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omikazu · 6 months ago

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birds of a feather.

tooru oikawa x fem!reader

— you love tooru, and he loves you back, but unfortunately for you both, you each love something else a little more.

warnings: angst with no comfort.

for you, loving oikawa tooru has always felt as natural as breathing.

from attending his practice matches to recording tapes of his practice from various angles so he can watch it later and make improvements, there was no shortage of what you were willing to do to make your boyfriend happy.

seeing him shine had once filled you with the sort of profound pride that made you feel like you could throw away everything just to be with him and witness him all his glory.

but of course, that was just an especially prolonged intrusive thought that you pushed to the side because just like oikawa, you had your own dreams and aspirations that you wouldn’t be able to cast aside, not for anybody, not ever.

not even for your tooru.

towards the middle of your third year in high school, just like tooru, you have finally realised what you wanted to do with your life, and ironically enough, it was watching tooru at practice that made you come to the damning awakening that you simply just cannot live your life going by a schedule. you just weren’t the sort of person that can wake up at the same time every morning, train, only eat healthy and live your life by a system.

as your awakening slowly sunk into you, the eventual horror of your realisation settled in. you have come to understand that your way of living life was to travel around the world. study in one continent, intern in another, work in another, and never to settle in one single place.

you wanted to be free. you wanted to soar the skies like a bird and always keep landing someplace new. this new understanding also came with the inevitable conclusion that your relationship with tooru would come to an end eventually.

you remember staring blankly at the college application forms sitting limply upon your cold arms, blinking thickly to hold the tears that were threatening to fall. you were initially planning on going to university in argentina, since you didn’t have anything particular that you wanted to do anyway, you decided you might as well support your very decisive boyfriend with his big dreams.

but that wouldn’t be possible anymore, thanks to the invisible shackles holding you down from being free, from soaring the skies with nothing holding you down. you realised that things like these were never going to be easy to begin with, because the weight holding you down is the love you have for a boy who has been with you through hell and through heaven. that weight would never be easy to detach yourself from.

you let the feeling of dread overcome your body, not daring to move an inch as your mind fills itself with thoughts of how you were going to break it to your unassuming boyfriend, who was still of the opinion that you were going to follow him.

four months later, you stand shaking in front of an unfazed tooru, who didn’t look the least bit surprised at your sudden declaration that you weren’t going to join him in argentina.

“i always sort of you knew,” he says, shrugging, before letting the volleyball fly into the air as he runs to reach it with his hand before slamming it down onto the other side of the net. he clicks his tongue when the ball connects the ground outside the outline of the court. it was an out.

“i’m really glad you finally know what you want for yourself, y/n,” he says turning to you, and you’re surprised to see that he’s being sincere. “i have to admit that i actually felt really guilty when you started looking for colleges in argentina.”

you roll your eyes at his second sentence. it reeked of insincerity, and the way he averted his gaze before he said that told you everything you need to know.

“no, you didn’t,” you counter, as tooru’s brows furrow together. “you didn’t feel guilty, tooru.”

he tries his best to maintain his confused stare, but he can’t fool you. you don’t miss the way his expression falters at your words.

“you felt relieved,” you sigh, sinking down onto the floor and spreading out your legs. “you were glad you got rid of the deadweight without having to do any prompting yourself, aren’t you?”

tooru’s expression melts into an unreadable one, as he gulps once, and then twice, wordlessly. as if he doesn’t know what to respond with, and so you take the lead again. “you never even wanted me to go, but you were too scared to tell me that, weren’t you?” you say, as softly as you could, but you still know that your words are prickly. “you’re not happy for me, you’re relieved for yourself.”

“that’s not true,” tooru snaps, clicking his tongue as he stomps his way over to where you are sat, arms crossed defiantly across his chest with his lips set in a petulant pout. “i just want the best for you, and it’s not like following me to another continent is in your best interests, especially since you weren’t sure what you wanted to do.”

“what if you hated it there?! what if you realised you were happier here? i would never have forgiven myself for letting you go with me,” tooru snaps, drawing in a sharp breath. “go ahead, let it all out, no need to hold anything back,” you say, eyes downcast. there is something else that you know he’s itching to say, something that wouldn’t be pleasant, no matter how you see it.

“and…” he trails off, looking away from you before continuing, tone subdued all of a sudden. “and.. what if my guilt overruns the reason i’m going to argentina in the first place..”

you let out a scoff, half smiling at his honesty, trying your best not to look as crushed as you felt on the inside. “see? i knew it, that was your real concern,” you say, rolling your eyes. “you were just worried i’d be deadweight. you didn’t want the emotional baggage, and secretly wished for me to stay back so you could get a clean break and start afresh eighteen thousand miles away.”

you’re angry, and it isn’t because oikawa wanted to break up with you, but because he didn’t have the balls to tell you that he wanted to start a completely new life, with no strings from his old life connecting to his fresh start. you have never been the unbearably clingy type, you would’ve understood eventually. maybe you would’ve shed a few tears over his decision, but who wouldn’t? over a long term relationship that has weathered many storms, there isn’t anyone who wouldn’t.

you’ve always known volleyball was oikawa’s one true love, and that competing with the sport for the top spot in his heart would only lead to crushing defeat, so you’ve never even tried.

“y/n, you’re being cruel—”

“why didn’t you just tell me?!”

you snap, slapping away his arms as they tried to reach out to you, getting onto your feet to extend the distance between you two.

“you could’ve just told me,” you say, your voice shaky. “you shouldn’t have kept quiet and let me do something we would both regret, knowing that isn’t what you wanted.”

“because i’m selfish,” oikawa responds, his voice hollow as he looked you dead in your eyes. “i just decided to ignore the two sides within me warring between taking you with me or letting you go, and the selfish part of me won, the side of me that wanted you close to me, even though i knew it was the worst possible thing for your future. i was scared of how i’d fare in a country so far away from everything i’ve ever known and grown up with, and i just wanted you close to me.”

“tooru—”

“i’m sorry,” he breathes, inching forward as he closes the distance between the two of you, burying his face into your neck as his arms tightly bound your waist. “i was so scared, i’m still scared. i don’t know what i’m going to do without you. i don’t know how i’m going to survive.”

you hug him back without a secone thought, your right arm caressing his hair as your left arm soothingly rubs his back, because just like always, loving oikawa tooru comes as naturally to you as breathing, except this time, his tight hold on your waist felt more restraining than comforting.

“i know, tooru,” you say, shutting your eyes as you breathe him. just one last time. “it’s scary, and it’s going to be difficult, but if anyone’s crazy enough about volleyball to power through, i know it’s you,” you say reassuringly.

the two of you stay that way for a while, neither saying a word. it was obvious that both of you were terrified of even moving an inch, because once you move, it’s over. all the highs and all the lows, all the smiles and all the tears, all the comforting kisses and cuddles, they’d all be over.

but just as cruel fate would have it, you couldn’t just nestle into each other and rot that way, so after what feels like an eternity, the two of you pull away from each other at the same time, as if you were telepathically connected. you take your arms off of tooru, noting how they felt like weights, and noticing him hesitate, you pull his arms away from your waist soon after.

there were no more words exchanged, and you subconsciously know that this will be the last time you ever see each other until somewhere in the future, both of you heal enough to be in the other’s presence.

you nod at tooru, before you turn your back at him to walk out of the volleyball gym. your legs felt heavier than usual, but with every step, they seemed to get lighter, as you curse yourself for feeling free the moment you moved tooru’s arms away from you, but you reassure yourself through the tears that now fell past your lashes that he feels the same way too.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #haikyuu angst #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #hq angst #hq drabbles #hq x you #hq x reader #haikyuu drabbles #kee writes haikyuu

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dnpbeats · 4 months ago

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hey besties going to say something parasocial and also very morbid so apologies in advance. with things like phil's recent health scare, i wonder if that brought up talks of a legit official hard launch* or in some way expedited the talks (assuming a hard launch was already being planned). because like God forbid anything actually happened to either of them. but let's say something did happen to one of them... i am assuming at that point the other would stop gal palling it up when talking about their relationship, like for obvious reasons lmao. but like imagine how awful that would be, to be going through literally the worst thing in your life and you're trying to be honest with how much the person meant to you and then you have to inevitably deal with people reacting to the fact that you are confirming a relationship. and i'm not even talking about people being like "omg phan is real 🤪" in an insensitive way (though that would unfortunately happen), like i think it would also probably suck coming from people who are just factually giving information as in "this is the first time their relationship was explicitly confirmed" yk? like I'm not in any way trying to say that gay ppl need to come out asap in case they die tomorrow, and also ik phil said he was trying not to explore "what if" scenarios so idk maybe they actually didn't have any talks at all. but it's something I wonder if they've thought about and what conclusion they might've come to

*imo they have confirmed they are a couple more than once but y'all know what I mean. the kind of hard launch where it counts as a reliable source on wikipedia

#I was thinking about sufjan Stevens and how when he posted abt his partner passing away like every news article mentioned that it was his #first time being open about his sexuality. not in a rude way and it was by no means the point of any of the articles it was all just like #one or two lines mentioning it. but even still like idk! I just feel like that would kind of suck. because even with just one line it in #some way takes away from the point of the article. it's like 'this guy lost his partner oh and ALSO' when there shouldn't be an also #idk does this make any sense #dan and phil #phan #d&p #wordvom.txt

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frudoo · 7 months ago

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Mister Asylum — Simon “Ghost” Riley

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, hospitilization.

Patient!Simon Riley x Fem!Nurse!Reader

1 | 2

Simon always knew that his life would end this way—head pressed against the barrel of a waiting gun, emotionless eyes staring straight ahead, preparing. He never expected it to be by his own hand, though he couldn’t let himself be surprised, could he? Years of abuse, trauma, bloodshed, scorn. He’s hardly a saint. This ending is better than the one he expected, for himself, for the rest of the world. Maybe even more merciful than the death he truly deserves.

He sits with his legs criss-crossed in the middle of his living room that remains decorated with nothing more than a simple glass top coffee table and a sofa opposite of him. No rug or carpet that blood could soak into, no stains that the next homeowners would be plagued by having to deal with. Easy cleanup for the crime scene crew once the authorities would inevitably be called. It would be as if he never even lived there—a ghost resident whose demise would never be revealed even to those riddled with the most morbid curiosity.

Simon is so lost in his own calculations, that he doesn’t process the turn of a spare key in the lock of his front door as he digs the pistol further into his temple, jaw clenched so tightly that the tendon is sore. He didn’t anticipate that Johnny had decided to visit, and he surely didn’t expect the gun to be knocked out of his hand and his large body to be tackled to the floor by his sergeant. The weapon goes off but the bullet doesn’t blast through his skull like he’d planned—instead, it fires at the couch cushion and settles in the fuzzy depths, right where he would usually sit on a lazy afternoon.

He almost doesn’t process the way Johnny’s tears spill onto his pale, maskless face, the way the Scotsman holds his wrists down above his head and against the wooden tile with one hand as he calls Captain Price with the other. Not that Simon needed to be held down. He was far too weary and defeated to fight. His voice was stuck in his raw, aching throat until the sergeant cupped his face in his hands, desperation and anger written on his features.

“Shoulda let m’go, Johnny,” Simon rasps, blank brown eyes staring at the ceiling, unwilling to look his best mate in the eye.

“Ne’er, LT,” Johnny lightly smacks the lieutenant’s cheeks affectionately, once-bright blue eyes now tinged with worry as they dart between his friend and the door.

The captain eventually arrives and helps Johnny escort Simon outside, into his truck. The three men sit in silence in the driveway for a while until John speaks up.

“You understand we can’t let you be alone anymore,” his usual gruff voice softened with something akin to sadness—sympathy, maybe.

“Yes, sir,” Simon nods, hands clasped together, resting in his lap.

“Nor can we let you go on any missions. Protocol won’t allow it, and quite frankly, I’m worried you’d put yourself in harm’s way purposefully. I can’t have you or my other men getting hurt,” Price sighs, running a large hand down his face and covering his mouth, lost in thought.

“Understood, sir,” The lieutenant grunts, trying to ignore the sound of Johnny’s sniffles beside him.

“I’ve spoken with Laswell as well as my own superiors, and we’ve come to the conclusion that… institutionalization would be the best course of action.”

Simon falls silent. Take him out of the field, fine. Keep him company to make sure he’s alright, great. But being thrown into the looney bin feels more like retribution than treatment. His fists clench and he can feel the captain’s watchful eyes on him in the rearview mirror.

“Simon, this- I hope you know this wasn’t an easy decision for anyone to make. I’d much sooner call a missile strike than put you somewhere other than under my protection. But unfortunately my hands are tied.”

“Simon, ye ‘ave tae listen. Please,” Johnny rests his hand on top of one of Simon’s, trying not to let out a sob at the trembling he feels in his superior. “We need ye ‘ere.”

This isn’t right. None of this shit would have happened if he had just pulled the trigger sooner. Simon’s mind is nothing short of a maelstrom wreaking its havoc, screaming at him to jump out of this truck and book it to the nearest bridge to jump off of. He might have done just that if his body wasn’t vibrating with frustration and helplessness and blinding regret—or maybe it’s just the hot tears that blur his vision and render him unable to move or even breathe properly.

“You’re as good as a son to me, Simon. Let us do this for you. For us,” John sniffs, and if he didn’t know any better, Simon might have thought his captain was crying. “You don’t have another choice.”

Simon doesn’t speak again, rather gives a single nod to signal his compliance. An order is an order no matter how badly he wants to ignore it. All he wants to do is melt and allow the backseat of Price’s truck to absorb him. It all seems like far too much fuss just for him, an assassin, scum of the earth, a waste of precious space. He settles for blinking the tears out of his eyes and looking out the window, even allowing Johnny to keep a calloused hand on top of his own. John calls the hospital and lets them know they’ll be getting an intake.

The drive to Shadywood Hospital is a silent one save for the occasional sniffle or sigh, or the rattle of the truck’s tailgate on a particularly bumpy road. Nobody dares say anything out of fear that they’ll offend one of the other men. The last thing Price and Johnny want to do is make the situation worse, and Simon isn’t the kind to open up about his troubles, even more so now that his plan has been obliterated. He’s supposed to be a strong, unyielding leader—fearless, not this shell of a soldier who let his pain and misery take over. He used to be precisely that: an unstoppable, unbreakable force. He’s not sure when exactly that changed.

The exterior of the hospital is about as dull and lifeless as Simon expected, mossy overgrowth clinging to the weathered brick structure. It looks like something straight out of an old horror film, he thinks. All it needs is some thunderstorm sound effects and perhaps a murder of crows to warn of his impending doom. No such luck. Maybe even the darkest of forces don’t deem him worthy of such caution. Maybe even the most heinous of monsters would ridicule and cast out the enigma that he is.

“Out ye get, LT,” Johnny pats him on one broad shoulder, trained eyes scanning the lieutenant’s face for any hint of emotion be it sadness or fury.

Simon remains stoic as he steps out of the truck, batting away Price and Johnny’s hands that try to usher him inside. Not a bloody child, he thinks, though the petulance with which he crosses his arms would suggest otherwise. When the rush of cold air hits his face, he’s suddenly aware of just how naked he is without his mask and he turns around with a shake of his head.

“Not goin’ in,” he mutters, scratching at the tattoos on his left forearm so hard that he peels the skin.

Johnny grabs Simon’s wrist to get him to stop, frowning at the sight of his nails, sharp and much longer than he usually keeps them. He’s unsure of how nobody noticed that their beloved Ghost had stopped taking care of himself. John sighs and runs a hand through his hair, contemplating before nodding firmly.

“I’m sure they have a mask in there. I’ll go grab one for you, yeah?” He grins softly, patting Simon’s back fondly before stepping inside.

“Ye’ll be alreit, ye ken,” Johnny steps in front of Simon, hands resting firmly on his biceps to get him to meet his eyes. “Ye ‘ave tae be. Ye’re Ghost. Ye’re me brother.”

Simon chokes back a sob, teary eyes fixed on the darkening clouds in the dreary sky to avoid showing his weakness. It breaks him to see his sergeant so worried about him. He doesn’t deserve his pity, his fear. Price comes back before Johnny can force Simon to say anything in response.

“Here you are,” John hums, handing Simon the flimsy mask and offering him a gentle chuckle. “Black, just for you.”

Simon nods again, adjusting the flexible metal in the surgical material to fit the crooked bridge of his nose. Feeling a little less exposed, he sucks in a deep breath and turns on his heel to trudge into the hospital. The fluorescent lights nearly blind him and he furrows his eyebrows, blinking through the pain before focusing his eyes on the receptionist.

“Simon Riley,” he breathes, and the lady nods with a soft smile.

“Yes, sir. If you’ll have a seat over there, the intake nurse will be right out. Would you like your mates to-”

“Yes,” he cuts her off, nodding towards Price and Johnny who stand beside him like bodyguards. “Sorry. Yes. I’d like them to be in there with me. Please.”

“Of course,” she nods once more, offering the three men another small grin.

Simon, Price, and Johnny all sit in the waiting area impatiently. The sergeant looks around nervously while the lieutenant stays still as a statue, eyes focused on the floor. John sniffs and rubs his clammy palms on his jeans. Simon can’t remember the last time he’s seen the captain this anxious, and knowing he caused it makes him feel even worse. He shouldn’t have hesitated; he should have just pulled the trigger immediately upon holding the gun to his head. There wouldn’t have been this much trouble for the team.

The sliding doors part with a mechanical whir and heavy footsteps rush in, boots squeaking against the linoleum floor. Simon wasn’t going to pay it any mind, but Johnny stands up and goes to greet the person with a hug. He only looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, eyes meeting deep brown ones much like his own. Kyle.

“Simon,” Kyle whispers, placing his other hand on the lieutenant’s opposite shoulder. “Price called.”

Another wave of shame washes over Simon and he suddenly can’t bring himself to maintain eye contact with his other sergeant. He doesn’t deserve this kind of support, especially not from the entire task force. His throat closes up and it gets hard to breathe. He’s trapped in his head, locked in place, and the walls are closing in. The tears threaten to spill despite his struggle to hold them back, burning at the brink of his waterline. It’s too much, he’s suffocating, he’s about to snap-

As if right on cue, the nurse comes in and calls his name. He jumps up, shoving past Kyle to follow the woman behind the protected doors without looking back. The other three follow close after and stand with their backs to the wall, intently listening to the questions Simon is asked. The lieutenant almost laughs—he’s usually on the other side of the interrogation table.

Simon fills out the countless pages of paperwork with a shaking hand, carefully sliding the clipboard back to the nurse. He feels so small, so pathetic, having this many people watch over him like he’s a sickly babe. In a way, he supposes he is—the only difference is that an infant is worth saving.

“With the information you’ve given me, Mr. Riley, we will be admitting you effective immediately. Your progress will determine the length of your stay. We’ll be monitoring you closely each day to see how you’re doing, alright?” The nurse tilts her head sympathetically, cusping her hand over one of Simon’s. “We’re gonna get you feeling better, sir.”

Simon nods slowly, nervous eyes flickering past the woman to look between his three mates. They all have the same solemn expression on their face, each fidgeting with a different finger or article of clothing. He thinks they’d rather be getting shot at in a foreign country than here, coddling this grown man who doesn’t know how to handle his emotions. He would, too.

“I’ll give the four of you a couple of minutes to chat while I go get your bracelet ready, yeah?” The nurse excuses herself, slipping past the two sergeants that stand on either side of the door.

The men are silent, none of them exactly sure of what to say or do until Simon finally breaks down, his head falling into his hands. Pesky tears he’d been trying so hard to fight off stream down his face and soak into his mask, his broad shoulders shaking with every raspy sob that dares rip from his throat. John immediately pushes himself off the wall and embraces his lieutenant who, for the first time this evening, doesn’t bother fighting him off. Price’s large hand cradles Simon’s head to his clothed midriff, the other patting his back like a father would calm a colicky baby.

“I’ve got you, Simon. You’re gonna be alright,” John whispers, fighting back tears of his own.

The captain hasn’t seen Simon cry like this for what seems like centuries. He never wanted to witness it again, but the hidden memories come flooding back in as he presses his cheek to the top of the blond man’s head. He had sworn from the moment he met Simon that he’d never allow any harm to come to him. He’d keep every enemy away, train him perfectly so that he could protect himself. He never considered that his lieutenant’s own mind could be deemed an enemy.

Johnny can’t stand the sight any longer—he shoves the door open and books it out of the hospital, back sliding down against the cracked brick as he brings his knees to his chest. Kyle follows quickly after, sitting beside his fellow sergeant, silent and seething, angry at himself for being so clueless. How could none of them, not one, see that Simon was doing so poorly?

Simon notes their absence even in the comforting arms of the only father figure he’s ever known.

#cw: suicidal ideation #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mw3 #Spotify

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genericpuff · 3 months ago

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think rachel needed the hire a bunch of writers instead of drawing assistants after season one so she could focus on one part and not get burnt out while someone else kept track of and developed all her plot points in a lore Bible or something

Honestly yeah, LO is a huge example of why the Webtoons' editors don't actually function as editors, more so just messenger pigeons between the creators and the company who are there to make sure creators are following ToS and otherwise answering questions on behalf of the higher-ups for the creators. And this is especially wild for something like LO because 1.) you'd think the #1 webtoon on the platform would be given all the resources it needs to succeed, and 2.) LO's editor in the end was Bre Boswell who actually has a background in television writing (and yet ironically, the series only got worse after Bre suddenly replaced the previous editors around Ep 100).

Rachel's strong points have always been in conceptual design and illustration. Despite this, LO's own iconic design and illustration aspects that made people fall in love with it in the first place were lost after it became as big as it did. I know folks will argue that LO's production was purely the fault of Webtoons' insane deadlines, but her writing has always been her weakest point and that's evident in all of her previous works prior to LO. She's good at coming up with standalone ideas - again, concepts - but executing them and finalizing them through an actual conclusion beyond the initial idea is always something she's struggled with.

This is also apparent to a point in her art as well, as much as her strengths used to be in illustration and conceptual design, she also clearly struggled in staying committed to the same character designs and concepts for long periods of time and was never good at coming up with efficient ways to reproduce her own art - even gorgeous comics like The Doctor Foxglove Show started off strong just to inevitably slip into the same habits of inconsistent half-assing that LO did, and it wasn't even an Originals series.

Back to the writing though, she absolutely would have benefited from having another writer or two on her team, but unfortunately she also doesn't seem like she's aware of her own faults in her writing or willing to let anyone else in on her process, especially considering she's even admitted that her own writing process is "chaos" and has supposedly convinced herself that the faults in her writing are a good thing.

There's "embracing the chaos" of your own process (my process is chaotic too, I get it) and then there's just going "oh well, sucks to suck, I don't want to bother doing better for the sake of my own dedicated audience so it's fine if I totally whiff the comic's plot".

The reality is that if you've never learned how to identify and break your own bad habits, you'll inevitably think that those bad habits are the norm and/or are what makes you good at what you do - all the while, you wind up missing what could have actually helped you. Rachel started off on a very strong foot with the concept of LO, but then inevitably fell into the exact same bad habits she had with previous works but was now enabled by the contract and money and fame she got through Webtoons to never change - after all, if she was going to keep being rewarded Eisners and merch deals anyways regardless of the quality of her writing/art, what point would there be in improving? From my perspective, she clearly doesn't really have the integrity to improve for the sake of herself and her audience, so as long as the end result is to her benefit, the means don't really matter.

Of course, in the long-term it makes for a very horrid legacy especially in hindsight, but as far as I'm concerned, she got what she wanted regardless.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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agoodroughandtumble · 7 months ago

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Wholeheartedly Part 3 - Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Status: Ongoing Summary: Reader reflects on her “relationship” with Zoro Warning: 18+, Language, angst, implied smut

Your late night rendezvous with Sanji had been occupying Zoro’s thoughts far more than he would care to admit. Ever since that night – almost a week and several miles ago – the pair of you had seemed closer. Irritatingly so. And whilst it might have gone unnoticed to the rest of the crew, Zoro was all too aware of the shared laughter and lingering looks. It was taking far too much of his will power not to shatter the bottle in his hand as he watched Sanji bend behind you to whisper something in your ear. Almost immediately your cheeks flushed red as you swatted him away with overly feigned annoyance.

What had started as a seemingly normal dinner had apparently turned into a peep show. If Zoro wasn’t a good swimmer he would have launched himself over the side, choosing to drown over the obnoxious display in front of him. He looked around him, trying to find an ally amongst the rest of the crew but somehow they all seemed completely oblivious.

A less stubborn man may have looked at the complete non-reaction of his peers and come to the conclusion that he was reading too much into the situation and his fixation on the way you bit your lip at a particularly flirtatious comment from Sanji was A Bit Weird and bordering on jealousy. But Zoro was a stubborn man, and therefore everyone else an oblivious idiot. And Sanji was clearly an arsehole.

Fortunately Zoro was already aware of that. Unfortunately you were not. Or maybe you were. After all, Zoro had never seen you giggle before, never seen you feign innocence at an inappropriate remark. Maybe this was all just performative on your part – indulging Sanji until an opportune moment to knock him down – to sweetly remind him that you were obviously too far gone with Zoro that you weren’t interested in him. Any minute now. Zoro could keep his composure just long enough for the inevitable rejection. And, despite himself, he would be good natured. He would even offer Sanji his hand – a gentlemanly disagreement or, maybe not. A simple misunderstanding. You were Zoro’s. Decidedly not Sanji’s. But, Zoro would be gracious about his win for the sake of harmony amongst the crew despite the glaringly obvious fact that there had never been a competition to begin with. But he would allow Sanji to think there was, for sportsmanship or something.

He inwardly grimaced. Sportsmanship? As if you were a trophy? For fuck’s sake. No wonder Sanji was causing such blushes when Zoro was treating you like a goal to be accomplished. He opened another beer. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Zoro was a swordsman, a fighter. Every single one of his goals amounted to being the best – proving himself against the best whether that was Kuina, Mihawk or, currently, Sanji.

If it was a sword fight it wouldn’t be hubris to assume he could win. But when it came to you, and your heart … he thought he already had it. And so that wasn’t a fight he could easily win – if he could win it at all. And even then, he obviously only wanted to win it so he could give it back to you. Because Sanji was unworthy of holding it – he couldn’t protect it like Zoro could.

It was a purely pragmatic, platonic stance to take.

So why was he fully aware that you never smiled for him like that? Why was he fully aware you were never so physically close to him in front of the rest of the crew? Why did he feel like he was treading water, gasping for air and the only foothold he had against the engulfing abyss was your recognition?

With far too much desperation in his eyes Zoro watched as you announced that you were tired and you and Nami were off to bed. He waited with baited breath as you did your usual round of kissing everyone on the cheek – his heart jumping into his throat as you kissed him. Just like you did everyone else.

#opla #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #opla x reader

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hellsite-proteins · 6 months ago

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I have a question: What are the arrow thingies that are often in proteins? Are there real arrows making up my cells, or are they an addition to show direction or something?

unfortunately you haven't been seeing them in too many of my proteins, but those represent beta strands, which are a common form of protein secondary structure. secondary structure is formed by interactions between the atoms making up the backbone of a protein – the part that is does not vary between different amino acids. the most commonly recognized secondary structures are alpha helices (which look like springs) and beta strands (which appear as arrows). if two or more beta strands interact with each other it forms a beta sheet, and more of these can also wrap around themselves to make a beta barrel. i've included images of beta sheets and beta barrels from wikipedia:

in a cell, proteins are synthesized from N-terminus to C-terminus, with the letters indicating which group on the amino acid at that end is free. N is the amino group (H3N~) while C is a carboxyl group (~COO) (at physiological pH the amino group is positively charged while the carboxyl group is negatively charged, but i couldn't figure out a tidy way of typing that here). because of this, the convention when writing out an amino acid sequence is to write it from N to C. similarly, the arrows on the beta strands point from N to C terminus to indicate the direction that the strand is going. beta sheets can be parallel or antiparallel, depending whether the strands are lined up in the same or opposite direction.

In conclusion, you do not actually have arrows inside of your cells, but they are a useful, simplified way of representing a much more complex chemical structure. as always, if any of this doesn't make sense, feel free to comment or ask me any other questions!

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

IhaveaqestinWhatarethearrwthingiesthatarefteninprteinsArethererealarrwsmakingpmycellsraretheyanadditintshwdirectinrsmething

protein guy analysis:

this is a weird one. its mostly make up of alpha helices connected by fairly short turns, but all of the helices are at weird angles to each other, splitting out to make a strange, disconnected and disfigured shape. its weird and ugly and terrible, and as with all of these, my only hope is that it will be rapidly degraded before it can inevitably wreak total havoc on everything in its path. i love getting to talk about biochemistry, but that love is losing out to my contempt for this menace.

predicted protein structure:

#science #biochemistry #biology #chemistry #stem #proteins #protein structure #science side of tumblr #protein asks

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dramioneasks · 25 days ago

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HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionWriters (Part 8)

DFW Tropes Fest 2024:

E̶x̶h̶i̶l̶a̶r̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ by AutumnWeen - M, WIP - “What the…” Professor Slughorn said. Hermione looked at Draco and then at the professor. “Is there something wrong, Professor?” “I…I don’t remember adding this potion to the list,” he said, double-checking the list on his hand and moving the parchments on his desk. “I doubt you could have made a mistake, Professor,” Theo said from the back of the classroom. Draco looked at Theo, then at the Professor, his heart beating faster than it had just seconds before. “What potion is it?” Slughorn frowned. “Amortentia.” After a failed assignment and ten years apart, it will take Draco Malfoy two weeks of fake dating Hermione Granger to realise (or accept) that what he denied wanting the most was not impossible after all.

The Ides of May by aCanadianMuggle - M, WIP - Draco and Hermione almost got together right after eighth year - but an incident forced them apart. Now their children - Astoria and Draco's Scorpius, and Hermione and Ron's Rose - have gotten engaged. In the intervening years Astoria has died, leaving Draco a widower and Ron and Hermione are divorcing. Will this wedding be the final push apart or together for Dramione? Written with the Trope of Draco-in-glasses and the Reversed Trope of Forced Distance for the Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Tropes Fest 2024

Agree to Disagree by TeTe91 - M, one-shot - A little surprise box is George's way of attempting to make coworkers Hermione and Draco get along.

s a v e d by myladymay - E, 4 chapters - Draco Malfoy is a mess. Homeless, and with vaults rapidly draining, he has been establishing romantic relationships for years to survive. That's right, Draco has been fucking rich women into taking care of him. Sex, drugs, alcohol... they are the only love he knows. That is until one night, Hermione Granger finds him at his lowest point and comes to his rescue. But when he learns that she has an incurable affliction, Draco will go to great lengths to save her, even if it means going back in time.

Photographs by GertrudeCC - M, one-shot - Draco had been carrying on an affair with the Ministry's rising star, and it all comes crumbling down with a mysterious package that ends up on his desk.

Rarely Pure, Never Simple by vannminner - M, 5 chapters - At a remote Ministry charity event, Advisor to the Minister, Hermione Granger, and her assigned Guardian Auror, Draco Malfoy, find themselves in a compromising position—more than once... Whether it's an unfortunate coincidence or the result of a lovesick fool’s steadily growing incompetence, the numerous eye-witnesses complicate everything. Now, they must decide: tell the truth... or play along for the evening, sharing her single suite and tackling the inevitable fallout when they return to London?

Secret Sweets and Frozen Treats by volchitsa - T, one-shot - Draco is enlisted as a temporary au pair for the Potter children during a Halloween party. What could go wrong?

A Bond of Death by flags_fiend - T, one-shot - Hermione doesn't believe in soulmates and she certainly doesn't believe that they can be fated to kill each other. An unusual conclusion to Malfoy's sentencing for his actions as a Death Eater has her questioning everything she once knew about divination.

Cat & Mouse by TotallyTalia - E, one-shot - No one had ever called Hermione Granger a fool... until she ends up captured by one of the highest ranking Death Eaters in the Dark Army. As the interrogation begins, she realized she'd do just about anything to get her freedom back.

The Distraction by ladydreadful - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy finds himself tremendously distracted during a Quidditch match by the charming Hermione Granger.

An American Adventure by LionLadyBee - T, WIP - Draco gets kicked out of Drumstrang and Sent to Ilvermorny.

The Secrets of Cell 2710 by OrangeCrush282 - G, one-shot - Draco and Hermione are both prisoners in Azkaban: three months apart. Through a crack in the wall, they trade letters across time, and help each other find freedom.

Marry Me by MommaStanberry - E, WIP - Hermione Granger is DONE. She's sick of being sidelined at the Ministry and impulsively up and quits her job. Needing new employment, she is recruited to be a Governess for a set of pureblood twins. Draco Malfoy's twins to be exact. When a marriage law is enacted by the Ministry, he offers her the chance to save herself from a loveless marriage with the Weasel. Will their pragmatic relationship turn to love? Or will the fire fizzle out?

The (Almost) Parent Trap by Saberspooky - G, one-shot - After seeing the movie The Parent Trap, Rose Weasley is inspired to try to get her parents, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, back together. The only thing standing in her way is her very own Meredith Blake, Draco Malfoy. Luckily, she's come up with the perfect plan- a camping trip!

Five, Six, Eight, Three by Hermione_Grangers_Sidekick - E, one-shot - Unspeakables Granger and Malfoy have been reluctant work colleagues for exactly five months, six days, eight hours, and three minutes. Things are (not) going well.

The Sister of My Enemy Is My Lover by Chels_Writes_a_Fic - G, one-shot - Auror Draco Malfoy hates Harry Potter. It's a shame he's in love with the idiot's sister.

A Series of Unlikely Events by Amity0813 - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy goes to dinner sweating and confused. Theodore Nott, his best friend, realizes Draco is going into a rut, surprising everyone because they didn't believe Muggle-borns could present. It turns out Draco smelled an Omega going into heat and presented as a result. Who is this Omega and how will Theo help his friend get through this difficult time?

Hermione of Swan Lake by AnygivenSunday - G, one-shot - Hermione walks into a forest and finds herself trapped as a swan by day, and her human body by night. Plagued by an evil bent on consuming the forest whole, it falls to her to find the cure to help herself and her friends.

Tale As Old As Time by AlannaTCooper - T, 3 chapters - Draco Malfoy has been hit with a curse. As a last-ditch effort, his best friends beg Harry Potter for help, and he ropes Hermione in on project fix Malfoy's brain before it's too late. Written for DFW Tropes Fest 2024

Azkaban by Jalu - E, one-shot - Hermione has been sentenced to death for the murder of Harry Potter. She has been hearing a voice inside of her head that compels her to make terrible decisions. After she is thrown into Azkaban's Death Row to await her final sentencing and execution, she discovers that she isn't the only one who hears voices. Draco Malfoy hears one too- hers. As they navigate a tumultuous and unlikely friendship, they discover that working together is the only way to unravel the past and escape Azkaban before they are executed.

Draco Malfoy; Can he fix it? Draco Malfoy; Yes he can! by Eclectic_fantasy - M, 2 chapters - Hermione's reputation was not doing well. Neither was Draco's. Draco was pretty sure he could fix that.

The Unbreakable Vow by slytherdactyl - T, one-shot - Thanks to one fateful night of drinking and the creation of a very ill-advised Unbreakable Vow, Hermione and Draco are forever linked in the most bizzare manner possible: they now have the ability to dictate each other's tattoos.

Paris in April by Fromagerie (Elfminster) - M, one-shot - Hermione Granger is excited to start her new life as a member of the Order of the Phoenix: after news of the wizarding war in Britain hit Beauxbatons, she was the first to sign up to the resistance. However, first she decides to gift herself one last day in Paris. Retracing her steps and revisiting the muggle memories she made growing up results in a very unexpected meet-cute with a really extraordinarily handsome Englishman...

Second Helpings by aprophecygirl - E, 2 chapters - The first time Draco Malfoy slept with Hermione Granger, he made a fool of himself. Determined to restore his ego, he sets his sights on one thing: his mulligan.

Intertwined in the Magic Fabric of Our Dreaming by somewhereinthesun - M, 2 chapters - Women weren't allowed wands, but that had not stopped Hermione Granger from creating one (with the unexpected help from Draco Malfoy). Four years later, with his memory wiped, Hermione and Draco encounter each other again.

This fest is ongoing.

#dramionefanfictionwriters #dramione #fests/exchanges/challenges

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aihoshiino · 1 month ago

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Wow ONK sure had an ending and I think my main Issue with it is honestly the fact that it feels like every character is back at square one last chapter, until this chapter when Akane narrates to us how „actually everyone is ok and moved on“ and we‘re just supposed to? Accept this? Ok (shrugs)

And also the fact I feel like much of its themes didn’t reach a satisfying conclusion like what it means to live a life of lies/lying in general and (the focus of this last chapter) what to do with your life and how to live it.

We see all the characters magically moving on and being fine which is like, yea, good (ignoring the terrible execution) but? Why was? Aqua? The male lead/protagonist of much of the story? Not allowed to do that? Why can’t he move on from any of his trauma, sadness, suicidal tendencies and the idea his life has less value than those of others? Why can’t he get better? I hope it’s kinda understandable what I mean, this isn’t a „Why can’t my fave character be happy“ thing I‘m trying to get at but more so a „I think the themes could‘ve been explored way better in terms of his character and I‘m disappointed it wasn’t.“ I feel like I‘m missing something but it really just feels like the story is telling us that Aqua was right in believing this self imposed lie that the only value in his life is to die (so his sister gets to be in the spotlight for the final chapters)

Idk just leaves a really bitter taste in my mouth the way they handled Aqua‘s mental health/state and suicide

Honestly yeah, it feels like everyone is just kind of circling a Character Development Cul-de-sac. Sometimes recovery does mean taking a few steps back before you can go forwards but this feels less like a depiction of the natural and inevitable unevenness of healing after trauma and more like Akasaka just, like. Didn't have an end point in mind for anyone's arcs apart from Aqua lol. AND EVEN THEN, IT'S... YEAH.

I said this in a previous ask but I think if the story was more willing to frame Aqua's death as him relapsing in his recovery and ultimately succumbing to his suicidal ideation & survivor's guilt, I think that could be not just cathartically tragic but quite an important message to send - that, unfortunately, yeah. Long term suicidal ideation really can just catastrophically consume someone even if they're actively looking forward to and taking steps towards building their future. Aqua has textually been suicidal since he was four years old and that's not something that would've just turned itself off.

But even when the story does acknowledge Aqua's death as being a suicide, it still also has this weird horrible framing of like. It's SAD, sure, but it's this beautiful and necessary sacrifice that he was DESTINED to make to protect Ruby('s career lol). So we end in this horrible place where Aqua's life, dreams and happiness are implicitly, cosmically Not Important in comparison to Ruby's and that Aqua himself is not just acceptable bit of collateral damage but a necessary one.

Which would be an insane note to end things on ANYWAY if the career that Aqua was protecting was anything OTHER than being an idol, when we've spent the whole manga talking about what a fleeting, exploitative and ephemeral stage of someone's life it is. Like, what are the chances that Ruby's going to still be an idol in ten years? Five, even? What's she going to do when she's not an idol anymore? Was Aqua's life really worth this?

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers #onk asks #suicide cw

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iaure · 1 year ago

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𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1: 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

CW: delusion, chase sequence, desire to kill, fear of death, vivid description of bodily injury, kissing due to non-sexual desperation, non-lethal self-sacrifice

This part switches between Miguel's POV and the Reader's. ♱ stands for the translation being at the bottom of the post. please let me know immediately if there are any errors! Severe spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ it’s been very long! i am afraid i do not have much to say, aside that this was beta-read by the lovely @kinkandkreep !

wc: 7k

𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

The landing of the Spider-Society that Y/N found herself on was dusty, unkept. It was clear that no one had been there for ages. Y/N had to hold back a sneeze. Glass riddled her abdomen and arms, and sneezing felt like something that’d turn her into even more of a mutated pin cushion. There was a cautious silence, or at least, as silent as Nueva York could get when there was a shattered glass window next to her. Her options were laid out before her. Y/N could go home, take care of her fish, and hide out. But Miguel inevitably would come to the same conclusion. That could mean devastation for her own city. Nuevo York wouldn’t be ready for someone like Miguel. Meanwhile, simply texting the neighbour to take care of Y/N’s pet would only take a second. Betty Boop the clownfish would prevail. There was tailing Gwen and the others-trying to intercept Miles in Earth-1610-B, to snag him before the others did. But there was no guarantee Y/N would find him. For an anomaly, he was slippery.

For an anomaly?

Y/N paused. Miles was an anomaly. So, hypothetically, since he used the Go Home Machine, it wouldn’t have read his DNA specifically. It would’ve read the DNA of his associated spider. Which meant...he wouldn’t have gone home. Y/N’s stomach churned, glass aside. Miles was all alone somewhere, lost and confused in a place that didn’t have room for him. He needed help, help that was someone he knew for sure was on his side. Gwen always meant well, and so did Peter B, but the damage on their end had been done. But she saw Miles’ face when he took the extra seconds she lent him. She knew that he knew.

Y/N input the coordinates for Earth-42.

The portal took a second to fizz to life. Y/N would need to get rid of the watch, considering its tracking capabilities. But Layla could track anyway. Layla was good, was sweet, but she was Miguel’s, and at the end of the day, it was about sending a message. Y/N wouldn’t need Miguel’s gadgets. She’d make her own. Or she’d find some other way to get home. And as she waited for the portal to be big enough to go through, a shiver went up her spine. There was the sound of metal being torn, 100 yards away. 80 yards. 60 yards. Shredded under something undoubtedly massive, torn from the side like a beast. It was grating, echoing through the empty bowels of the Spider-Society. And, unfortunately, Y/N knew exactly what that meant. Miguel was tearing up the sides of the tower to get to her, and Y/N was very much not planning to let him get anywhere near her. The portal stretched open as Miguel finally burst through the window. The excess glass seemed to bounce off of him, and there was a moment where Y/N was just jealous. How come her suit couldn’t do that, huh? Would’ve been nice. But Miguel spilled across the floor, trying to claw at anything to just find purchase to stop moving. It would’ve been funny if the situation wasn’t so dire.

Miguel finally stopped moving about a yard away, on all fours and struggling to find his stance. He scrambled to his feet, booking it to Y/N with a shout. “Don’t move!” “You didn’t say ‘Simon’s Says’, Miguel.” Y/N quipped, shocking calm coming over her considering how scary this all was. She felt like she was in control. After all, Miguel hadn’t figured out Miles was on Earth-42 yet. She’d have some time before he figured it out, even if it was just a minute. She, finally, had the power. Miguel might be rushing at her with all the desperation of a starved man, but Y/N just needed to take a step back. This nightmare was almost over, or at least, this bout of it. The portal was already shrinking, and Miguel wouldn’t have the time to go through it. “No! No! Wait! Y/N!” Miguel’s tone was that of begging, a realisation that it was up to her own choice whether or not he’d win. His eyes were wide, with a puppy look that would’ve made Y/N crumble at any other time. He had it down on lock, if that included running on all fours and reaching out within an inch of space.

Y/N crushed the watch in her hands and fell through.

She never liked the feeling of teleporting. The colours made her head spin and hurt, but right now, it was like seeing secondary colour angels. There was no Miguel, no Spider-Society. It was her and the complete multiverse at her behest.

The portal spat her out in an alleyway, sending her crashing into some cardboard boxes. It took a second, but once she realised Miguel wasn’t going to immediately tear through space and time, Y/N could only turn into boneless goo. Her entire body went limp. She was bleeding from the arms and stomach, her torso practically obliterated from the three total times she went through glass. The adrenaline ebbed away to world-ending pain. It was truly only describable as an ache that made her want to die, consuming her whole as she slumped against the bricks of the alleyway. She placed her hand against her abdomen, pressing down and feeling the glass dig in. Part of Y/N wondered if this was it. She knew Earth-42 was dangerous, due to its lack of a Spider-Man. She was defenceless, wounded, feeble, dying. The end of the illustrious Spider-Woman of Earth-7290, in a world far from her own. It was disappointing that Y/N was going to die in a place so beautiful.

New York was something sacred. Somewhere direct from the original birthplace of Spider-Man. Not Nueva York, not Nuevo York, whatever faux iteration that was a spin-off. A thousand twinkling lights that replaced the stars, so bright that the day would pale in comparison. New York was home. Even from the grubby, ugly alleyway, Y/N could see the lights of Times Square. The voices of the masses, the promise of help if only she could raise her voice. But no. The danger outweighed the reward. Part of her wondered what would happen to her body after she died. Would it lay in the alleyway to rot? Would it disappear back to her home world, somehow, someway? And what of Nueva York? Would Miguel be so delusional as to get revenge on Y/N’s beloved city? Or would it be abandoned in the wake of his death? She would’ve been something of legend, if fate was kind. A hero, disappearing into the mist without explanation. But even then, that was disappointing.

An ache settled into her heart. A sadness that choked her, like a bitter pill. Y/N had her regrets. Her uncle Ben, her brother, not helping Miles and the rest of the kids more, not having the courage to step up to canon before. To not be a better Spider. Not a better Society member, but a better Spider. A Spider-Woman that the original Peter Parker would be proud of. Y/N was a guilty heart, safe for one more minute. She didn’t even have the strength to do much more than crane her head, staring up past the skyscrapers to the night sky. And as those sparkling lights dimmed and the darkness grew, Y/N saw a flash of purple before she knew no more.

Miguel couldn’t believe it.

It’d been ten minutes since Y/N had run. And it was something that could only be categorised as ‘against all odds’. Miles had gotten away. Y/N had gotten away. The Spider-Society was in shambles. Spiders were defecting left and right. Gwen, Jessica, Peter, and countless others were going off the map. Layla was working double-time to try and track them all, to figure out what they were trying to do. Miguel wanted to kill someone. Maybe it was Miles. Maybe it was Gwen, Hobie, Peter-any of the others that failed the multiverse. He didn’t want to kill Y/N, though. He wanted to pluck her up, feel her in his teeth, grip her arms so she could never leave. He wanted to rattle her like a toy before putting her in a box like a collectible. Something only he could touch, look at, play with. And he’d treat her well. He’d give her everything she could possibly want (within reason). She’d want for nothing. He’d even cover her world so she could retire from being Spider-Woman. So she could be safe.

Miguel couldn't understand it.

He thought about Y/N all day. All night. Every minute that air passed through his lungs was done with the intent of thinking about her. And he was so fucking mad because how did she not understand that? She ran, mindless, like some savanna animal as soon as he let the barrier down. He loved her, but god was she frustrating. He was being polite, and she completely disregarded it, tossed aside. She tossed him aside.

Y/N L/N did not love Miguel O'Hara.

And he hated that. He'd be the first to admit that letting the barrier down was a stupid idea. For what physical strength he had over Y/N, she had speed. And at the end of the day, strength means nothing if you can't hit your target. That last hit Y/N had landed on him made Miguel crash into a banking tower, scrawling down the side like a cat. Damn not being able to stick to walls. He'd just about yanked out his claws trying to hang on. And the watch! He should've made Spider-Byte deactivate it before anything else!

There were a lot of things Miguel should've done in hindsight.

He found himself scrubbing every possible world he could, from 1 to 10,000. With the watch destroyed and Layla overwhelmed with trying to track everyone everywhere all at once, there was no way to directly trace Y/N. If she was truly smart, she would’ve input some random number and go somewhere absolutely random. But Miguel knew Y/N. He’d studied her. He knew how she thought. That meant she would go somewhere at least a bit familiar, where she was likely to have some form of an ally. There were a few places. Earth-7290 (obviously), Earth-1610-B, Earth-50101-B, Earth-616, Earth-65...she had her pick, cream of the crop. It became a matter of elimination. Earth-616, Earth-65, and Earth-50101-B, Hobie, Gwen, and Pav’s worlds respectively, were bottom contenders. She wouldn’t inherently drag her issues into the worlds of her ‘kids’. And for the record, Miguel began to hate all three. Gwen was weak and a liability, Pav was naïve, and Hobie caused trouble for the sheer delight of it. Y/N’s little spawn wouldn’t be spared.

Y/N staying on Earth-928, in Nueva York, didn’t make sense either. The chances of him finding her in his own home territory was high, and she knew that too. That left Earth-7290 and Earth-1610-B, each for their own reasons. Miles had gone to 1610-B, as far as anyone knew, though Miguel had a hunch otherwise. Spiders don’t just disappear off the face of the earth. And 7290 was Y/N’s personal playground. That was her home turf. So either she went chasing after Miles, or she went to lick her wounds in her own world. It was a matter of which was more likely. But Lyla quickly put an end to his overthinking. She appeared before him, the glittering honeycomb hologram with a head tilt. Curious, but not too curious. Teasing but not disobedient. Just the way Miguel made her to be.

“She’s in Earth-42, Miguel.”

Miguel felt sick with delight. Finding Y/N’s location was only a matter of time once Lyla tracked down where Miles was. If he found the anomaly, then he found his guardian angel. And maybe Y/N was too stubborn for her own good. But her faults were Miguel’s successes. Where she stumbled, Miguel would appear, ready to set her on her feet with a firm grip on her arms. His stomach was turning over in joy, like he was a kid about to go on a rollercoaster for the first time.

“Good job.”

Miguel didn’t waste any time, spinning around and setting his watch for Earth-42. But as he tapped, Lyla spoke up, flickering next to his head. “Want me to call for backup?” “What?” Miguel paused, glancing up as his mask set itself over his face. Something so natural, yet so false. “Why?” “For Miles? I mean,” Lyla snorted. “You couldn’t take him by yourself.”

And Miguel paused.

In his mind, he’d completely obliterated the idea of going after Miles. The anomaly. The whole reason this was happening in the first place. And somehow, his priorities had gotten so…skewed. He froze in place, blinking at his watch owlishly. Why? When? How? It felt strangely unfathomable. Miguel had spent so long going, going, going, running on fumes for worlds that didn’t even know he existed. He saw red when Miles tried to run, but it didn’t seem to panic him as much as Y/N running did. And maybe he wasn’t the same Miguel. Maybe he’d changed. That’s what all the old people would say; that love changes people. And Miguel wasn’t sure if he was alright with that. Deep within the recesses of his mind, some lucidity lingered. The fear of letting the multiverse down, of what could happen if he didn’t go after Miles. But…

Why shouldn’t he indulge?

He was Miguel O’Hara. Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time he received something that was even the slightest bit good in his life? A reward, for all that he’d done. All that he would do, all that will be. He’d been fighting for everything he loved since the day he was born, and now he was just fighting some more. The rest of the Spider Society could figure out Miles. Peter B. Parker could finally step up and fix the problem he made. Everyone else could pay penance by letting Miguel have this. This one thing, this one person, that made everything feel better. He’d done his fair share of sins. This would just be another that he would inevitably pay for. And for once, he didn’t mind that.

“No. I’ll go it alone.”

Lyla raised an eyebrow, but Miguel pretended not to notice. Pretended like what he was doing wasn’t going to endanger the entire multiverse. Like he hadn’t completely rewrapped his life’s duty in the span of a day. He knew he’d pay for it someday, when he died and he had to suffer for the worlds of hurt he made. But right now, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care as much as he should. He had happiness, right in front of him.

He would not fail a second time.

“Are you sure she can be trusted?” “Uh...yeah. Pretty sure.” “Pretty sure?” “...yeah. Yeah.”

Y/N’s head felt like it was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Everything ached, though it wasn’t as bad as before. Her sight was hazy, soft purple and black hues warbling in her vision. Two heads loomed over her. One was poor Miles, bruised and battered with his suit torn on the shoulder. He looked equal parts fearful and concerned, making Y/N’s heart wilt. Did she really scare the boy so much? But she looked over, and her heart dropped to her stomach. Y/N had seen the Prowler before. She’d fought the Prowler before, even. The visor was a bit weirder, and his head was tilted in the same way Miles’ was. But the Prowler was crouched before Y/N, arms on his knees in a pose that seemed far more demeaning than Miles’ crouch. Y/N’s heart bungee jumped from her stomach to her throat, and immediately, she tried scrambling backwards. But the blooming pain in her stomach made her gasp, and she went limp again. A quiet groan left her mouth. She hated how laboured her breathing was, soft huffs leaving her lips. “Told you she’d panic.” The Prowler muttered. Miles just shot him a look. “Why’re you here?” Miles spoke quietly as the Prowler rose, adjusting his gauntlet. The unspoken threat was there. “I…” Y/N huffed out, letting out a choked sigh. She set her hand on her stomach, trying to think past the pain. Against every good reason, she sat herself up against the nearest metal wall. Only then did Y/N realise that the glass was gone, and she’d been bandaged. She’d been hurt so much that her arms and stomach made her look like a mummy, and some blood seeped through. But it was the thought that mattered. The Prowler and Miles stared at her, one seeming far more threatening than the other. “I came to find you. Which…sounds bad. But I want you to hear me out.”

Miles stayed silent. Y/N set her head against the wall.

“I defected. Miguel’s gone off the deep end, bad. It’s stupid enough that his paranoia was entertained for so long. He’s snapped. Nothing he says or does makes sense anymore. And I’m sorry that no one tried to help you, back then, back when you were alone. I’m sorry so many people helped him.” Y/N let out another small groan, shutting her eyes. The lights of the kitchen were too bright. “This…all this ‘pick a side’ B.S., that’s not how Spider-Man does it. I know that this is asking a lot. You’ve had your trust completely destroyed. But I want to make it up. I want to help you save your-oof!” At once, Miles suddenly wrapped himself around Y/N in a hug. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could feel his tears beginning to soak the front of her suit. The sting of her wounds were sharp across her nerves, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Miles was willing to trust her. That meant more than anything. “Thank you,” Y/N whispered, putting her arms around the teenager’s shoulders. He held on a bit tighter, but Y/N couldn’t hold back her hiss of pain. Instantly, Miles pulled away, hands up in an apologetic manner. “Sorry, sorry! Wasn’t thinking.” “No, you’re okay,” Y/N gave a shaky smile, before glancing at the Prowler. She pointed between the two with a shaky hand. “Wanna…talk about this?” “No.” The Prowler huffed. “Yeah!” Miles leapt up, gently punching the Prowler’s arm. “This is Miles, too! I mean, me, but like…not me?” “Your alternate you,” Y/N nodded, picking up what Miles was putting down. “Your variant.” “What the hell happened to secret identities?” The Prowler groaned, letting his visor undo itself to reveal, indeed, another Miles with braids. He seemed miffed, rolling his eyes. “What? She’s cool! She gets it!” “Whatever.” P. Miles (as differentiated in Y/N’s head) stalked to the other side of the room, and Y/N realised the space was half kitchen, half gym. “How’d you find me?” Y/N glanced at Miles, raising a curious eyebrow. “Saw the portal.” Miles sat up on the counter as P. Miles began tinkering with his gauntlet across the room. “Thought it was Gwen, or Miguel, or any of the others…but when we saw you, I figured after what you did, I owed you.” “Miles…” Y/N sighed. “You don’t owe me anything.” “You bought me time. That’s pretty debt-worthy.” “It’s called doing the right thing.” “And doing the right thing means not letting you bleed out.” Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to shove down the smile. Despite how little time passed since everything started, she missed the banter. She missed the spider-teens, missed how everything was before Miguel snapped. She missed when Gwen, Pav, and Hobie would crash in her apartment and they’d watch whatever shitty soap operas were on TV and Y/N felt like a cool big sister. Now, everyone was scattered to the four winds. She wasn’t even sure if she’d ever get something like that again.

“So you two need to get back.”

P. Miles made Y/N snap out of her thoughts, and both she and Miles looked to him. “Yeah. 1610-B. If we can get to an Alchemax collider, then we can find another world with a Spider, use their watch, and get Miles home before supper.” “Supper. Supper’s a weird word.” Miles hummed. “Yeah. It kinda is. Whatever. There’s an Alchemax two miles from here. I can lead the way. You just have to not be dead weight.” P. Miles nodded, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Dead weight.” Y/N looked down to her torso, sighing. The pain was already creeping back, the adrenaline leaving her system as quickly as it came. “Yeah, well…no promises.” P. Miles scanned her up and down with an almost distasteful eye, before looking back to Miles. An unspeakable connection was there for a fleeting moment, but P. Miles broke his eye and walked over to the window. “Whatever. We’ll figure it out.” Miles winced at his variant’s tone, letting out a sigh before gently helping Y/N up. Everything shook, her knees nobbling like an old man in a cartoon. But with one hand on Miles’ shoulder and the other gripping the kitchen island, she found her balance. Damn the pain. Damn the multiverse. And damn Miguel. She’d get Miles home and beat Miguel’s ass while at it, with or without all her vital organs. And as she teetered upright, she took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

Miguel couldn’t bring himself to truly appreciate New York.

Nueva York was better, in his opinion. New York was barbaric, premature. Meanwhile, Nueva York was bright and with a lot more green. Maybe it was biassed, but as Miguel tore through the fabric of time and space, the stink of the city made him clear his throat. “Miguel, they’re on their way to this Earth’s Alchemax.” Lyla appeared before him, acting as a HUD as he walked. “Seems like they’re trying to find their way out.” “Yeah, well…” Miguel peered over the city, popping his neck. Ordinarily, he might’ve said something a little witty, a little mean, but now his mind was dead-set on finding Y/N. So close. So far.

Finding Alchemax wasn’t hard. The bright white building was obvious, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all the greyscale and dark skyscrapers. Even moreso, the fleeing workers evidenced that maybe there were several people inside who were dressed in suits and doing something a little less than normal. The doors were yanked off the hinges, there was some smoke coming out of the upper levels, and it’s a bit astounding that they even did that much damage so fast. He walked past the doors. Alchemax was always a sore spot for Miguel. Obvious reasons aside, it was always somewhere that Spider-Man suffered. And now, Miguel was suffering. He was always chasing after Y/N, and to have an ending battle at Alchemax felt like a cruel twist of fate. And he knew it’d be hard. He knew he blew away any chances of a proper relationship when he’d shoved Y/N through the window, went after the kids, tore aside the sides of buildings to get to her. But that didn’t matter when he knew they were meant to be together. Sometimes, doing what was right for all parties was the hard thing. And Miguel was used to that, and was ready for it. He’d been doing the hard thing all his life. This was one of the most important hard things, yes, all cards were off the table. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Not anymore. He’d do whatever it took to get what he was denied, for so long.

When he turned a corner, there was a sudden spike of…something. It was like a ‘ting’ in his entire body, a vibration against his throat that spread. Maybe this was the closest thing he’d ever feel to a spider sense, with the way it made his neck twitchy and his shoulders tense. He took such a deep breath that his back popped, a flicker in his eyes. She was close. How close, he wasn’t sure. But close enough. Maybe it was her scent that set him off, or the sound of the collider booting up, but either way it was enough to make him shudder. This had never happened before, not even when he had her in the anomaly containment cell. It was more of a predator-prey impulse, thick and heady and hanging in the air. Miguel wanted Y/N’s hair in his hands, her neck between his teeth, her back against his chest. It was a base instinct that set Miguel’s nerves on fire. He pressed forward, finally coming to the collider door. The transparent glass made it clear that Y/N was already on guard, speaking to both Mileses. Her voice grew suddenly sharp, almost irritated, and both boys jumped. Miguel would refuse to admit to anyone just how her commanding tone made him stand stiff. And how sweetly the scent of her blood hung in the air! Better than any wine or sweet or divine treat. How could he have been so oblivious before? It wasn’t like he needed blood for food, or anything, but… Indulgence was his new favourite word. Miguel’s hand hovered over the doorknob. He knew if he didn’t manage to snag Y/N this time, she’d run off to Lord knows where and dance right out of Miguel’s reach until it was too late. Somewhere, in the back of Miguel’s mind, he knew this would’ve been made easier if he’d just brought backup. Then, Jessica or Ben could catch Miles while Miguel got Y/N. But then again, he’d have to explain why he was ready to full-body tackle and make out with someone who, two days prior, he was hardly able to share a room with. So maybe he’d just have to wing it.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The lab was quiet.

P. Miles apparently carried quite the potent fear factor. Civilians scattered when they saw him, leaving the collider open for use. Miles helped carry Y/N, slinging an arm over his shoulder as he slung across Alchemax. There was a terse feeling in the air. Y/N, half dead and feeling like the grave, knew somewhere along the line, something was going to happen. Life was never so easy as to just hand the three a perfectly functional collider. But P. Miles got to work booting the collider up, and as he stood off by himself, Y/N had a moment of reprieve. Y/N stood yet still, but she slumped against one of the monitors, pressing a hand to her bandages. They were soaked through, the throbbing pain inching back now that the second dose of adrenaline was dying down. Miles stood next to her, eyes switching from his variant to Y/N, back and forth, back and forth. It was almost dizzying to even watch. The collider was slow to start, and it was almost nerve wracking. The slow, bubbling light was bright, but it would take a few spare minutes that the three didn’t have.

P. Miles was off in a world of his own, but as Miles’s head bobbed back and forth between the two, Y/N gave an almost pained laugh.

“You’re gonna pull something if you keep that up,” She teased, taking a painfully deep breath before resting her hands behind her on the console. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” Y/N watched him for a second. If it weren’t for the mask, then her frown would’ve been obvious. “It’s jarring, isn’t it?” She glanced back over to P. Miles. “Seeing a version of yourself.” “I mean, it would be for anyone, right?” Miles gave an awkward laugh. “Well…still. You’re taking it well.” Y/N hummed. “Especially for being thrown into all of this so suddenly.” “Well, I-” And suddenly, the two froze. There was a distinct feeling creeping up Y/N’s spine. Her spider sense didn’t usually have a slow build, not like this, but every muscle was tense. It was like a violin sting, the bow crawling across every nerve at a snail’s pace. Miles went stiff next to her, uncrossing his arms and glancing over his shoulder. P. Miles gave the two a confused glance from the sudden shift. “He’s here,” Y/N tilted her head back, knocking against the monitor with a laboured breath. Miles helped her get up as P. Miles went on his metaphorical haunches, gauntlet up and mask on. The room felt like it was spinning, a constant swirling camera angle around the three. Y/N set her hands on Miles’ shoulder. “You. Collider. Now. “ “Wh-?” Before Miles could finish, P. Miles started yanking him by the scruff towards the collider. The spider struggled against the Prowler’s grip. “Wait! No, we aren’t leaving you!” Miles looked almost irritated, as though the idea was genuinely disgusting to him. “Miles,” Y/N ignored her Miles, turning to the Prowler. “Get him through the collider at any cost.” P. Miles nodded firmly. He was a good soldier, but Miles broke out of his grip. “No! We can fight Miguel together. I mean, we’ve got me, and me but cooler! And you’ve been Spider-Woman for years-” “I’m injured, Miles.” Y/N’s tone took on an almost uncharacteristic stern note. “Dead weight. Miguel will be focused on me. My capture is inevitable. Yours doesn’t have to be.” Miles looked panicked, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “But what’ll happen to you? I’m not going to leave you behind. Spider-Man-” “Being Spider-Man is about sacrifice, Miles. And right now, this is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” The tension across Y/N’s nerved climbed to a fever pitch, and Y/N could see Miles’ face contort in fear. She knew what that look meant-Miguel was within Miles’ line of sight. Probably just past the door, tall and ominous. But Y/N shuffled in front of Miles to block Miguel off, to stop him from psyching out Miles, and to maintain eye contact. Her brows furrowed. “Miles-” “No.” Miles tired growing steely, trying to take the same commanding tone Y/N had. But Y/N felt everything spike. “Miles!” She snapped, louder than she meant to. “I am not going to bicker with you!”

Y/N’s voice was harsh, loud enough to echo a little bit. Angry, most certainly. Even P. Miles stoof stiff at rapt attention. “You have a choice,” Y/N pressed, despite the lingering guilt from the moment of fear on Miles’ face. “Me, or your father. And we all know what the answer is to that one.” The room was silent, save for the sound of the whirring collider. The lab door opened, and instantly, everything that was set off from Y/N’s spider sense went deathly silent. It was like her body was shutting down from fear and pain. Strong, almost silent steps drew closer, and Y/N let out a sigh. “Go, Miles. Be a better Spider-Man than the rest of us ever were.” Miles looked like he was forced to swallow hot coals. But with another tug from P. Miles, he began stumbling backwards. Y/N felt like there was still glass shards in her stomach, rolling around and cutting up her guts like a rock tumbler. Everything screamed for her to freeze, run, anything but what she was going to do.

But being Spider-Woman was all about sacrifices.

Y/N steeled her nerves and turned, a hateful glare scrawled across her face. Miguel was right behind her, breathing hard like he was huffing in the air she exhaled. If she took even the barest step forward, then she’d be buried into Miguel’s chest. Closer than she wanted to be. But even then, Y/N could smell mahogany and whiskey and sweat, something rich that seemed to be right up Miguel’s alley. He had his eyes glued to Y/N as though both Mileses weren’t right behind her, trying to clamber into the collider. Like she was the only thing in the world. It would be flattering, if the situation wasn’t so damn scary.

“Mi alma ♱ ,” Miguel whispered, reverent like Y/N was a god. “You were hard to track down.” “I fucking hope so.” She hissed, clicking her tongue. “I hope I gave Lyla a run for her money.” “Mm. That you did.” Miguel’s eyes flickered down a bit, taking in the sight of Y/N’s injuries. Slowly, he tried raising a finger up to touch at the bandages, but Y/N was quicker and grabbed his wrist to stop him. He didn’t so much as jolt, instead putting his eyes right back on Y/N’s face. “Don’t touch me.” “If anything, you’re the one touching me.” Miguel snarked, a grin beginning to sneak onto his face. The banter was clearly something he enjoyed, seeing Y/N as nothing but a defiant pet. “And don’t get smart with me, asshole.” “All these rules…but as you wish, chiquita ♱ .” Y/N took a pissed-off breath, sucking on her teeth. But as she was about to say something back, there was the sudden feeling of webs around her waist. They hurt, but the immediate confusion triumphed over the pain. Who was webbing her? What was going on?

“Sorry, man! But I take care of my own!”

Miles’ sudden defiant yell made both older Spiders jump. Before Y/N could say anything, she was abruptly yanked back towards the collider. P. Miles laughed from the sudden vision of Y/N getting pulled back like a dog on a leash. But the small victory was minute, because Miguel’s face immediately contorted into rage. He bolted across the floor, reaching an arm out to web Miles’ arm. Miles’ web broke off, and for a moment, Y/N was in free-fall. But she could see Miguel’s brain working, the cogs working in a way they hadn’t in days. His eyes were on the kids, realising that while they were around, he’d never have Y/N freely. He’d always have to fight, and that meant the kids were in danger. That phrase played in Y/N’s head on loop. The kids were in danger. The kids were in danger. She had to swallow, recalibrate in mid-air.

Being Spider-Man was a sacrifice. Being Spider-Man was a sacrifice. Being Spider-Man was sacrifice.

And in the midst of the free-fall, Y/N did the one thing she could think of to distract Miguel.

She reached out, and she kissed him.

The kiss was something she wished she’d never have to do. And she hated to admit just how nice it was. She could taste a balm on his lips, the faint taste of coffee. Soft. And she hated how it made her gut dissolve into butterflies, layered with atomic vomit. Bile pooled into her throat, but she could hear the collider shutting down, and she knew. It was over. One way or another, it was over.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

The kiss was by no means perfect. It was forceful, rushed, harsh, with Y/N’s nails digging into his shoulder to try and hang on. Her lips tasted of blood and were scabbed over from how often she bit them. Miguel could see Miles (both of them) in the corner of his eye. 1610 Miles struggled against his variant’s grip, being dragged into the collider against his will. But Miguel couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d fantasised about this moment for what felt like forever. How close she was. The smell of her sweat, the feel of her suit, her hands clutching his biceps. If this was Hell, then Miguel would willingly clip his wings to stay in Y/N’s arms.

Even in the freefall, Miguel found himself reaching out to cling at Y/N. She gasped from the clutch of his hands, and Miguel had to actively resist the urge to shove his tongue into her mouth like some unruly, horny teenager. For the first time in what was probably years, he had butterflies in his stomach. Love. Actual, true love. His eyes were wide, and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was what blushing schoolgirls felt like. Giggling at the idea of their crushes looking their way, doodling hearts in their journals. That’s what Miguel felt like. A grown man, reduced to mush at a single kiss. It was ridiculous, humiliating…but it felt so good.

Miguel slammed into the floor of the collider room, all air sucked out of his body. For a brief moment, he simultaneously came to and was dazed. He realised both Miles were nowhere to be found, and Y/N had slammed into him. She let out a pained cry, pending over against the floor to clutch at her stomach. But as soon as her feet hit the ground and she wasn’t in immediate pain, Y/N pried herself away from Miguel like he’d burned her. And his heart ached. She was leaving him, and he’d be left with nothing but a wounded soul and back pain to return with. And the memory of that kiss. That kiss. It was devastating. Holy. No, Miguel wouldn’t let that go. He couldn’t. He knew he was gone, his mind lost somewhere between affection and obsession. Once his vision cleared and he saw Y/N stumbling to the collider, trying to climb up the walls without opening her wounds again, Miguel felt a certainty steel him. Y/N was going nowhere. Nowhere that he wouldn’t follow, that he wouldn’t tear apart trying to find her in. Miguel shot up, hands reaching out. A neon web came, and partially Miguel wondered if it had a soul of it’s own, an extension of his own desperation. It wrapped around Y/N’s waist, and she fell from the wall with a yelp. She slammed back down onto the floor and there was a sob. And Miguel didn’t want to hurt her. No, he never did. But he couldn’t let her run anymore.

He yanked Y/N towards him, groaning from the ache in his back before walking over to her. She was struggling in the web, arms bound as she flopped like a fish out of water. Her breathing was hard and angry, frustrated grunts ringing out in the collider room as the machine slowly started to wind down. She looked up at those chromatic spots, fear and exhaustion reading on her face in real time as her only escape shut in on itself. Miguel looked down at her, hands on his hips. And Miguel wanted to say something witty. Something like ‘I didn’t want to do this’ or ‘you did this to yourself’. But Y/N just seemed…defeated. Sad. Her eyes were to the floor, refusing to meet Miguel in any way. Just like before, her last way of keeping her pride was to deny Miguel. But she would deny him no more. And all Miguel could do was crouch down, gently rolling Y/N onto her back. There was a wheeze and Y/N shut her eyes. But Miguel could see tears welling, pooling down her cheeks with shame. And Miguel didn’t necessarily like making her cry. Something in the back of his mind told him he should be disgusted, ashamed of himself, beating himself up for making her cry. But she was so pretty. Stunning, even when she was crying and laying there, blood seeping into her suit. A gorgeous red that suited her like nothing else. How would she be in a red dress, ruby jewellery, red makeup. Even against the orange of his webs, she was beautiful. Oh, who was Miguel kidding? She’d look beautiful in anything. A goddess, bathed in the light of day and the stars of night.

Miguel put a hand against Y/N’s cheek, stroking it with his knuckles. She just sniffed, eyes still closed. Miguel’s eyes flickered down to her lips, and…what would be so wrong with it? She was the one that kissed him earlier. Whatever reasoning didn’t matter. If anything, it was his turn. A kiss for a kiss. And so, Miguel leaned down and pressed his lips to hers once more. And this time, despite her whimper, despite her recoil, Miguel felt this was a true kiss. Something earnest, of his own volition. It meant so much, completely overwhelming Miguel’s senses. He could even faintly taste the spearmint of Y/N’s toothpaste, this time. But he felt her flinch, and he pulled away just barely enough that his lips hovered over her. His breath washed over hers as he glanced up to her eyes. And this time, she was staring. Pure hatred was painted over her face, seething just under her skin, and Miguel sighed. “Do you really hate me that much?” He whispered. “More than anything,” Y/N hissed.

And Miguel sighed. Y/N was proud. He’d always loved that about her, but now it was just an issue. But it was nothing that time couldn’t fix. He gently, slowly, reverently picked up Y/N in his arms, like the bride she’d be one day. She squirmed, but her injuries left her immobile. A day of ignoring grievous injuries save for some faulty bandages meant she was left defenceless. And for once, Miguel was glad. Did he delight in her pain? No. Did he feel she deserved it? Maybe. But right now, she was in his arms and unable to run for the last time.

And that. That was Miguel’s reward.

♱ : my soul, honey

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