must have had his own reasons for doing so, just like you had yours. “You had your reasons, I’m sure of it.”

Harry nods and looks away, as if suddenly being unable to meet your eyes.

“I - Thank you for being understanding,” he says, clearing his throat. After a few seconds, he turns his gaze back to you. “… I’m so sorry. I truly am. For disappearing… For leaving you alone. I hate to think of all this time,” he says, eyebrows knitted in regret. “I learned from the others after some time that you slowly started to distance yourself.”

You look away from his eyes now, brushing aside a strand of Mayday’s hair from her face. “I had my reasons,” you reply, giving him the same excuse for his own distance. He hasn’t provided any reason or excuse, and you haven’t probe for more, so you hope he’ll do the same. You glance back at him, his eyes meeting yours.

He nods. Harry Osborn is smart, always has been. The words you’ve used and the way you’ve both avoided discussing the reasons for distancing, doesn’t elude him. There will be no discussion of such things, at least not today. He clears his throat and nods again, understanding.

“I haven’t talked to them in many years,” he says. “It’s crazy to think some of them have children now.”

“Yeah, I learned of one of them. It’s definitely… crazy to think about. How much time has passed that they have kids now.”

“I went to look for you,” Harry suddenly reveals.

“You did? When?”

“I found out your apartment building caught on fire. I immediately recognized it, of course. How could I not?” he says with a small smile. “It’s where we spent so many evenings with everyone. So many celebrations. Birthday parties for friends, your baking and Peter’s cooking. You guys always made the apartment feel like a second home.”

You smile at that. “Yeah, I remember that - those days,” you reply softly, thinking. It’s been a while since you thought of those days, except for Peter’s birthdays. It’s the only time you think about those happy evenings when the apartment was filled with excitement and happy conversation.

Harry nods. “As soon as I saw it, I was worried about you. I didn’t know if you had moved somewhere else, or if you… had stayed there. I asked around and found out that you still live there. I wanted to make sure you were okay after the fire. Wanted to know if you needed help, or somewhere to stay, but I haven’t had luck in locating you until today by pure chance. I just happened to look out the car’s window and your figure seemed familiar, so I asked my valet to pull over and well, it turns out it was you after all.” Harry pauses. “Where - if you don’t mind me asking - where are you staying right now? If you need a place, you’re more than welcome to stay with me,” he offers, concern laced in his words.

“Thank you, that's kind of you but please don't worry. I’m already staying somewhere.”

“Are you safe? Do you have everything you need?” Harry asks, for the first time leaning closer, trying to gauge if you’re telling the truth.

“Yes, I'm safe,” you reply, reassuring him. You smile gently at him. After all these years, you can hear genuine concern in Harry's voice. “I’m staying somewhere safe.”

“It isn’t a hotel, is it?” he asks. “Or, are you staying with someone?”

“Mig!” Mayday exclaims, thankfully being unable to say Miguel’s full name correctly.

Harry turns to Mayday.

“Mig?” he repeats and Mayday nods, clapping her hands, excitedly. He turns back to you, an eyebrow raised but he doesn’t ask more questions. “As long as you’re staying somewhere safe, that’s all that matters.”

“I am.”

Harry nods. No further details are provided from you. He doesn’t even know who this child is. He turns back to Mayday, his gaze filled with curiosity.

“She’s a friend’s daughter,” you simply state, giving no names. “I’m looking after her today. My friend and their spouse had something to do.”

“I see,” Harry replies, still staring at Mayday. “She seems sweet. And very fond of you,” he comments, taking notice of the way she holds your fingers. The child seems more than content with you, as if she has known you her whole short life, which only makes him wonder more. He has a lot of questions about your life. Where have you been? Who are your friends now? So many questions, but Harry knows he can’t ask them. He has no right to, not after disappearing from your life so abruptly when you needed him the most. He’s glad to see that you seem happier these days, at least. Your smile from earlier is a sign of it. He wonders about it again, unable to stop himself from associating the “Mig” with your happiness.

“She seems so,” you reply, holding Mayday. Not knowing what else to say, you lift your coffee for the first time and take a sip to fill the silence. You glance subtly out the window again, your eyes spotting Harry’s parked car once more. Looking back at Harry, you place the cup down. “So… How have you been?”

The question throws Harry off guard for a second. The awkward silence that fell upon you made it feel like this conversation was over but you’ve asked him something, and maybe that means this random encounter isn’t over just yet.

“Okay,” he replies. “I’m working with my father now at Osborn Industries.”

“Right. Osborn Industries. How is your dad? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“He’s - older,” Harry replies with a sheepish smile. “He talks about retirement but then again, he’s been talking about it for years. I don’t think he’ll ever retire, to be honest. It seems impossible to him to not work. He’s worked his whole life. I think he’ll grow bored from not working, but who knows.”

You nod. “I can imagine.” You chuckle a bit. “Tell him I say hi and that I wish him well, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. He’ll be happy to hear from you,” Harry says. “He’s asked about you over the years.”

With a smile, you nod and pick up your mug again. You wonder what Harry told his father, if he ever shared with Norman Osborn that he cut contact with you, or if he told him something else to excuse the sudden lack of contact between you. “Well… You can tell him I’m alright, still living here in the city.”

“I will,” he replies, not knowing what else to say for a few seconds before he thinks of something. “I know this is unexpected, but - would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

You blink in surprise. Harry’s lunch invitation is definitely unexpected. You meet his gaze, pondering about what his invitation and your acceptance might mean for the future.

“Just lunch,” he says gently. “That’s all. I know it’s probably too much too soon after so many years but I just… I’d like to see you again, even if just one more time. I’ll understand if you want nothing more with me afterwards. I’ll respect it but just… Please. For old time’s sake,” Harry continues.

Mayday glances up at you, her blue eyes wide, as if waiting for your response. It’s always been intriguing to you how she seems to understand the mood of the situation - of the environment - she’s in despite her age. You sigh silently.

For old time’s sake, Harry says. A part of you feels like you should accept. Not just for old time’s sake but also for Peter, who you think would be happy about this, even if it’s just this lunch and concludes at that. Maybe this is a form of closure for both Harry and you, and in a way, for Peter, too. You nod.

“Tomorrow.”

Harry beams at you. “Tomorrow. I can have my valet pick you up, if you’d like. Or, I can simply give you the address, whichever you prefer.”

“The address is fine, thank you,” you reply, politely declining the ride once more.

Harry nods, understanding, before he gives you the address. You both confirm the time, making it official.

You’re having lunch with Harry Osborn tomorrow after years of not seeing him. __☆

“I thought about Peter and how this might be a closure for everyone. For Peter, Harry, and me,” you say softly, leaning on one of Miguel’s lab counters almost an hour later after you parted ways with Harry. Your meeting with him left you feeling a lot of emotions and the time it took you to put away all the groceries at the penthouse served as a moment to think about it a bit before you returned to HQ to tell Miguel what happened. “So, I said yes.”

Mayday sits on the floor over a blanket you placed for her. Some of her toys are scattered around as she plays with them by herself. You’ve been keeping an eye on her the whole time while telling Miguel about your encounter with Harry, along with providing some background information, such as the last time you saw him.

Miguel has been listening to you and nodding his head in silence so far. He realizes now that the man he saw last night in your photos is Harry Osborn.

“You said yes,” he repeats, nodding.

“I did…” you reply, trailing off.

Miguel leans back on the same counter, his back to it. He crosses his arms across his chest, thinking. “And how do you feel about it now?”

You shrug slightly. “I don’t even know, to be honest. I think I’m still processing the fact that I even ran into him.”

“That’s understandable. It’s been many years,” Miguel comments, trying to ignore what you’ve told him about the man - about how Harry Osborn disappeared from your life right after Peter’s funeral, a time when you could’ve really used someone to lean on. Miguel can’t help but feel a grudge towards him, even though he’s never met the man.

“It has.” You fidget with your gizmo, looking at it.

Miguel can tell you seem off by this entire encounter, you seem nervous. Anxious even. He’s about to say something when he sees you turn away. In the blink of an eye, Mayday is in your arms. He quickly realizes you sensed Mayday swinging towards you and it’s why you turned away.

You smile as you hold Mayday in your arms and sigh. “She made the encounter better,” you tell Miguel, looking at him. “By the way, she called you ‘Mig’ at the coffee shop.”

“Mig?” Miguel repeats, smiling softly, placing his thoughts about Osborn aside, for now. He glances down at Mayday, noticing she brought her action figures of you and him along with her. He’s instantly reminded of the time she made both action figures kiss that one day you babysat her. He remembers hiding his face by lifting Mayday up to keep you from seeing the heat in his cheeks and how embarrassed you seemed about it afterwards. The memory makes his face feel warm now.

“Miggle!” Mayday says raising Miguel’s action figure so he can see it.

You cover your mouth, stifling a chuckle at Mayday’s new nickname. He glances between you and Mayday, a grumpy look on his face, but it’s a playful one. “Alright, I was okay with ‘Mig’ but this - that’s a no.”

You laugh, which causes Mayday to giggle. “Miggle!”

“Great,” Miguel mumbles, covering his face with one hand for a few seconds. He drops it and sighs, looking at Mayday and you, your laughter makes him chuckle, too. He shakes his head in disbelief and lets it go, it’s just a silly nickname. One day Mayday will grow out of it, he’s sure.

“Hey guys, I’m back,” someone says.

The three of you turn at the voice.

“Peter,” you say, greeting him with a smile.

Miguel gives him a nod of acknowledgment, crossing his arms over his chest again as he stands next to you, Mayday still in your arms.

Peter B. stops a few feet away, looking at the three of you.

“Hm,” Peter B. hums softly, a gleam in his eyes. He smiles to himself, as if fondly thinking of something but he reveals nothing. “Just came to pick up Mayday. MJ and I got out of our meeting just in time for her nap. Thank you for looking after her for us,” he says to you with an appreciative smile.

“Of course. It was no problem. I think she enjoyed her time with me. We looked at the flowers, didn’t we?” you ask Mayday, holding her higher. “And she had her snacks and got to see around my city again. It was a fun grocery trip,” you say, leaving out your meeting with Harry for now. You’ll tell him and the rest of the spider gang later when your mind isn’t so scattered nor conflicted about it. “It was a busy trip, so I think she’s definitely ready for her nap.” You walk over to him and hand Mayday over.

“Thanks,” Peter says again with a smile. “I’ll see you guys in a bit. This little one definitely needs a nap.” Peter looks at his daughter, noticing signs of sleepiness even as she continues to hold her action figures, lazily showing them to him.

“Let me collect her toys,” you say, gathering her items with Miguel’s help. The two of you place everything in Mayday’s backpack before you hand it back to Peter, helping him put it on. “There.”

“Thanks, guys. I’ll see you around. Say bye, Mayday,” Peter B. says with a grin.

“Bye-bye,” Mayday says waving one hand, the one holding Miguel’s action figure.

“Bye,” you say warmly, waving as well.

“Bye-bye, Mayday,” Miguel says standing next to you.

You glance at him, noticing that he said “bye-bye” as well, just like Mayday. You turn away and smile, finding that endearing as Peter and Mayday head out of the lab.

Miguel watches as they vanish from sight, his thoughts going back to your encounter with Harry once again, but he keeps that to himself for now. He knows that this sudden contact with him and the lunch tomorrow is weighting on you right now, and the last thing he wants to do is add to your stress by bringing it up so soon.

What Miguel wishes to do is make you forget about it, even if just for an hour. Miguel wishes to do what you always do for him, lift his spirits when he’s feeling down or tense. He thinks for a few seconds, planning and remembering something

“Mira [look], I wanted to show you something,” he starts, hoping this will take your mind off it for a little bit. He was planning to show you this later today but now seems like the best time to do so. He gestures for you to follow him to another lab bench. “I’ve been working on something with Lyla, doing trials and such.”

“What is it?” you ask as you stand next to him, looking at the surface. There’s a few lookalikes to the gizmos, a closed box, and tools all scattered about.

“Ever since last spring when I got injured and my gizmo was broken by that variant of the Green Goblin, I’ve been thinking about working on a new one. A more durable one,” Miguel says as he opens the box and retrieves something. He lifts it up and shows it to you, another gizmo. “I started doing some research on better materials - stronger ones, which this one is made out of. Up to that point there were no incidents like that, in which the gizmo was directly targeted. It was built to be durable in fights, to take hits and scratches but not that kind of impact. So for months, I’ve been testing other materials but they’ve all failed until I came across a new one. I started building this gizmo a few weeks ago once I found the new materials needed. This seems to be the best one in regards to that,” he says, offering it so you can take a closer look at it.

You take it carefully and inspect it. The trial gizmo looks similar to the current one with some differences. For instance, you can immediately tell this one is sturdier but also much more sleeker than the current one.

“It has a few more features, including those like that of a smartwatch. It can track vitals and the sort,” Miguel says, watching as you look at the gizmo. “I’m not concerned for that but it’s something other members have talked about in the past, so I added it. It might be helpful, who knows.” Miguel adds, shrugging.

“It feels sturdier,” you tell him. “I’m sure the others will like it, especially with those new features,” you add with a grin. “So, I can track my heart rate?”

Noticing your grin, Miguel returns it. It seems that his little plan has worked so far. “Why don’t you try it on?”

“It’s ready for that?”

“Yes. Now I just need to test it out - to make sure that everything is working as it should. I’ve made two, so far, so…” Miguel trails off. “You can test this one for me. I’ll test the other one.”

You nod, not questioning the fact that Miguel specifically made two of these gizmos. You slide the new gizmo on your other wrist and start it up. The familiar marigold colored screen appears immediately.

“I’m glad you kept the same color. It’s easy on the eyes.”

“It is, isn’t it? It helps a lot, especially with me staring at the screens for so long. Oh, look, there’s the vitals icon,” Miguel says pointing with his finger.

You click on the icon and the gizmo immediately shows a screen, asking if you want to measure your heart rate among other things. You approve the heart rate feature and it begins instantly, not taking long to show the results.

“Ninety-three beats per minute, and it’s within the general range,” Miguel reads. “That seems normal. We’ll keep track of that and make sure it doesn’t fluctuate to crazy numbers. If it does, it means I’ll need to work on it more.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that then and report it to you,” you reply. “Unless it’s already synced to the network?”

Miguel nods his head. “These are but just because I want to make sure they’re working correctly. The final ones, those distributed, won’t though. I don’t want to breach anyone’s health privacy.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you reply. “I personally don’t mind since it’s you but it’s a nice thought for the others.” You give Miguel a smile. “You think about everything. This is amazing as always, Miguel. I’m excited to try out the other features.”

The compliment makes Miguel smile shyly at you. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re excited about it. I’ve been working on it little by little and I was excited to let you see and try it out. I guess it’s also time for an upgrade. It’s been a few years now since we’ve had these. Also, I do want to ask you to keep your original gizmo on you, especially for missions while we test these new ones. I don’t want you having any issues with glitching,” Miguel adds with concern.

“I’ll keep it on, don’t worry. Definitely don’t want any glitching,” you say, remembering the time you experienced it yourself. It was painful and if you can avoid feeling it again, you will.

“Good,” Miguel says with a sigh, satisfied with your answer.

You play with a few other features until at last you remember you have some work to do. “I’m going to go ahead and work on the report for next week, if you don’t mind,” you tell him, nodding to the desk where you always sit and work.

“Alright. I’ll be here,” Miguel says as he watches you walk away to your desk. Maybe working on the report will distract you for a while before he continues with his little plan.

It’s not much in his opinion but he hopes the gesture comforts you regardless. After a few seconds of watching you, Miguel finally walks back to his platform, where he tries not to think about your old friend.

It’s an hour later when Miguel looks at his gizmo to check the time. He steps off his platform and walks over to you. You’re so concentrated on the report that you only notice him until he’s next to the desk.

“I’m going to head out for a moment. About ten minutes or so. I’ll be right back,” he informs you.

“Oh, alright.”

“Wait for me here,” Miguel says softly. “I won’t take long. Promise.”

With a smile, you nod. “I’ll wait here. Promise.”

Satisfied with your answer, Miguel nods with a smile before he heads out with a determined look on his face. You silently wonder where he’s going off to but you don’t question it. You continue to work on the report and wait for him.

Just like Miguel promised, you hear his footsteps about fifteen minutes later. You glance up at him just as he appears in your line of sight. He approaches your desk again.

“Come on,” Miguel says softly, nodding his head to the side.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Let’s go,” Miguel tries again with a small smirk.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. Just follow me,” he says, not sharing much.

You continue to stare at him, eyebrow raised. He just came back from wherever he mysteriously went off to and is now asking you to follow him. You feel the need to ask what’s going on but based on how little Miguel is sharing, you have a feeling he doesn’t want to tell you about it, but rather show you.

You save your progress on the device and nod before you stand up. “Alright.”

You follow Miguel, walking a few feet before he stops and looks up. He shoots his web up to the ceiling and climbs up. With furrowed eyebrows you do the same. You have no idea what’s going on, but you meet Miguel on the ceiling, noticing that he’s holding himself up with his talons.

“I always forget about this,” Miguel says. “No one else knows about it but there’s a secret window up here.”

“A secret window?”

Miguel nods and moves his hand around the ceiling, trying to locate something. “There. Watch out for the sunlight,” he warns before you hear a clicking noise. Miguel pushes it up and suddenly there’s light coming through the ceiling.

“There’s really a window on the ceiling,” you say, amazed.

Miguel chuckles before he pulls himself up. He continues to hold on to the building with his talons since you’re both stepping out onto one of the building’s peaks. If he doesn’t, he’d slip down. He crouches on the rooftop and offers you a hand, which you take without thinking. You cover your eyes, shielding them from the sunlight as you take in the fact that you’re both outside now, straight from Miguel’s lab.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” you say.

Miguel chuckles again and shrugs. “I had it installed many years ago. It was supposed to be another way for me to leave the building during emergencies but I hardly use it. I forget it even exists.”

“But you remembered it today,” you say with a smile.

“It proved to be useful today, so I remembered it.”

“You can’t even see it,” you say looking at the ground. It blends right in.

“I had it designed that way. It’s why no one has found it, thankfully. Or, I’d have spider members literally dropping into the lab,” Miguel says with a grumpy face, just imagining how some members might abuse it for their personal fun.

You laugh. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

“I knew I could trust you,” Miguel replies, his grumpy face gone. The soft smirk is back. “But I didn’t bring you up here to show you the secret window.”

“No?”

“Nope. We’re going somewhere else, so follow me, please,” Miguel says.

“Alright, I’ll follow you,” you say and with that, the two of you swing off the building.

You follow Miguel and take in the sight of Nueva York. Living here for the last few weeks has made you grown used to it, a thought that brings back the realization from earlier when you were with Harry. You now see Nueva York as a second home and you don’t know when that even happened, but it has.

This universe is a home to you now.

Miguel makes a quick right and you follow right away, heading straight for a building’s rooftop. You land on it within seconds, your mind stirring with questions as Miguel looks behind his shoulder, as if making sure that you’re following along. A few more steps and you spot a box. You turn to Miguel, confused.

“Lunch,” Miguel says. “I thought I’d get some lunch for us from somewhere else other than the cafeteria.”

You smile, nodding. “I’m up for lunch.”

“Yeah?” Miguel says glancing at you as he takes a seat on the ground. He pats the ground next to the box with his hand, silently inviting you over.

“Yeah,” you reply as you take a seat, not wasting a second.

Miguel opens the box in which he’s kept the food secure, once again, thinking about everything. He takes out boxes with food and two to-go drinks. As he hands you a box, you instantly recognize the amazing scent. Tacos. You smile and remember the last time you had tacos with him on another rooftop here in Nueva York, which reminds you of what Gabriel used to say about them.

It’s then that you realize it. Miguel is trying to cheer up you after what happened this morning. You glance at the new gizmo, thinking. Did he show you the gizmos as a way to distract you?

“I got your favorite kind of tacos. And favorite salsa, too,” Miguel says as he hands you small carry-out containers with your favorite salsa. “And we have agua de horchata.”

You accept everything with a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it… A lot.”

Holding his box with food, Miguel stops passing out items to look at you. You stare at each other, soft smiles grazing your faces.

“Always,” Miguel responds gently with no doubt in his mind that you’ve pieced together his plan because he recognizes that knowing look on your face right now. “I hope you enjoy your food.”

“I will. It smells amazing,” you comment as you finally open your box. The sight of food makes your stomach grumble. You look at Miguel, who is already looking at you with a soft smirk on his face but he says nothing and instead hands you napkins.

You eat side by side, enjoying the view of the city in a comfortable silence. Below, you can hear the midday traffic and see the people of Nueva York out and about. It’s a peaceful moment, one that truly makes you forget about your lunch meeting with Harry tomorrow. It’s just Miguel and you, nothing else.

You eventually finish eating and together, you collect everything, minus your cups, to avoid leaving a mess. You take a sip from yours, the sweet horchata hitting differently now. You sigh and place your cup down on the ground.

Miguel glances over at you. That sigh is not out of exhaustion. It’s one of frustration. He sighs, too. He tried to keep your mind off it for a little bit but of course, the gizmo and the lunch isn’t going to make you forget about it. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in your universe having lunch with Harry Osborn.

He clears his throat, wondering if he should bring it up. A part of him feels that he has no right to, especially when it’s about someone from your past - someone who meant a lot to you. Then again, it worries Miguel that you seem so tense about this situation, even anxious, and he truly hates seeing you like this. He sighs again, wishing he could do more.

“I know you’re not asking anyone for their thoughts or advice and I don’t want to intrude,” Miguel starts, getting your attention. “But… you don’t have to meet with him, you know?” He continues, his voice gentle and with an unwavering gaze. “At least not tomorrow. You can always arrange another time if you’re not ready.”

You nod, holding his gaze and feeling reassurance from both his words and gentle tone. It soothes your nerves.

“I feel nervous about it, not as much as I did earlier, though. It’s just that it’s been so long since I last saw him but… I think I need to. I feel like it will do me good,” you reply.

Miguel nods. “I understand that. If you’re certain about it, I’m glad you’re doing it. Whatever you decide, I’ll be here,” Miguel states, genuinely. “Supporting you. “

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I really appreciate it, Miguel, truly. I know you did this to cheer me up, and it means a lot. It helped me,” you tell him.

He smiles warmly at you. “It’s not much but I’m glad it helped you, even just a little,” he replies.

“It helped me a lot,” you correct him. “I do feel better, less nervous now.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Miguel says sincerely, still smiling.

“Your brother was right,” you state, still holding his gaze.

“Was he?”

“Yes, definitely. There’s nothing like tacos to lift someone’s spirits.”

Miguel chuckles before taking a sip from his drink. “He would be very proud to hear you agree with him, you know. He’d probably turn to me and say something like, ‘told you so,’ as if I ever disagreed with him.”

You chuckle at that, thinking about Gabriel. It would’ve been amazing to have met him.

“When did he come up with those wise words?” you ask, causing Miguel to snort softly.

“He was in his junior year of college during finals season, so I guess he really needed a pick-me up.”

“Understandable,” you reply. “Finals season is brutal.”

“I know,” he says, curious now that you mention college. “How did you manage those days? I’m curious.”

“You are?” you ask.

“Well, yes,” Miguel replies, thinking once again about how there’s so much about your life he doesn’t know of, and the truth is, Miguel would like to know more. “I’d like to know if you were the kind of student that rested properly those nights or if you pulled all-nighters. That says a lot about a person, you know.” Miguel gives you a playful smile.

You laugh softly. “I drank a lot of coffee.”

“I feel like I knew that already,” he replies, smiling. “What about my question though?”

“Well… I tried to rest as much as I could but there were times I did pull all-nighters. Other times I opted to sleep early and wake up at like 4am to begin studying.”

“So a little of both. I pulled all-nighters. A lot,” Miguel shares. “What was your favorite place to study?”

You smile and take a sip of your drink before you answer his question, one of many, as Miguel continues to ask about your college days and sharing about his own. In the end, the conversation itself boosts your mood, something that relieves Miguel. _☆_

The next day, you sit in the kitchen. It’s a rainy day in Nueva York and the weather forecast says thunderstorms are expected tonight.

A glass with agua de Jamaica is placed in front of you, along with half a sandwich Miguel prepared. You have about thirty minutes before you need to head to your universe to meet with Harry, but Miguel insisted in you having something to eat before you meet up with him.

“Uno nunca sabe [one never knows]. You might not like the food you order and then you’ll be hungry for the remaining time. You might get a headache, or something. At least you’ll have some food in your system if that’s the case,” Miguel said trying to convince you earlier today at the lab. He left out the part about him sensing your growing tension as time ticked by, and that he’s worried about you not eating properly in your nervous headspace. He even proposes splitting the sandwich between you in hopes that you’ll agree, which you do to his relief.

You can’t turn down the idea. Miguel does have a point, and you also think to yourself about your nervousness. You may eat very little even if the food is great just because of your nerves.

You take a bite of your half sandwich, looking up at Miguel as he takes a sip of his drink, his half of the sandwich almost gone. The fact that you’re sharing a sandwich feels very funny all of a sudden, but it’s also sweet that Miguel worried about you eating something, just in case.

It’s also sweet because it’s midday and Miguel is here, at the penthouse, instead of at HQ. The two of you left together and while you got changed into regular clothes upstairs, Miguel prepared the sandwich and glasses of agua de Jamaica.

You finish the sandwich and drink from your glass. You tell yourself it’s fine, that this is just - lunch. You’ll probably talk about Peter and maybe about what the two of you have been up to. That’s when you realize you’ll need to come up with some story about working somewhere, and about doing something other than what you’ve been doing all these years, or Harry might become suspicious.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel asks, noticing the worried look on your face. He straightens up, standing across from you, alarmed.

“I just realized I might have to come up with some lie about working somewhere. No one other than Peter ever knew about me being Spider-Woman, so if Harry asks, I guess I’ll have to lie.”

Miguel nods and thinks about that.

“You can tell the truth, just keep it vague. You do work at the Spider Society and do a lot,” he says.

You nod thinking about the tasks you help with at the Spider Society. “You’re right. Okay, no names. Just keep it vague.”

Miguel gives you a reassuring smile, feeling bad that you’re worried. This situation has caught you by surprise so much and he hates that because you seem nervous and tense, something he’s not used to seeing. He dislikes seeing you out of your usual self - calm and happy. He leans on the counter to be your height, hoping he can ease some of your nerves.

“It’s going to be okay,” Miguel says gently, his gaze soft as he meets your eyes. “It’s just lunch. It’ll probably last about an hour and a quarter of that time will be spent eating and drinking. It’ll be over before you even realize, trust me. And don’t worry about answering all his questions, if he asks any. You don’t have to answer them nor give him explanations for anything. It’s not an interview,” Miguel adds. “You’ll be okay, I know it.”

You smile at Miguel, his words sinking in, calming you. “Thank you, that - that really helps,” you say, sighing softly and feeling reassured.

“Always. Just remember to breathe,” Miguel adds. “Everything will be okay.”

You nod, repeating those words. Everything will be okay. It’s just lunch and it’ll be over before you realize. You don’t have to answer all of Harry’s questions nor give explanations. You’ll be okay. You stare back at Miguel, letting his words continue to calm you.

A random notification from your gizmo reminds you it’s almost time. You look at the screen to confirm. You now have about fifteen minutes until lunch with Harry.

“I should head out now,” you say, glancing back at Miguel, but you really don’t feel like leaving.

“Yeah, it’s almost time,” Miguel replies, not moving an inch and still leaning on the counter, his gaze set on you.

You nod. “I should finish my drink first though. I don’t want to waste the agua de Jamaica.” You lift your glass and take a sip.

“I can serve you more if you’d like,” Miguel offers, looking at the pitcher. “It’s very refreshing.”

“It is,” you respond. “I think I’ll have just a little more, please.”

“Of course.” Miguel moves at last and reaches for the pitcher.

You hold out your glass and he serves more of the maroon liquid, refilling it entirely.

“If you want more, just let me know,” he says placing the pitcher down.

You thank him and drink some more, Miguel’s gaze back on you.

You take your time drinking the water, not rushing at all. Miguel doesn’t seem preoccupied with the time either, as if he doesn’t have any work to do at HQ - as if it’s normal for him to be at home in the middle of the day on a weekday.

It’s about five minutes later that Lyla pops out of nowhere.

“Oh, you guys are still here? I thought you were gone already to your lunch,” she says looking at you before turning to Miguel. “And I thought you’d be doing some work somewhere in the multiverse. Shouldn’t you be going? You have - like eight minutes left,” Lyla continues, displaying a countdown for a few seconds before she disappears.

“Right. I should get going, or I might be late,” you say before downing the rest of your drink and standing up. You glance at Miguel. “I’m heading out now.”

Straightening up, Miguel nods in understanding. “Yes, alright… You don’t want to be late.”

“No, that would look bad.”

”And it’s unlike yourself to be late,” Miguel says, exhaling deeply. He unconsciously taps his pinky finger on the counter. “Do you have everything you need?”

Miguel’s question reminds you to check, so you quickly make sure you do. Today, you’re taking a handbag with you to store all your items, specifically your gizmo, so Harry doesn’t see it. You were lucky yesterday to be wearing something that hid your wrists, but today you’re wearing clothes that don’t easily conceal the device. You nod once you confirm. “Yes, it seems so.” You sigh softly and look back at Miguel, giving him another nod. It’s time to go, you tell yourself, curling your hand into a soft fist at your side. Your pinky finger flexes slightly but you ignore it. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Miguel nods, his tapping pinky finger going still at last. “I’ll be at HQ… I’ll see you there.” Miguel pauses, wanting to say something else. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need assistance of any kind,” he says, summarizing all of his thoughts with that sentence alone, even though he wants to say more, like how he’d meet you somewhere - anywhere - if you need to talk, or if you need a moment far away from everything.

You smile softly and nod. “I will, thank you. I’ll see you at HQ in an hour or so, then.”

“In an hour or so, then,” Miguel repeats, nodding.

Time is ticking and you remember that Lyla said you have about eight minutes. At least two more have gone by, which means you must have about six minutes left to leave and make it to the location. And yet, you feel rooted to the ground, right there in Miguel’s kitchen.

You remind yourself that you don’t want to be late, that you don’t want to seem disrespectful. That’s what makes you take a step back at last. You break your gaze away from Miguel and look down at your gizmo, preparing it to open a portal.

“Alright, I’m heading out now, or else, I’ll really be late,” you state, sheepishly.

Miguel nods, knowing you really must go now or you’ll definitely be a few minutes late. So, together, you walk to the living room where you finally open the portal to your universe.

Miguel’s pinky finger begins to flex over and over again as he walks just a few feet behind you. You turn to face Miguel.

“Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it. It’ll be alright. Just enjoy yourself. Remember,” Miguel pauses.

“It’s just a lunch,” you say, remembering his reassuring words from earlier.

“It’s just a lunch.” Miguel nods. It’s just a lunch with an old friend. You’ll be fine. You won’t be in harm’s way, he tells himself. Miguel’s gaze turns to the living room’s windows for just a fraction of a second, which reminds him that it’s pouring outside and that usually, the weather matches across universes. “Wait.”

Miguel turns and walks back to the kitchen before you can say anything, heading straight for the door that leads to the hallway where the laundry room and second office is located. You see him enter the laundry room for a few seconds before he walks out again with an umbrella in his hand. He walks back to you, reaching you in no time due to his long strides. He hands it to you. “Just in case it’s raining there, too. If it’s not, you can just leave it somewhere in the meantime, but please take it. I don’t want you getting caught in the rain without an umbrella and getting sick.”

Smiling, you accept the umbrella and nod. “Thank you. I actually forgot it’s raining and that it might be the same at my universe. I’ll keep it with me, just in case.” You tightly hold the umbrella in your hand, feeling a physical itch in your pinky finger that you try to ease by pressing your fingers together. “I’m ready,” you say, even though it’s not the truth because you suddenly feel like you’re forgetting something. You ignore the sensation and at last, turn around and begin to walk into the portal but before you fully enter it, you look over your shoulder to look at Miguel. “I’ll meet you at the lab!”

“Sounds good, I’ll wait for you there!” Miguel replies, watching as you disappear fully from his sight. “In an hour or so,” Miguel says out loud to himself.

He stands in the same spot until the portal fades completely and it’s only then when he notices his pinky finger flexing. He raises his hand and holds it out where the portal was just now.

Pinky hug, Miguel thinks to himself, but it’s too late now because you’re already gone.

Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before he shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. He walks back to the kitchen, deciding to wash the glasses you both used before he returns to HQ.

“Done pouting?” Lyla asks, appearing once again, as he picks up your glass from the counter.

“Who’s pouting?”

“You were just now.”

“Do you have nothing else to do?”

“I always have things to do.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Miguel replies as he washes the glasses.

Lyla shrugs, watching Miguel. She notices the frown once again, the one that’s been present ever since a certain someone stepped into a portal and left Nueva York looking like they were being forced to. After a few seconds, she sighs. “She’ll be fine.”

“What?” Miguel asks distractedly, his mind somewhere else, in another universe that’s not his but one that feels like home regardless.

“She’ll be fine. Don’t worry too much about her. She’s Spider-Woman, you know.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow with a stern look on his face before he returns his attention back to the sink. He wants to argue that he’s not worried but that would be a lie. Miguel finishes washing the dishes before he dries his hands. He sighs and places the towel down. “Yeah… She’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lyla says even though there was little enthusiasm in Miguel’s words. “How about you head back to HQ? You have about three spider members looking for you.”

“I step out for an hour and everybody needs me,” Miguel says rolling his eyes.

“Well, to be fair no one is used to you leaving out of nowhere.”

“I leave all the time.”

“Not in the middle of the day to head to your penthouse. It’s always for a mission or something in regards to the Spider Society but today you’re here,” Lyla says. “It’s strange.”

“Alright, alright. Ya [Ok], I’m going back to HQ,” Miguel says heading to one of the windows to slip out of the penthouse. Outside, Miguel glances back inside the penthouse with a sigh. He finally closes the window and leaves, his mind still whirling with thoughts.

He reaches HQ in no time and sure enough, when he arrives there’s people waiting for him. Miguel takes care of the tasks, feeling like at least these distractions will keep him from thinking about where you’re at right now. Or rather, who you’re with.

It’s not even ten minutes later after the last person left when Miguel hears multiple sets of footsteps. He’s definitely not in the mood for visitors but his eyebrows raise when he sees who it is.

Hobie, Pav, and Miles.

“Miguel,” Hobie says, hands in his pockets, in black and white.

“Hey, Miguel,” Pav says much softer as the three spider members approach him.

“Tío [uncle],” Miles acknowledges him with a little wave.

“Hobie. Pav. Miles,” Miguel addresses them, standing on his ground level platform. He does a glance over, noticing they seem to be in a somber mood, which sends alarm bells in Miguel’s head. “Has something happened?” Miguel asks, now noticing that Hobie is in black and white, a sign that he’s not in a good mood. He learned about Hobie changing colors depending on his mood and who’s around him a while back. Hobie’s appearance makes Miguel wonder.

“So this guy,” Hobie starts. “Harry Osborn.” __☆

Upon stepping out into your own universe, you’re grateful to Miguel for being so thoughtful. Droplets of cold rain splatter on you before you immediately open the umbrella to shield yourself. Under Miguel’s umbrella, you waste no time and make your way down the building you chose as your location, saving yourself a lot of walking and even swinging to avoid any suspicions since you’re not wearing your Spider-Woman suit. You didn’t even bring it with you, so you hope there’s no need for it, or else you’ll have to travel back to Nueva York to retrieve it.

As you approach the entrance of the building where you’ll be having lunch, you briefly think about how convenient a holographic suit option could be in times like these. You could’ve easily thrown the little chip in your handbag, or sewn a secret pocket into your clothes and keep it there.

Maybe you’ll tell Miguel about it later. He did offer one a few months back when he accidentally made some rips to your suit when he was in the infirmary. You sigh as you make your way to another floor, thinking about how your suit is quite old. You’ve had it since before Peter died, maybe a year or two before his death, and you’ve refused to change it because he helped you design it.

You can tell these days that the fabric feels differently from so much wear. It has seen better days for sure, yet, you feel like you’d be parting away from a part of Peter if you change it. You know you’ll save it like every other suit you had before, so it’s not like you’d be throwing it away, but this one feels different because it was the last one he helped you design.

As you enter the designated floor, you think about it. Maybe you’ll ask Miguel about it, at least get his opinion. You’re sure he’d like to help you.

You glance at the umbrella again, now closed, and think of Miguel and how thoughtful he is. Not only that, but he’s been so comforting and assuring of this whole situation, so openly and without hesitation, too.

Just as you’re about to slip off your gizmo to put it away, you see a bunch of notifications come through from your other friends, all wishing you luck with your meeting.

You told them about Harry and today’s lunch a few hours after Miguel and you returned from lunch yesterday. Just like Miguel, they were able to tell that you were nervous even if they didn’t say anything about it. You smile as you read the encouraging words from them now before you activate the “Do not Disturb” mode and place it in your handbag.

You enter the main room and search for Harry as you take in the setting, noticing it’s a bit on the sophisticated side and filled with individuals in business attire. You imagine they’re probably some of the richest people in the city, considering Harry is one himself.

At last, you spot Harry when he stands up to greet you, so you head his way.

“Hey, you made it despite the weather,” Harry says with a smile.

“I did. It’s definitely raining out there,” you reply, giving him a small smile.

You both stand there for a few seconds, not knowing how to properly greet each other. Do you give him a handshake and make it formal? A hug, on the other hand, feels far too personal.

“Allow me,” Harry finally says before he pulls the other chair for you.

You thank him before sitting down, wondering how awkward this will be if neither of you were able to figure out how to greet each other. You calm yourself with Miguel’s words as Harry returns to his seat. It’s just lunch and it’ll be fine. Time will fly and it’ll be over before you realize.

“I’m relieved that you came,” Harry says adjusting his suit’s jacket. “I must admit… As I saw the time, I thought you had changed your mind - which I wouldn’t blame you for.” Harry looks down at the table. “But I’m glad you came. Thank you,” he says softly.

You nod. It didn’t occur to you to cancel on him. It was Miguel who suggested that you could meet him another time until you were ready since he noticed your tension.

“It never crossed my mind, to be honest. I’m glad I was able to make it, too, despite the weather. Thank you for the invitation,” you reply.

“Of course…” he responds giving you a brief smile before a waiter approaches your table.

You both order drinks to start and take a minute or two to look at the menu. Looking over it, you feel thankful that this alone will take some minutes.

You subtly glance up at Harry, his eyes on the menu. He also seems to not know what to do.

Turning your attention back to the menu, you realize you’re honestly not hungry after the half sandwich Miguel made and drinking so much agua de Jamaica, but you must order something. You finally find something that sounds light and hope it’s good.

“My dad loves this place,” Harry says placing his menu down. “They have great food and it helps that it’s close to Osborn Industries.”

“Yeah, I bet that makes it very convenient for a busy man like him.”

“I think so. And of course, he runs into old friends, too, so that must be another pro to the place,” Harry says glancing around, which makes you wonder if he recognizes anyone.

You nod. “It’s very beautiful, too. Lovely view,” you say glancing towards the windows.

“I’m glad you like it.”

You nod at each other, falling into a silence that’s somehow alleviated by the waiter who arrives with the drinks. He provides a small buffer between you as he takes your orders but all too soon, he’s gone.

As Miguel would say, shock, you think to yourself while taking a sip from your drink.

__☆

“Alright, so… You’re all unhappy about this lunch meeting?” Miguel asks after listening to the three spiderlings. It seems that they just wanted to vent, even Hobie.

“… Yes,” Pav replies.

“Yep,” Hobie responds at the same time as Pav.

“It’s just - I don’t know why Y/N accepted,” Miles asks in sync with the other two.

“Why?” Miguel asks.

“Because… Why is this guy now showing up?” Hobie replies. “So many years have passed since Peter’s death. It just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Or, me,” Miles adds and Pav nods.

Miguel raises an eyebrow. He can’t deny that he’s thought about that, too, about how sudden this all feels, but then again it happens, for better or worse. Plus, there's something else in Miguel's mind - something about Harry Osborn's sudden reappearance in your life that's gnawing at him. He can't pinpoint it right now in the presence of the three spider members.

He sighs and leans on his platform. It’s at least nice to know he’s not the only one having thoughts about this encounter between you and Harry, however, he’s not going to add to their worries with his own. No, Miguel is going to try and calm their worries as best as he can, they are, after all, still so young. And whether he realizes it or not, the paternal side of him feels the urge to ease their concerns.

“Look, guys,” Miguel starts, looking somewhere else, trying to gather his thoughts. After a few seconds, his red eyes shift back to theirs. “As much as we’d like to be there with her right now and question Osborn about his decision almost five years ago - question what kind of person does that to their friend,” Miguel says with a sharp tone. His relaxed face turns stoic at the thought of Osborn ghosting you right after Peter’s funeral - a change the other three Spider-Men notice - before Miguel reminds himself to calm down. “Believe me, I have many thoughts about that,” he says irritated but as he continues on, his voice and face expression become softer as he speaks of you. “But Y/N - she - she’s incredible. She’s a brilliant woman and I think we all know that. If she made the decision to meet him, we must support it. She knows what she’s doing - knows what she needs - and maybe this is a closure for her. As her friends… what matters is that we respect it and support her, the way she’s always supported us.”

Miguel meets everyone’s gazes, trying to drive his words home to make the younger members understand. He understands where they’re coming from but at the end of the day, they all need to respect your decision and support you. At last, they nod.

“It’s a good thing we’re not there, or we’d give this guy an earful,” Miles says, frowning.

Miguel nods in agreement. Harry Osborn is lucky it’s just you and not the entire spider gang, otherwise, he’d be receiving glares left and right.

“More than an earful,” Hobie says with a sigh.

“Personally, I think that guy needs a chat,” Pav says, nodding. “But we must respect Y/N.”

Miguel smiles a bit, glad to hear that the younger members have settled down a bit. He sighs before he straightens up and presses a button. His platform rises just enough so that Miguel can sit on it and have his long legs dangle from it. Three seconds later, Miles joins him with a sigh.

“So, I guess we wait,” Miles says.

“We wait,” Miguel repeats before all four Spider-Men fall into a silence.

Pav ends up taking a seat on Miguel’s other side. Meanwhile, Hobie stands, looking off to the side, still in black and white. About a minute or two passes when Miguel’s stomach grumbles, causing everyone to look at him.

“Did you have lunch?” Pav asks.

“No,” Miguel replies. “Well, I had half a sandwich.”

“Half a sandwich?” Hobie asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I split it with Y/N. I made it so she could eat something before she left, just in case.”

The younger spider members stare at each other at that. Miguel O’Hara made a sandwich and split it in half with you?

“That’s - kind of you,” Hobie says at last looking down at one of his boots, thinking.

“Very thoughtful,” Pav says smiling.

“I’m sure she really appreciated that,” Miles says with a little smile, sharing a look with Pav as Miguel looks at the floor.

“What time is it?” he asks, a question that Miles answers. He closes his eyes for a few seconds. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes.

“I think I saw a new batch of empanadas being put out,” Hobie says looking up.

Miguel looks up at Hobie and nods. “I might go in a bit and check, thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging before he slips his hands into his vest, pink spots appearing randomly in his appearance.

“Where’s everyone else at?” Miguel asks curiously.

“They’re all spread out around HQ. Waiting for Y/N to come back,” Hobie responds.

“I see,” Miguel replies with a nod, thinking about your comment from two nights ago and how true it is.

Not only do you have each other, but the spider gang, too. __☆

“So…” Harry starts, clasping his hands over the table.

“How is work?” you ask, deciding to take control of the conversation.

Harry blinks in surprise, taken a back. He composes himself quickly though. “Good - it’s going good. Busy, which is good. It keeps me occupied,” he says, nodding.

“That’s great to hear,” you reply nodding. “Busy is good. And I’m sure Mr. Osborn is more than happy with that - with him always being so happy to work and staying busy.”

“Oh yeah, he loves it,” Harry says with a smile. “He’s happy having so much to do. I always have to remind him to take a moment, otherwise he’d be running around the building - wanting to be involved in everything. By the way, I told him we ran into each other. He was very happy to hear that you’re doing well.”

You smile warmly at that. Mr. Osborn was always kind with Peter and you, so much that he even offered internships at Osborn Industries at one point. Growing up, you saw him look after Harry like a father should despite being a single working parent. He always made time for every single school function Harry was involved in.

“Well, he’s a working man,” you say. “And I’m touched, thank you. I’m happy to hear he’s doing well, too.”

Harry nods, lifting his glass to take a sip. He sighs and looks at the windows. “This rain. It reminded me of the time Peter…” he trails off, looking back at you.

“You may talk about Peter,” you say. “I’m not going to fall apart listening to a memory about him.”

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like that.”

“I’m just letting you know,” you reply. “Almost five years later, I’m still learning to move forward, but I’ve grieved and healed some. It may not seem like it, but I have. Slowly but surely.”

The reminder of how much time has passed, almost five years in a few months, hits Harry. He stays quiet for several seconds.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to - I don’t know what you’ve been through all these years and I didn’t want to potentially upset you by bringing up a memory of him. I’m thankful that you’ve tried to move forward. Peter… Peter would’ve wanted that.”

You nod at Harry’s last statement. You never told Harry about Peter’s last words but he is right. Peter asked you to try and move forward. You sigh. “Thank you for trying to be considerate, but you don’t have to worry about upsetting me. So… what were you going to say?” you ask him, genuinely wanting to know because the truth is, Harry is one of the few people in this universe that can tell you stories about Peter. Everyone in your life as of right now never knew him, so for years, your memories alone are what you’ve held on to.

With a small smile, Harry continues. “I was thinking about this day when we were in college. It was raining so hard when we got out of a lecture but Peter simply pulled his rain jacket’s hood over his head. He didn’t want to wait. When I asked him where he was off to in a hurry, he said home. He told me he’d send me a message later and said bye before he headed into the rain. I remember standing outside under the roof and watching him take off, that Spider-Woman enamel pin on his backpack standing out in the rain. It was later when he told me he went to see you,” Harry says softly.

As Harry shares his memory, you smile, remembering that day. “I remember that day. He was soaked. My parents and I had to find him dry clothes,” you say. “And the Spider-Woman pin,” you pause and chuckle, remembering it now after so long. “He kept it all the way to the end of college. I still have it with his belongings.”

“I swear he was the biggest Spider-Woman fan,” Harry says with a soft chuckle. “Do you remember when…” Harry continues as more memories flood his mind.

The two of you continue to talk about the old days even when your food is brought to the table and thankfully, that’s the topic of discussion until the end. An hour later, and feeling much more at peace, you’re both standing in the first floor’s lobby. The rain hasn’t stopped at all.

“Do you want a ride home?” Harry offers.

“I’m alright, thank you though. I have my umbrella,” you say holding it up.

“Right,” Harry says with a bit of a disappointed look on his face. He clears his throat. “Thank you for agreeing to have lunch with me. I really enjoyed… Talking to you after so long.”

“I did, too,” you say gently, finding it to be true. After so many nerves, you ended up calming thanks to the memories of Peter. You silently thank him and wonder what he thinks of today from wherever he is. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course.” Harry nods. He stares at you for a few seconds, debating. “I was hoping - I want to ask you something,” Harry says. “It may be too much, but I can’t help myself from asking. Talking to you… It felt like the old times when we used to talk. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until today. I was wondering if - if we could meet again. For lunch, or dinner. Or, anything, really.”

You stare up at him, holding your umbrella and your handbag.

“You don’t have to say yes now. Think about it. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again, but just think about it,” he says with a sad smile before he retrieves his wallet. He pulls out a small piece of paper, a business card, and a pen from his top’s pocket. He scribbles quickly and hands you the business card. “My personal number, outside of work. If you’re open to it, call me whenever you want. I’ll get back to you if I miss your call. Just - think about it, okay?”

Holding the business card now, you glance at it for a few seconds, reading the scribbled phone number. You nod before placing it inside your handbag, unsure about your answer. “Thank you. I’ll - think about it.”

Harry nods. He wasn’t expecting a quick yes. “May I call you a ride, at least?”

“I’m alright, Harry. It’s just a little rain. I’ll be fine, truly. Thank you, though.”

“Alright. Please be careful on your way back,” he says, his eyes taking in the sight of you before you part ways. It might be the last time he sees you, after all.

“Likewise,” you reply. “Stay safe,” you add before you give him a small wave and exit the building, feeling his gaze. __☆

Miguel reads data from a screen. It's the fourth time he's read over a paragraph and the information doesn't stick. He slides the screen away. Maybe he should focus on something else that requires less attention.

“Your roommate is back. She's outside the lab asking if she can come in,” Lyla says popping up next to Miguel.

“She's back? I'm gla - Tell her yes. She can come in,” Miguel replies, his face lighting up.

Lyla nods and disappears. A few seconds later, Miguel can hear your footsteps before you step into view. There you are, already in your suit and with a smile.

“I did say in an hour or so,” you say, approaching his platform.

Miguel chuckles quietly, a soft smile grazing his lips. “You did. Did you - Did you enjoy your lunch?”

Stepping onto the platform, you nod and look at him. When you first joined the Spider Society, you never imagined stepping on Miguel’s platform but it’s no longer a strange feeling. You now know how to operate everything on his platform these days after he taught you and a few other members when he was injured last year during the spring. Sometimes you even use the screens when you wish to see what you’re working on in a larger scale, sharing the platform with Miguel. And it’s why you feel comfortable stepping on it now, even leaning back with Miguel facing you. He leans to the side, watching you tentatively to gauge your reaction, trying to detect any negative emotions in you but your smile is a true one. You seem at peace and that makes Miguel relieved.

“It went well - after a few minutes of awkwardness. I’ll admit, at the beginning I was disappointed when the waiter left too soon after taking our orders.”

Miguel grins in amusement. “That sounds like a rough start.”

You chuckle and make a face at him, a playful one that inspires a short exhale of air from Miguel out of amusement and ternura [fondness, endearment]. “It was, but thankfully, it slowly got better. He brought up a memory of Peter, from our college days, and that was how we were finally able to get past the awkwardness. I think he was nervous, too. From that point on, we talked about other memories. As you said, it was over before I even realized, thankfully.”

“I’m glad to hear that - that you found something that eased your nerves and his,” Miguel replies, feeling glad that you didn’t spend over an hour of discomfort in Osborn’s presence.

You sigh softly, a sign to Miguel that there’s more. He watches you carefully as you glance at a screen.

“He gave me his personal phone number by the end of it - said that he’d like to meet again, if I was open to it.”

Miguel nods, absorbing these news for a few seconds. He’d like to ask what your thoughts are on that but he refrains from doing so. He believes you’ll tell him once you’re ready to share. Right now, he has a feeling you haven’t fully given it thought considering you just came back.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know the answer yet,” you say at last, turning to meet his gaze again.

With a look of understanding, Miguel replies, “You have time to think about it. There’s no rush to make a decision today.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You nod to yourself, thinking. You’ll take a few days to consider it, but in this moment, all you want to do is settle down for the day - have some normalcy. All day, since morning, you’ve felt nervous and now that the lunch is over, you feel as though it has taken a mental toll on you. “Have you seen the others?”

“According to Hobie, they’ve all taken posts around HQ, waiting for you to come back,” he says, offering you a gentle smile.

“Really?” you ask, your face softening.

“Yeah… Including myself,” Miguel admits quietly, looking away.

You smile, feeling like all the tension from the day is slowly melting away. “I was more than ready to come back,” you admit as well. “You’re all so sweet,” you add, wishing you could lunge yourself at Miguel right now to give him a big hug but alas, Miguel is not there yet. “I really am lucky.”

Miguel��s gaze turns back to you at that, a hint of a smile on his face that grows into his usual smile for you. “We are, too,” he replies softly, sending a warmth through your body with his words.

As you both stand there, you think about how you should go see the rest of the spider gang to let them know that you’re back, but for the second time today, you don’t feel like leaving Miguel’s presence. So, you both stand there in each other’s presence until you both hear thunder.

“I guess we are having thunderstorms,” you say, still leaning back. “But hopefully we’ll be at the penthouse by then.”

“I’m sure we will,” Miguel replies, suddenly wishing that it was later in the day already. “I think - I’m going to leave around the time you usually head out.”

“Yeah? You have something to do?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head but then nods. “Actually, yeah. I was thinking for dinner we could have burritos de tinga, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m always up for burritos de tinga.”

Miguel grins and straightens up, his head tilting to the side. “Really? I had no idea. I thought the reason you smile every time you have them is just coincidence,” he says with a soft smirk now, his voice playful.

You chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, I see how it is now. In my defense, it’s not my fault you’re amazing in the kitchen. It’s your fault I love them so much, you know.”

Now Miguel chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “So now it’s my fault, eh? Very well, I’m guilty then, your honor.”

“Who is guilty?” Peter B. asks.

“And for what crime?” Jess asks.

Miguel and you turn, your eyes finding the spider gang. You straighten up as they all approach the platform.

“We heard you were back,” Pav says looking at you. “From Lyla.”

“I got back about ten minutes ago. It went well,” you reply, adding the last bit to ease any concerns from your friends. “It was just lunch,” you add, glancing at Miguel with a knowing look. He gives you a small smile before everyone surrounds the platform to ask you questions until the conversation turns to other things, like how it’s been raining all day and then to how your school age friends are not in school when they should be only to be told that you didn’t need to worry about that, at which Miguel and you shared another look.

Half an hour later, with everyone still in Miguel’s lab, Mayday swings to you to be held. You hold her, standing near Miguel as everyone else has their own conversation. The two of you watch in silence as your friends talk happily amongst themselves. You smile at the sight, thankful to be surrounded by friends once again.

The sight makes you wonder. Do you have space for one more, an old one, that is?

You fix Mayday’s wristband, the one she wears in order to travel through the multiverse with Peter as you think of Harry. Time will tell, sooner rather later.

“Miggle,” Mayday says looking over at Miguel.

“What did she say?” Peter asks, turning his attention to his daughter.

“Por favor no [please, no],” Miguel mutters next to you.

“Did she say ‘mingle?’” Peter asks coming over to his daughter with a bright smile.

You glance over at Miguel who looks like his face is about to turn into a grumpy one. “She said mingle,” you reply, with a smile to Peter. You hand her back to him.

“Another word! Mingle. Wow, where did she hear that? We haven’t taught her that one yet,” Peter says. “Good job, sweetie. Daddy is proud of you.”

After Peter walks away, still praising Mayday, you turn to Miguel, who is looking more than relieved. He glances at you. “Thank you. I know Peter would start calling me that if he heard it.”

You chuckle. “No worries. I got you cover.”

“Thankfully,” he replies relaxing.

After a few seconds and very quietly so only Miguel will hear, you speak again. “So, we are eating burritos de tinga, right, Miggle?”

“Yes, we are. We have all that we need to mak-” Miguel stops mid-sentence and turns to face you, eyes narrowed. “I see how it is.”

“What?” you ask, shrugging innocently.

“You said the m-word.”

You look away to hide your smile. “The m-word… All I said was your name. Miguel.”

“Yeah, okay, uhuh,” he replies. “Might not make the burritos after all.”

“Wait, no - please?” you say, turning to look at him. “Please, Miguel?” you add, emphasizing his name.

Miguel’s lips quiver as he fights the urge to smile but he gives up and almost rolls his eyes at himself. He’s too easily persuaded by you.

“Fine. Burritos de tinga for dinner,” he says with a smile. “But never call me that again with Peter within earshot, please,” he adds quietly for you to hear only.

You grin. “Alright, alright. I got it. Just don’t threaten my burritos de tinga, please. I can’t wait to get home,” you say happily.

Miguel chuckles, something inside him fluttering when he hears you say you’re ready to go home, to the penthouse. “Honestly, this weather makes me want to be home now. Maybe we can head out earlier…” he says softly as his eyes look around at your friends.

“I’d be down for that,” you reply.

“We’ll do that then, if nothing else comes up.”

To Miguel’s relief, and yours, nothing interferes with your plans. At the penthouse now, Miguel has a pan on the stove in which he’s cooking the tinga. The two of you are sitting side by side with your photo album laid out on the counter so the two of you can look at the photos. You brought it downstairs, wanting to look at more photos since the lunch with Harry unlocked memories you’ve been storing away.

Outside, the rain hasn’t let up and thunder has only increased since earlier when you were both in the lab. Thankfully, you are both at home now, shielded from the rain and in the comfort of the penthouse with Miguel’s record player on and delicious homemade food being cooked.

You lean back on your seat, still looking at the photos. Miguel’s eyes scan each one with close attention. You’re both in lounge clothes now, with plans to relax for the rest of the evening. You wonder if tonight you’ll go separate ways, or if you’ll hang out in the living room. You secretly hope it’s the latter, especially on an evening like this.

“Here we were at the student center,” you say softly as your eyes land on one photo of Peter and you in college. “It was some event for a student organization. I honestly can’t remember what it was called but somehow we got involved.”

Miguel chuckles quietly and nods. “So you joined clubs and organizations in college?”

“Yeah, I tried to,” you answer, remembering that that wasn’t something that came up yesterday when he was asking you questions of those days. “I got into honor ones and others.”

Miguel turns to look at you, a smile on his face. “I’m not surprised.”

Turning to face him, you smile, feeling a little shy. “Yeah, I was in a few.” You shrug as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Hmm.” Miguel turns back to look at the photos. “And look at those cords and medals,” Miguel says, gently tapping on a photo.

You look at the photo. “I earned a few.”

“Just a few, right,” Miguel says rolling his eyes playfully before he stands up. “Let me check on the food real quick.”

He checks the food, making sure it’s not burning and satisfied, he prepares everything to start heating tortillas before he returns to your side.

“Next page,” you say softly in a bit of a sing song voice as you turn the page. The photos on the new pages consist of both Peter and you, either photographed alone or together but one in particular catches Miguel’s eyes.

Peter and you are on a couch, sitting side by side. You’re both smiling but you’re the only one looking at the camera because Peter is looking at you. With his gaze glued to that photo, Miguel thinks about how there’s no doubt that Peter loved you. He can see it in the man’s eyes, the pure love and affection in them. You were the love of his life.

And Miguel knows you reciprocated all that love and affection. Despite the years since Peter’s death, your voice and face says it. You speak of him with love and fondness.

You both loved each other. So much.

Miguel gulps softly as he continues to stare at the photo. “You were so in love,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

You look at Miguel, following his gaze and realize what photo he’s focused on. You smile tenderly and nod. “We were.”

Miguel nods, his eyes still on the picture. “It looks like the kind of love that you only find once,” he comments. “The kind that a lot of people search for their entire lives.”

Still staring at the photo, you process Miguel’s words. You remember what Miguel told you about his wife and marriage a few days ago. You’ve been thinking about it since, how Miguel felt that he was in a loveless marriage, and that both him and his partner had only married to have a sense of family. By his words, Miguel has realized over time that he wasn’t truly in love with his partner. He loved her but not in a romantic way.

You reflect on his statements from just now - about searching for love and not finding it. Is that how he feels now? That he’s searched for it but hasn’t found it? That makes you wonder. Is Miguel still open to it? Or, has that door been shut?

You sigh softly and trace the photo with your fingertips, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve had the privilege of experiencing it - feeling it. To receive and return it,” you start, your gaze on the photo. “It’s truly a beautiful thing. All kind of love is, I believe, and our love, Peter’s and I… It was a beautiful one. I was - I am - fortunate to have experienced that kind of love,” you say, finally looking up at him. “However, I don’t believe that it’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

Miguel’s eyes turn to you, questioning. You shake your head.

“I think there are people who have the privilege of experiencing it twice, sometimes even more.” You give Miguel a soft smile. “That’s the thing about love, at least, that’s how I see it. I’m not a love expert,” you say, shrugging slightly. “But, I think love is so complex it can be found again. Perhaps it’s felt differently considering no relationship is the same but that doesn’t mean it’ll be felt with less intensity and connection - it wouldn’t be any less meaningful. You know - one time I remember reading something about this. It was something along the lines of how one can find the love of their life in one partner, and discover their soulmate in another one. I don’t know,” you say softly. “Maybe that makes no sense but… I think it’s possible. Love is love, as long as you love with your heart.”

Miguel nods slowly, your works sinking in just as a loud rumble of thunder fills the penthouse. It seems that over the last few minutes, the rain has grown stronger, and thunder and lightning have become more frequent. “You have a much positive perspective on it than most people do.”

You offer Miguel a small smile. “Maybe I’m naive, and there will be people who disagree, but that’s what I think. Especially, if you’re open to love again.”

Miguel nods, still staring at you as a question comes to mind. “And are… you?” He’s wondered this before - whether you’ve ever even considered the idea of a relationship after Peter, at least one in the future.

You hold his gaze and smile, another loud rumble filling the silence before you reply. “… I am. Just not now. I think I’ve been open to it for a while, the idea of it. One day, maybe. And that’s if I find someone that - you know.”

Miguel nods in understanding. He looks down at the album again. “Maybe one day,” he repeats, now staring at a photo of you alone, smiling at the camera. He silently wonders if Peter was the one who took the photo before he clears his throat, the penthouse’s lights flickering. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts,” he says sitting still for a few seconds before he stands up, remembering to check on the food. “It’s ready, how many burritos do you want?” he asks softly as he retrieves plates, thoughts of your reply in his mind.

You politely tell Miguel how many you’d like and while he prepares the burritos, you gather everything else that’s needed from glasses to napkins. All the while, the sound of rain against the windows grows. You notice the lights flicker a bit more but neither Miguel nor you think much of it, or at least, neither of you say anything about it. You put away your photo album, somewhere where you’ll see it and remember to take back upstairs to your room later on.

“Your burritos are ready,” Miguel says as you look out a window from a distance, watching as lightning scatters around the sky in bright flashes.

“Thank you,” you say turning back to the kitchen again, ready to serve drinks for both Miguel and you just as Miguel heads over to the counter, one plate in each hand.

Miguel has barely placed the plates down when the lights flicker again. You finish pouring the drinks, glancing up for a second.

“At least we still have-” you start.

“Power,” Miguel finishes your sentence, nodding.

Except, the lights flicker once again and this time, the penthouse goes dark. The music from the record player has cut off, so now it’s just the sound of the thunderstorm filling the air. After what feels like ten seconds, Miguel and you chuckle.

“We spoke too soon,” Miguel says, shaking his head in amusement. “Let me go and retrieve some flashlights. It usually doesn’t take long for it to be restored but we can’t have dinner in the darkness.”

“I have some candles upstairs,” you offer. “I’ll get those.”

“Okay, let me just - cover the food so it doesn’t get cold,” Miguel replies before the two of you head off in different directions to get what you need.

You come back downstairs with the candles and quickly light them up to get some lighting. You set them around the kitchen and dining room area, making sure to place each one in a safe area. As you place the last one, you hear Miguel’s footsteps, catching your attention. He steps back into the space, holding three flashlights, and looking around, he realizes your candles are more than sufficient for dinner. Either way, he places them on the counter to the side.

“The candles light up the place pretty well, what do you think?” you ask, meeting Miguel back at the countertop.

“I was just thinking that. No need for flashlights. I’ll leave them here either way, just in case you need one. Feel free to grab whichever. They all have new batteries,” Miguel says, tapping the flashlights before he gestures to your chair. “Come on, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

With a smile, you nod and quickly reach his side before taking a seat. You both begin to eat your food, at last, over candlelight and thunderstorm sounds.

“Oh, yeah, I found this,” Miguel says as he reaches into his pocket. He places a device on the countertop between you and then a few rectangular pieces.

Cassette tapes.

“No way, cassette tapes?” you ask with excitement, which Miguel immediately detects.

“Yes. They became trendy a few years ago - back when Gabriel was still alive, actually - so, many years now. Gabriel is actually the owner of this one. Some of these tapes are his, and some are mine. I saw them once I got the flashlights and figured, why not, since we can’t use the record player right now. I hope it works though, I haven’t tried it.”

“I hope so, I’d love to hear your music taste from back then. And Gabriel’s, too,” you say with a grin.

“Well, I hope you’re not disappointed. I don’t remember a thing from these things,” Miguel says, nervous that the music might not be to your taste, or his at this point in his life. He sets the device up and to his surprise, it works. “This one is one of Gabriel’s tapes. Let’s see what the vibe was for it since he never labeled them,” Miguel says shaking his head in sibling disapproval.

You take a bite from your food as you wait for the music to start and seconds later it does.

“It worked,” you say.

“I’m surprised it did. It hasn’t been used in forever.”

You chuckle and lean back as the music continues. “This is nice. I like the vibes,” you say. “Seems like Gabriel had good taste in music.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow, glancing over and noticing the way the candles lit up your face in a gentle manner. “You’ve only heard half of this song. You should wait before you make a decision because sometimes he’d play music that wasn’t pleasant to the ears.”

You laugh softly. “Really now? And what did he think about yours?”

“Probably the same thing,” Miguel replies with a grin before he takes a bite from his food.

You laugh again before you continue to eat, listening to the music and talking with Miguel, enjoying the conversation. You thank him for dinner once you’re both done and together, you clean up by candlelight.

You’re happy when you both head to the living room afterwards, neither of you wanting to part ways tonight. The cassette player comes along with you, which Miguel places on the coffee table before he settles on the couch, opposite of you. The candles, which you both moved to the living room, now light up the space as there’s still no power over an hour later, but neither of you seem to mind. If anything, you’re both enjoying the randomness of this moment.

You pull your blanket over your lap and grab your book, one you left a few days ago on the coffee table, next to Miguel’s. You’ve noticed that he’s been reading lately, a hobby he mentioned a while back but one he hasn’t made the time for, especially because it reminded him of Gaby. You wonder if seeing you reading has inspired him to start again. Either way, seeing Miguel reading anything other than reports and data makes you happy, especially because he’s reading one of the books you gifted him for Christmas.

As you get settled to start reading, Miguel picks up his, joining you in reading while soft music plays in the background despite the thunderstorm going strong.

You both read for what feels like an hour, at times stealing glances at each other from across the coffee table, until Miguel closes his book and places it back. He stretches his legs and glances at you just as you flip a page, finishing a chapter. You look up at him and give him a small smile.

“Tired of reading?”

“Kind of. My eyes are, at least,” he replies before he rubs them, a sight that you find endearing. He lowers his hands and glances at you. “What about you?”

You tilt your head to the side. “I think I’m done reading for tonight, too.” You repeat Miguel’s actions, closing and putting away your book, next to his again - spine to spine. “It’s still early,” you comment.

“It is,” he responds, looking around, thinking.

You look around yourself, spotting your tablet on the coffee table. “Do you want to look at new ideas I have for the penthouse? I found a few ideas you might like.” You look up at Miguel, waiting for his reply. “Unless, you want to do something else, then I can show them to you later.”

“No, no, let’s - look at them now. Please,” Miguel replies, looking at you. “I’d like to see what you found.”

You grin and prepare yourself to stand up.

“I’ll go to you,” Miguel says, making you stop before you even really began moving. He’s up and in front of you in the blink of an eye, taking a seat on the ground near you. He grabs the tablet and hands it to you before he pushes the coffee table away so he can stretch his long legs comfortably.

You feel a little in awe with how fast he moved but shake it off. You get off the couch and sit next to him on the ground, pulling your blanket along with you, which unintentionally ends up covering part of Miguel’s lap. Finally settled, you pull up saved photos and begin to show them to Miguel, who gives you his full attention. He nods and hums in approval, telling you when he really likes something. You feel a sense of satisfaction when you’re done showing him everything you saved because not once did he show disapproval.

“I like all of those ideas. Do you think we can work on it this weekend?” Miguel asks.

“Definitely. I’m up for it, if you are.”

“I’m up for it,” Miguel replies, still sitting next to you. He smiles softly as you scroll through other saved pictures. “You seem to have more ideas.”

“These are not that great,” you say, making a face of disapproval. “I found better ones later on.”

Miguel hums in response, still smiling. He watches as you make a movement in your tablet, moving pictures around. Despite being done with the photos, both of you remain in place, not moving. After a few minutes, you suggest finishing flipping through the photo album from earlier, something Miguel says yes to.

So, you find yourselves, once again, looking over your photo album. You flip through each page, telling Miguel the stories connected to the photos.

And Miguel? Miguel listens to every word you say, his gaze shifting between you as you talk and the photos.

Before either of you realize it, you close the photo album. “That’s it for this one. I have more, maybe I can show them to you later,” you say.

“I’d like that,” Miguel responds as he watches you place the album on the coffee table before you lean back on the couch, still sitting on the ground with Miguel. You sigh softly. “You tired?” he asks you softly, wondering if the day’s exhaustion has finally caught up with you.

“Nope,” you reply with a smile. “If anything, this weather and the music makes me want to stay up and simply enjoy the evening for a little longer, especially… In the presence of great company.”

That makes Miguel smile. “We can do that.”

You nod, getting more comfortable. You glance at the flickering candles, thinking about what a lovely evening this has been despite having no power and the day’s events. Miguel and you are simply enjoying each other’s presence over his brother’s music in the dim lit living room while it rains. There’s something about it - it’s so homey.

You slide lower, resting your head on the couch’s cushion.

“Do you want to lie down?”

You glance at Miguel. “Hmm, I might. I think - I think I’m going to stay up for a while longer. You?”

“… Same. If you’ll have me,” he says, which causes you to smile.

“It’s your living room.”

“And? It’s your living room, too.”

You look away at that, your cheeks suddenly feeling warm.

“It’s the truth,” Miguel says quietly. “You’re living here, for now, so… I said it before. My home is your home.”

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Always.”

A few seconds of silence later, you lay down and stare up at the ceiling. “This is kind of a moment - a vibe.”

“Is it?” Miguel replies, glancing down at you for a second. He reaches behind him and pulls something. “Lift your head,” he says and once you do, you feel him slide one of the decorative pillows under your head.

You thank Miguel for the kind gesture, unable to stop yourself from smiling about it. You lay there for several minutes, Miguel sitting at your side until he eventually lays down, too.

You both listen as a new song starts to play. It’s the kind that’s perfect for a rainy evening such as this one - soft and slow, and yet sweet and groovy.

“I wanna plant you in my heart, oh, so love can grow…”

Miguel lays there, listening to the song. Gabriel always found gems when it came to music, Miguel will give him that. He continues to listen to the song but his mind shifts to other topics without wanting to, such as his comment from a few minutes ago.

“You’re living here, for now, so… I said it before. My home is your home.”

For now. You’re living here for now.

Once again, Miguel thinks about how great it’s been to have you here, staying with him. He doesn’t want to think about the day you return to your universe. He’s tried to avoid thinking about it and for the most part, it has worked. Until now.

“May I tell you something?” Miguel asks as you both lay on the ground.

“Of course.”

“I’ve been thinking about your apartment - when construction is completed and it’s livable again.”

You glance at him but Miguel is staring right at the ceiling, unable to meet your gaze.

“You have…?” you ask gently, wondering where Miguel is going with this.

“Yes… I’ve been thinking about it. Is it crazy that I,” Miguel pauses, wondering if he should really say what’s on his mind but ultimately, he says it. “I’m going to - miss you,” he says at last with a sigh. A few seconds later, Miguel turns his head to face you, his red eyes find yours. And like always, there’s no judgement from you. Instead, Miguel finds a smile.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” you say softly, your heart swelling with pride, affection, and love for Miguel because you know sometimes it’s hard for him to share his feelings and thoughts and yet, he’s done it tonight.

Miguel’s eyes widen a little at your words, as if there was doubt in his mind that you would miss him, too.

“A lot, actually,” you say, looking away now.

Miguel’s lips twitch upwards into a small smile. “You are?”

You glance back at him, finding his smile. It brings one to your face, too, because Miguel seems genuinely happy to hear your words. “Yeah,” you reply. “You seem happy.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one feeling like that,” he confesses, still smiling.

“You are not. I… I’ve actually thought about how quickly I got used to living with someone again - with you.”

“Me, too,” Miguel says before he rolls on his side, supporting his head with his hand, staring at you. “I think we’re… We’ve been great roommates.”

That statement makes you smile a little more. You nod before you copy Miguel’s position, so that you’re both facing each other now. “I think so, too.”

Miguel gives you a little grin, satisfied to hear that you agree, but a part of him still feels untranquil. You’ll be leaving at one point, even though you’ve both enjoyed this temporary arrangement, that is a given and you both know that. Unless…

Miguel and you look away from each other as a similar thought crosses your minds, one that neither of you dare say out loud.

It’s crazy to think about a long-term possibility, right?

You sigh softly after several minutes of silence, thinking about something else to avoid other thoughts.

“You know, you asked me a lot of questions about college. I feel as though I don’t know the same about you. Yet.”

“Yet,” Miguel says with a small grin, his thoughts scattered. “What do you want to know?”

“Well…” you start with the first question and as always, Miguel listens intently. He answers your questions and satisfies your curiosity like you satisfied his the day before. Each time you ask something different - something he didn’t think about asking already - he returns the question, wanting to learn even more about you.

All the while, there’s a bright look on Miguel’s face as your conversation continues. His eyes light up as he hears your questions and genuine interest in his life before you ever crossed paths.

There’s a happiness in them, one that has grown over time with and because of you, replacing a sadness that had settled in those beautiful autumn eyes for so long.

At some point, without realizing it, Miguel stopped being el muchacho de los ojos tristes, the young man with sad eyes.

And at some point, you started to find safety in those maroon eyes - the same ones you gaze into while falling asleep on the living room floor, but before fully succumbing to your exhaustion, you offer something to Miguel. It’s what you’ve both wanted since you repeated “Always” to each other on your bedroom floor two nights ago. It’s what both your bodies longed for earlier today, before you went out for lunch with Harry.

A heartbeat later, your pinky finger is gently held by Miguel’s and just like that, his warmth, presence, and scent lull you to sleep while those warm eyes guard your sleep.

Translations:café de olla - coffee made in a pot pan dulce - Mexican bread polvorón - description provided in text; for my friend @faretheeoscar !! telenovela - Latin soap opera Mira - look agua de horchata - rice water agua de Jamaica - hibiscus water Uno nunca sabe - one never knows Ya - used in place of "ok" Tío - uncle ternura - endearment; fondness burritos de tinga - I feel like you know this by now. I had some Wednesday and they were bomb despite not being made by Miguel *sigh* Por favor no - please, no el muchacho de los ojos tristes - the young man with the sad eyes; brb gonna go cry from HQ's rooftop now that Miguel showed us the secret window

A/N: I'm gonna make this quick since at this point you've read like three or four chapters from an actual book! 🫣 Some of you may have seen a post I made last Sunday but just in case you haven't: I'm sorry for how long it took me to update. Last month was a bit off for me and I didn't feel like writing. It might sound silly but I feel like I get seasonal depression but for spring. 😂😭 I'm a fall and winter gal, so I always feel down around this time for some reason. I also had other life things going on, so I hardly got on here or other social media. Anyway, I'm better now :) I hope you guys enjoyed this update! Thank you for being so patient with me and for supporting this fic. I say it again and again, so much I probably sound like a broken record, but it truly means so much to me!! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend and please stay safe ❤️

-Alondra

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[baiwu-jinji]

TGCF author's notes translation

@/camilikha on twitter kindly provided links to TGCF author's notes and I translated the ones I find informative and interesting. See translations below:

chapter 58 notes: The second book is all about the overconfident Xie Lian with delusions of grandeur and the tender little flower (mxtx means kid Hua Cheng) and their diaries of the downfall of Xianle. Word count is undecided, I'm never accurate at estimating word counts anyway. It's just like the xianxia I write doesn't fit into your regular xianxia, the royalty I write doesn't fit into your regular fictional depictions of royalty - just the outlandish made-up worlds and social customs in the author's imagination...

chapter 60 notes: If we put Qi Rong in a modern context, we could say that he has bipolar disorder.

chapter 72 notes: about the chapter title "To Meet You in the Mortal Realm; to Find Flowers Beneath the Rain" - eventually I feel that "To Meet You" is more romantic than "To Meet Someone". Just think about it, "meeting you" is one of the most romantic things in the world.

chapte 80 notes: Of course (HC) won't give (XL) a handjob or help him [...], but Huahua's sexual awakening starts with this incident... (XL is seriously obssessed with martial arts combat!)

chapter 88 notes: Xie Lian never gets tanned, I envy him... I finally reached this place - in a dilapidated temple, a god about to be forgotten and a believer who's still young - this is the first mental image I have about this story, which drove me to wrote the story. I'm the kind of person who'd make up a whole book just to get to write a certain passage...

chapter 119 notes: Actually Huahua is just being naughty and wants to joke around playing dead, who'd have thought...

chapter 123 notes: So Black Water made his appearance long ago, he's been hanging around before your eyes all along. Wind Master never knew the real Mingyi, it's always been the same person before him - and before you readers. (Black Water) officially recognized as Best Actor of this story! I've been holding it a secret for so long and so has he, now I can finally let it out.

chapter 141 notes: If you heat up Huahua in the kiln, he'll grow bigger~

chapter 175 notes: "Hua Cheng! Your diary! We've read it all!!!"

chapter 229 notes: Huahua low-key sucking up to the elderly to make a good impression

chapter 242 notes: Why do you like to spook yourselves? - why on earth would there be such plots as (XL) waiting for another 800 years - too long, impossible! Happy ending is around the corner!

SVSSS is my first work so it has some exceptions that I won't discuss here, but MDZS and TGCF both only have one main couple. I said this repeatedly in the author's notes when MDZS was being serialized and in other places. As for Mo Xuanyu, he is a little gay dude but he died at the beginning of the story so he doesn't count as a serious character...It's fine to have headcanons you like as long as you don't seperate the main couple. But for me personally, my taste leans towards having only one gay couple in the story, and I have no plans to write about another secondary couple. I'm stating this to avoid some unnecessary disputes.

XL is good at making pickled vegetables. Because pickled vegetables are needed with steamed bun and rice porridge, so XL became quite experienced after practicing for hundreds of years. Also you can just leave the pickled vegetable by itself most of the time and let it undergo chemical reaction. XL mostly fail because he get inventive.

XL and Mu Qing chose the same path of cultivation and are both Daoists. But Feng Xin never studied under a master at the Holy Royal Pavillion so he's not a Daoist and simply a plebeian martial god, so he doesn't need to observe the celibacy rules like XL and Mu Qing.

My passion for inventing new dishes (or rather weapons) cooked by Xie Lian is only slightly less than my passion for making Huahua change into new clothes

Huahua often turn into human forms, in which he has two eyes, so you guys can stop counting the number of his eyes.

In the setting of this story, if you want to be a god,you need to be a human hero first, which means you need to be the best of the best among humans. Only heaven officials who ascended are real heaven officials and belong in the Upper Court. How do you ascend? Firstly it depends on your personal ability, you have to be outstanding in some aspect (such as martial arts or literary talents) to enter the path of ascension. Secondly it depends on luck, if you're extremely lucky and a favourite of fate, and just picked up some rare secret guides (to ascension) or immortal pills by the roadside, that works too. Officials in the Middle Court are appointed, which means someone in the Heavenly Realm could promote you to that position. But Middle Court officials have the opportunity to become a bona fide Upper Court official too if they're capable enough.

Black Water indeed owes Hua Cheng a huge sum of money and is a very impoverished Calamity, seriously lowering the income standard of the Calamities (although there're only three of them). But his debt isn't completely due to eating too much. As for the money Black Water owes, it's an ancient debt - 40% is the cost of buying gifts for heaven officials of Upper Court and planting agents there (bribery!), 30% is maintenance fee for his territory and expenses on pet food, the rest 30% is food (for himself).

Talismans are probably the equivalent of the business cards (of heaven officials)... "Hello this is my consecrated talisman" = "hello this is my business card"

You can't get rid of ghostly essence (which XL is tainted with because he spends too much time with HC) simply by brushing your teeth with plain water...you need to use consecrated spell water (which is super bitter and weird).

The weapon forged by a heaven official is called fabao (literally "dharma treasure"); if it's a weapon forged by mortal Daoists and monks, it's called faqi (literally "dharma tool") - only after their ascension can their weapons be called fabao.

In my imagination, Xianle ia the kind of small ancient kingdom that's overall culturally Han, but has peculiar customs...although I feel like what I wrote on Xianle is mostly just peculiar hahahaha [facepalm] [beat myself up]

Not only are the forms, customs, cultures, and politics of countries in this story made-up, the kind of arcane stuff like occult sciences and philosophical values are all made-up. Although I did research but the records I consulted are too difficult to understand, so I just made things up on my own. Please bear with me If you're knowledgable in this sort of thing hahaha.

Puqi refers to water chestnut.

Look up "Blood-Soaked Fire Social" (xue she huo) if you're interested, it exists in real life and is very thrilling. What I wrote is different from the traditional festival, there're some made-up elements to make it more exciting

[pabtsblueliving]

I Was Wrong

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Took such a long break, Im sorry! I’ve been working, and just enjoying summer! Got inspired to write this. I am a huge Chris Stapleton fan, and this song holds so much emotion. I COULD NOT, emphasize, COULD NOTTTT not think of writing this for Daryl. Good ending dw.

I Was Wrong by Chris Stapleton

Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Hopefully I’ll get some more inspo.

WC 1.8k

The feedback on Dirty Laundry and You Done was absolutely insane, so thank you all <3 xoxo

Warnings: daryl got mad, established relationship, kissing oooo.

pabtsblueliving © 2023

I've been thinking 'bout my thoughtless words

And I know just how much they must have hurt

flashback

It was a rough day to begin with, for everyone. Food was low, sleep was at a minimum, stakes were high. Everyone seemed jumpy, emotionally dragged in the dirt at this time. Alexandria was at risk, everyone was vulnerable. 

You and Daryl had been arguing all morning, continuing on in the kitchen. 

The rain poured down heavily over you and Daryl, mirroring the intense storm brewing within the walls of Alexandria. Tension crackled in the air as your and Daryl stood face-to-face, their voices raised in a heated argument.

"I can't believe you're saying this, Daryl!" Your voice trembled with a mixture of anger and hurt. "After everything we've been through, how can you just throw it all away?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly. "I ain't throwin' nothin' away. Just tellin' you how it is," he retorted, his voice sharp and clipped.

A mixture of disbelief and pain flashed across your face. 

"You don't mean that. You can't. We've shared so much, Daryl. I thought we had something real."

Daryl's hands balled into fists at his sides, his voice growing harsher. 

"Real? What's real about this world, huh? What's real about me? I ain't nothin' but a broken piece of shit, and I ain't lettin' you get hurt because of me." He huffed. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step back, wounded by his words.

 "So, this is it, then? You're just going to push me away because you think you're protecting me? I thought you were different, Daryl. I thought you cared."

Daryl's face twisted with frustration and pain. 

"Cared? You think I don't care? Damn it, I care too much! That's why I can't let this go on. You deserve better than me, and I ain't gonna be the one holdin' you back."

Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the sound of raindrops against the windowpane. Your voice trembled as she whispered, 

"If you truly believe that, Daryl... If you really don't love me…” 

Your voice went silent, you wiped your tears and turned around to your home, starting to walk away. 

Daryl's eyes widened, a mixture of regret and longing flickering in his gaze. He reached out as if to touch her, but hesitated, his hand hovering in the air. 

"No... that ain't what I meant..."

And I take it back

Won't you let me take it back?

end flashback, present day

Days had passed since your and Daryl's brawl. 

You kept busy. Helped Carol. Hung out with Judith and Carl. The distraction didn't help when you could feel everyone's pity, sympathetic eyes. You were embarrassed. Emotions flooded through your head often.

Why’d I even try with him in the first place? He doesnt love me. He seemed like he did. He never loved me. 

You know I told you that I don't love you

That I'd be better off with someone new

But I take it back

You'd finished up with chores, it was sunset. It had officially been four days since you’d last seen Daryl. Last you heard he saddled up on his bike and headed for the hills. 

You sat at the counter in the home you did share with Daryl, sewing up the holes made in your jacket from a previous hunt. Until you heard…

Knock, knock, knock…

You turned to the door, the raps of his fist on the door so quiet you thought you were imagining it.

Knock, knock, knock…

You turned again, maybe you werent making it up. You pulled yourself off your stool and put your needle and jacket on the counter. You unlocked and opened the door to reveal Daryl standing on your porch.

You stood there. Debating on shutting the door in his face, but then he looked up from his boots on your welcome mat. Those damn eyes…

Won't you let me take it back?

“...Hey.” He spoke, chewing his lip.

You took a deep shaky breath. “Hey.” you leaned against the door frame.

“Can I come inside?” He asked.

You purse your lips, crossed your arms and walked back into your home, leaving the door open for him to come inside. A quiet invitation.

You sat back on your stool, and just looked at him. He seemed shy, taken aback, finding his words.

“Look…Y/N. I did some thinkin’, I just had to get outta these walls…give you some time before I came back.” He started.

Girl, you know that I still love you

And you know that I'm so alone

I don't know why

“I was wrong. I was afraid…I was bein’ a pussy…Ive just been so amped up, worried about the future here, just thinkin’ about if were gonna even make it to live another day.” He continued.

“Daryl..” You started

“Naw, Y/N listen, Wha’ I said? I hurt the only person I told myself not to hurt. I jus…” He sighed. 

I told you that I didn't need you

Can't you see that, baby, I was wrong?

“I need you…everyday. You’re the only person in this damn…fucked up world who don’t drive me nuts.” He approached you.

A tear slipped down your cheek, you looked up to see him standing closer than he was before, almost between your legs. He propped up your chin and wiped the tears from your stained cheeks.

You wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. He held the back of your head to his chest and buried his nose in your hair.

What I wouldn't give to be your lover again

All I want to do is touch your skin, yeah

If I had you right here right now

Tell you, tell you, tell you, tell you

“Im sorry.” He said in a shaky voice. “Im sorry, baby. I love you more than anything, I vowed to protect you, and instead I hurt you. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

You looked up at him, those eyes…

“I love you too…” You said, and he pulled you off the stool.

Girl, you know that I still love you

And you know that I'm so alone

I don't know why

I told you that I didn't need you

Can't you see that, baby, I was wrong?

“Youre my girl…I won’ let it happen again…I love you…” He spoke, holding your jaw.

He brought you in close and laid his lips upon yours. You’d be a liar if you said you didnt miss him.

His presence.

His smell.

His voice.

“I was wrong” He spoke one last time.

[blue-slxt]

Flattery

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: This is my first new piece on my new blog. I've had this little drabble idea sitting in my notes for weeks and the motivation finally hit me to get it out. I like the idea of Lo'ak with a praise kink. It just feels right. Sorry it's so short, but I really just kinda wanted this to be a super focused scene. I'll add more to the story later if people want it. All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Lo'ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Face Riding, Oral (F receiving), Praise Kink, I think that's it

Word Count: 500+

Summary: Lo'ak loves to be praised and you love giving it to him.

One thing you learned about Lo’ak before you even started officially dating? He lives for praise. From the moment the word “sayrìp” rolled off your tongue in his direction, he was hooked. It didn’t take long for you to notice how he would light up with every word of flattery you offered him. And it was understandable. He had spent so much of his life chasing approval, so having you shower him with compliments stroked his ego and made his heart race. And you were more than happy to do it for him. It’s not like your words were hollow, you truly meant everything you ever said. Lo’ak is very handsome, he’s strong, and brave, even if he sometimes bordered on being reckless. And best of all, he aimed to please.

Watching him right now underneath you was a gorgeous sight. Face between your thighs and strong hands gripping your ass while your hips rock against his tongue. Loud, shameless moans fall from your lips and spur him on even more knowing he was making you feel good.

Your hand reaches down and strokes the top of his head while you look in his eyes, “Ah, fuck, I love you so much, baby. You doing such a good job for me.”

The lovestruck expression of his eyes juxtaposed with the obscene slurping sounds from his mouth is enough to make your head spin. He groans into your heat and the vibrations shoot straight up your spine making all the hair on your body feel like it’s standing on end.

“Mmf…right there. Haah…you feel so good, Lo’ak!” Your head falls back letting your body submit to your inevitable high that’s rushing to you.

“You love me, baby?” you ask finally bringing your face back up so you can look at him.

‘Mhm’ is all he can muffle out.

“Shit, just like that….you gonna let me cum in your mouth?” you can barely get your words out between your heavy panting.

“mhmm” you knew he couldn’t really answer you properly, but you just wanted to feel the vibrations of his humming against you to help you get to your release. Your hands catch in his braids and your body continues to move on its own literally riding out your orgasm on top of him. Lo’ak’s fingers dig into the soft skin of your ass while he indulges himself in your arousal flowing into his mouth. Every drag of your clit against his tongue seems to prolong your high until coherent thoughts are no longer possible.

Your hips finally lull to a stop, but that does nothing to stop Lo’ak from continuing to feast on you like he hasn’t eaten in days. Finally, you have to pull yourself off of him when the stimulation becomes too much. His lips release your clit with a loud ‘pop’ and he looks up at you with lidded eyes and heavy breaths. Your hand cups his cheek that was still sticky with your juices.

“You are so gorgeous covered in my cum.”

Your body shivers when you catch sight of his fangs in his grin. Your fingers trail down his body to grip his dick. He was already so hard and covered in streams of precum while you give him a few solid strokes.

“Mmm, you always do so good, baby.” Your voice is low getting close by his ear. Gentle kisses and nips along his jawline make his hips jerk up into your hand. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

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[inkluvs]

have you forgotten anything?

okay this is actually the second / third blurb i've ever written? if i'm correct so my writing has defo changed since i posted this back in september <3 tw: pet names ; i have not read over this for my own sanity ; (0.7k)

james potter x reader

masterlist // taglist

The sun felt uncomfortable in James’ eyes as he woke up from his sleep. He didn’t try moving though, because you were clinging to him like a koala and that alone was enough reason to stay still.

He shifted his gaze to the clock on the bedside table which read, 6:15, 15 minutes left before his alarm went off. He reached over to switch it off before giving you a peck on your forehead and getting off the bed.

You, half asleep with your face pressed into the pillow, can feel the mattress shift while he gets up. Deciding to stay in bed a few more minutes, you turn around to look at James who’s heading towards the bathroom to get ready. As he feels your eyes on him, he turns around and says, “Hey love, sleep alright?”

Your voice is low with remnants as you reply, “Yeah, I did.” He nods and smiles before he turns back to walk to the bathroom. You can hear him turn on the shower faucet as you drift back to a peaceful sleep for a few more minutes.

Your alarm goes off, startling you as you check the time, 7:00. You get up and go to take a shower while James is already downstairs and making breakfast.

“Angel?” he called out to the empty living room hoping his voice would carry up the stairs.

It was a practiced routine, he would go off to work, and you would leave the house around 30 minutes later because your work was closer. You’d get home earlier too, usually taking care of chores to try and distract yourself from your husband’s absence.

“Yeah?” replied a voice, barely loud enough for James to hear. If James was guessing correctly based on the sounds of the blowdryer, you were still getting ready.

“I might be home a little late today, I’ll try to make it quick, is that alright?”

As much as he loved his job, he hated the fact that it took away his time with you. His boss had wanted him to train one of the new employees and he didn’t want to say no because, well, that’s who he is. And you loved him for it but all you could think about was that you’d have to spend another hour distracting yourself.

He always calls every few hours so you’d still get to talk to him, but it still wasn’t the same as actually being with him.

“Yeah, of course, love,” you said, slightly distracted by your thoughts. 

James took note of that and replied, “Is something on your mind?”

Your blow dryer switched off and James could hear your footsteps on the wood floors as you walked towards the stairs. Your thoughts created a whirlwind in your head as you walked down the stairs to pause in front of James. He smiled as if to encourage you to say what you’re thinking.

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just…” you paused for a moment, trying to form an answer, “what am I supposed to do while you’re gone”

James looked confused but flattered as he said, “What d'you usually do while I’m at work.”

Heat rose to your face at this question and you mumbled, “Wait for you to get back mostly”

His eyes widened as he thought about you spending an hour waiting for him. He’d do anything to be there with you but for now, all he could do was assure you that he’d be in contact with you.

James’s cheeks went pink at your confession and he said, “I’ll call you extra today, okay?”

And you couldn’t suppress the grin that emerged on your face at his willingness to give you what you want even if you hadn’t officially asked him.

“Yeah, okay.” 

As James turned to leave you noticed the keys on the counter. You picked them up and said, “Have you forgotten anything?”

He turned around, saying “Yeah, actually, I think I have.” Before quickly walking towards you and placing his lips against you in a soft kiss. Heat rises to your face once again as he pulls away slowly and gazes at you with a look in his eyes that can only be described as pure adoration for you.

You lift your hand to show him the keys and said, “I meant these, but thank you love.”

[fuck-your-chickenstrips-hoe]

Forever and always, Mi Amor 🤞🏾

E42 Miles G Morales

part: 1

Warnings: Nothing too big. Light swearing,Miles is AGED UP ( he's around 18, pushin’ 19.) For people in the back, READER IS BLACK. (Reader is also about 18-19) Reader uses she/they/her pronouns (If this picks up more traction I will translate it for our he/him’s and our they/them’s.) Bad Spanish (Spanish is NOT my first language, i’m still learning little by little, so if im saying anything wrong PLEASE tell me so i can fix it.) Miles is a bit of an OOC, cause there’s like not any official material other than his ability to rizz himself up. Miles is healed/ healing from his father’s death. This isn’t edited, so if there’s bad grammar, keep it to yourself please, this is my first official fic since my dingy wattpad days, so let me warm up. LOTS OF DIALOG

Summary: You just wanted to take your boyfriend out to dinner.

It's about 5:15 pm when you enter Miles’s apartment. He had given you a key as soon as he moved out of his momma’s house a few months ago, going on about how if you needed a place to hide from the outside world, you’d always have a place to go. “Miles! ¿Mi amor,dónde estás?” (my love, where are you?) You call out wandering through his apartment. You knew he had to be somewhere because his 2015 Mercedes-Benz c300 was parked outside. “Miles, baby, are you home?” Calling again as you reach the hallway that leads to his bedroom, “He has to be in his room.”, You conclude as you hear the low bass of what was hoped was his music. Looking around as you walk, you see pictures of his family (mainly his uncle and his dad) and a couple of paintings you made him for past birthdays.

When you finally make it to his bedroom door, you fling it open. “Miles! ¿Así que aquí es donde te escondes?” ( so this is where you’ve been hiding) Miles flinched at the sudden noise, putting his gadget aside as he turned in his desk chair to face you. “Oh, Hey mami,” He says with his hand over his heart, trying to recover from your little jump scare. “¿Qué pasa?” (what’s up)

“Nothing’ really. Just thought I should stop by, 'cause I miss you ‘n shit.” You say as you slot yourself between his legs so you can look down into his rich cinnamon-colored eyes. “Well ain't you know how to make a man feel special?” He says as he places his hands around your waist. “Baby, I was just about to put this sucka down and go for a run.” He says, referencing his discarded gadget. “You can stay here unless you want to come with me. I'm always up for a running partner” He follows up with a smirk and wiggling eyebrows. “Nah, baby. You know how much cardio I ‘ate doin’ cardio.” You scrunch your nose in mock disgust as you motion for him to push back his seat, which he complies with. “What’s this gadget ‘bout ?” You ask as you place yourself on his lap. “Oh, this?” He wraps his arm around your waist as he spins the chair to grab his contraption. “I’ve been tweaking it for a while, but it’s supposed to be a power dampener. I’m not sure if it works, but it’s something I've been experimenting with.” He looks back and forth between you and his work. “¿Quieres echar un vistazo,princesa?” ( you wanna take a look, princess?) You smile brightly as you nod. “Yes please!!!” Miles gives you a soft half-smile in return as he hands it over. “It ain't perfect, but I think it needs a new processing chip and more stabilizers here, here, here, and right there.”

You follow his long nimble fingers as he points out specific areas on his machine. “Oh, and the circuiting! I haven't finished with that, but at the….” You didn’t catch the rest of his rant, too caught up in how his eyes seem to glow with excitement as he goes on and on about his work.

“And that’s how….Baby… Hey…” He snaps you out of your trance. “Am I nerding you out? I seemed to have lost ya?” You feel your face grow hot at the call-out. “No, baby! You was doing just fine. Just got a little lost at how you need to wire the-um.. the..thingy.” You say sheepishly. Robotics was never your thing. “Yes, the thingy.” He teased as he gently removed his work from your hands. “I'm glad you are at least a little interested in what I do, even when I nerd out…You know I love it when you take an interest in me.” He says, smiling down at you. “Well I think it's hot when you nerd out, and even if I didn’t- which will never happen- I’ll always be invested in you.” You say as you cup his cheek, which he leans into.

“When did I get so lucky…” He mumbles to himself in your hand. “You got lucky because I'm a sucker for men that want to heal themselves. Now, I wanna hear more about this… this power dampener!” You say in hopes to continue seeing his eyes light up. “Oh, um, sure.'' Miles smiles lightly. “So the goal of the device is to create a disturbance in the electrons of an object. The effects of it depend on the range between the power source and my machine.” As you listen, Miles's facial expressions light up, and he begins to move his hands animatedly. When he looks down into your eyes, he’s shocked by how genuinely interested you are. “Baby, has anyone told you how fuckin’ smart you are?” You hum as you nip at his cheek. “Oh..Um” Miles was taken aback by the intensity of your praise. “Awh- Well- Not- Not recently…No..” He says with a chuckle trying to deflect. “You might be biased, mami.” He kisses your cheek. “Thank you, but I promise I'm just your average tech guy.” You snort at his dismissive behavior. “Now why would I be biased?” You quirk a brow. “Are you callin’ me a liar? Cause you know I’d NEVER lie to you, Mi Amor. Lo llamo como lo veo.”(I’m calling it how I see it) You state with no room to argue. Your boy needs to know how special he is.

“Well… I mean” Miles gives a dramatic sign. “Well if MY GIRL says I’m smart, then who am I to argue?” He gives one of his cocky-ass smirks. “Ain't that the truth!” You puff out your chest with pride. It always makes you ecstatic when he calls you HIS GIRL. “Well now that MY MAN knows how smart he is, do you think he’ll be smart enough to let HIS GIRL bring him to dinner after his run? My treat since he always pays.” You say with a smirk of your own. Miles considers the idea for a moment. “Well, I might as well be a genius because who am I to say no? But no promises on you paying.” He responds as he reachs out to flick your forehead. “Nope.” You emphasize the ‘p’ with a pop, grabbing his hand before it makes contact. “I'm gonna pay for everything because you quite literally refuse to let me pay for shit.” You huff as he keeps trying to assault your forehead with finger flicks.

He lets out a chuckle-the that makes his chest rumble-as he finds it amusing how passionate you are about paying. “¿Qué tiene de divertido?(what’s so funny) I wanna know, too,asshole!” You whine feeling left out. “Es nada.(it’s nothing) I just find your determination endearing.” Your face grows increasingly hot. “Well… Good! ‘Cause this determination’s going to make sure your takin’ care of. You might as well call me your sugar mommy for the night.” You wink and blow him a kiss as you get off his lap to sit on his bed. “So tell mommy where you wanna go” You jest wagging your fingers. “ Ha-” He stifles a laugh. “Well then….Mommy, there’s that new steak place you’ve been wanting to try out. Although it's a 'lil expensive… So we can split the bill."

Miles tries to play it slick. “Eres gracioso.(you’re funny) If you want steak, then we’ll go have steak. But don’t think for a moment that I ain’t got it like that. You and I both know my ass makes enough to order half the menu and then do it again tomorrow.” It upsets Miles sometimes how hard you work. Splitting your time between getting your degree, working at your paid internship, and braiding hair on the weekends, you barely have time for yourself…or him. “I know, Mi Amor.” He says, moving to kiss your forehead. “Solo estaba jugando. (I was just playing) I know you got me.” He says, planting his kiss, causing you to pout. “Why the long face, baby girl?'' Miles teased as he pushed a stray braid behind your ear. “You just got to be difficult. Just let me take care of ya.” He smiles and rubs his hand against your brown skin. “You’re gon have to make me.” He jests with a shine in his warm brown eyes. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Moralas?” Your pout turned into a wicked grin. “I'm afraid so, baby girl.” His heart kicks into gear at the sight of your grin. “Well, then you best hurry up and get to ya runnin’ then? Wouldn’t want you to skip that delicious cardio, now would we?” You mock, trying to push the process of dinner. “There’s no way you just called cardio delicious.'' Miles finds himself laughing as he pulls away to find his running shoes. “I can’t help it! You just look so good when you finish a run, I can't be blamed for associating cardio with yummy.” You try to defend yourself. “Suuuure, mami. That’s why.” Sarcasm and an eye-roll quickly follow, causing you to flip him off. “Just hurry up so we can eat.” You jokingly hound as he makes his way back to you. “Yeah, yeah. Im goin’, im goin’! Just give ya man a kiss before he goes, ok? You're my Forever and always, Mi Amor.” This was how you two always departed. It was a way for Miles to express how much he valued you since he learned the hard way that time is precious, and last words hold meaning. “My Forever n’ always, Mi Amor.” You repeat as your lips part. Satisfied Miles kisses you one more time and heads for the door. “I’ll be back.” He calls before he locks the front door behind him.

*Guys, if yall want a part 2, please say so in either my asks or the comments. I won't know if it's good enough to continue if yall don't interact.🤧👍🏾*

[coldsandfluff]

The B/old Type Sickfic (F contagion, Jane, Sutton & Kat)

A soft & sweet sickfic filled with contagion, banter, fluffy care-taking and denial.

Kinda forgot that I was in the middle of migrating my old fics to Tumblr, and that I even wrote this fanfic from The B/old Type years ago. I don't think I've ever seen fics from this TV show before, so it might be too niche, but just in case some of you have seen it and would love it, I'm leaving it right here to be found.

THE STORY: Jane catches a cold and accidentally passes it around to her best friends. It's a mix of platonic care-taking between the girls as well as romantic care-taking with the Jane/Pinstripe and Sutton/Richard pairings. The story happens a few seasons into the show, so there are a bit of spoilers in there, just in case you care.

Enjoy!

The Cold Type

Jane Sloan loved New York. There was nothing quite like taking a stroll down a busy street, watching people go by in a hurry, surrounded by buildings so tall they could kiss the sky. New York had always felt like home to her.

But if there was one thing that she hated about the city, it was winter. Especially when it lingered well into spring, blowing freezing winds through thin coats until every single hair raised in shivery protest.

It wasn’t that Jane didn’t own warmer coats—quite the contrary: she owned many, many coats. It was just that New York had moved on to spring fashion weeks ago. It was officially trench coat and bomber jacket season. Sure, Jane could have checked the weather before leaving her apartment in the morning, but then she might have missed the next train, which was a big no-no. Sometimes, the easiest choice was the worst one, and when you’re battling a low-level morning headache, there’s just no way around it.

And that’s why Jane cursed herself as she trudged down the street, wrestling the wind and struggling to keep her military green bomber jacket closed against her chest. When she finally reached her office building, she gratefully slipped through the door and welcomed the comparative peace and quiet of the atrium. Sure, there was the usual morning bustle as everyone made their way to their floor to start their workday, but it was nothing compared to the whistling of an insistent winter wind.

Jane sniffled, her nose running from the change of temperature. And, of course, she hadn’t brought tissues either. Tissues were for winter jackets.

“Jane!” called Kat at the top of the escalator leading to the lobby, waving two to-go coffee cups. Sutton stood next to her, flashing Jane a smile. They both looked fabulous, as always, and Jane was hit by a surge of love for her best friends.

After a quick ride up the escalator, during which Jane tried to get her shivering body under control, she lurched forward towards the coffee cup that Kat held out for her. Holding it with both hands, Jane took a sip, hoping the steaming liquid would warm her from the inside.

“Well, hello to you too,” said Kat with a raised eyebrow.

“Cold,” said Jane in-between sips. “So cold.”

Kat put her arm around Jane’s shoulder, bringing her closer. “You should have worn something warmer, silly.”

“Can’t. It’s spring,” mumbled Jane as the three girls headed towards the elevator.

“So?” asked Kat.

“You can’t argue with fashion,” said Sutton. “But you can accessorize better,” she added, removing her large pale blue scarf and wrapping it around Jane’s neck. “This is called ‘fashion smart.’”

“I could have used some of your ‘fashion smart’ this morning, but you were gone before I even woke up,” said Jane, arranging the scarf with her free hand. “I don’t even know how you’re functioning with so little sleep.” Her voice caught at the end of the sentence. She cleared her throat, wincing.

Sutton sighed, pressing the elevator button. “We’ve got so much work to do before Paris fashion week. I’m basically working 20 hours a day at this point. I don’t even know why I go back to the apartment at all.”

“I have a tent you can borrow,” said Kat with a teasing smile. “It’s a pop-up tent. You just put it on the ground, pull a little, and SURPRISE! It’s a fully assembled tent. It would work great in the office.”

“Amazing,” said Sutton with mock enthusiasm.

Jane felt a prickle in her nose, burning like wildfire through her sinuses. A quick, squeaky gasp escaped her lips as she turned away from her friends, her breath catching in her throat. “Hhh—Ihh’TSCHheew! Ehh’TSCHheew!”

“Bless—“ started Kat.

“NN’TSCHheew! Excuse me.”

“Bless you!” said Kat and Sutton almost in unison. Kat examined Jane’s face, as if seeing it for the first time today. “Are you getting sick?”

Jane shook her head. “No.”

Sutton narrowed her eyes. “You do sound a little… scratchy,” she said, wriggling her fingers in front of her own throat.

Kat nodded, leaning towards Jane for a better look. “She does. And she’s a bit pale, too.”

“Guys, I’m not sick.” Jane sighed. “It was just a sneeze. Calm down.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The three girls stepped in, along with a few other employees.

“It was three, actually,” said Sutton, pressing Scarlet’s floor button.

“Three pretty strong sneezes,” added Kat, biting her lips to repress a smile.

Jane knew the more she reacted, the more they would tease her about it, but for some reason, their accusation really irritated her. So she’d sneezed and was a bit tired. Big deal. She was not sick.

“Guys, just stop. Can’t a girl sneeze in peace in this world anymore? Sheesh.” Jane had tried to spin her reply in a carefree, fun way, but it had come out a lot harsher than she’d intended.

“Whatever. Just don’t get me sick,” said Sutton, matching her seriousness. “I don’t have time to get sick.”

“Not a problem. ’Cause I’m not sick.”

~~~

Jane sat in the conference room, nursing her second round of coffee that morning. The first one hadn’t made a dent in her fatigue. She wondered if Kat had accidentally gotten her a decaf latte. This time, she’d chosen a dark roast and had forgone milk and sugar; a pitiful attempt at tricking her body into thinking the coffee was stronger. She’d written an article about the power of the placebo effect during her recent stint as a freelancer, so this would be an interesting experience. At the very least, the disgustingly bitter taste would be enough to keep her awake during the pitch meeting. She took another sip, grimacing.

Jacqueline C/arlyle waltzed into the room, ready for business. Everyone around the table, including Jane, immediately sat straighter. It wasn’t that Jacqueline intimidated them—although on some levels, she did—, it was more that she inspired them to be better. The editor-in-chief emanated an aura of confidence and self-control, enveloped in just enough warmth to nurture and encourage growth. Jane aspired to be even half the woman Jacqueline was when she reached her age.

“Alright everyone,” said Jacqueline, standing at the end of the table, a cordial smile on her lips, “let’s hear your pitches for this week. I’d like us to extend our theme of powerful women hiding within the workplace. We’ll also need a few light pieces and a quiz for this month.”

Jacqueline went around the table, listening to pitches and guiding writers in the right direction. Jane watched her work, transfixed. Soon, her mind started floating around the room, her eyes unfocused. However, when one of the writers proposed a piece about women in the White House, Jane snapped back to reality. Her heart dropped to the floor.

That was the pitch she was going to propose when her turn came.

Panicked, she crossed it off the page in her notebook, but there was nothing else to fall back on. She’d been so confident that Jacqueline would love it that she hadn’t come up with a plan B. And sure enough, Jacqueline gave the writer the green light for the piece. Great.

There were only two more people before Jane. She had to think fast, but her mind was blank, her thoughts dry. Awakened by the rush of adrenaline, Jane’s nose started tickling again, adding to her distraction. Women in hiding, women in hiding, she mumbled under her breath, trying to jolt her brain awake. Her nose twitched as the tickle turned into a sparkle, making her eyes water. She tried to control her breathing, but the brewing sneeze wasn’t going to give up so easily.

“Jane?” asked Jacqueline, looking down at her notebook.

Jane didn’t answer, struggling with the tickle. She brought up her elbow and turned towards the side, getting ready for a sneeze that suddenly didn’t want to come out.

Jacqueline lifted her gaze. “Jane?”

“Hhh—Ihh’TSCHhheew! So sorry, I—’TSChheew!”

“Oh, bless you! You alright there?”

Jane sniffled quietly, sitting upright in her chair. “Yes. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. So, what do you have for me this week?”

Jane stared at the elegant older woman, trying to throw out an idea. Any idea. Or even form words with her mouth. Any word. “Um…” She saw her boss’s features transform from an open smile to a puzzled raised eyebrow. “Uhhh…”

“Do you want me to come back to you?”

“No! I just…” Jane cursed herself internally. Why hadn’t she said yes? What was wrong with her? “I was thinking about…” Finally, an idea hit her. “Pseudonyms!” she practically yelled, raising halfway in her chair. “Women authors using pseudonyms or initials in order to make it in the book publishing industry.” She saw Jacqueline’s eyes light up, which spurred her forward. “I could interview authors and agents to find out if and why it’s affecting how readers choose books to purchase.”

“That sounds great Jane! Let’s go with that.”

Jane smiled and relaxed in her seat. But her elation was short-lived. She didn’t actually know anyone in the publishing industry.

Where would she even start?

~~~

“You look terrible,” said Kat as she leaned on Jane’s desk. Her friend was slumped in her chair, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the screen.

There was no doubt in Kat’s mind that Jane was sick, no matter how much the brunette denied it. It was kind of adorable how much Jane argued about it, right up until the point where she could no longer hide it. Kat wondered if it was because Jane hated appearing vulnerable, or if she was actually trying to convince herself that she was healthy.

Jane sighed, rubbing her forehead as if to calm a nagging headache. “I’m just tired.” She grabbed her empty mug and peered into it. “Wanna grab coffee downstairs?”

“Sure! I was actually going to ask if you wanted to get some lunch.”

Jane scrunched up her nose. “Not really hungry. But I’ll come along. I can use a break from… doing absolutely nothing except panicking.”

Kat pouted, resisting the urge to say something about Jane’s lack of appetite. She already looked miserable, and Kat didn’t want to irritate her even more. Plus, it wasn’t as fun to tease Jane without Sutton around.

Kat linked her arm around Jane’s as they headed downstairs. “What’s going on?”

“Just got my assignment for the week,” Jane said, her voice cracking at the edge. “Actually, I assigned myself a piece without any leads and I just spent the entire morning trying to figure out my angle. Do you happen to know any authors or agents?”

Kat shook her head. “Not personally, but I can poke around my contacts on social media if you need. What’s the piece about?”

“Women using male pseudonyms to publish books.”

“Oh, kind of like L. M. Montgomery?”

“Yeah, but I want the opinion of women currently in the industry to see if the new feminism movement has changed anything. Except I don’t know where to start.” She laid her head on Kat’s shoulder and sighed.

Kat frowned. It wasn’t like Jane to feel so defeated over something as simple as finding contacts. There were multiple ways to approach it, and Jane had done it before. Kat knew it was a sign that her friend wasn’t feeling well. It broke her heart.

“Let me know how I can help. If you think of anyone, I can try to reach out. You know the six degrees of Kevin Bacon thing? I’m like three degrees closer.”

Jane laughed, which triggered a small, pitiful cough. Kat cooed and squeezed her friend closer. She wondered how long it would take before Jane gave in and finally agreed to rest. Last time, it had taken a good three days and a lot of convincing. And some yelling.

Kat was grateful that her immune system was basically indestructible. She hadn’t been sick in nearly four years, and couldn’t remember how it felt to have a cold. She attributed it to a good sleeping routine and her daily morning smoothie. All that vitamin C was paying off, baby!

As soon as they reached the ground floor, the pair headed for the coffee shop in the center of the lobby. Midday light filtered in from the two-story windows covering the outside wall. People milled around, drinking coffee, sitting with their laptops at the many tables scattered around the open space. Kat smelled the aroma of coffee and fresh bread wafting around, her stomach grumbling. Maybe she would get a sandwich at the café. She didn’t really want to force Jane to go out in the cold if she didn’t need to.

“Sloan!” a man called behind them.

The two girls turned around. Pinstripe, a.k.a Ryan, a writer who used to work upstairs at Pinstripe magazine, walked towards them with a big grin on his face. Beard stubbles, short haircut, leather jacket over black t-shirt and tight black jeans—he looked like he had just jumped out of a romance novel about a reformed bad boy with a heart of gold. Kat still didn’t quite know what to think of him yet. Or even what Jane truly thought of him. The two had dated very briefly until Jane had realized that he wasn’t ready to commit.

“So we meet again,” said Jane, her voice dripping with sarcasm. That was their thing. Sarcasm. Kat didn’t really get it, but she always enjoyed watching it unfold.

“It’s equally lovely to see you,” said Pinstripe. His smile faltered as he examined Jane’s face. “Rough party last night?”

Kat bit her lip to stop herself from giggling. She felt Jane tense next to her.

“No. It’s Monday. This is my Monday face.” Just as she said it, her nose scrunched up. Her eyelids fluttered and her mouth hung open for a moment. She turned to her side and sneezed into her elbow. “Ihh’TSCHhheew! Ugh. Ehhh… Ehh—TSCHhheew!”

“Bless you, Sloan!” said Pinstripe, a hint of surprise in his voice. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze.”

“Well, congratulations, you got a two-for-one deal. Hope you enjoyed the show.” Jane’s voice was strained and exhausted, void of her usual liveliness. Even Pinstripe seemed to notice it.

Kat tried to change the subject. “You know, for someone who doesn’t work here anymore, you sure hang out in the lobby a lot.”

“Oh, Sloan didn’t tell you? I got a book deal upstairs. I’m just meeting with my editor.”

“Congratulations!” Kat said, then turned to Jane. “Wait, Jane, weren’t you—“

Jane’s face lit up. “Oh my god, how could I even forget this? Of course!”

Pinstripe stood in silence, looking back and forth between the girls with a confused look.

“I’m writing a piece on the publishing industry,” explained Jane, suddenly a little more alive. “Do you think you could hook me up with a few contacts?”

Pinstripe smiled. “Sloan, if you keep asking me for favors, you’re going to owe me for eternity.”

“Hey, you said I was the one who pushed you to write this book. You owe me!”

Pinstripe chuckled and bowed his head. “Good point.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, but let’s meet up tomorrow afternoon at our usual spot?”

Jane nodded. “Sounds good. See you then.”

Kat watched him walk towards the elevator, silence stretching between Jane and her. She held it in for as long as she could, but it was too much to bear. “’Our usual spot?’” she asked in a sing-song tone.

“It’s a coffee shop,” said Jane with a warning look, but a smile on her lips. “Don’t you start.”

Kat shrugged. “Just sayin’! You’re kind of playing with fire here, Jane.”

“Speaking of fire, let’s get some coffee. It’s freezing in here.”

Kat nodded. It wasn’t really that cold in the lobby, but she could see the goosebumps on Jane’s arms. She wondered if she could get her to wear the wool cardigan she kept in her office for when the AC blasted frigid air in the summer. The trick was to figure out a way to offer it to Jane without making it obvious that Kat knew she was sick.

She decided it would be her challenge for the day.

~~~

The next morning, Richard H/unter jogged to the elevators, suitcase in hand. “Hold it please!” he yelled, making it just in time to prevent the doors from closing. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed that none other than Sutton stood in the center of the elevator, alone.

Her eyes widened when she realized it was him. Richard finally stepped in with a polite smile and stood next to her, his heart beating out of his chest. It always did that when he ran into Sutton at work. It was excruciating.

“Good morning,” he said.

Sutton smiled and nodded without looking straight at him.

As the elevator rode up, Richard stole a glance at her. Frowning, he noticed that she looked pale, and her nose was a bit red. Had she been crying? His heart dropped at the memory of the last time he’d seen her cry, when she’d put an end to their secret relationship.

Sutton sniffled. A quiet little noise that caught Richard’s attention.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his professional front disintegrating.

She looked at him, then looked down. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Richard heard it. A bit of congestion in her voice, a slight croak. She’s sick, he realized. Just as he was about to say something, the elevator doors opened. People filed in, splitting Richard and Sutton apart.

Suddenly, Richard heard a tiny gasp, followed by a dainty sneeze. He turned his head in time to catch Sutton bent to the side, her hand over her mouth. His “bless you” got lost in the few other well wishes around, and soon enough, Sutton stepped off the elevator onto her floor. The door closed shut behind her, leaving Richard concerned, and yearning to see her again.

He shut his eyes for a moment. Sutton had made her choice, and so had he. There was no going back.

~~~

Sutton brought a tissue to her nose, wiping it in anger as she rushed to Oliver’s office. She hated sneezing in tight crowds, and of course it had to have happened with Richard two feet away. Her face was still hot from embarrassment. Not only did she have to deal with this, but now she’d have to face Oliver’s wrath for being late. All because she’d slept through her alarm.

And all because she’d caught Jane’s stupid cold.

Her head was swimming, her sinuses were hurting, her throat was scratchy. She’d slept like a brick under the effect of Nyquil, so much so that she hadn’t heard Jane leave. Why hadn’t she woken her up?

As she rushed past Jane’s desk, she leaned towards her roommate and whispered, “You got me sick AND you didn’t wake me up?!”

Jane’s surprised gaze met hers. “I’m not sick,” she whispered back, “and I left early to work on my piece!”

Sutton grunted, resuming her speed walk. She didn’t have time for this. As soon as he saw her from behind the glass walls of his office, Oliver called out to her with his booming voice, earning a few glances from the writers.

“Red!” he yelled. “Where the hell were you?”

Sutton rushed towards him. “I’m so sorry Oliver, I—“

“I don’t have time for excuses,” Oliver interrupted her. He glanced up at her from the portfolio he held in his hand. His expression softened a bit. Did Sutton look so bad that even Oliver pitied her? “Don’t be late again. Especially before Paris. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Sutton, nodding.

Her boss proceeded to list about a thousand tasks he needed her to do, including retrieving a few missing pieces for the collection they were bringing to Paris. Sutton took note of everything, her handwriting becoming mere scribbles as she tried to keep up.

Her nose started tickling. She bit her tongue, hoping to ward off the sneeze, to no avail. She held her breath, still writing, until the burning in her sinuses took over and she could no longer control it. She brought her wrist up to her nose and stifled an exasperated double. “Hhh! KSCHhh! Ihh’KSCHhh!”

“Oh and Red?” said Oliver when she was done.

Sutton sniffled. “Yes?”

“Please keep your germs contained.”

Sutton’s face caught fire once again. She wished she’d just stayed in bed and hid from the world underneath her covers, but the fashion department was under stress from the preparations, and they were already understaffed. There was no way Sutton could take a sick day without jeopardizing the schedule—and letting Oliver down.

She turned around, ready to leave, when Oliver added, “Make sure to bundle up, too.” He kept his gaze on the pile of forms on his desk. “It’s cold outside.”

Sutton smiled to herself. At least he wasn’t too mad.

~~~

“Ehh—Hhh’TSCHheew!”

“Bless you, Sloan,” said Pinstripe, offering her a napkin. “This is the fourth sneeze in half an hour. Are you ready to throw in the towel and admit that you’re under the weather?”

The two sat in their usual spot, a typical hipster coffee shop filled with plants, mismatched chairs and handlebar mustachioed men. The sound of quiet chatter and keyboard typing filled the room around them, and Jane probably would have been able to smell the familiar scent of freshly roasted coffee beans if it wasn’t for her deeply congested nose.

She grabbed the napkin from Pinstripe and groaned. Admitting that she was sick was already hard, but doing it in front of Pinstripe was just the rotten cherry on the expired cake. But there was no denying it. Her symptoms were ten times worse than the day before. She battled a constant tickle in her nose, on top of a sinus headache, a runny nose and chills.

“So I’ve caught a bit of a cold, what’s the big deal?”

Pinstripe gave her an empathetic smile, which sent Jane into a confusing mix of irritation and gooey warmth. “I mean this in the best way possible, but you really don’t sound good, Jane.”

“Don’t you ‘Jane’ me,” she said, rubbing her temples. He only used her first name when he was being serious.

“Isn’t your boyfriend a doctor? Can’t he magically cure you of this cold?”

Jane rolled her eyes, taking another sip of coffee. “He’s really busy at the hospital this week. Tonight is his only night off.” She regretted saying this immediately. It sounded needy, like she was complaining that Ben wasn’t available enough. It hadn’t been a problem until yesterday evening when she’d felt like crap and wished he could have been there to keep her warm. She knew it was just the cold making her feel vulnerable. It was a horrible feeling.

Pinstripe leaned over the table, looking at her straight in the eyes. “You should go home and sleep. You have more than enough time to write your article.”

“I don’t even have a lead yet,” Jane whined.

“I’ve got one for you.” He passed her a Post-it note with a few names and phone numbers written on it. “I’m sure at least one of them will be happy to meet with you. When you’re healthy.”

Jane made a face at him, which quickly morphed into a pre-sneeze expression. She unfolded the napkin and sneezed into it, away from the table. “IIHH’TSCHhheew! Ugh, this is get—getting o—’TSCHhheew!… old.”

“Bless you,” said Pinstripe, his voice modulated by a hint of tenderness Jane didn’t know he could muster. “Go home. Take care of yourself.”

She smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

~~~

Sutton pushed the heavy door of Safford’s building with her shoulder, her hands full of garment bags. Grunting, she slipped through the small crack she managed to open for herself, careful not to get the bags stuck in the door. Why was it that the entrance was always crowded when she was in a rush, making it impossible to get through, but when she needed help with the door, the place was deserted?

She gave a short, polite smile to the security guard at the badge station, and managed to swipe her badge on the scanner without dropping anything. She took a deep breath, looking at the escalator as if it were an insurmountable mountain. Her arms were so tired of carrying such a big load that her muscles were shaking.

She had spent the entire day running around the city, picking up clothing and jewelry requested by Oliver. Running in and out of overheated offices into the cold New York streets had done a number on her sick body, confusing its temperature regulation. Sutton felt both hot and cold, and didn’t know if she dreamed of a hot bath or an iced cold lemonade at the moment.

She’d blown through three packets of pocket tissues and had been blessed by at least four different Uber drivers. As she walked through the atrium, she avoided looking at the huge decorative mirror on the wall. If she looked anything like she felt, she’d be mortified that anyone had seen her like this. She’d rather not know at all.

She sniffled, her nose tickling like crazy. With no hands to grab a tissue, all she could do was wiggle it and hope for the best. The tickle vibrated through the bridge of her nose, making her breath itch. She didn’t stop, fumbling forward as her eyes closed.

“Hhh’KSCHhh!… IHH’KSCHHh!”

The sneezes were desperate and powerful, bending her at the waist, which was all it took for her to lose her balance. She yelped, feeling herself fall forward, but a steady hand grabbed her at the last moment.

“Easy,” said the man as he helped her right herself.

Sutton’s heart flipped in her chest. She’d recognize the voice anywhere.

“Richard! I—Hhh’KSChhh!”

Richard tightened his grip on her arm, steadying her. When she met his gaze, Sutton noticed Richard’s eyes were filled with concern. Her heart ached with a desire to press herself against his chest and feel his arms envelop her. But she couldn’t. She’d made her decision—she’d chosen her career over Richard. And now he had a girlfriend.

“Bless you,” Richard murmured, his warm hand still against Sutton’s arm. When he realized it, he took it off. “Are you alright?”

Sutton nodded, trying to pry her eyes away from his. His brow furrowed as if to say, “No you’re not.” It was a look he’d given her before, when they’d sneak into each other’s apartment at night to be together. She knew his body language like the back or her hand, and so did he.

She gave a short, pitiful laugh. “I’ll be OK. I just… I caught a cold. From Jane. It’s nothing.” He cast another doubtful, protective look upon her.

“Sutton!” yelled another voice nearby.

Sutton looked up to see Kat jogging down the escalator.

“Are you OK?” Kat asked as she reached Sutton and Richard.

“Yeah, Richard saved me,” Sutton said with a sad smile.

“Amazing.” Kat briefly nodded at Richard. “Here, let me help you bring these up,” she said to Sutton, grabbing most of the garment bags. “I haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

“Getting all of these,” Sutton said. She looked back at Richard again. He seemed uncomfortable and awkward, something she’d never witnessed before. It was odd to see such a professional, put-together executive suddenly feel small and out of place.

“I should probably go,” Richard said, pointing towards the elevator. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

Sutton smiled and nodded.

When he was a few paces away, Kat whispered, “Wanna wait until he’s gone so we’re not stuck in the same elevator as him?”

Sutton scoffed. “Uh, yeah!”

Once the coast was clear, they headed back to the office.

“So you caught Jane’s non-existent cold, huh?”

Sutton rolled her eyes. “If only she’d admit it sooner, maybe she wouldn’t spread it to everyone around. Although I guess I’m no better, sneezing all over the place. I’m probably going to get you sick.” She took a few steps away from Kat.

“Nah-ah!” said Kat. “I don’t get sick. My immune system is impenetrable.” She raised her fists under the garment bags. “Come at me, viruses! Adena says I’m going to jinx myself if I keep saying it.”

Sutton shifted her pile of garment bags under one arm and used her free hand to fetch a balled-up tissue, having no choice but to re-use it. She wiped her nose gingerly. “How is it going with Adena and the whole ‘open relationship’ thing?”

Kat deflated a bit. “It’s… alright. It’s not bad.”

Sutton raised an eyebrow.

“I just... On the one hand, it’s fun to explore my sexuality with different girls and see what I like, but on the other hand, it just feels… empty? And I’m starting to miss Adena. We don’t see each other as much.”

“Maybe you just need to take a small break and spend time with her?”

“I would, but she’s at a retreat right now. I’ve got a date tomorrow night, actually. Might as well use up the time when Adena’s gone.”

Sutton could tell the novelty of the experience was waning, and Kat wasn’t having that much fun anymore, but she didn’t know how to help her friend. She had no experience with open relationships and was worried that she’d give her the wrong advice.

“Well, I’m here if you want to talk or hang out.”

Kat smiled. “I know. And I’m here to rescue you from evil garment bags. And Richard.”

Sutton sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know if I want to be rescued from him.”

~~~

Jane sat on her couch, burritoed into a blanket while her boyfriend read the thermometer he had just plucked out of her mouth. She couldn’t believe that the only night she got to spend with Ben this week would be completely ruined by a stupid cold.

“Just a low-grade fever. You’ll be fine. Rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

Jane groaned and buried her face under the blanket. “I feel so gross.”

Ben smiled and patted her on the back. “It’s just a good old regular cold.”

The only answer she could muster from underneath the blanket was two exhausted sneezes. “Hhh’TSCHheew! Hhh—TSCHheew!”

“Bless you.” His Australian accent managed to make even a “bless you” sound sexy to Jane. If only she didn’t feel so rotten. “Need more tissues?”

Jane mumbled a “yes” before coming up for air, sniffling. After spending the afternoon on the phone scheduling meetups with Pinstripe’s contacts, her condition had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer focus on the screen. She’d spent the evening on the couch, feeling sorry for herself.

The door to the apartment opened and closed. Jane watched as Sutton stepped into the living room, looking worse for wear. She glared at Jane, then shuffled to the couch. “Move,” she told Jane, flopping dramatically between her and Ben. “I feel like death.”

“You too?” said Ben, unable to repress a smile. “How about I make you guys some tea?”

Both girls nodded. As soon as he got up from the couch, Sutton grabbed the blanket he had been sitting on and buried into it. “You’re already admitting that you’re sick and it’s only day two. Impressive,” said Sutton, her voice heavy with congestion.

“I didn’t have much choice.” Her symptoms had hit her so hard so fast. She was used to a slow build, which sometimes turned into a false alarm, but this cold was feisty.

Jane looked at her friend, noticing the flush high on her cheeks and her poor irritated nose. She felt terrible about passing on her germs to Sutton, but then again, they lived in a one-bedroom apartment. Sutton slept in the living room, and they shared a tiny closet of a bathroom. It was impossible not to spread a cold in such close quarter. She’d be worried about getting Ben sick too if she didn’t know he’d built an amazing immune system from years of working in a hospital.

“I’ll get my revenge somehow,” mumbled Sutton, as if reading her mind.

Jane pushed gently on Sutton’s thigh with her fuzzy sock-cladded foot. “Come on, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” She pouted at her roommate, but Sutton shook her head. Jane tried again. “I’m really, really sor—Eh… Ihh’TSCHheew! Sorry—’TSCHheew!”

“God, it’s impossible to be mad at you when you sound so mise—miserable—Hhh’KSCHHhh!”

The two girls burst out laughing, passing around a box of tissues. They were quiet for a bit, lulled by the sound of ceramic cups clattering in the kitchen and water rushing out of the tap.

“I fell into Richard’s arms today,” said Sutton, mid-blowing her nose.

Jane’s mouth fell open. “Nooo! What happened?”

“I guess the correct way to describe it is that I sneezed myself off my feet, and he prevented me from face-planting on the marble floor.”

Jane grimaced. “How did that go?”

“My head is intact, but my heart is in pieces.” She threw the used tissue in a nearby overflowing bin. “How long will it take before it stops hurting?”

Jane bit her lip. Sutton had had a hard time letting go of Richard since she’d put an end to their relationship, and learning that he had a new girlfriend had only made it worse. You only know you love someone when you let them go, thought Jane, but she didn’t say it aloud. There was no need to rub salt in the wound.

“I guess heartbreak is just like a cold. Only time and rest will heal it,” Jane said.

Sutton laughed. “That should be your next article.”

“Oh yes, because I’m sure Scarlet’s readers would love to hear all about the intersection of runny noses and missed opportunities.”

Sutton laid her head on the armrest, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “No but think about it. The scratchy throat is like small issues that pop up in the relationship. And if you don’t do anything about it, it turns into a sore throat, which is when you start yelling at each other. When you grow apart, you start feeling chills because you’ve lost the warmth of the other. And the headache is pretty self-explanatory.”

“I think your fever is higher than mine,” mused Jane, laughing. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Excuse me? It makes perfect sense.”

“OK, what about sneezing? What does it mean?”

Sutton remained silent for a few seconds. “Sneezing means… Uhh… Sneezing means that—Hhh’KSCHhh! Alright sneezing means nothing—it just sucks, and being sick sucks, and metaphors suck.”

Jane burst out laughing, and Sutton soon joined in, until they both started coughing from laughing too much. Ben walked in with two steaming mugs, telling them to settle down and have some tea to soothe their throats.

Sutton sat up and grabbed her mug. “Can’t you just give us some kind of pill or shot to cure this?” she asked Ben.

Ben shook his head. “I’m afraid not. All you girls need is rest, which neither of you seem too keen on getting.”

His remark was met with the deafening silence of two stubborn career-driven women.

~~~

The next morning, Richard took the elevator down to Scarlet’s office for a meeting with Jacqueline. As the floor number decreased, he caught himself readjusting his tie as if it was too tight. He forced his hands down and clenched his jaw.

He hoped he would see Sutton, but also hoped he wouldn’t.

Things had been rocky with his girlfriend in the past few weeks. He wasn’t sure anymore if she was right for him, though he hadn’t been able to express why. Now he was starting to get a clearer picture: She just wasn’t Sutton.

Richard recalled his last run-in with Sutton the day before, when she’d almost fallen in the atrium. How lucky for him to have been so close to her when it had happened. Touching her had sent a jolt of electricity through his veins.

She’d looked so exhausted. He hoped that she was at home resting today.

As soon as he stepped into Scarlet’s offices, Richard looked towards Oliver’s atelier, his eyes searching for Sutton. He spotted her immediately. She had her back to him, leaning over a table filled with accessories. As Richard approached Jacqueline’s office, Sutton turned her head, giving Richard a better look at her face. She seemed even sicker than the day before, her skin pale and her nose bright red. She stood a little slumped over, as if her body didn’t have the energy to stay upright. Richard’s heart ached for her.

“Richard?” called Jacqueline, standing in the doorway of her office. “Everything alright?”

Richard plastered a smile on his face and forced himself to walk towards Jacqueline. “Yes, sorry. I thought I saw something.”

Jacqueline glanced towards Oliver’s office, but had the grace not to ask any more questions. Richard forced himself to focus on the task at hand and sat down with Jacqueline to discuss business.

Towards the end of the meeting, Richard noticed Sutton walking towards the kitchen, stopping midway to sneeze into a tissue.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” said Jacqueline, following his gaze once again.

Richard smiled. “Great. I’ll bring your concerns to the board and see what I can do.” He stood up. “Was there anything else?”

“No, you’re free to go!” Jacqueline gestured towards the door. “Have a great day, Richard.”

He could almost hear a hint of teasing in her voice, but he didn’t know if he was imagining it. His relationship with Sutton had been a secret. No one in the office except for Kat and Jane were supposed to know, but maybe his body language had been too obvious, and Jacqueline had picked up on it. He really needed to work on that.

Richard walked out of Jacqueline’s office, heading for the restroom, but made a sharp turn into the kitchen at the last moment. Sutton stood by the coffee machine, trying to choose a coffee pod from the selection on the counter. She stifled a cough in her elbow, then cleared her throat.

Richard moved towards the sink and opened a cupboard, picking up a packet of tea. Sutton had seemed to notice his presence but didn’t say anything.

“You should really be drinking this instead,” Richard said, handing her the tea sachet.

Sutton smiled and took it, turning it into her hands. “That’s what everyone has been telling me, but I could really use the coffee.” Her voice was a wreck, almost gone.

Richard winced. “You really don’t sound good.”

Suddenly, Sutton’s face fell and her eyes half-closed. Her button nose scrunched up. She turned to the side, her body jerking forward under the force of the sneezes. “IHh’KSCHhh! HHh’KSCHHhhh!”

“Bless you,” Richard said, handing her the handkerchief from his breast pocket. He didn’t care if anyone wondered where it went, or even if they saw Sutton with it. He would have before, worried about keeping their relationship a secret, but now it didn’t matter.

Sutton took it, wiping her nose delicately. “Thank you.”

“Sutton, you really need to go home. You have to rest, or you’ll keep getting worse.”

Sutton’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish I could but I have so much work. I can’t just leave.” She blinked the tears away before they fell, shaking her head lightly. “I’ll sleep as soon as fashion week is over.”

Richard just wanted to hold her and make it all better, but all he could do was put a hand on her arm. He noticed she looked flushed, and her body was giving off unnatural heat. He furrowed his brow, his lips a thin line. “Do you have a fever?”

Sutton shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

Richard placed his hand on her forehead without really thinking. For a second, he’d managed to forget that they weren’t intimate anymore, his concern clouding everything else. Sutton closed her eyes as if his hand felt nice against her skin, relief washing over her face. Richard kept it there a little longer. She was burning up.

Then he heard footsteps and conversation coming their way. He quickly removed his hand and took a few steps back, crashing down to reality. Sutton frantically spun towards the coffee maker to act busy. Two HR employees came into the kitchen with empty mugs.

“I would recommend the arabica. It’s pretty nice,” Sutton said to Richard in her professional, yet broken voice, a fake smile plastered on her face.

Richard nodded and thanked her, playing along. He watched Sutton fill her mug with hot water, the bag of tea still in her palm. She left the kitchen, shooting him one last parting smile.

He hoped the tea would make her feel at least a little better.

~~~

“And then he just put his hand on your forehead?” asked Kat, a mix of astonishment and giddiness in her voice.

She sat on the pouf in the fashion closet, surrounded by lavish designer clothes. Jane and Sutton laid on the carpeted ground, passing a box of tissues back and forth, looking like two miserable messes.

Sutton nodded. “Yep.” She’d called an emergency meeting in the closet after her encounter with Richard.

Kat couldn’t tell if Sutton’s red cheeks were caused by her cold, or Richard’s tender move. She bit her lip, torn between feeling annoyed that Richard kept popping up in Sutton’s life and acting so concerned for her, which inevitably sent Sutton into a downward spiral of regret, and secretly hoping that it meant they were on the way to reuniting again. Deep down, she felt like they were meant for each other.

“How do you feel?” asked Jane, blowing her nose.

“Like hell.”

Jane scoffed. “I mean about Richard.”

“Like hell,” repeated Sutton. “It was… so nice. I could feel actual sparks when his hand touched my forehead. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because his hand was cold and my forehead is basically molten lava.”

Kat slipped down on the ground and placed her hand on Sutton’s forehead. “Like this?” She frowned. “My god, you are burning up. You really need to go home.”

Sutton closed her eyes. “People need to stop telling me to go home. I wish I could go home. I dream about going home. I just can’t.” She sighed, then opened her eyes to look at Kat. “Also, this is super nice, but there’s no spark.”

Kat moved her hand down Sutton’s neck in small, soothing motions. Suddenly, Sutton grabbed her wrist, moving it away from her face. Her nostrils flared, her eyes unfocused. “I’m about to… snee—“ Kat leaned out of the way. “Hh’KSCHhhh!”

“Bless you,” said Kat and Jane.

Sutton groaned, her hand over her nose. “Tissue me.” Jane handed her the box, and Sutton pulled out a couple of tissues to blow her nose.

“I wish Ben was a little more like Richard about my cold,” said Jane. “Like… tender, you know? I mean, it’s not that he doesn’t care, but… He’s just so medical about it. It’s all about ‘fluid intake’ and ‘simple respiratory infection’ and ‘healthy people recover from colds in a few days,’ yada-yada-yada. I get it, I know I’m not going to die from this, and he’s dealing with actual serious issues at the hospital, but a little more fussing would be nice.”

Kat laughed. “Jane the Queen of Denial now wants people to fuss about her cold. You are one contradicting woman.”

Jane grabbed the closest clothing item lying on the ground—a beret—and threw it at Kat.

“No but I get it,” said Sutton. “Honestly, I thought I was going to burst into flames when Richard touched my forehead. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me. I felt important and cared for. And he didn’t even care that I look repulsive.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so confused. He has a girlfriend. I already made up my mind. What am I going to do?”

Kat stroked her hair. “Well, first you need to get better.” She looked around the closet, balls of tissues littering the ground around the two girls, almost like a chalk silhouette in a murder scene. “And then we need to call the CDC and have them decontaminate this room. Or just… burn it down.”

“I don’t even know why you’re hanging out so close to us,” said Jane, clearing her throat. “You’ll end up catching it, super immune system or not.”

“Nope, not gonna catch it. Still no signs of it.”

Sutton gasped. “Don’t jinx it! You have a date tonight.”

Kat smiled. “I’ll be fine. You worry about yourself.”

~~~

Later that evening, while Jane finished up the first draft of her article, someone knocked at the door. She tightened the blanket around herself and shuffled to the door, ignoring the mess that had become her apartment. The area around her couch was littered with dried-up tea bags in empty mugs, piles of magazines opened at random pages, take-out boxes filled with cold noodles. And tissues. Tissues everywhere.

When she opened the door, she let out a small gasp.

It was Pinstripe.

Of all the people Jane had expected to see standing there, Pinstripe hadn’t even crossed her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in her apartment. Probably the very last… “fun time” they’d had. God, how long ago was that?

“Sloan,” Pinstripe said, almost as surprised to see her in this state as she was of seeing him on her doorstep. Jane now wished she’d had checked the peephole before opening the door. Maybe she’d have tried to look more presentable.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, the wintery wind drifting in from outside making her shiver.

“May I come in?” He took in her small, shaking body. “You shouldn’t be standing in the doorway like this. I wouldn’t want you to get worse.”

Jane stepped aside, letting Pinstripe walk in. He made sure to close the door behind him. “I asked Kat if you were doing better today and she said you’d gotten worse.” He gave her a sad smile. “Sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t come too close,” warned Jane, shuffling back to the couch and crumpling back on it. “You don’t want to catch this.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Pinstripe with a grin. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to Jane, putting a grocery bag he’d been carrying on the ground between his legs. Jane cracked a smile as he looked around, obviously trying very hard not to mention how messy the place was.

“So you just came to check up on me?” mused Jane. “I guess you do have soft side after all.” A fresh tickle grew in her nose. Knowing better than to try to fight it, she leaned over the coffee table and grabbed a few tissues. “Hold on… I gotta—Ehh’TSCHhhheew!”

“Bless you.”

“IHh’TSCHHhheew” Jane groaned.

“Bless you again.” Pinstripe looked at her, a mix of concern and mischievousness in his eyes. “And apparently you have a vulnerable side after all. I guess we’re both full of surprises.”

“What’s in there?” Jane pointed at the grocery bag.

“Oh. I wanted to get something to make you feel better but…” He took out a gallon of apple juice and three chocolate bars.

Jane laughed. “So you have no idea how to shop for sick people.”

“Look, I knew you’d be covered medicine-wise since you’re dating a doctor. And you can never have too much chocolate.” He eyed the apple juice. “The juice was just a panic move.” He looked around the apartment. “Is Sutton not home?”

Jane shook her head, wiping her nose with a tissue. “She’s still at work, the poor thing.”

“Look who’s talking. You’re the poor thing,” he teased, but his face grew serious as he examined her. “You’re all flushed,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Do you have a fever?” Pinstripe slid closer to Jane and put the back of his fingers against her cheek. His brow furrowed, and he moved his hand to the other cheek.

Jane’s insides instantly lit on fire. So this was the spark Sutton had talked about. She felt the coolness of his hand against her burning skin, electricity buzzing from his touch to the tip of her toes and back. Pinstripe stopped moving his hand and kept it on her cheek, looking deep into her eyes. Time slowed down, the air thick with desire.

After what seemed like an eternity, a tickle deep in Jane’s sinuses shook her out of her trance. She wiggled her nose as her mouth fell open. The sneeze progressed as fast as lightning, and Jane barely had enough time to move away from Pinstripe to sneeze into her blanket. “Ehh—TSCHhheew!”

Pinstripe chuckled, letting his hand fall on his lap. “Bless you, Jane.” He looked around, dazed, as if he had also been enraptured in the moment. “I should probably go and… let you rest.” He got up, a hint of awkwardness to his movements, and walked back to the door. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”

Jane nodded. “Thank you for the chocolate. And the apple juice.”

Pinstripe grinned. “Feel better soon.”

~~~

Kat sat on Cammy’s bed, biting her bottom lip. Cammy laid seductively against the pillows, all curves and luscious hair. She was gorgeous. Things had gotten steamy very quickly at the bar where they’d agreed to meet after work. It hadn’t been long before Cammy had invited Kat to her apartment.

It was to be expected—the dates were, after all, only meant to be sexual. She wasn’t looking for a loving relationship. She already had that with Adena.

Kat closed her eyes. Thinking of Adena while making out with another girl was against her rule. It made her incredibly uncomfortable, no matter how many times she reminded herself that Adena had been the one to propose an open relationship.

“Everything OK?” asked Cammy.

Kat nodded. She rolled her shoulders, trying to relax, then resumed kissing her date. Cammy smelled divine, a mix of jasmine and woody, earthy notes. But somehow, something felt off. Kat tried her best to be in the moment and enjoy it, but truth be told, she just wasn’t.

Fatigue had hit her like a ton of bricks towards the late afternoon. It had been a whirlwind of a day at work, with tons of meetings and social media storms. Still, Kat wasn’t usually this tired even after the craziest days.

Cammy grabbed the back of Kat’s head and tried to pull her down, but Kat resisted.

Cammy broke off the kiss, confused. “What’s wrong?”

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not—" Suddenly, a tickle bloomed in her nose. She sniffed, trying to get rid of it, but it only grew stronger. She gasped and covered her nose with both hands. “EHP’TSChhooo!”

Kat sat on the bed, shocked. She almost never sneezed.

She gasped again, the tickle returning with a white-hot vengeance. “IHP’TSCHhooo!”

She especially never sneezed twice in a row.

“Bless you,” Cammy said, not quite understanding what was happening.

“Oh no,” Kat said with a short laugh.

“What?”

Kat swallowed, testing her throat. Sure enough, there it was. A scratchiness that she hadn’t noticed. And a small headache threatening to grow behind her eyes. The signs had been there most of the afternoon, but Kat hadn’t paid attention to them.

She sniffled, her nose now runny, as if the sneezes had officially unleashed the virus.

“I think I caught a cold.”

~~~

Kat knocked on Jane’s door, shivering in the cold night. When the door opened, Jane greeted her in her trusty blanket.

“I thought you had a date?” Jane said, moving aside to let Kat in.

Kat looked around the place, wondering if a tornado had landed in there. Sutton laid on the couch with a thermometer in her mouth. This was the very picture of Kat’s near future. Soon, she would be the one with a thermometer in her mouth. She was not looking forward to it.

“Is something wrong?” asked Jane, concerned.

“I caught your cold,” said Kat in disbelief.

“You did?!” said Sutton, taking the thermometer out of her mouth.

“Sutton! Keep it in your mouth until it beeps!” scolded Jane.

Sutton made a face, but put the thermometer back in her mouth.

“And you,” Jane said to Kat, “come in here.” She opened her blanket wide, and Kat nestled in there, rearranging it so that they both could fit in spite of their significant height difference. They shuffled awkwardly to the couch and joined Sutton.

“Are you sure you caught it?” asked Jane.

Kat nodded, unable to answer as a tickle took over. She gasped and crumpled down on her lap. “EHHP’TSChhooo!”

“Never mind,” said Jane, laughing. “Welcome to the club. It’s miserable.”

The thermometer beeped and Sutton took it out. “At least we’ve got each other.”

Kat smiled. That was the reason why she’d come straight to Jane’s apartment after apologizing to Cammy and running off. She knew she could always count on her friends to be there for her, in sickness and in health.

She grabbed the box of tissues, peering into it. “We might run out of tissues.”

Jane shook her head. “No worries. If we need more, Pinstripe will deliver.”

Kat looked at her, confused.

“I’ll tell you all about it, but first, we need to decide who’s going to make tea.”

“Not me, I still have a fever,” Sutton said, pouting as she read the thermometer.

“And I’m new to this whole ‘being sick’ thing,” said Kat, exaggerating the sad eyes.

Jane rolled her eyes and got up. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Kat stretched out over Jane’s spot, making herself comfortable. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all. “Guys, we should all call in sick tomorrow and do a movie marathon.”

“I’m definitely calling in sick tomorrow,” said Jane from the kitchen. “I’m in.”

Kat looked expectantly at Sutton. “Come on Sutton, you know you can’t keep going to work like this.”

“It could be arranged,” said Sutton. “Oliver told me to stay home tomorrow if I don’t feel well. He said he’d rather be without me for a day than without everyone else in the team because I infected them all.” She smiled. “I think he meant that he wanted me to rest because he cares about me.”

Kat laughed. “If that’s what you got from it, sure.” She did a little dance. “Yay, movie marathon tomorrow! We haven’t done that in ages. Oooh we can rewatch all the Harry Potter movies!”

Sutton scoffed. “Leave it to Kat to find joy in being sick.”

Jane brought out a tray with three mugs. Kat managed to push around part of the mess on the coffee table to make room for it. Each girl grabbed a cup.

“To feeling like crap,” said Jane, lifting her mug in the air.

“To losing our voice,” added Sutton, raising her own tea.

“And sneezing our asses off,” said Kat.

The three clung their mugs together, and the air filled with honey-lemon scented laughter.

[parafic]

OK since u wanted this. Elau :)

I considered just skipping to the next scene but I've posted everything so far so that might be mean. So the rest of this scene is under the cut.

ELAU:

“If it is, they’ve kept it very well hidden,” Itama says.  “I can look into it, but I don’t think I’ll be able to find much.”

Hashirama nods.  “See what you can do,” he says.  “And look into Meguru generally.  The best we can do at this point is try to convince both of them of the benefits of peace, so that the negotiations can succeed regardless of who ends up in control of the clan.”

“Madara and Izuna too,” Tobirama says.  “They’re the Uchiha’s strongest fighters, and will have influence even if it is not official.  If Meguru is challenging Takami for control of the clan, the winner will likely be whichever of them can secure Madara’s and Izuna’s support.”

“So my new assignment is to spy on the Uchiha, got it,” Itama says, which earns a small laugh from Hashirama, a snort from Kawarama, and a smile behind Mito’s fan.  “I’ll write to some neutral clans.  Anija, if we’re particularly lucky and someone important to a neutral clan has been hurt recently, the most likely strategy to succeed would be to offer healing as a bribe to get them to investigate for us.”

Hashirama drums his fingers on the table again.  “I will probably approve it,” he says after a few seconds.  “But run it past me first, once you have specifics.”

“Yes, anija.”

Hashirama smiles, then turns to Tobirama.  “Tobirama, is there anything else worth reporting now?”

Tobirama shakes his head.  “I will put all of the details into the written report, but I have already summarized the key points.”

“Then before you start on it, I want you to go to the healers and have them do a full set of diagnostics.”

Tobirama immediately looks affronted.  “Anija!”

“That is an order, Tobirama.”

Tobirama folds his arms and pouts.  “Very well,” he says grudgingly.  “But this is excessive fussing even for you.  I told you no one touched me.  Why are you being so ridiculous today?”

“Because I had to send my little brother alone to the Uchiha compound,” Hashirama says.

Tobirama makes a face, but sighs.  “Yes, anija.”

“Actually,” Mito says, “There is a seal I wished to discuss with you, Tobirama-kun.  Perhaps I could walk with you, and we could speak on the way?”

Tobirama does not look any less annoyed, but he has never turned down a chance to discuss seals.  “Yes, Hime-sama.”

“I’ll come too!” Hashirama says.  “I should speak with the healers about supplies anyway.”

“The only thing we’re low on that isn’t already coming in is needles,” Kawarama says.  “I’m working on that, so you just need to talk to them about if they expect to need extra of anything.  We already have extra burn salves, bandages, and disinfectants, in case the Uchiha try to retaliate instead of negotiate.”

“Thank you, Kawarama.”  Hashirama smiles, then reaches over to ruffle Kawarama’s hair, which makes Kawarama shout complaints and bat at Hashirama’s determinedly ruffling hand until they get into a wrestling match, and Tobirama impatiently drags them apart so he can get his pointless checkup over with as soon as possible.

“We’ll see you at lunch,” Itama says as the oldest three depart, and receives a nod from Tobirama, a smile from Mito, and a grin from Hashirama.  “Kawarama, would you like to spar?”

“Yeah!”

Kawarama always changes into his armor faster than Itama, but he waits for Itama without complaint.  As they walk to the training ground, Itama asks, “What do you think?”

Kawarama shrugs and swings his arms, already warming up.  “I’d rather just wipe the bastards out,” he says.  “You know.  But anija won’t do it and you and Tobirama-nii-san agree with him, so if we’ve got to negotiate, having a hostage to make them behave is better.”

“If we wiped them out, even if we could, we’d just have several new wars with all the clans that would be afraid we’d wipe them out next.”

“Even though they’re Uchiha,” Kawarama complains.  “I know, I know, I just don’t like it.  They don’t deserve anija being nice to them.”

Itama smiles, but manages not to laugh.  “War and politics both have very little to do with what anyone deserves.”

Kawarama smirks back.  “Which is why that’s your job and not mine.  I can just kill stuff.”

“I suppose, as your older brother, it���s my responsibility to take on the work you dislike.”

Kawarama grins.  “The clan benefits from a variety of skills.”

“And politics is mine?”

“Yours, and anija’s, and ane-ue’s.  As long as it’s not mine!”

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Lady Lannister

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Lancel Lannister Couple - Lancel X Reader Reader - Y/n Baratheon (Daughter of Stannis) Rating - 18 Sexual discussion / spanking / fondling Word Count - 1377

Lancel arrives back to his chamber prepared to pack for his journey to Darry Castle his new home. Once the Lannisters took Darry, Tywin thought it best for Lancel to gain some experience in being a lord, to gather the mindset of it all after so long as a squire and knight in the Red Keep, and Tywin had some larger plans for him. Lancel did think it was somewhat to keep him safe and out of the way while he still recovered from his injuries from Blackwater.

However, as he arrives, he is taken aback when the young lady Y/n Baratheon stands in his chambers. Lady Y/n was Stannis’ eldest daughter, living at court under King Robert’s protection kept here by Tywin and the small council. She wore her usual yellow dress with black embroidery, her hair in a long braid,

“My lady?” He asked, “What are you doing in my chambers?”

"Lord Tywin send me Ser Lancel" She softly bowed offering him a scroll sealed with the Lannister crest,

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He took the scroll from Y/n, he broke the seal and unrolled it, scanning its contents with interest.

“Ah, yes... the official paperwork, I'm to report to Darry Castle immediately, begin my duties as lord, and take Lady-” He trailed of a little in shock as he read over the words, “I uhh I am to… uhh”

“Take me with you,” she smiled softly,

“Yes, I am to uhh… take you with me as you uhh-”

"I come with the castle Ser Lancel"

A slow smile spread across his face as he realized the implications of Y/n's words. He felt excited at the prospect of having her accompany him to Darry Castle. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as he processed the news. He couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement at the idea of being married off to a Baratheon, especially one as beautiful and intriguing as Y/n.

“Well, well, well...it seems fate has decided our future for us,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. He walked towards her, his movements fluid and deliberate, his eyes locked onto hers. “Darry may be my title for now, but I have no doubt that Casterly Rock will soon be mine,” he whispered, his voice husky with anticipation.

she nodded with a sweet smile not wishing to say anything that might be a little... Treasonous

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, seeming to appreciate her caution. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the curve of her cheek, sending shivers down her spine.

“Don't worry, my dear, you're safe with me,” his voice was low and soothing, filled with reassurance. His thumb caressed her skin, tracing the shape of her jawline. “We'll discuss this further on our journey to Darry, but for now, let's just enjoy each other's company,”

she nodded "the caravan is to depart at sunset... Should perhaps you pack ser Lancel?" She glanced around his very unpacked room

He chuckled, the sound low and husky, as he gazed around his cluttered chambers. His eyes met Y/n's, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths. “Oh, I think I can manage to pack what I need,” he began to rummage through his belongings, tossing clothes and items into a haphazard pile, he shot her a glance over his shoulder. “But tell me, my dear, do you have any preference for travel arrangements?”

"No ser I have no preference" she answered "Whatever is easiest"

He grinned, pleased by her willingness to adapt. “Excellent,” he said, his hands moving quickly as he packed a small satchel with essentials. “We'll have a pair of guards accompanying us, and I've ordered a fine carriage to convey us to Darry.”

"a Lannister carriage?" she asked an excited tone to her voice,

A self-satisfied smirk spread across his face as he nodded. “Yes, a Lannister carriage,” he repeated, his voice dripping with pride. “It's one of the finest in the Seven Kingdoms, adorned with gold and crimson velvet. It's a symbol of our family's wealth and status.”

“Our?”

“Our.” He nodded, He paused, his eyes glinting with amusement. “And besides, I thought it fitting that we arrive at Darry in style, considering our... union,”

she nodded "of course, and I am sure we will have to have new banners and decorations made for Darry castle once we arrive"

His grin grew wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the room. “Exactly,” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm evident. “Darry Castle will soon bear the sigil of House Lannister, and I intend to make it shine like the Golden Lion himself.” He took a step closer to Y/n, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I want Darry to be a testament to our love, a beacon of hope and prosperity for the people who call it home.” His eyes locked onto hers, burning with passion and desire.

she nodded with a wide smile "of course to bring honour to yourself and your house. And show your uncle your readiness to be named heir of Casterly Rock"

A flicker of tension danced across his features, but he quickly regained his composure, a calculating glint entering his eyes. “Indeed,” he replied, his voice measured and controlled. “My uncle Tywin expects nothing but excellence from those under his roof, and I aim to prove myself worthy of the title.” He leaned in closer, his breath whispering against Y/n's ear. “But there's more at stake than just my inheritance,” his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “There's...us.” His fingers trailed down Y/n's neck, sending shivers coursing through her body. “In private chambers, where the shadows dance and the fire crackles,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her earlobe. “That's where our true power lies, don't you think?” He pulled back, his eyes blazing with intensity as he grasped her hand, drawing her close. “The throne may be won by blood and steel, but true mastery is achieved in the darkness, where only whispers remain.” With a fluid motion, he pulled her body close, he bit back a moan feeling her body against his, knowing she was going to be his to explore and pleasure,

"I... Am not sure what you mean ser Lancel" she blushed,

His grip on her hand tightened, “You're playing coy, little one,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “I know exactly what I'm saying. In the shadows, where the masks come off and the games begin... that's where we truly rule.” He growled pinning her against the cold stone wall as his mouth crashed down upon hers, their lips meeting in a fierce, hungry kiss.

She gasped but kissed back holding his doublet with a tense excited grip,

“No pretenses, no titles, no expectations,” he growled, tearing away from her lips to trail kisses down her throat. “Just us, lost in the darkness, with nothing but our desires guiding us.”

"you mean when we’re are too..." She blushed

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her entire body as he pressed closer, his chest brushing against hers. “Don't try to deflect, little one,” he whispered, his lips tracing a path along her jawline. “We both know what I'm getting at. The game of thrones may be played with swords and strategy, but the real power lies in the shadows...and in each other's arms.” His hands slipped beneath her skirts, his fingers dancing across the sensitive skin of her thighs as he pulled her closer.

she nodded "I uhh I expect then that you have uhh... Hopes for us and our uhh... Lineage"

A sly smile spread across his face, “Oh, I have hopes,” he purred, his voice dripping with confidence. “Huge ones. I envision a dynasty born of fire and steel, with the Lannisters reigning supreme for generations to come.” he growled down at her, “And I see you, Y/n...at my side, bearing children who will one day inherit the Iron Throne.”

She blushed harder, “If that is what my husband demands of me,”

“Ohh… I demand it little one.” He smirked giving her one more kiss, “Come. we must begin our journey… I must at least get you in the carriage before I lay you on your back all night,” He smirked wrapping his arm around her and slapping her ass as he leads her from his chambers.

[and-justice-for-zoisite]

𝓣𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼 Part 2 (𝔽𝕦𝕛𝕚𝕟 𝕩 𝕋𝕤𝕦𝕟𝕘! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Official Masterlist

Summary: Fujin meets his elusive thief once again, and they have a heart to heart talk about the reader's past.

Word Count: 2.6k words.

-

-

Months had passed since their first encounter, and the memory of (Y/n) lingered in Fujin's mind like a whisper on the wind. The wind god had fulfilled his duties diligently, attending to the realms and protecting the balance of nature. But there was always a part of him that yearned for another encounter with the free-spirited thief who had stolen not only his attention but also a piece of his heart.

It was disappointing to know that (Y/n) Tsung hadn't yet made another attempt at stealing another item, despite what his brother would no doubt have to say should he be the one to discover her.

As the sun cast its golden rays upon the tranquil landscape, Fujin stood atop a grassy hill overlooking a bustling marketplace. It was a place where merchants displayed their goods, and people from all walks of life mingled and traded. The wind carried the sweet scent of spices and the chatter of eager voices.

He enjoyed not only watching over, but participating in the markets - such a simple yet joyous experience. As he strolled through the vibrant stalls, Fujin couldn't help but feel a sense of freedom and connection to the world around him. The colourful array of fruits, vibrant fabrics, and intricate crafts enticed his senses.

The locals knew of his presence and divine status, as well as that of his older brother, and they were beloved and worshipped figures, considering how close the markets took place to the Shaolin temples. For the most part, he was greeted by many, and he loved meeting new people, seeing new faces, and making new friends, as each individual human was something to be treasured.

Even with everything happening around him, he felt that emptiness in his eternal heart. His day to day life was dull otherwise, and he longed to see that forbidden fruit again that was (Y/n) Tsung.

Fujin was taken from his thoughts when he felt a figure push past him, seemingly in a hurry to get by. He allowed them, though a little taken a back by their rude gesture as he watched them.

They had on a hooded cloak, obscuring their identity as they travelled. Though, when he saw them outstretch a hand and nick an apple from a nearby stall, he knew exactly who he was looking at.

He grinned.

Swiftly, Fujin followed in her wake, weaving through the bustling marketplace with ease, his divine agility allowing him to keep up with her nimble steps. He admired the way she effortlessly blended into the crowd, her presence both elusive and magnetic.

As he caught up to her, Fujin reached out a grabbed a handful of her cloak. (Y/n) stumbled slightly as Fujin yanked her cloak, causing her hood to fall back and reveal her head of (h/c) hair. Surprise and amusement danced in her eyes as she turned to face him, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Fujin?" she called his name, her voice filled with a mixture of teasing and genuine delight. "I must say, I didn't expect to encounter you so soon. And at a market, no less."

Fujin chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I have a knack for finding what I'm looking for," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "And it seems I've found you once again, my elusive thief."

She playfully raised an eyebrow.

"Thief, you say? I prefer to think of myself as a liberator of valuable items," she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But I suppose thief has a certain ring to it."

He grinned, enjoying their banter and the familiar chemistry that crackled between them.

"Oh, I have no doubt you have a talent for liberating things," he said, his voice low and filled with innuendo. "Though, I must ask. Are you intending on paying for that?"

(Y/n) let out a laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She glanced down at the apple in her hand and then back at Fujin, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Paying? Where's the fun in that?" she replied with a playful smirk. "Besides, I'm sure the vendor won't miss one little apple."

"I would have been more than happy to purchase food for you, (Y/n)," Fujin sighed, raising a brow at her. "Though I suppose you're right, they most likely won't notice that apple's absence."

"Why don't you come walk with me, wind god?" she asked of him, breathing on the skin of her apple before rubbing it on her shirt. "I've not seen you in a while."

Fujin's gaze softened as he observed her playful nature, a fond smile gracing his lips. The wind gently rustled their hair as they strolled through the bustling marketplace.

"So, (Y/n)," Fujin began, "What's been keeping you away from the Sky Temple. Are you much too intimidated to try your scheme out again?"

(Y/n) laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she walked alongside Fujin. She took a moment to enjoy the lively atmosphere of the marketplace before responding.

"Intimidated? Not at all," she replied, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. "I've simply been caught up, is all. Like, literally. I was being held captive."

Fujin's playful expression turned into one of concern as he turned his full attention to (Y/n). The wind stilled around them, creating a momentary calm in the midst of the bustling market.

"Held captive?" Fujin repeated, his voice laced with worry. "What happened? Are you alright?"

(Y/n) waved her hand dismissively, trying to ease his concern.

"Oh, don't worry about me. It was nothing I couldn't handle. Just a little adventure gone awry. I may have underestimated the security measures of a certain treasure vault," she confessed sheepishly. Fujin's concern didn't waver, and he furrowed his brows.

"You should have informed me. I would have come to your aid," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Now how bad would that you look for you, my friend?" (Y/n) pointed out, raising a brow at him, "Protector of Earthrealm and God of wind being buds with Shang Tsung's daughter."

Fujin paused for a moment, considering her words. She had a point. As a deity tasked with safeguarding Earthrealm, his association with Shang Tsung's daughter would undoubtedly raise eyebrows and potentially cause complications.

"You make a good point, my dear," he sighed, his eyes casting toward her direction once more, "though I wish it weren't this way." "You trust me way too much, deity," (Y/n) sighed as they reached the end of the market, subconsciously continuing into the forest which outstretched beyond it. "I sense no ill-intentions from you," Fujin told her, giving her a small smile, "had I, I would've dealt with you by now."

(Y/n) chuckled softly, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Ah, so that's your measure of trust," she replied, her voice filled with playful sarcasm. "If you hadn't dealt with me by now, then I must be alright."

Fujin nodded, a hint of mischief in his gaze.

"Indeed, it's a fool-proof method," he said, matching her playful tone.

(Y/n) laughed, her eyes shining with amusement.

"I see your confidence is unwavering," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

They shared a moment of comfortable silence between them, as an unspoken agreement formed between them that told them to keep walking together like this, through the forest. Though, Fujin hadn't seen her in such a long time, and was eager to catch up some more.

"Who exactly had you held captive for so long?" Fujin asked, still intrigued by the conversation they had just had before. "Oh, he's a nobody. Just my ex-boyfriend, Erron," (Y/n) sighed, scratching the back of her neck. "He's a real piece of work. But then again, aren't I for trying to infiltrate Kotal Kahn's place? I wouldn't have even bothered had I known he worked for him." "Erron Black?" he asked, raising a brow at her, "goodness, I hadn't known the two of you were an item at some point." "I don't exactly tell people, and neither did he. Honestly it's embarrassing enough having to be his ex, imagine how embarrassing it was to be his girlfriend," (Y/n) scoffed, running a hand through her hair. "We've got a complicated past. We were never a conventional couple, that's for sure. Our paths crossed during one of my adventures, and there was an undeniable attraction between us. But our differences ultimately drove us apart."

Somewhat of a smile played at (Y/n)'s lips, as she revelled in that bittersweet sense of nostalgia that came with remembering her past with that other man.

"I don't even know if he was there to be with me, or use my body, to be completely honest with you," she sighed, her vision straight ahead though she didn't seem focused on anything in particular. "But...it was nice to feel wanted for once, I guess."

Fujin could sense the mix of emotions swirling within (Y/n) as she opened up about her past with Erron Black. He understood that nostalgia could be both comforting and painful, especially when looking back at complicated relationships.

"Though your body is quite fantastic, it's important that your lover is there for your soul too," Fujin added, cheekily though his words were also wise. "Your body is only temporary, your soul is forever."

(Y/n) flushed bright red at the remark, and though she tried her hardest to conceal her reaction, her efforts were ultimately in vain, and Fujin couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'm sorry if that was too forward," he laughed, smiling down at her affectionately, "I tend to speak my mind, sometimes to the point of teasing. Please forgive me." "No, no...don't be sorry," (Y/n) spluttered, waving her hands in a dismissive way, flustered as ever. "I'm just...flattered, is all. And...not used to the compliments."

Fujin's laughter subsided, replaced by a gentle understanding. He could sense (Y/n)'s vulnerability and how unfamiliar she was with receiving sincere compliments.

"Well, get used to it because you deserve every bit of praise that comes your way," Fujin said, his voice filled with sincerity. "You possess qualities that go far beyond physical beauty. Your strength, courage, and resilience are truly admirable."

(Y/n) looked at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and gratitude. It was as if Fujin's words were shining a light on parts of herself that she had forgotten or overlooked.

"You're just saying that," (Y/n) let out a mix between a scoff and a laugh as she shook her head, looking away from him. "I don't say things just for the sake of saying them," Fujin assured her, walking a little closer to her, so that that her shoulder would brush against him as they strolled. "These words come from my heart, and they are meant for you, and you alone."

(Y/n) couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading within her at Fujin's words and his gentle proximity. His presence provided a sense of comfort that she hadn't realized she was craving.

Walking ahead, (Y/n) abruptly turned around to face Fujin, stopping the both of them in their tracks as she looked up at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Tell me this, Fujin," she began, her tone quite serious though he could sense her playful undertone as always, "why are you so interested in me?"

Fujin met (Y/n)'s gaze, his eyes unwavering as he considered her question. In all honesty, he didn't have a straight answer himself. He just...liked her. He liked being around her, even if this was only their second meeting. His intuition spoke to him, and of all people, it wanted her.

"To put it simply, (Y/n), I can't quite explain why I'm so interested in you," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "Sometimes, the heart simply knows what it wants, and it's drawn to certain individuals without any logical reasoning. All one can do is listen."

She stared at him for a moment, allowing herself to process his words in a quiet contemplation. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath as she thought, and it's serene nature didn't keep her thinking for very long.

"...you...you hardly even know me," she huffed, looking away from him. "You're right, (Y/n), but I want to."

(Y/n) couldn't help but feel a flutter in her chest, a mix of uncertainty and intrigue. She had been guarded for so long, protecting herself from the world and its complexities. But here was Fujin, offering her a chance to be known, to be seen.

"I've built walls around myself," she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to let someone in. Not again, not after the way he treated me."

There was a quiet thump as (Y/n) felt back into the grass, below the thick stump of a plum blossom. She took a moment to feel the earth below her, threading her fingers into the grass as she inhaled deeply, taking in all the smells around.

Fujin watched her, his gaze soft yet intent. He respected her vulnerability and the walls she had built to protect herself. He knew that trust couldn't be forced or rushed—it had to be earned.

Quietly, Fujin knelt down beside her, mirroring her actions and feeling the grass between his own fingers. The earth seemed to respond to their presence, embracing them in its ancient wisdom. He wanted (Y/n) to know that he would be patient, that he would wait for her to find the courage to let someone in again.

"There doesn't need to be any strings tied to this," Fujin said gently, his eyes never leaving hers. "No expectations, no pressure. I simply enjoy your company and want to know you better. It's okay to take things one step at a time."

She gazed at him thoughtfully, her eyes taking the time to memorise all of his features.

Fujin met her gaze, his own eyes reflecting a quiet intensity and a genuine curiosity about the person before him. He appreciated the thoughtful way she observed him, as if she was cataloging every nuance, every detail.

The forest around them seemed to echo their stillness, and the world beyond their small haven felt distant and unimportant. In this moment, it was just the two of them, the earth beneath them, and the secrets of their hearts.

Then, a small chuckle, one which fell from (Y/n)'s lips.

She sat up.

"You know, Lord Fujin," she began, getting up from off the ground and brushing herself off. "I think that if I see you one more time, I just might fall in love with you."

She sighed, he back to him though she had her head turned so she could see him in the corner of her eye.

"...so, I suppose we can wait and see til then, can't we?"

Without so much as another word, she disappeared into a plume of dark smoke.

Fujin watched her vanish into the plume of dark smoke, his heart feeling strangely light yet heavy all at once. Her words lingered in the air, echoing through the quiet forest. He couldn't help but smile, touched by her honesty and the hint of vulnerability she had shown.

"As you wish," he whispered softly to the empty space where she had stood.

Fujin remained there for a while, alone in the forest, the fading echoes of her laughter in his ears and the memory of her presence in his heart. It was a moment he would carry with him, a fragment of something beautiful and unexpected.

With a final glance at the tranquil woods, he too vanished into the wind, leaving the forest to its ancient secrets and the promise of another meeting, whenever fate deemed it so.

-

[rikeijo]

Today's translation #674

Go Yuri!!! Go, official fanbook, Tominaga Keisuke interview

Part 1.

-- As the first thing, please tell us how the process of production of music was like?

Tominaga: In the beginning of Fall in 2015, I've met with the Director, Yamamoto Sayo, Kubo Mitsurou and the choreographer, Miyamoto Kenji and after listening to them talk about the project, the music production started. I was then asking for advice and discussing the image and tempo of each track with them, and in this process, the definite idea for each track crystalized. Around November of the same year, together with the two composers, Umebayashi Taro and Matsushiba Taku, we started to actually work on the music. We started with the demos of tracks, that were to be used for the skating programs and that took us the time until early Spring. At the same time, we started to record the final versions of those tracks - from after the New Year break until June. After that we tackled the rest of the soundtrack, everything except for the figure skating music. From July to the beginning of August, we focused on mixing, and we finally reached the finish line after that. Next, we worked on the opening and ending. We were making a good use of every spare moment that we had, but it was almost one full year of work.

[Notes: I remember reading a series of tweets some time ago from a different music producer that also specialized in anime music, and according to him, usually all this work is almost like volunteering, with very low pay - the music team can only earn real money from their work if the anime gets popular enough, so that they can get royalties from DVD, CD sales, the music being used in TV programs etc. A bit 'high risk, high return' thing.

It's really painful to think how much (very low-paid) time and effort the same team must have invested into music production for IceAdo that probably will never be released 😞 the injustice is just... 😭]

[captainsophiestark]

Popcorn

Wedge Antilles x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: Wedge and his SO have a happy, calm relationship, and watching their dysfunctional friends on the Hoth base has become an entertaining passtime for them.

Word Count: 1,129

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You are the most ridiculous, selfish, laser-brained man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting in my entire life!"

"Oh yeah, keep talking Princess! And go ahead and conveniently leave out the time you screamed my name at the top of your lungs when you thought that wampa was gonna get me! I know you care, even if you refuse to admit it!"

"Just because I didn't want someone carrying important informaiton for the Rebellion to get eaten by a wampa doesn't mean-"

I tore my eyes away from the argument unfolding before me when my hand bumped against Wedge's. I fixed him with a look, and he quickly pulled his hand back with a laugh and a smile. I shot him a wink, then pulled out the handful of popcorn that I'd been going for. He grabbed one of his own right after as I leaned further into his side.

We'd both been taking a spare few moments to grab lunch when Han and Leia, two of our good friends, had come storming into the caf arguing up a storm without paying anyone but each other even a hint of attention. It had become a regular enough occurrence since Han joined the Rebellion and we'd moved into our Hoth base that people basically didn't even notice anymore. In the early days, Wedge and I would try to intervene or mediate, but we'd long since given that up.

Now we'd officially reached a new level. We were currently kicked back together, his arm around my shoulder and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, as we watched our friends bicker.

"Which one of them is going to admit feelings first, do you think?" Wedge mused, muttering in my ear low enough that nobody else could hear it. I hummed, pausing to think about my answer while I chewed on another handful of popcorn.

"Well, I don't think it's going to be Leia. She's way too stubborn to let him win like that, I think."

"So you think it's gonna be Han?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'll do it very gracefully."

Wedge nodded beside me and took another handful of popcorn.

"That would make sense."

I snorted, leaning into him a little more as I turned my attention back to our friends. They were still in the middle of their shouting match, and didn't seem to be slowing down any time soon. It was honestly a little impressive how long they could go at full volume, hand gestures included, without losing energy.

At first, it had been kind of a problem on base. People had to take long detours to avoid getting in the middle of spats between two high-ranking Rebellion members, which was time consuming and incredibly awkward when someone was forced to turn around mid-hallway to avoid Leia and Han. But then it got old, and we all got tired of trying to give them space and privacy. And they clearly didn't care too much about keeping things private, since they usually didn't pause their arguments, even when Rebellion members walked straight through the middle of the two of them.

"Hey Wedge?" I mused, my eyes still on Han and Leia even as I addressed my boyfriend.

"Yeah?"

"Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?"

He'd been mid-grab on another handful of popcorn, but he stopped short at my words, dropping his hand and leaning away from me enough that he could look at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Why?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Moments like these just... make me grateful. That we're both mature enough to talk to each other about our feelings, and that we're the couple cuddling together in the cafeteria eating popcorn and not the couple screaming at each other in the hallway."

Wedge chuckled, pulling me tightly back into his side again and rubbing a hand up and down against my arm.

"I'm grateful for that, too. And I'm sure the rest of the Rebellion agrees with us. I don't know if we could handle more than one pair of constant arguers."

"I know I definitely couldn't." Wedge huffed another laugh, and I grinned at the sound. Han and Leia seemed to be winding down now, which meant Wedge and I would need to move shortly if we wanted to avoid getting shouted at by one or both of them for using them as our entertainment.

"So... any chance you have a Rebellion task to do that I could help you with?" I asked, turning to face him more fully. "I technically have some things to do for Rieekan, and a few others for Ematt, but I'd rather hang out with you if you can give me an excuse."

"I actually could use an extra hand working on my X-Wing. I've got some repairs to finish, and I could probably handle them myself, but an extra set of hands and eyes would definitely make things easier, too. And I want you to hang out with me, since I can give you an excuse."

"Perfect," I said, shifting forward to sit up more fully and getting ready to head to the hangar. "Looks like we've got a plan, and just in time, since Han and Leia seem to finally be wrapping it up."

"You're right, they are. Better hide the popcorn."

I laughed, helping Wedge as we stood together and he slid the (now mostly empty) bowl of popcorn behind his back. We headed for the edge of the cafeteria just as Han and Leia fully broke apart and went their separate ways. I shifted a little closer to Wedge to make sure no one noticed the popcorn bowl as Leia passed us with a curt nod.

Once we'd safely disposed of the evidence by putting the popcorn bowl with the rest of the dishes, we headed out of the caf together, Wedge's arm wrapped around my shoulders and both of us grinning.

"Now, look at how mature we were there," he said, playing up the pride in his voice. "We worked together like a well-oiled machine to get away with something, right after admitting to each other we wanted a reason to hang out for the rest of the day, rather than coming up with arguments as an excuse to be in each other's space."

"Oh absolutely. We're the model of a good couple."

Wedge and I shared a look, then both started laughing together as we wound through the hallways of the base. I felt more comfortable with him than with anyone else in the world, and I never let myself forget how lucky I'd been to find him.

It always just hit home a little harder after observing our friends interacting with each other for more than a few minutes at a time.

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