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florencemtrash · 2 years ago

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Hummingbird: Chapter Three

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Terrible science jargon

It was almost silly how quickly the world returned to normal.

Alchemax was splashed on every local newspaper, website, social media account, and TV channel for a solid week before complaints shifted to the neverending construction on the streets of New York. The subway somehow got tighter, packed bodies grumbling about the thirty minutes added to their commute after ten subway cars had fallen through a spot and landed in the Hudson river.

But the events never faded away from your consciousness. The only way you could fall asleep was by leaving all the lights on. It racked up your electric bill like hell, but you couldn’t stand seeing the shadows creep along the wall as nighttime descended on the city - it reminded you too much of the Spot’s blank face and how he managed to stare into your soul without eyes.

Then there was the growing problem of your forgetfulness. You’d never been the best at keeping track of belongings - Mamá always blamed it on your creative brain - but now everything was being misplaced. The alarm clock would disappear from the nightstand and appear in the kitchen, your sock collection was dwindling every day and never making it into the dirty hamper, for Christ’s sake you still hadn’t found your favorite yellow sneakers and it was irritating you to hell and back.

I’m losing my goddamn mind. You often found yourself thinking.

You threw yourself into work, staying in the classroom late to grade and lesson plan until the night crew got used to vacuuming around your feet. You took on extra projects at the Academy, signing up to run after-school detention and volunteering for props and set design for this year’s spring musical “The Addams Family.”

Anything to stay out of your apartment. Anything to keep you from being alone.

Three empty coffee cups mocked your bleary eyes as you sat hunched over the sewing machine after hours. Cheap black lace trailed off the table, slowly shortening as you incorporated the material into Morticia’s dress.

“Fuck!” You hissed in pain and stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking away the blood from your fourth needle prick of the night. At this rate you’d have more holes punched into you than swiss cheese.

It was time to give up for tonight.

Before you could forget you slipped the stolen Brooklyn Visions Academy uniform from your bag and hid it in the bottom-most cubby in the storage room. The sleeping bag and pillow from your apartment were also stuffed there, ready for Miles to use whenever he needed an extra break from being a superhero. You suspected Gwen had also been sneaking by to visit Miles now that she had more freedom to explore the multiverse - hence the spare uniform.

“How’s he doing?” You’d asked Miles earlier that day. Miguel’s unspoken name had lingered on the tip of your tongue, forcing the color to rise into your cheeks. Luckily Miles knew exactly who you were talking about.

A knowing grin grew on his face, “Not too bad. He seems more on edge than usual, but I hear he’s working on his temper.”

“He’s not body slamming any more teenagers?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” You paused, “If he gives you any more trouble, send him my way. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Miles saluted you, “You got it.”

You meant it as a joke… but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

You were just about to switch the light off in your classroom when a flash of yellow caught your eye. Tucked behind a stack of newsprint, the vine charcoal rubbing away on your fingers as you carefully lifted the papers, was your prized pair of yellow converse.

It was too late to think about how they’d ended up so far from home, so you tossed them in your bag, threw out the coffee cups, and saved your muddled mind the trouble of figuring it out tonight.

The midnight subway car was filled with the usual Friday-night suspects - overworked nurses, loners just killing time, drunk party goers covered in more glitter than a kindergartener’s Valentine’s day card, and you.

You didn’t miss Richard, not really. What you really missed was coming home to someone and the feeling of another body weighing down the right side of the bed. More recently you’d been imagining what it would be like to come home to Miguel.

You kicked off your shoes at the bottom of the landing, shuffling up the steps and pulling off your clothes as you went, modesty be damned. By the time you face planted on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, it was nearing 2am and Miguel still hadn’t left your mind. He’d planted himself in your thoughts like a spider too high up on a wall for you to squash and too large for you to ignore.

Mercifully you didn’t have to endure the pains of a schoolgirl crush for very long. Sleep dragged you under and you welcomed it as your mind finally went quiet.

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor.

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

But you weren’t complete strangers…

“Aren’t you his wife?”

Miles had asked the question so innocently and Miguel hadn’t said anything against it, so it must be true. Somewhere, in some other universe, you’d been married to one another.

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your mattress and bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

The glorious thing about New York City is that everyone knew how to mind their own business. So when people saw a high school art teacher in Star Wars pjs leap for joy upon finding a $5 bill on the ground, they didn’t question it.

You were so ecstatic about saving yourself the two-and-a-half hour walk back to Brooklyn that you didn’t remember a highly important piece of information until after you hopped off the subway - you didn’t have your keys or your phone.

Joder.

Your forehead knocked against the front door of your apartment building with an audible clunk.

“Por el amor de la mierda, ¿por qué mi vida es así?” You muttered under your breath.

“Y/n?” Your landlord, Mrs. Fleming, pushed her tortoise-shell glasses higher up on her face, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to bug-like proportions. “Oh it is you, my dear.”

You groaned, color rushing into your cheeks as you turned around sheepishly. “Good morning, Mrs. Fleming.”

The elderly woman gave you a once-over look, crocheting needles clicking together as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, “The old walk of shame, I see.”

“What?! Wait, no-this isn’t-I’m not-”

She patted you on the back before unlocking the door and holding it open for you, “I only use the turn of phrase because that’s what you young folks call it. Ain’t nothing shameful in it. It’s good of you to get out there. I never did like Richard much.”

You were at a loss for words.

Mrs. Fleming, sprightly as she was for her age, followed you up to your apartment with her extra set of keys jingling merrily in her hands.

“Now, you have a good rest of your weekend, dear.” She said once you’d been graciously let into your apartment, “And don’t forget your keys next time!”

“Thanks Mrs. Fleming.” You said. Her amused chuckle echoed through the air as she shuffled off to her own apartment.

You sprawled out on the ground where your bed should have been, trying to even out your breathing as the reality of the morning’s events crashed down around you like a house of cards.

This can’t be happening. ¿Qué diablos me pasa?

You rolled onto your stomach, repeatedly banging your face into a spare pillow to muffle the sound of your aggravated screams.

The pillow accepted your frustration with little complaint until something in you just snapped.

All at once the pillow disappeared from beneath you and then blinked into existence by the closet allowing your face to crash into the floor unprotected.

You grabbed at your burning nose, eyes swimming with tears of pain as you registered what had happened.

“No… oh no.”

>>>

The rain beat down irregularly, fluctuating back and forth from being barely a drizzle to a torrential downpour.

You gripped an empty to-go cup in your hand, the tea you’d hoped would calm your nerves long gone.

It took you three hours to make it here. First you kept teleporting your keys away every time you touched them, futilely chasing them around the apartment. Then you’d nearly gotten hit by a taxi and teleported yourself to the bathroom of a tea shop on the Upper West Side. Miraculously your powers had quieted after that, allowing you to get on the subway and here without incident.

A familiar figure made its way down the block, hood up to protect from the rain.

“Miles!” You leapt up from your seat, racing across the street to the annoyed honking of two taxis.

“Miss Y/l/n? How’re you doing?” Miles narrowed his eyes in worry, seeing the way your fingers nervously pulled at a loose string from your sweater, “What happened to your face?” The flesh around your nose was red and tender, slowly transforming into a purple bruise.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” You looked around carefully before lifting the cup in the palm of your hand.

You furrowed your brow in concentration, willing that same power within you to snap into place again.

“What’s supposed to-”

“Just-just give me a minute.”

A minute passed, and nothing. Your heartbeat quickened as you grew more and more flustered.

“Miss Y/l/n are you sure you’re ok?” Skepticism and genuine concern laced his voice.

“I’m fine!”

Snap!

The cup blinked out of existence like an old-school television that had been turned off. Miles saw it reappear over the park across the street and land on a dog walker’s head. The man in question looked up at the sky bewildered, like he expected to find God there.

Miles’s wide eyes met yours.

“Oh shit.”

He pulled you into the empty alleyway behind his building, using his spider webs to straighten the trash cans that rolled around on the ground and clear out a space large enough for the two of you to comfortably stand side by side.

He hung close to the street, Gwen’s face shimmering to life above his wrist as he spoke with his back turned to you.

“Hey, Gwen. I’ve got a situation.” He whispered into the watch.

You caught snippets of their conversation, shrinking in your coat as you tried to suppress the anxiety growing in your chest. If there was anything you’d learned about your powers it was that they tended to flare up with your emotions.

“Do you think we can trust him with this? I don’t want anything to happen to her… Yeah, yeah. No, I understand. I’ll bring her in. See you later.”

Miles turned back to you, a strained smile on his face, “Sorry about that.”

“Miles, what’s going on?” “I got to bring you into Spidey HQ. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Miguel might.”

He unzipped his raincoat and hoodie, exposing the black and red spider-suit beneath and tugging on his mask.

Your heart gave a flip at the mention of your husband’s name (could you even call him that?). Would he be happy to see you again? Would things be awkward between the two of you?

A familiar watch flashed on his wrist as he began pressing buttons on the orange holographic screen. You’d seen it happen before, a portal of wild glitching colors pulsing to life in front of you, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. Miles stepped into it, dragging you along with him like he was just passing through any regular doorway.

He swept his arm outward, smiling at the expression on your face.

“Welcome to Spidey HQ, Miss Y/l/n.”

Your jaw dropped as you passed through the portal - an actual portal - to Miguel’s dimension.

Hundreds, no thousands, of Spider-People roamed the open air halls, some on two legs, some on four, some on wheels, and some just preferred to swing through the air on webs, catching and releasing the nimble strings with practiced grace from the walkways that crossed overhead like… well like a spider’s web.

Miguel certainly hadn’t wasted the spider concept when it came to their headquarters.

“I didn’t know there was a universe composed entirely of Spider-Men…Spider-People?… Spider…” A cat hissed at your feet when you nearly stepped on its tail as you blindly followed Miles through the crowd, “Spider-Things?”

“Sorry Spider-Cat!” Miles said as the feline grumbled, tail high in the air as it calmly leapt onto the wall and continued on its way as though gravity were only an inconvenience.

“Actually, every world has only one Spider-Person, but the Alchemax explosion last year ended up opening holes into other universes. Miguel created this place as a hub for Spider-People while everyone tries to fix the anomalies.”

“Anomalies?”

“Yeah, beings that have accidentally gotten stuck in another world.”

“Oh… yeah that makes total sense..” Your words trailed off as a roaring laugh caught your attention, “Is that… is that a dinosaur?”

You pointed at the group crowded around a cafeteria table howling with laughter. Burgers bounced on trays as the T-Rex doubled over to slap the table for dramatic effect.

“AY YO, REXA!” Miles shouted over your head, throwing his arms up wildly.

Rexa exposed razor sharp teeth in a grin and waved one short arm towards you. You returned a meek wave in return.

“That’s Rexa. She’s super funny. Just uh…” he covered his mouth before whispering in your ear, “Maybe don’t mention anything about her arms. She gets a little sensitive.”

“Oh…yeah, of course. No problem.”

Miles continued to lead you through the building, periodically taking breaks for you to catch up as you kept your eyes trained on everything except the path he’d carved in front of you. At one point you simply disappeared from view, reappearing four stories up in a psychiatrist’s office.

A tweed-suited Spider-Man jumped in his seat, dropping the box of tissues he’d been preparing to throw to his client.

“Oh! I… I’m so sorry.” You said, flustered at the sight of a sandy haired Peter Parker variant sobbing his eyes out into a spider plushie. You inched along the wall towards the door, “I’m just-I’m just going to make my way out.”

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning around and coming face to face with Miles again. You jumped and snapped, this time landing on Rexa’s table, foot squishing her burger into roadkill.

You groaned and tilted your head up, watching Miles sail out the office window and swing his way down.

This was going to take a while.

There was no shortage of Spiderpeople to steal your attention, but finally after a few (uninterrupted) turns down pristine white hallways and an elevator ride into the belly of Spidey HQ, it was just you and Miles again.

From his lair, Miguel traced your figure with his eyes. When you caught sight of the camera in the elevator, its red pupil narrowing in on you, you smiled sheepishly and waved. The small action made his stomach flip like a schoolboy who’d been given his first kiss.

He needed to pull himself together before he saw you face to face again.

“I’m just saying, I think this is a good thing, Miguel.” Peter B. said, swinging up to the platform and wrapping an arm around Miguel’s broad shoulders. Mayday crawled out and onto the control board, pressing buttons haphazardly and closing half the screens. She clapped her hands in wonder and Miguel grumbled half-heartedly.

Once she started walking, all bets were off. She’d be an absolute menace to Spider Society. Already she liked to treat Miguel like her personal playscape, crawling onto his shoulders and tugging at his brown curls.

Her antics almost made him smile… almost.

“If she’s here then that can only mean something’s wrong.” Miguel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and ignoring Mayday as she slumped over his back, slowly sliding down his chest and into his waiting arms with a dramatic sigh.

You looked tired and nervous, fingers tugging at the strings of your raincoat. A purple bruise spread out from your nose, moving with the curve of your cheekbones. Had someone hurt you?

Miguel’s blood began to boil.

“Or,” Peter bumped his hips against Miguel’s, “it could mean she wants to see you again.”

“Stop that.” Miguel growled.

“Stop what?”

Stop giving me hope.

Miguel was about to bite back at Peter and wipe the mischievous grin on his face when the doors slid open. Miles’s voice rang through the empty space.

“These are all those anomalies I was telling you about. Doc Oc, Rhino, Sandman, Mysterio. I don’t even want to know who that is.”

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“Miguel likes to brood. I think he’s part vampire.”

Miguel tossed Mayday into her father’s arms, swiftly turning around and busying himself at the control panel to distract from the pounding of his heart. A dozen screens flashed to life above the control board and Miguel concentrated on none of them.

Peter grinned like a madman. This was going great.

“Miss Y/n!” He shouted out, throwing his hands in the air before hopping off the platform. Mayday squealed in delight and copied his actions. Miguel only cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. Leave it to Peter to be the cause of 90% of his headaches.

“Looking good, teach!”

“Ummm… thanks?” You responded as Mayday grabbed at you with chubby fingers. You didn’t have much choice but to hold her as Peter thrust her into your arms. Fear jolted through you like a lightning strike and you quickly handed her off to Miles, the poor girl frowning and continuing to make grabbing motions at you. The last thing you wanted was to make Mayday disappear from your arms.

Peter tipped his head to the side but for once made no comment. He continued to chat you up, pulling small smiles from your lips and ignoring the way you kept glancing at Miguel as his platform slowly lowered to the ground.

He had his hands on his hips, bright red and blue Spider-suit cutting a striking silhouette against the dark background.

If he’d noticed you walking into the room, he didn’t show it and you tried your best not to deflate at that realization.

“Don’t worry. He just likes to make an entrance,” Miles whispered in your ear. And some entrance that was. He stepped off the platform, back tight and straight as he moved forward with measured, even footsteps.

Miles took one step forward, angling his body in front of you with a weariness in his eyes.

Miguel stopped, face betraying nothing as he looked you up and down once.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words would have sounded romantic coming from someone else’s lips, but from him they just sounded dry and clinical.

“Same here.” You said. The words came out breathlessly.

“What’s happened?”

His hand hovered in the air between you two before he swiftly dropped it to his side. He wanted to reach out and touch your face. He wanted to tilt your chin upwards so he could take a good look at the damage done to your nose and make sure you were ok. Perhaps if you’d been alone he would have allowed himself to do it, but as it was, they had company.

“We need your help, Miguel.” Miles cut through the tension, “Something’s up with Miss Y/l/n. She’s got powers now - teleportation similar to the Spot’s.”

His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Is that true?” he said, desperately looking to you for answers. The Spot’s powers had made him unstable in more ways than one and Miguel shivered to think about anything happening to you.

You nodded, “Things keep disappearing when I touch them. Sometimes I accidentally teleport to places when I’m frustrated. I didn’t realize what was going on until I woke up in Central Park last night.”

Miguel turned around, muttering under his breath as his mind raced a thousand steps ahead of him.

Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to be you. He thought he’d done the right thing by leaving you alone, forcing himself not to portal to your dimension every night. His multiversal travels had taught him a thing or two about the ways things operated. Some figures, like Peter Parker’s Spider-Man were well represented across worlds. Some figures, like himself, were harder to come by.

As for you? He only knew of three worlds where you existed - in one world, his actions had led to your death and the death of your daughter. In the second, Spot had murdered you in his quest to figure out Spider-Man’s identity.

And in this one…

Well he thought he’d been keeping you safe.

Teleportation was a dangerous ability - unpredictable and difficult to control. Left unchecked you could find yourself in front of a car speeding down the highway or at the top of Mount Everest or in a different dimension altogether, constantly glitching as your molecules broke apa-

“Wait,” Miguel stiffened, back tightening as he swiveled around on his heels, “Where’s your watch?”

“My watch?” you glanced at your naked wrist, “I mean I usually just check my phone for the t-”

“No, your day pass watch. The thing that stabilizes you in this universe.”

Miles’s eyes blew open. “Mierda. Sabía que había olvidado algo.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Maybe two hours.” You guessed.

“And nothing’s happened?”

“Is something supposed to happen?”

Even Peter B. looked concerned. Panic rose in your chest and you threatened to snap. Miguel reached out and grasped your wrist, palm sliding down until you felt the weight and warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. He led you to the med bay, Peter and Miles following closely behind.

The paper atop the padded examination table crinkled as you took a seat, watching Miguel’s broad shoulders flex and stretch as he dug an extra watch out from the back of a cabinet.

“Lyla, run a scan of Y/n.”

The woman flickered to life in front of him. “What’s the magic word?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Lyla.” He was in no mood for games today

“Ok, ok. Don’t be testy.” Lyla appeared in front of you, an orange scanner materializing in her hands that swept across your body with a cool touch. “Scan complete.”

“Here you go,” Miguel felt some relief pour back into his body as he fastened the watch around your wrist, hand lingering against your pulse like he wanted further confirmation that you were alive and well.

“Hey, why does she get one of the fancy ones?” Miles protested. The watch, identical to the ones worn by Miguel, Peter, and Miles flashed its face at you. It was far too elaborate and expensive to be just a day pass.

Miguel ignored him, walking over to one of the monitors and skimming through the output data.

“It took six months for Miguel to give me one of those bad boys,” The paper crinkled again as Peter hopped onto the table beside you, whispering, “Looks like someone’s got a favorite,” and earning a glare from Miguel.

Peter winked suggestively.

Miguel scowled.

Your cheeks turned a rosy red, your coat disappearing from around your shoulders and landing in a rumple at Miguel’s feet like the world’s worst suggestive gesture. Peter howled with laughter.

“No puedo creerlo.” Miguel whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Lyla, am I looking at this right?”

“You sure are. Y/n’s DNA is perfectly stable. Not a trace of multiversal quantum poisoning to be found. And! Her radiation signature matches that of more than a thousand different universes. Bet you’ve never seen that before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Hmmmm, let me think.” Lyla spun around in a digital office chair, waiting for her moment to break the dramatic pause. Miguel groaned - he would need to improve her code and tone down the dramatism. “Looks like packets of quantum energy from across the multiverse were released during the Alchemax hypercompact fusion explosion and merged with the only unaltered sentient lifeform in the vicinity.”

“Dios mio.”

At the end of her explanation she bowed gracefully, arm and fur-lined coat sweeping off to the side.

“Did you get any of that?” Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Peter, I took forestry as my science gen ed in art school and barely passed so… no.”

“Uhhh, can you repeat it for the rest of the class?” Miles piped up.

Lyla leaned forward, one hand on her hip and the other tipped her heart-shaped sunglasses onto her head.

“Y/n absorbed energy from a ton of different universes so as far as the multiverse is concerned, she doesn’t register as an anomaly. No glitching. No dying outside of her universe without a watch. No predicted multiversal collapse.” Lyla smiled. “Predicted.”

You looked less than pleased. The last month had been filled to the brim with life-altering events from finding out Miles was a superhero, to getting kidnapped and nearly dying, to finding out your variant’s husband was an all-too-attractive, brooding Spider-Man. It was getting to be too much - you were a teacher for crying out loud! Maybe you’d have handled it better if you were a crime-fighting detective, or a fancy scientist, or a millionaire with access to the latest tech and weapons. Instead you were just… you.

“Can you fix it?”

Miguel flinched at the look on your face. You were looking to him for help and for answers, but he couldn’t provide them in any satisfactory way. He’d never encountered anyone with your abilities.

The confusion and fear that came with discovering your powers - that was a journey all Spider-People went through, and they usually went through it alone.

Miguel sighed, “There’s nothing to fix, Y/n.” He said the words with a softness no one had heard from him in years, perhaps ever, “This is who you are now.”

“So I’m just going to be stuck like this forever?”

“Having powers isn’t so bad.” Peter chimed in with a small smile. “From time to time, it can actually be pretty awesome.”

You allowed a small, empty smile to grow on your lips. It was a smile Miguel was well acquainted with - the kind of smile that said I’m not fine, but I want you to believe that I am.

“I have some tests we could run.” Miguel offered up, “I can’t reverse what’s happened but maybe I can come up with something to help you control your powers, at least while you’re learning how to use them.”

You nodded, the smile turning into something real, “I would like that. Thank you.”

Peter was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught the look that passed between the two of you and the hint of hope on Miguel’s usually stony face.

He clapped his hands down on Miles’s shoulders, “Well would you look at the time? I need to put Mayday down for her nap and grab some food. You’ll learn this soon enough, but being a superhero does burn the calories.”

He hopped off the table, waltzing all the way to the door before he noticed that Miles was missing from his side. “Miles! Come join me.”

“Actually, I was going to wait with-”

“Miles.” Peter coughed into his fist, bug eyes burning into Miles until he got the hint.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, sorry Miss Y/l/n, I forgot I told Gwen I’d meet up with her.”

You waved him off, “I’ll be fine, Miles. Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll show her how to use the watch and send her home when we’re finished.” Miguel said, pulling on a lab coat that had been draped over his office chair. He rarely had time to work in the lab, more focused on his primary duty of maintaining the stability of the multiverse, but the familiar glide of the fabric over his skin did help to relax him. It reminded him of the old days when Spider-Man didn’t exist and the multiverse was just a fun theory tossed around at company lunches.

A thin silence stretched between you two after Miles and Peter left, and you contented yourself with watching Miguel as he busily typed away at his monitor, labeled vials, and prepared the syringes. Every movement was practiced and controlled like he’d done this a million times before.

Miguel was screaming on the inside. You were close enough for his heightened senses to pick up on the honey lemon shampoo you used tinged with the woodsy scent of linseed oil. He was powerless under your gaze like an insect trapped under a microscope.

“I just need to collect some blood samples.” Miguel said, gently holding out his hand. You offered your arm up without complaint, distracting yourself from the pinch of the needle by reading the faded name tag printed on his lab coat.

You whistled low to break the tension, “Dr. O’Hara. That’s impressive. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I was a geneticist. Not the medical kind though. I worked in research at Alchemax.”

“Is that how you got your spidey powers?”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re not spidey powers, they’re acrachno-humanoid genetic augmentations.”

“Qué estúpido. Just call them spidey powers. You scientists just like to give things complicated names to feel superior.” The corner of Miguel’s lips quirked up every so slightly. The thrill of seeing any emotion on Miguel’s face lightened the feeling in your chest.

“Was it hard becoming Spider-Man?” You asked.

Miguel shrugged, wiping away the small bead of blood on your arm. “I had it easier than most. I was already looking into the possibility of combining human and arachnid DNA and I had the resources to study my powers.” Miguel paused. It had been a long time - too long - since he’d had a conversation like this with anyone. He could cast his mind back to talks with you his wife, but those had always been domestic in nature.

“The hardest part was not having anyone to talk to.” He said, finishing his thought.

“Sounds lonely.” You remarked, accepting the q-tip from him and swabbing the inside of your cheek. He collected the sample in a vial of greenish liquid and gave it a thorough shake, “Do you have people now that you talk to?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point.

You’d touched a sore spot and you decided to prod it. “Would you like someone to talk to?”

Again, the corner of his lips twitched, “Are you offering?”

You copied his shrug from earlier, “Maybe.”

He took a few more cheek swabs and then a strand of hair. His hand lingered by your cheek, frowning as he took in the bruise on your face.

Now that you two were alone he dared to gently tilt your head to the side.

“You never told me what happened.”

Your hands flew up to your face in embarrassment and Miguel saw the tips of your ears grow red. He liked it.

“I may or may not have teleported my pillow away right before smashing my face into the floor.”

The breath left his lungs in a quiet chuckle. That sounded like something you’d do.

“But no one’s bothering you?”

“What? Oh no. No, it’s nothing like that.”

He nodded, the tightness in his chest unraveling with that knowledge. He knew you weren’t his wife and he knew that you didn’t know him well enough yet, but that didn’t stop him from caring. The truth was he liked you from the moment you slapped his shoulder and cursed at him, and it wasn’t just because you looked like someone from his past.

“This will take some time to work through.” He tilted his head towards where the tabletop machines whirred and spun, “But if I’m right, I may be able to adjust your watch to stabilize you in a specific place, not just a specific universe. It’s not a permanent fix but you won’t be waking up in Central Park again anytime soon.”

“That would be preferable.”

You moved to take off the watch and hand it over to Miguel but he stopped you.

“Keep this one. In case anything happens you can contact me or the other Spider-People,” He said, walking her through the steps of using the watch, “Headquarters is always open so if anything happens, come here.”

You nodded. With an encouraging look from Miguel you punched “Earth-1610” into the locator and then your home address.

Just like last time the portal bloomed open beside you, scattering a few loose papers on the ground. Through the portal you caught a glimpse of your living room, citylights flashing outside your window.

“Come back next week. Until we have a better understanding of your powers it would be good for us to monitor you and check that you’re stable.”

And it would be good for you to see her again.

Miguel squashed the thought as soon as it popped into his brain in Peter’s voice. He really needed to stop spending so much time with him.

You stepped through the portal and were embraced by the familiar smell of your apartment. It made you feel better about what was to come. You turned to smile at Miguel, his tired eyes lighting up ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

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_________ Author's note: Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think of the writing and where the story is going. I'm hoping to dive more deeply into Y/n x Miguel's relationship in the coming chapters so get ready for angst and fluff!

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things @enby-rising @nataliahemsworth @coralineyouareinterribledanger @louderfortheback @damnzelsoul @enheduannasposts @bontensbabygirl @mynameiswilliamblake

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x wife reader #atsv x y/n #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #miles morales #gwen stacy #hobie brown #pavit #peter parker #peter b parker #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n

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josnhoes · 6 months ago

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Hmm knak au w/ Delicious in Dungeon would be hilarious. Like imagine reader is a young half-foot, the double wammy of being a child as the one race that's confused for human children all the time

I want to do half-foot too because it's cute. But I don't think the ever looming threat of such a short life span would be fun. So how about a dwarf? Still small and cute. Plus Senshi would just dive deeper into dad mode.

This is set pre finding Falin hence no Itsumi

Content warning: Canon violence mentions, eating monsters, panic attack mention

The group finds you in their task to find Falin. It wasn't hard to when they could hear your crying. And why wouldn't you be crying? You had woken up in some unknown place, a place where everything was so big that you felt small. Well that had been your assumption that everything was big, they you looked at your hand and had your *first* panic attack.

Then things got *worse*, you ran into actual monsters. And all you could do was run. Run and hide and pray to whatever diety would listen to save you. You couldn't help the tears as you bunkered down in the cubby hole in the wall.

The sound of a child crying had put the entire group on edge. Was it a new monster mimicking a child? But ultimately the group decided to check. And their shock was intense as they found a small Dwarven child sobbing in a hole in a wall. The kid was lucky the cleaners hadn't started fixing the hole.

It took some time to lure you out and Liaos had almost been tempted to leave you. Not out of malicious intent. But their mission was time sensitive, and a kid would slow them down... but those thoughts were quickly silenced with his own guilt at having considered it.

Marcille was asking how you got here, she hoped a group of adventures wouldn't bring a *child* into the dungeon. But only had more questions when you said you woke up here. You didn't tell her the whole truth about your origins, fear of being abandoned in such a dangerous place overruling the instinct to tell the truth.

Senshi is already working on a meal. He knows they can get answers later, right now the youngin need to eat. If they woke up in the dungeon they probably hadn't have eaten. It also helped cooking made him calm, and the entire situation had him stressed.

Chilchuk was just as panicked. There was a child in the dungeon. Had some adventure group drugged or used sleep magic to keep you unconscious to use as monster bait? With his guild protecting the half-foots did some horrible group decide to get *creative*. That could be figured out later. Right now he had to convince the group to take you back to the surface... a task he didn't know he could manage. Either way he refused to leave a child like this, flashes of his own daughters in his mind fueling that.

#knak au #knak delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon x reader

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bigmammallama5 · 13 days ago

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Some pottery from yesterday and today. I picked up some mushrooms, cleaned and organized my cubby, and threw a slump mold and drape mold yesterday. Today I played around with some super tall skinny slab bottles with subtle flowy details and threw three more tall bois! The idea for all these tall pots is for them to act as an extension of the bag wall inside the soda/salt kiln to try to protect the stacks a little better. They’re somewhat sacrificial and could potentially be pretty juicy.

You’ll be seeing way more pottery updates over the next 2-3 weeks, and I can finally say that it’s a positive. I found out at the beginning of February that the design firm I’ve worked at (for my father) since I graduated college was sadly going under. I’ve spent the last two months completely refreshing my stuff and applying for painfully scarce positions in my area. As you could have probably seen, my creativity had taken a huge hit and I was clinging to my pottery. Somehow, luckily, I did manage to find a position and accepted that job offer yesterday. I don’t start for a few weeks, so I’m going to take that time to adjust and prepare and yes, make lots of pots. I’m hoping this time will also help me get back to drawing and writing, but one step at a time.

#arting #pottery #and #stupid rant is stupid #i started cleaning my office out today and it was surprisingly emotional

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raccoonsrummagerostrum · 2 years ago

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Meeting the Clan

Part 3

Yautja x Reader

Word count: >1k

Warnings: loud noises, fighting, eating, drinking, nausea, light gore, alien blood, slightly drunk reader, short of breath reader

Summary: your lover's clan invites you to dinner and it just keep getting worse

A/N: sorry I've been gone for so long, all my creativity was put into another project. I've got a lot of wips and a few requests/asks to get too, so look forward to more writing comming soon ❤

Part 1 & Part 2

This was not anything like meeting the parents. Even in all the sitcoms and bad reality tv that you had watched, you had never seen anything go so wrong. As the two faced off with each other Amedha, your lover's worst rival, still took the time to look over at you and whistle. Your lover lunged and dug their mandibles into his throat. Amedha responded by digging his claws deep into your lover's side, causing them to scream in pain, and thus release their rivals' neck. You knew better than to get in between them, but you couldn’t just let your lover get beat up like this.

Amedha looked over to you again and winked. The food you had just eaten bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn't stop the disgusted expression from spreading across your face. However, this gave your lover the perfect opening to give their rival a hard right hook to the jaw. The crack of bone rang out around the room. They quickly gained the upper hand maneuvering to hold their rival down, holding his face against the floor. Amedha scoffed, earning a loud deep and angry growl from your love. They pulled his arm back until there was a sharp snap and a roar. You quickly shielded your eyes from the gruesome sight.

You liked to think that you had a strong stomach. You didn’t mind gory horror movies, and could handle most everyday ooman injuries. Broken bones, and bloody cuts didn’t phase you, but this. Between the sounds of injury, the reactionary screams of pain, and the sight of all the blood and backwards facing limbs. You struggled very badly to deal. But the uproar from the table encouraged you to look again.

Your lover now stood, one clawed foot atop their rival's head. They let out an ear splitting victory roar that rattled every plate on the table. The rest of the party cheered, and you added some meek applause.

They then returned to your side, placing a kiss on your head as they sat back down.

"Apologies, starlight. Such displays are not uncommon at these types of events."

"That's all right," you whispered back, "I was just worried." You reached out to the glowing green dripping from their abs. They chuffled in an attempt to calm you. It worked, but only slightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your lover's rival slinking off. The moment the door closed behind him the table roared again and the festivities continued.

After eating your weight in food, and more "wine" then you maybe could have handled, your lover, still somehow upright, guided you to their room. You tried to argue, suggesting you go back on the space plane and spend the night at your place, but your lover responded that space travel was not a good idea in your condition. They were right.

A panel on the wall slid open to reveal a small two room cabin. The first room was meticulously organized, every wall was covered in weapons, tools, and trophies. The next room was more homey. As homey as the yautja get. Furs covered the walls and floor, trinkets and personal items littered every surface, and you recognized more than a few gifts from you. A cubbie was cut out high on one wall.

You walked (stumbled) over and stuck your hands up to climb in, but didn't even come close. Your lover came up behind you and you noticed that the cubbie was even taller than them. You threw your hands up at them, demanding uppies. They chuffed at you in a way that sounded more like a laugh. That is when you noticed that they had a mask in their hand. It was much smaller than their usual helmet. They offered it to you, but in your inebriated state you still didn't understand. They turned the mask around and affixed it to your face. It was only then that you noticed that it had been getting hard for you to breathe.

You greedily sucked in the fresh air from the mask. Only now realizing how out of breath you were. Your lover took the time to remind you that 'the air on earth is different to what we are used to, and thus the air on the ship is different to what you are used to'. But you were far to drunk and sleepy to pay attention.

Without any more time to process, your lover scoped you up and effortlessly carried you up and into the cubbie. You very quickly found yourself surrounded by soft furs, and plush covers. Your lover wrapped themselves around you with their back to the entrance. Between the soft bed, the exhausting dinner, and your lover's purrs you struggled to keep your eyes open.

"We're gonna need to talk about what happened." You said fighting for consciousness. Your lover only replied.

"In the morning"

As your eyes opened you struggled to remember where you were. Eventualy the soft scratch of your lover's claws jogged your memory and you recalled last nights fight. And last nights announcement. You thought briefly about turning over and walking your lover, but you had now way of telling what time it was. But the second you stretched your legs your lover was awake anyway.

"Good morning starlight"

"How can you tell?" They turned the screen of ther writs gauntlet tword you, and using every ounce of yautja language skills you had you deduced that it was 9am. At that you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Are you all right starlight?"

"What happened last night?"

"Well," your lover began "we boarded my space plane, and then-"

"I remember what happened." You said, cutting them off and Flipping over. "I just don't understand what happened."

"What do you not understand?"

"Now your my mate? And that means I'm part of the clan?" They took a moment before awnsering.

"I do not understand either, but I am not unhappy. I am glad that you have been accepted so publicly."

"Honestly I am too, but what does this mean? Does this change anything?"

"Do you want things to change?" They asked tentively.

"No. That's why I'm worried."

"If you do not want anything to change, then nothing will."

"It just feels so official. Almost like were getting marrried."

"What is, getting married?" This earned another sigh.

"Its a ceremony where two people are joined In a legally binding commitment to eachother." Its a really big deal."

"Would you like to get married."

"Woah woah woah, slow down. I don't know about all that right now. I mean I do love you, but thats a really big commitment, and suddenly being called your mate and being part of the clan already feels like too much. I-I I just don't know."

"That is all right. I am happy with where things are now too."

#fanfic #writing #yautja #x reader #predator alien #gn!reader #yautja x human #yautja x reader #fluff #comfort

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pruneunfair · 5 months ago

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For princess jewels,I wanna say I hate her and everyone in the manhwa community hate her. Let me stated the reasons,1. shes fatphobic(no offense,I love cubby characters very much and I feel insulted of her. Seriously,she disgust me because she doesn't like her fiance when he is fat and has freckles,now shes so into him because he doesn't look fat anymore). 2. She crosses boundaries that she literally forced that blue haired name jade to be in her harem(the fact he has a fear of women but the fl doesn't acknowledge it is just ew). finally,she seems to have a terrible job managing her harem(because that red haired guys is so possessive yet she didn't acknowledge and always favour her other concubines which is just idiotic. Also,dog collars on the only black haired guy wow creative(*sarcasm). I heard the spoiler that the red haired guy is so jealous of the fiance that he murder him(smooth red haired guy,your just a concubine so that's really freaking smooth of you how very idiotic of a prince huh really idiotic)

Yeah reading this myself and of course watching a blacklightjack video I knew that it was garbage and I wasn't the only one who thought that. Thank God it got canceled after 50 chapters because the artist is a groomer.

#The princesses jewels #Webtoon #webcomic

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schrodingerscollective · 7 months ago

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Here is our mind palace! We made this using Inkarnate - we used the free version which is pretty limited, however we were still able to do a lot with the free tools through some creativity and the layout is really nice! Lore dump under the cut:

I'm (Parker) gonna be talking about this along with Redfang, so we'll indicate who's talking by our names. Also, our inner world isn't sentient and not nearly as tangible as some other mind palaces, so we don't have a lot of lore and most areas aren't that detailed, however we're working on that! Also, we use the terms "headspace," "inner world" interchangeably (though I like to call it our mind palace as you can see lol) Ok, I'll go first!

Parker: My home is labelled "Parker's Tent," which is pretty much what it sounds like :) it's a HUGE tent, kinda like the ones kids dream about and it's super cool! There's lots of pillows and stuff and it's built a little bit off the ground with wooden panels (like, there's a big square platform that raises up like half a meter off the ground and the platform slopes down to meet the ground on all sides, and the tent is on that), and sometimes I just sit by the river bank outside and chill.

Then there's Wild's treehouse! It's built in a massive tree and has like a balcony all around in a circle (that's what the wooden circle under the tree in the map is) and inside there's lots of books and a hammock high up and the windows are really high up and you can see so many things! There's wooden panels that go up the side of the trunk to make a ladder, but Wild doesn't use it that much since he has wings most of the time.

There's also Nova's cabin (it's covered by trees and mist on the map because there were NO stamps that looked even remotely like a cabin lol), which is very rustic and cool :) the wood is all dark and the lights are warm and there's some awesome plants! I think they have some venus flytraps in there, but I don't know what the other ones are. There's also a circular wooden slab like the one Toothless lies on in HTTYD for Fennec (he/him), though it has some blankets and pillows and other stuff. Fennec is one of the oldest headmates in our system and works similarly to a Daemon (and is happy to be called a Daemon)! He usually appears as a brown dragon, though he's getting more comfortable changing forms to other animals so he doesn't use it all the time. He's very nice!

Redfang: I don't want to disclose much of Paint's cubby (indicated by the tree stump as there wasn't an appropriate sticker), however I will say that it's a very elaborate kid's cubby. It looks like a mushroom house and there are patches of gardens outside; the air is very peaceful.

The "little guy department," is what my headmates call the camp the warrior cats live in. It's situated in a small set of caves behind a waterfall, however I can't say much about it as they usually keep to themselves and I don't go over that way a lot. I don't even know how many of them there are, though they seem nice enough.

Then there's my den. The entrance is along the side of a small cliff, and my home is a decently sized cave that sits just below ground level. There are some pelts on the floor but not much else as I mostly go there to sleep. There's a small meadow outside my den, and when fireflies appear in the inner world some nights, a few will crawl inside my den. They don't bother me and I don't bother them, but I do think their lights are rather pretty.

Second last is the fairy door, which is likely the oldest part of the headspace and has a function different to anything we've seen in other system's headspaces. It was inspired by the small children's fairy door toy(?), however our fairy door is the size of a normal door and sits on the side of a tree trunk. Ours also opens, so there's that too. There's nothing inside as we don't have a fronting room - when we're fronting, we're just... in the body. And when we're not, we're in headspace. We don't often have use of it as forces unknown usually dictate who fronts, however it's very useful to have a visual when someone is actively trying to get in or out of front. The fairy door is on a small island, which you can cross by using the stepping stones.

The last area is the campfire, which is the group meeting place. The paths connecting all our homes also connect to the campfire, and we go there for meetings but also just for fun. We eat marshmallows, some folks fish and when it gets cold, we light the campfire (contrary to popular belief, the marshmallow-eating is not dependent on the lighting of the campfire).

That's about it. Parker has since left the building (brain) while I wrote my part, so I'm not sure how he wanted to end this post. I suppose I hope this is interesting to some of you? Feel free to ask any questions, we'd be more than happy to answer.

#plural #median system #mediple system #pluralpunk #pro endo #endo safe

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plushiedepot · 10 days ago

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Cubbies - Baby Cockatoo Plushie

#plushies #plush #plushtoys #plushiedepot #small stuffed animals #cute #cute plush #cockatoo #Bird Plushies

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houseofbrat · 2 months ago

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Two months ago, Eon was locked in a battle over 007 with Amazon.

When it comes to Bond’s future, the power lies in the hands of Barbara Broccoli, who inherited the control from her father, Albert “Cubby” Broccoli, and who for 30 years has decided when a new Bond movie can go into production. She has told friends she doesn’t trust algorithm-centric Amazon with a character she helped to mythologize through big-screen storytelling and gut instinct. This fall, she characterized the status of a new movie in dire terms—no script, no story and no new Bond. To friends, Broccoli has characterized her thoughts on Amazon this way: “These people are f— idiots.” A representative for Eon, the production firm behind the Bond films, said Broccoli and other members of the family had no comment. The two sides are at an impasse: Amazon needs Broccoli to furnish them with ideas for a new Bond movie, but Broccoli doesn’t want to make a new Bond movie with Amazon. The standoff, say people on both sides of the divide, boils down to a clash between the 20th-century Hollywood of big screens and big swings and a new entertainment industry ruled by Silicon Valley firms that prize data, algorithms and streaming subscriptions.

Today, SHOCKING news that Amazon has gained creative control over the James Bond franchise.

Amazon MGM Studios is set to take creative control of the James Bond franchise. The shock announcement — which is sure to shake and, indeed, stir the industry — was made Thursday, alongside the news that long-time producers and custodians of 007, Michael G. Wilson and Barbara Broccoli, would be stepping back. As per details of the historic agreement, Amazon MGM Studios, Wilson and Broccoli have formed a new joint venture to house the James Bond intellectual property rights. The three parties will remain co-owners of the iconic franchise but Amazon MGM will have creative control. [...] Added Wilson: “With my 007 career spanning nearly 60 incredible years, I am stepping back from producing the James Bond films to focus on art and charitable projects. Therefore, Barbara and I agree, it is time for our trusted partner, Amazon MGM Studios, to lead James Bond into the future.” Broccoli commented, “My life has been dedicated to maintaining and building upon the extraordinary legacy that was handed to Michael and me by our father, producer Cubby Broccoli. I have had the honor of working closely with four of the tremendously talented actors who have played 007 and thousands of wonderful artists within the industry. With the conclusion of ‘No Time to Die’ and Michael retiring from the films, I feel it is time to focus on my other projects.”

How much money did Amazon pay Michael & Barbara? A quarter billion? Just how BIG was that cheque? Michael is in his 80s, so I can understand him cashing out. Barbara is only in her 60s. She's got at least another good ten years of producing work she can do.

The last two Bond movies sucked, but I don't rule out the possibility of them becoming worse.

I guess we can all start speculating again on who the next Bond will be.

My top guess is Henry Cavill but whatever.

#news #hollywood #movies #amazon #my gif

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waklman · 2 years ago

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Double Take

Chapter three: The Chase

synopsis: the hard-deck believes their prized solo artist needs to boost her social presence before a long awaited album release, with the help of a manager (babysitter). yet, you manage to ditch or chase away every artist manager that gets assigned to help you. as a last resort, the label contacts the only manager who was able to tie you down, the now retired Pete Maverick Mitchell, asking for a referral. lucky for you, the one person that comes to his mind is Bradley Bradshaw—who’s in need of a new job.

warnings: no use of y/n, mature themes 18+, explicit language, reader is 21 and bradley is 23.

word count: 3.4k.

previous chapter | next chapter | double take masterlist.

Maybe you should’ve tried harder when it came to your efforts towards evading Bradley. Or maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated his determination in the first place. He was brung up by Maverick, after all. And the old man wasn’t exactly known for being a quitter—nor does he raise them.

It was three weeks ago when you first ditched Bradley, abandoning him at some after party you can barely recall. And it took him less than five minutes to track you down—tucked away in a corner of a nearby coffee shop.

Since then, you were met with many more failed attempts at shaking him off. Whenever you thought you had finally escaped him, he would appear right behind you like a second shadow.

You make a run for the library to avoid a public dinner appearance? He’s waiting between two hard cover books—until you skim through that shelf. You think you successfully slipped past him during a promotional event? Yeah, no he’s already standing by the exit with a grin on his face.

There was nothing you could do without him already being one step ahead of you. He even stalked you enough to learn about your special spot. The Miller’s Bookshop.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Mrs. Miller, softly calls out for you by her spot at the register, knowing you’re not too far off.

“..Yeah..” you answer absentmindedly, nose stuffed deep into a poetry book.

“Your handsome friend is here looking for you again,” she chuckles, amused by the little cat and mouse game you two have been playing at.

It seems like everyone finds this situation funny—but you. Like it’s some fool-proof joke that you’re left in the dark about—doomed to never grasp understanding of.

You toss your head back against the wall, closing your eyes in defeat. Handsome friend? No one else comes to mind. “I’m back here, Bradshaw.”

“Anyone in the mood for breakfast?” He sings loudly, shaking the bag of food for you to hear—trying to beckon your interest.

Bradley offers Mrs. Miller a polite smile, before making his way to you—turning his body to fit through the narrowly spread bookshelves. He ducks his head, dodging the paper cranes that hang from the ceiling, knowing how to maneuver around the place from being here so often.

He assumes it’s just part of your creative procedure, to stow yourself away in here until you’re able to pump out song lyrics.

You recently entered the process of songwriting, after finally getting back to Javy about his project files. And with that, you’ve been quietly sneaking out of your apartment and into the bookshop before Bradley could even stir in bed.

If anything—it worked out in his favor, because Bradley’s slowly starting to catch up on sleep—and he knew exactly where to find you in the mornings.

It was a dingy little bookstore—small, cluttered, and tightly tucked between two trendy cafes that wildly outshined it. Yet you were always there—sitting quietly in one of the reading cubbies–a private space for customers to look through their books after a purchase.

His eyes skim over all the little nooks, spotting the toes of your sneakers peeking out from one of the occupied cubbies. “Mind if I join?” He asks, pulling back the worn out curtain that hid you away.

“I mind very much, actually,” you reply, not bothered enough to look away from your book. Opposite to your word, you’re already scooting over to let Bradley sit besides you. His determination lets him squeeze his big frame into the cozy compartment with you.

“Ouch–watch it,” you scold, finally snapping your eyes to him. “Are you trying to sit next to me or sit on top of me?” Bradley lightly laughs, lifting his butt so you could pull your loose pant-leg from under him.

Bradley sits back down. “You know,” he starts, leaning the opening of the bag towards you “..girls don’t typically complain when I’m on top.”

“Why? Because they’re too busy rethinking their life choices?” You mockingly remark, reaching inside to grab your bagel. You skim a hand through the rest of the bag, there’s nothing else inside there but napkins. “Where’s yours?” You ask, withdrawing your hand.

“Ate it on my way over,” he shrugs, extracting the item of food from you. He carefully peels back the wrapping paper, uncovering enough for you to take a bite. You hum, taking it back from him.

Then it falls quiet again, with you taking slow bites of your toasted bagel, waiting for inspiration to strike while Bradley flips through the book for you—closely waiting for you to nod, a signal for him to turn the page.

It’s oddly intimate—the routine you two fell into. Bradley started to pick up your regime faster than you expected him to, adjusting himself seamlessly into your daily life.

Graham even pointed out that Bradley’s outlasted all your previous managers, with the exception of Maverick—and he was right. Bradley’s already learning how to deal with you.

Finishing the page you’re on, you nod for Bradley to detect the motion. But he doesn’t move, leaving you to stare at the same text.

Again, you nod your head, waiting for him to flip to the next page. His reaction is delayed—swiping to a fresh page for you, one full minute after you signaled him to. “..My bad.” he mutters the apology, with a yawn following right after.

“Take a nap,” you mutter the command, with a mouth full of food–plucking the book from his hands.

Bradley’s cheeks fills with air, holding back a second yawn. “Why? So you could sneak out while I’m knocked?” He asks, finally pushing the sign of tiredness away.

It was a joke, yet you provide him with a serious answer. “No—I’ll be here awhile, since they’re closed for the next few days. The Millers are taking off to celebrate their anniversary,” you reply, adjusting the book in your lap.

“What about your book? I always hold it for you.”

“Just sleep. I can read on my own–been doing it long before you came around.” You’re only half paying attention to what you’re saying, too busy reading over a line of poetry that brews an idea.

Bradley purses his lips, seeing that you’re already set on it. “Whatever you say boss.”

“You’re funny if you think I’m letting you sit like that, Move in,” he scoffs, reaching backwards to pat the empty space between you two.

When you guys finally left the bookshop, you expected to leave in his Ford Bronco–not a brand new Harley.

“How’d you convince Ms. Benjamin into buying a company motorcycle?” You question, leaning over to check out the side of the bike. It’s not as sweet as Maverick’s ride, but you can’t deny that it’s definitely a looker.

Bradley grins under his helmet, knocking back the kickstand with his heel. “Told her it’s better for your image. I figured you have car sickness. You can’t keep showing up to events lookin’ like you’re about to hurl.”

“How'd you figure that one out?” You ask without thinking, grabbing his shoulders as he balances you two.

“Are you kidding me? The image of you hanging out the side of my car like a paper doll lives rent free in my head,” he reminds you, slightly offended that you forgot about that whole fiasco.

“Hm, forgot about that,” you brush him off, with a shrug of your shoulders.

Bradley’s tongue presses flat against his teeth. “Lack of lyrics clogging up your brain?”

“Horrible jokes clogging up yours?” You plainly throw back at him.

“You just love rewording my jokes, don’t you?”

“Yeah, cause I make them funnier,” you answer flatly, with an empty expression sitting under your own helmet.

“Right. Now hold on tight, dollface,” he pats the side of your thigh.

You listen to his instruction, scooting forward to lightly press your front onto his back—until you fully catch what he said. “What did you just call me?”

“What? Isn’t that what Mav calls you when he drives you around?” He inquires, revving the engine—letting it roar back at him.

“I was one of his clients–not one of his flings,” you correct him.

“What is it then? My girl? My sweet litt–”

“Don’t make this conversation weird, freak,” you cut him off coldly.

Bradley’s tongue pokes his cheek at the insult. Freak?

He stretches his jaw, annoyed. “I was told by Mav growing up that if little girls are mean to me, it means they have a crush on me,” he says, mockingly.

“Well, I was told by Mav that if your helmet is on too tight, you can’t think properly,” you start to fire back. “So maybe you should loosen that thing on your big head before you say anything stupid. Oh wait—it’s already too late for that.” It’s like getting repeatedly shot by a gun after already being killed. For once, he would rather you turn to physical violence instead of using your words.

Bradley bites his tongue, knowing this is only getting messy since you’re both just spurred on by hunger. It’s been hours since you both had breakfast—and a small one at that.

He lets out a sigh, willing himself to ignore the blow to his ego. “…Wanna try to get those poke bowls again?”

You puff your cheeks, embarrassed by the burst of anger. “…I want spicy salmon in mine.”

If Bradley learned one thing from his babysitting days, it was that—playing with a toddler til they drop was the best way to tire them out.

But in this case, you weren’t a toddler—just a restless girl who can’t keep her hands off that stupid book you brought home.

“I’m never touching that copy again,” you voice your annoyance, turning your back to him.

“Good, cause you’re addicted to it,” he sternly replies, fluffing the pillow under your head.

The only way Bradley could keep your paws off the damn book was to finally stuff it down his pants after wearing you down in a fight for it.

Before reaching that conclusion—he managed to snatch the book from you, holding it up in the air, leaving you to jump on your tippy toes—trying to reach for it, for almost an hour as insults came flying out your mouth. It was like watching a toddler discover what curse words are.

After successfully wearing you out, Bradley’s now crouched next to your bedside, watching your shoulders relax under the sheets.

“What’s in that damn thing that’s got you so hooked anyway?” He whispers. Bradley doesn’t think of any consequences when reaching out a hand to stroke your head next. And to his surprise, you let him do it.

In some ways, you remind him of the untamed puppy he had as a child. You were stubborn and grouchy in every way possible—but for some reason Bradley wasn’t willing to give up on you. Maybe he just liked having a challenge. Just maybe.

“Reading helps me write all my hit songs…I’m nothing without it,” you mumble tiredly, unsure if you’re imagining the comforting strokes or not.

His pinky slightly brushes over the shell of your ear at your confession. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen you write down one line, Taylor Swift.”

You’re starting to doze off, but you still catch his lame joke. “That better not be an insult to Taylor…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare Mousey, not with you around,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair back.

You don’t answer him.

As carefully as he can, Bradley leans in to hover over your still body. A small smile tugs his lips, seeing that this the first time you’ve fallen asleep before he has.

That hard expression you’re always wearing is long gone—and your lips are just barely parted as you let out calm breaths. You look cute.

For someone who was so adamant on you getting to bed, Bradley’s pulling you right out of it.

“What.” you grumble—pulling the door open to see him fully awake—not one part of him screams tired.

The grin plastered on his face, just sets your annoyance to sink in even deeper. Was this why everyone called him Rooster? For waking up at criminally insane hours? You would ask, but your reluctance to be out of bed right now overweighs the curiosity.

Bradley’s purpose for appearing at your front door slips his brain for a moment, and his eyes shamelessly rake over your sleepy appearance. The oversized shirt you had on is wrinkled from sleep and he could barely make out if you’re wearing anything under there or not. Were you one of those people who strip in their sleep or something?

As if on cue, Maverick’s stern face appears in Bradley’s head like an unwanted pop up ad–reminding him that he should make a better effort to be professional.

“Hello?” you make a face at him, weirded out by his silence.

Bradley clears his throat. “Your stylist told me she needs you to try on these archives. We’re uh-we’re attending a big movie premiere tomorrow,” he reports awkwardly, lifting the stack of black garment bags into your line of sight—attempting to distract you from his stuttering.

Your brows knit together, wondering where his kiddish demeanor wandered off to.

Bradley remains motionless, letting you scan him up and down with an unimpressed look in your eye.

He probably hit the gym before knocking at your door. Bradley’s sporting athletic wear—he has on a pair of running shorts—probably as short as yours, riding up his lower thigh with a navy blue long sleeve clung tightly on his upper half, revealing his progress at the gym.

Without saying a word, you turn around to let him follow you inside.

He carefully picks out his next words, trying to find the best way to bring up his following request without sounding predatory, afraid he might tick you off. “She also asked me for videos of you in the outfits, you know—to see how they fit.” He sets down the bags onto your couch for you to grab.

“Do you have your phone on you?” You reach down for the garments.

“Um. Yeah.”

You leave him unanswered, dragging your heavy feet over to your bedroom–with the racks of clothes thrown over your shoulder.

“Bradshaw?” you call out for him, hesitantly. “Are you sure this doesn’t belong to someone else?”

You’ve finished changing into the first outfit, speaking to him from inside your room while he waits for you on the couch. “Can you come look? I don’t think this is mine.”

Bradley throws his phone off to the side, pulling himself up from your cushions. “Are you sure? Your name was labeled on the bags and everything Mouse,” he assures you, walking towards your bedroom.

He patiently stands in front of your door, watching the knob jiggle as you work to unlock it.

Slowly, the door is pulled open, revealing the outfit that's causing you so much uncertainty. “This is…I don’t think I put this on right,” you mutter, awkwardly stretching out your arms for him to see.

Bradley blinks.

He’s not even sure what you have on. It looks like you have a scarf wrapped around your body, covering only bits and pieces of you that make him nervous to even acknowledge.

It doesn’t help that the fabric is dangerously thin and looks like bandage wrappings.

Bradley begins to sweat. You’re starting to resemble that sexy nurse out of that bad 70s porno he and Jake watched one time—as a joke. The woman wore nothing but bandages.

Bradley licks his lips, trying his best to appear put together with a serious look on his face—but you start to turn—to show him your backside. “..Like the back is even worse, Bradshaw. Here, look,” you tell him, unaware that his beads of sweat had spawned from looking at you—and not from his previous visit to the gym.

And all it takes is one peak at the sparkly thin band of your underwear to get him to snap his head to the door frame beside him. Why the hell did you own so many cute pairs of underwear? He took you for a girl who wore those unflattering granny panties. You preferred comfort over looks, didn’t you?

“Christ. Stay still, you’re gonna fucking flash me,” he warns, turning you back around so your front is facing him again—as if that even helped his case.

“Maybe we should ask her to pick out something different for me. This won’t capture well on camera,” you conclude, stiffly looking down at your outfit.

Depends on what kind of camera, actually. There’s a dreadfully long list of willing participants who would love to see you in this get up.

He clears his throat, dismissing his awful imagination–hesitantly dropping his gaze back on you. “I’ll have to agree with you on that Mouse. We shouldn’t let paparazzi see you in this.” He scans you one last time.

“When I make this hand gesture, you guys can step up for your pictures.” The man with the clipboard makes a signal with his hands, showing Bradley what he means.

“Got it. Thanks man.” Bradley gives the staff member an understanding nod.

As the worker walks off, Bradley looks over to you, checking if you paid attention to the directions. But you look like you’re on the brink of fainting, staring at the swarm of men juggling their heavy cameras behind the velvet ropes, repeatedly clicking their shutter buttons.

His curious eyes drop down to your neckline, noticing that you’ve been anxiously twisting the pendant on your necklace.

Bradley cups his hand over yours—prying your fingers off the expensive piece of jewelry.

He sighs to himself. Your stylist would kill him if he returned the necklace damaged. He was sure the french woman already had his name on her hit-list the moment he came back with your outfits in hand, asking for a new set of clothes.

The crowd of fans camping behind the horde of paparazzi collectively awe at Bradley’s seemingly romantic gesture–yelling over each other to catch your attention, waving their cd copy of your last album over their heads–paying no mind to the well-known actress who’s currently posing on the red carpet.

Bradley drops his hold on your hand, to protectively move his body in front of you–shielding you from the next set of rapid flashing lights, as the actress strikes a new pose for the cameras. You look up at him, surprised by his sudden mannerism.

Bradley’s hazel eyes finally meet your nervous ones. The stress of being next in line for photos is clear as day on your face.

This is the first time you’re ever officially appearing with someone on a red carpet. If this didn’t poke at the flame of your dating rumors with him, you wouldn’t know what will.

It’s perfect for what Penny wants for you. If Bradley wanted to keep his income steady, he wouldn’t ever let you walk out on this.

For fuck sake, Bradley can practically imagine the praise he’d get for this—leading you in front of the cameras, holding onto the small of your back as he gives you a loving look as instructed.

You spend the next minute staring up at him, tuning out the layered shouting and deafening chatter swirling the air around you two. This is it. You can’t run from this.

Bradley’s determination starts dwindling the more he looks into your eyes. It tugs at his chest, leaving him unbelievably weak.

Bradley lets out a breath, not believing what he’s about to do.

“Let’s ditch this place. We didn’t get to eat lunch yet,” he casually offers with a shrug.

What?

Confusion washes over you, as he tilts his head towards the exit, the one you both marked upon arrival.

“But Penny–”

“Won’t fire me. If we just say you ran off again,” he proposes, raising an eyebrow at you. “I technically have to chase after you if you slip past me.” He steps aside, hinting at you to go.

You look over at the exit, then back at him with an unsure look on your face.

He nods, giving you the go ahead.

You finally give in, lips pulling into smile. Bradley falters at the unfamiliar sight. You’re smiling at him for the first time.

“You think you can catch me Bradshaw?” You tease.

He loosens his tie, with a grin. “Oh, I will,” he answers, playing along. “Preferably outside? Where my bike is parked?”

“I mean, where else would I run off to?”

note: ahh this took me a second to get out..but!! mouse and bradley finally being friends?? who would’ve thought..! but that only means trouble will start to truly stir soon

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