#I’M EMOTIONALLY STABLE I PROMISE

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when you're upset

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, emotional support, quiet love, soft boys with warm hearts

🌙 synopsis: you're not alone. not ever. eight boys, eight different ways of showing up when the world feels too loud. some send you memes. some send you playlists. some just send a quiet “i’m here.” when you're unraveling at the seams, they don't ask you to hold it together. they hold you instead—in texts, in voice notes, in the silence between words. this isn't about fixing you. it's about loving you exactly as you are—soft, sad, and still worth everything.

💌 a/n: hi hello yes. i promise i have a job (whilst looking for a new one) but i am also a girl with free time and nothing to do, so i write for you people. plus, i just think everyone deserves to be comforted like this, okay?? anyway. if you’ve had a hard day, I hope this felt like a warm hoodie straight from the dryer. or like… a text that says “u up?” but emotionally stable. as always, thank you for reading my little delusions 💗 p.s. i know it’s a short one but like... short and sweet, right?? i hope it’s sweet??? idk anymore 😭 p.p.s. YES I KNOW MY PIC AESTHETICS ARE WEIRD AND DON’T MATCH OR WHATEVER I’M TRYING… I SEE THE VISION IN MY HEAD OKAY THE EXECUTION JUST BE SUFFERING. leave me alone. smh. p.p.p.s no, i haven't made any songs to match this vibe. lmfao, soz •ᴖ•

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Star Lost" — Stray Kids

Bang Chan // 방찬 the gentle leader energy

[3:14PM] Hey, angel. I know today’s rough. I won’t push, but I’m here. Want to hop on call? We can sit in silence or talk, your pace. [3:17PM] You’re not alone in this. I promise. (You wake up to a Lo-fi playlist he made just for you, titled: “for when your heart’s tired”)

Lee Know // 리노 silent acts of care

[4:52PM] What do you need? Be honest. [4:54PM] I can cook. Or just sit with you. Or send you mean messages about the universe. [5:01PM] Here. Cat pics. Instant serotonin. (He drops off warm food at your door with a post-it: “Eat. Or I’ll be annoyed. 😒”)

Changbin // 창빈 aggressively loving

[5:03PM] WHO. UPSET. YOU. [5:04PM] I will fight them. Emotionally. And maybe physically. 👊 [5:07PM] Also… I’m proud of you. For just… being you. (He sends voice notes of him beatboxing silly rhythms with your name mixed in. Pure serotonin.)

Hyunjin // 현진 the poetic soft boy

[2:27PM] It’s okay to crumble sometimes. Even stars need to rest. [2:29PM] You are still whole, even when you don’t feel it. [2:34PM] Do you want a drawing? Or a distraction? I can write you a silly haiku. (You receive a photo of a messy sketchbook page with your initials in soft florals.)

Han // 한 chaotic comfort personified

[3:59PM] I see you’re feeling like 🍞 soggy bread. [4:00PM] BUT GUESS WHAT. YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE TOAST. [4:02PM] I’m gonna spam you with memes until you smile or block me. (He sends 17 voice memos. One is a fake commercial for “Anti-Sadness Spray,” voiced by him in 4 accents.)

Felix // 필릭스 human sunshine, through and through

[1:36PM] Hey, beautiful. I felt something was off today… Do you want hugs, words, or just my presence? [1:40PM] You deserve kindness even when your mind says otherwise. (You get a video of him baking cookies, captioned: “Saving one for you, always.”)

Seungmin // 승민 realist with a warm heart

[6:18PM] I know you think you’re being dramatic. You’re not. [6:21PM] Want comfort or tough love? [6:25PM] You’re handling more than most would. Let yourself feel it. (He sends a carefully curated playlist titled: “not okay, but surviving.”)

I.n // 아이엔 the shy but intuitive one

[5:40PM] Hey… are you okay? You don’t have to answer. Just wanted you to know I care. [5:46PM] Do you want to watch something later? I’ll even pretend not to hate romcoms. [5:49PM] You matter to me. Just… wanted to say that. (You later find out he stayed up playing your comfort game just to send you tips.)

[wroetolando]

Omg I loved the story you wrote for my song request for Lando!! You said send more so I have another song lol can you do one for soft spot by keshi I few like it can be written from either landos pov or the reader talking about doing things they hate but they do it for each other or however you interpret the song!! Thank you #anonymous🌟

𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: first time listening to this song and i absolutely love it!

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando hates the rain, you hate chamomile tea, and yet you both keep choosing each other anyway—even when it hurts

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: soft spot - keshi

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: mild angst

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Lando hated the rain.

Not in a dramatic, philosophical way. He didn’t stare at it wistfully or watch droplets slide down the windowpane while narrating his pain like some tortured poet. He just… hated it. It made his hair cling to his forehead, soaked through every layer of clothing, made walking miserable, and driving worse.

It reminded him of everything that could go wrong in a single moment. The unpredictability. The chaos. The cold that stuck to your skin.

Still, here he was.

Standing outside her building, fingers trembling slightly as he pressed the buzzer for the third time. Water slid down the back of his neck, and his hoodie had given up trying to keep him dry ten minutes ago. The umbrella? Long gone. It flipped inside out two streets ago, and in a very grown-up, emotionally stable move, he’d shoved it into a bin.

No answer.

He stepped back under the awning, breathing into his frozen hands. He should’ve just texted her. Or called. Or maybe he should’ve done that two days ago, when they had their last argument—when he’d let his frustration push her away again.

Her voice crackled through the speaker. “Come up, idiot.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You hated chamomile tea.

Not in the way people say they “don’t love” something. You hated it. The smell, the bitterness, the way it always promised calm and delivered disappointment. You only kept it stocked in your kitchen because of him.

And now, two nights after your last fight, you were brewing it again.

Not because you missed him.

(Okay, maybe because you missed him.)

You’d watched him through the window, standing in the rain like a lost boy—hood up, hands shoved deep into his pockets, buzzing over and over again like he didn’t care if you ever opened the door.

But you had. Because, despite the ache in your chest and the stupid, stupid way he always managed to say the wrong thing at the worst possible time, he was still Lando. Yours.

Even when you hated that you still cared so much.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

He stepped into your flat like it was unfamiliar ground. Cautious. Careful. His curls dripped rain onto your floors, and his hoodie clung to him like a second skin.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and somehow it felt louder than anything else in the room.

You didn’t say anything. Not at first. You just moved to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. You needed something to do with your hands, and he looked so heartbreakingly small in the doorway that if you said anything, it would come out wrong.

“Chamomile?” he asked, voice unsure.

“You like it.”

There was silence. Then: “You hate chamomile.”

You shrugged. “You do stuff for people when you care about them. Even when it sucks.”

You heard him shift behind you. His voice came slower this time, lower.

“I hate the rain,” he said. “But I walked here. In it.”

“I know.��

“I didn’t want to fight with you.”

You finally turned, spoon resting in your hand. “You always say that after we fight.”

“I know,” he said again, and this time it wasn’t defensive. It was regret. Raw and real and sitting heavy in his chest. “I’m not good at this. Not when I miss you. Not when I feel like I don’t know where you are anymore.”

You didn’t answer.

He took a step closer. “I didn’t mean what I said about you not showing up.”

“I know.”

“I was scared. That maybe you were starting to outgrow this—us. Me.”

That cracked something in you.

“You think I’d work 14-hour days, take red-eye flights, and stand behind rope barriers getting shoved by fans for you if I didn’t want to be with you?” you asked, voice sharp.

His eyes flickered, and he looked ashamed. “I know you hate that.”

“I do. But I do it anyway.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You softened. Just a little.

“You’re my soft spot, Lando. That’s what it is. I hate airports. I hate the paddock. I hate the waiting and the press and the fact that I barely get five minutes with you before someone pulls you away. But I love you more than I hate any of that.”

It was his turn to break.

“I sleep in your hoodie when you’re not here,” he said, like it was a confession.

“I figured,” you said. “Smelled like me.”

“I left it here on purpose.”

“Why?”

“So I had a reason to come back.”

Your chest tightened. “You never needed a reason.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The tea went cold on the counter.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, face buried in your shoulder. You let him. You always did. That was the problem and the answer all at once.

“Do you remember Monaco?” you asked after a long silence.

He hummed. “Which part?”

“That rooftop dinner. When you said you were too tired to go, but you came anyway because you knew I wanted to.”

He smiled into your skin. “I hated that night.”

You pulled back, surprised.

“I didn’t tell you then,” he admitted. “I was exhausted. We had a full day of media, then debriefs. I was running on fumes. But I looked at you in that red dress, and I couldn’t say no.”

You blinked. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because sometimes,” he said softly, “you do the things you hate for the people you love.”

Your heart cracked in half and stitched itself back together in one breath.

You turned to face him fully now, resting your palms on his soaked chest. “I don’t need you to always push yourself for me.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “But I will anyway. Because you do it for me.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “We’re idiots.”

“Two idiots in love.”

“You still smell like rain.”

“You still smell like mango body mist.”

You shoved his shoulder. “You said you hated that.”

“I do,” he grinned. “But you wear it, so now I kind of like it.”

You stared at him for a long second before pulling him down into a kiss. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and sure and aching with all the things you hadn’t said in the last forty-eight hours.

When you broke apart, you leaned your forehead against his.

“I hate racing season,” you whispered.

“I hate off-season.”

“But I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you more.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Later, he stood in your bathroom, toweling off and wearing the pajamas you always kept for him—the ones he pretended not to like because they had cartoon stars on them.

You joined him in the mirror, brushing your teeth side by side like nothing ever broke between you. Like the silence had never happened.

“You still going to Spain next week?” he asked.

You nodded. “Booked the flight yesterday.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“I thought you had simulator work that day?”

“I do.”

You looked over at him, eyes narrowed. “Lando—”

“I’ll move it.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

You shook your head, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. He caught your hand as you turned to leave, pulling it to his lips.

“I hate moving my schedule around,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles.

“But I love you more.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The next morning, the rain had stopped.

The hoodie was dry.

The tea was warm.

And love felt a little more like a choice they made—over and over again.

Even when it sucked.

Especially then.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O7

“𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐒”

"The most annoying thing about Agent Min isn’t how easily he dodges your questions—it’s how effortlessly he outmatches your wit."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 7,4k

content: field trips, noma being curious as usual, yoongi being half amused half exasperated, yoongi being a smart lil shit and evading her questions, her growing frustrated, forced proximity, eery memorials and visceral reactions.

— author’s note

Hiii peeps!!!

It’s been a long time coming huh??? FINALLY chapter 7 reached the goals yesterday!!! *cue the confetti that i absolutely do not have the energy to throw*

I’ve been writing this chapter for what feels like an eternity (literally aged 10 years minimum) but I just finished the last scene today and edited and proofread it just now soooo I hope everything’s okay??? If you see a typo… no you didn’t (ಥ﹏ಥ).

Not gonna lie to you, I had to reread chapter 6 because I straight up forgot whether I had tasked Yoongi and Noma to the Monitoring Hub or if that was someone else ahahaha—spoiler alert: it was Tae and Jungkook who got stuck with that chore, not Yoongi and Y/N. Slay for us!

Then I reread some of my notes and remembered some plotlines I had emotionally suppressed and well… the last scene about the park basically wrote itself. Yeah. It’s eery. Prepare yourselves.

There’s SO much to unpack from this fic and SO little we have even scratched the surface of. I know The 25th Hour is my most head-wrecking fanfic so PLEASE, feel free to vomit ALL of your theories at me hahaha. I’m here for the chaos.

As always—remember my fics are sloooooow paced and sloooooow burn because my brain doesn’t know how to operate differently. Don’t expect fast plot movement, I’m intentionally taking my time to build the world and lay tiny breadcrumbs for you to gather. Pick them up. Put them in your emotional basket. Analyze them to your heart’s content.

Enjoy, goblins! <3

— read on

ao3

wattpad

The streets feel fundamentally wrong.  

It's not something you can quantify, not yet. The temperature is stable, the air quality within acceptable parameters, and the ambient noise levels hover at a predictable 67 decibels. 

But still, something feels… off.  

Sector 4 has always been bustling, it is a fact you do not question. 

Coffee shops line the sidewalks—windows are fogged with steam and promises of overpriced caffeine. Restaurants have flickering neon signs in rhythmic patterns that seem to draw people in inevitably. Storefronts display fashion statements that you’ve never found appealing but still manage to catch your eye every time you pass them.  

You do like fashion—at least, theoretically. 

You’ve never bought anything from these stores, though. 

Agent Min walks ahead of you now, stride measured as always. You recalibrate your position almost immediately, adjusting your pace to walk beside him instead of behind. 

Not behind him. Never behind him.  

You don’t know why it matters so much, but it does. To you, at least. Or maybe to whatever part of you keeps acting out without conscious thought lately.  

Your eyes betray you again, flickering to his gloved hand for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Covered, as always. Black leather stretched taut over fingers that move very precisely—cataloging, calculating, anticipating.  

You’re still stuck on his earlier words: “Protection from me.”

What did he mean by that? Is his touch scalding? Dangerous? 

You haven’t seen him touch anyone else without those gloves—not once since arriving at the facility. It’s plausible enough to form a hypothesis around it, but not enough to test it without risking another nosebleed—or worse.  

Still… you want to test it anyway.  

And then there’s the matter of your own gloves—thin fabric ones that feel more like a restriction than protection. 

Nobody else wears them except Yoongi. Just him and you. You and him.  

Why? Why? Why? Why?  

The question loops through your mind like a broken record, each repetition louder than the last until it feels like static buzzing beneath your skin. 

You want to ask him outright, even though you know it will get you nowhere.  

But still… you want to ask.

“Why gloves?”  

The words slip out before your analytical mind can filter them properly—an impulsive breach of protocol that surprises even you.  

Yoongi sighs—a sound weighted with irritation but tempered by something softer beneath—and doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickers around the street instead, cataloging details invisible to your untrained eye.

“Stop staring at my hand,” he says finally, voice low enough that only you can hear over the ambient noise of Sector 4’s busiest avenue.

“I wasn’t staring at your hand,” you counter, the denial emerging with suspicious automaticity.

And technically, it’s not a lie. 

Your focus was on the glove itself—the material composition, the precision fit, the way it moves with his fingers as if designed specifically for his unique biomechanics.

“My gloves cover my hands,” he points out, logic impeccable as always. “You looking at my glove is functionally equivalent to looking at my hand.”

Your analytical mind acknowledges the validity of his reasoning—the correlation between glove and hand approaches 99.7% in this context.

“Stop trying to be clever,” he adds, the corner of his mouth twitching upward by approximately 0.3 millimeters—a microexpression your body recognizes as amusement despite your mind having no reference point for it.

“I’m not trying to be clever,” you respond, your tone matching his. “Fabric is not skin. I was technically not observing your hand but rather the material covering it.”

His eyes narrow by exactly 1.2 millimeters. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Attempting to establish semantic superiority through technical correctness.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Stop it.”

Your lips press together, suppressing what feels suspiciously like a smile. Your gaze shifts to his profile, noting the controlled tension in his jaw, the rhythm of his breathing.

“Why?” The question emerges softer than intended.

He turns, eyes meeting yours with unsettling directness. 

The contact lasts 2.7 seconds—42% longer than standard conversational eye contact.

“Because,” his eyes flicker gold for precisely 0.3 seconds, “being intellectual antagonists with each other is essentially our foreplay.”

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.37%.

“That would imply sexual attraction.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Are you sexually attracted to me?”

He doesn’t respond. 

You weren’t expecting him to.

Doesn’t make it less annoying.

But curiosity nags at you as your eyes flicker down to his gloves. And before you can process your next question, you’re already voicing it out.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Agent Min halts mid-step, his shoulders stiffening by precisely 0.6 centimeters. The sigh that follows is audible, weighted with the kind of exasperation that suggests this isn't the first time he's had to deal with you derailing his focus. 

"Not this again," he mutters, his voice carrying the same energy as someone who just realized they forgot to defrost the chicken for dinner.

You blink up at him, unbothered by the irritation radiating off of him in waves. 

“What? I’m serious."

He turns his head slowly, mint-green hair catching the sunlight in a way that seems almost too vibrant for someone with such a perpetually dark aura. His eyes narrow slightly—not in anger, but in that uniquely way of his that suggests he's already regretting engaging with you.

"You want to hold my hand," he repeats flatly, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it sound less ridiculous.

"Yes." You nod once, decisively. "Without the gloves."

His jaw tightens by 3 degrees, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you entirely. But then he exhales sharply through his nose—an audible punctuation mark to his mounting frustration—and tilts his head just enough to meet your gaze.

"Why?" he asks, voice low and measured, like he's trying to reason with a particularly stubborn child.

You pause, considering the question. 

Why do you want to hold his hand? 

It’s not like you’ve ever been particularly interested in physical contact before. In fact, you generally find it inefficient and unnecessary—an outdated social construct with no practical application in most scenarios.

But this feels... different. Important. Like there’s some unquantifiable variable at play that your analytical mind can’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know," you admit finally, your tone carrying the same blunt honesty that has gotten you into trouble more times than you can count. "I just do."

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly—1.2 seconds exactly—before pinching the bridge of his nose through the fabric of his glove. 

“You can’t just go around asking people if you can hold their hands."

"Why not?" Your brow furrows as you process his response. "Is it against protocol?"

"It’s not about protocol," he says, dropping his hand back to his side with a resigned sigh. "It’s about basic social norms."

"Social norms are arbitrary constructs," you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. "If I want to hold your hand and you don’t explicitly object, then what’s the issue?"

"The issue," he says slowly, as if explaining quantum mechanics to a toddler, "is that most people don’t ask questions like that because they understand how it might make someone else feel."

You tilt your head slightly, analyzing his expression for any sign of genuine discomfort. His face remains impassive—calm but guarded, like he’s carefully controlling every microexpression to avoid giving anything away.

"I don’t see how it would make you feel anything," you say finally, your tone more curious than defensive. "It’s just skin-to-skin contact. Statistically insignificant unless there’s some kind of chemical reaction involved."

Yoongi stares at you for a long moment—4.7 seconds exactly—before shaking his head slightly and muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like why me?

"You’re impossible," he says finally, turning away from you and resuming his perfectly measured stride down the street.

You fall into step beside him without hesitation, adjusting your pace to match his once again. 

“You didn’t answer my question," you point out after exactly 3 seconds of silence.

"I thought I did," he replies dryly.

"No," you counter, your tone taking on that annoyingly persistent edge that you realize seems to get under his skin. "You explained why most people wouldn’t ask to hold someone’s hand. You didn’t explain why I shouldn’t ask."

He exhales sharply again—louder this time—and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze flickers briefly to your gloved hands before returning to the path ahead.

"Because it’s not normal," he says finally.

"Neither is wearing gloves all the time," you shoot back without missing a beat.

His lips twitch upward for 0.2 seconds before flattening again—a microexpression so fleeting that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. 

But you do.

"Fair," he mutters under his breath.

You take this as a victory and press on. "So? Can I?"

"No." 

"But why?" Your voice edges into what could almost be described as a whine—not because you’re upset, but because you genuinely don’t understand why he’s being so difficult about something so seemingly insignificant.

Yoongi stops abruptly again—his second unplanned halt in less than five minutes—and turns to face you fully this time. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your pulse spike by 8 beats per minute.

"Because," he says slowly, enunciating each syllable like it physically pains him to explain this to you, "if I let you hold my hand without gloves, it won’t stop there."

You blink, processing his words. 

"What do you mean it won't stop there?" 

Your head tilts exactly 4.3 degrees to the right—a physical manifestation of your curiosity. Yoongi's jaw tightens, the muscle visibly tensing beneath his skin. 

"Just drop it."

"Is it just the hands?" you press, undeterred by his obvious discomfort. "Or would any skin contact cause this... whatever it is you're concerned about?"

"Any skin contact," he answers flatly.

You process this new variable. "So if I touch any part of your skin, the reaction would be the same?"

"Yes." 

His response is clipped, precise—clearly hoping brevity will discourage further inquiry.

It doesn't.

"Is that why we're both covered head to toe? To prevent skin contact?" 

The question emerges as you glance down at your own tactical gear, noting how thoroughly it encases your body.

"Yes."

"But not our faces," you point out, studying the exposed skin of his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead. "Our faces remain uncovered."

He exhales, the sound carrying precisely 23% more frustration than his previous sigh. 

"Covering our faces would make us suspicious to CHRONOS agents. We need to blend in."

Your analysis immediately detects the logical inconsistency. 

“Your resistance movement seems quite popular among CHRONOS employees. I've counted at least 27 defectors in your facility."

"Mhm."

"How come agents don't recognize you then?" The question presents itself naturally as you catalog variables. "Wouldn't they have put a face to your name by now? Especially given your apparent leadership position?"

"Part of my ability."

Your temporal readings spike by 0.12% at the mention of his ability. You've been collecting fragments of information since arriving, piecing together a picture of what each team member can do. But Yoongi's ability remains the most significant unknown variable.

"What's your ability?" You ask directly, knowing the probability of receiving a straightforward answer approaches zero.

Indeed, his lips quirk upward—0.3 millimeters, right side only. 

"Guess."

You narrow your eyes, cataloging the available data:

- His ability relates to temporal manipulation

- It affects perception

- It involves skin contact

- It has restoration properties, as demonstrated with your glove

"Time manipulation," you venture, knowing it's insufficient but hoping to prompt elaboration.

"Not specific enough." 

"Temporal reconstruction?" You recalibrate, adding the restoration variable.

He makes that sound again—the one that's almost amusement but contains too much restraint. 

“Closer."

Your analytical mind sorts through theoretical temporal abilities, discarding those incompatible with observed phenomena. 

“Chronological restoration with perceptual manipulation components."

His eyebrow raises by exactly 0.4 centimeters. "Sometimes I forget how unnecessarily technical you can be."

"Is that accurate?" you press.

"Parts of it." 

His attention shifts to the street ahead, where the monitoring hub should be visible. But it isn't. Not where your memory insists it should be.

You follow his gaze, temporal cognition struggling to reconcile the discrepancy. 

"The hub is missing."

"No," he corrects, "it's been moved. Remember?"

The correction creates a curious double-vision effect in your cognitive processing—you simultaneously remember the hub at its original location AND at its new position three blocks east.

Your nose starts bleeding.

Agent Min doesn't even look—simply extends the black handkerchief towards your nose. 

"Stop trying to hold both memories at once," he instructs, voice dropping to 42 decibels. "Accept the new one as current reality while maintaining awareness that it's been altered."

"That's contradictory," you argue, pressing the handkerchief to your nose.

"Not to your brain, it isn't." His eyes never leave the street ahead, yet you sense his focus remains partially on you. "Your temporal signature allows you to perceive both timelines simultaneously. The cognitive dissonance is what causes the bleeding."

"How do you know so much about my temporal signature?" The question emerges with sudden intensity.

His jaw tightens. "Focus on the mission."

"Answer the question."

"No."

Your frustration spikes by approximately 37%. 

“You know significantly more about my physiological responses than should be possible given our limited interaction history."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Classified."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes—a social gesture you've never found particularly productive. 

“That's not an answer."

"It's all you're getting right now." His tone shifts, carrying a finality that suggests further inquiry would be pointless.

Your gaze returns to the street, where two distinct sets of memories continue to overlap in your perception. The monitoring hub that should be directly ahead isn't there. Instead, an upscale coffee shop occupies the space, patrons moving in and out with the synchronized efficiency of people who have no idea reality has been restructured around them.

"They don't notice," you murmur, observing the civilians. "They genuinely believe that coffee shop has always been there."

"Yes." Agent Min's confirmation is unnecessary but appreciated. "For them, reality is singular and consistent. No contradictions."

"And for us?"

His eyes meet yours briefly. "For Outliers, reality is... negotiable."

“Outliers. That’s me now, too.”

"Yes. People whose temporal signatures resist CHRONOS manipulation," he elaborates, voice dropping lower. "People who remember when reality changes. People who can see through the illusion."

"Like right now," you note, focusing on the coffee shop while maintaining awareness of the monitoring hub that should occupy its space. "I can hold both versions simultaneously."

"Exactly." For once, he doesn't sound annoyed by your analysis. "That's what makes you valuable. And dangerous."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.42%.

Agent Min's eyes flick to your wrist. "We need to stabilize you before continuing. Your variance is climbing."

"I'm fine," you counter, though the persistent throbbing behind your eyes suggests otherwise.

"You're not." His contradiction carries no room for debate. "Find somewhere quiet. Now."

You scan the area, identifying a narrow alley between buildings approximately 34 meters ahead. 

“There."

He follows your gaze and nods once, already adjusting his trajectory. His stride lengthens by precisely 0.07 meters—not enough for casual observation to detect, but you note the change immediately.

The alley provides 68% reduction in ambient noise and 74% decrease in visual stimuli—optimal conditions for temporal stabilization according to the limited data you've gathered.

Agent Min positions himself at precisely 47 centimeters from you—close enough for what you now understand is temporal alignment, but far enough to maintain whatever invisible boundary he's established.

"Your variance is too high," he states, glancing at your watch. "We need to reduce it before continuing."

"How?" The question is direct, clinical—exactly how you intend it.

His expression shifts, eyes darkening by approximately 12%. "Proximity and synchronized breathing. It's slow but effective."

Your analytical mind immediately identifies the logical gap. 

"If proximity helps stabilize my temporal signature, then closer proximity should logically be more efficient. Physical contact would provide maximum efficiency."

His jaw tightens so suddenly you can almost hear the teeth grinding. 

"No."

"Why not? It's the most logical solution."

"Because I said so." 

The childish response seems deliberately designed to irritate you.

It works.

"That's not a scientifically valid reason," you counter, crossing your arms. "Is there another method besides proximity and breathing?"

"No." 

His response comes too quickly—0.37 seconds faster than his average response time. You narrow your eyes, analytical mind immediately flagging the statistical anomaly. 

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying," he counters, voice dropping to that dangerous octave that somehow makes your skin prickle despite the climate-controlled tactical gear. "I'm just not telling you the whole truth."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not." His lips quirk upward in that infuriating half-smile. "One involves active deception. The other involves strategic omission."

"Strategic omission," you repeat, the term rolling off your tongue with obvious distaste. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"We've always called it that. You just don't remember."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps again: Temporal variance: 1.57%.

"Your variance is still climbing," he notes, voice shifting to something that might almost be concern if you didn't know better. "Focus on your breathing. Match mine."

You want to argue further, to push until he breaks and gives you the answers your analytical mind craves. But the pressure behind your eyes is intensifying, and your temporal readings are becoming increasingly unstable.

"Fine," you concede, though the word carries more edge than intended. "Breathing."

He inhales slowly—4 seconds in, 6 seconds out—establishing a rhythm that your body automatically begins to follow. 

The synchronization feels practiced, like muscle memory you shouldn't possess.

"Why do I know this pattern?" 

"Because your body remembers even when your mind doesn't."

"You keep saying that. It is not scientifically possible."

"Then why is it working?”

Your temporal variance begins to decrease—1.52%, 1.47%, 1.39%—the numbers falling in precise correlation with your synchronized breathing.

"Fascinating," you murmur, analytical mind already calculating the energy transfer mechanisms that might explain this phenomenon. "The temporal resonance between our signatures creates a stabilizing effect that—"

"Stop analyzing it," he interrupts, the command carrying a sharp edge. "The more you try to understand it, the worse your variance gets."

"That's counterintuitive."

"Welcome to temporal physics." His tone carries a dry humor that catches you off guard. "Where everything you think you know is wrong, and trying to figure out why makes your nose bleed."

Despite yourself, your lips twitch upward. 

Illogical. 

“That's an inefficient system."

"It's by design." His eyes never leave yours as he continues the breathing pattern. "CHRONOS doesn't want people understanding how reality actually works."

"And you do?"

A softening around the eyes that lasts precisely 0.7 seconds swallows his pupils before disappearing. 

"I want you to understand. Just not all at once."

The admission carries more weight than it should, creating a curious pressure in your chest that defies analytical categorization.

Your variance continues to decrease—1.31%, 1.24%, 1.18%—each number bringing you closer to stability.

"There's something you're not telling me," you state, the certainty absolute despite having no empirical evidence to support it.

His lips quirk upward—0.4 millimeters, right side only. 

"There are approximately 7,429 things I'm not telling you, A-735. You'll have to be more specific."

"About stabilization methods." Your eyes narrow, focusing on the micro-expressions that betray him. "There's another way, isn't there? Something more efficient than this."

His breathing pattern falters for exactly 0.3 seconds—a statistical anomaly that confirms your hypothesis.

"Yes," he admits finally, the word emerging with obvious reluctance.

"What is it?"

His jaw tightens, eyes darkening to that dangerous shade that makes your pulse accelerate by 7.2 beats per minute.

"Nothing you need to know right now."

"I disagree."

"Shocking."

The sarcasm in his tone is so thick you could practically measure its density. Strangely, it registers a progress in your head. 

"Is it dangerous?" 

“Not in the way you're thinking."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

He holds your gaze for exactly 3.7 seconds—42% longer than standard conversational eye contact. 

“Because once you know, you'll want to try it. And once you try it..." He pauses, something raw and unguarded flashing in his eyes. "Let's just say it complicates things."

"How?"

"Classified."

You exhale sharply through your nose, frustration spiking by approximately 43%. 

"You can't just classify everything you don't want to explain."

"Actually," he counters, that infuriating half-smile returning, "I can. It's one of the perks of being in charge."

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told." His eyes flicker to your watch. "1.03%. Almost stable."

Your variance continues to decrease—0.97%, 0.92%, 0.88%—each number bringing you closer to the standard range.

"We should continue the mission," you state once your readings stabilize at 0.84%.

He nods once, already turning toward the street. But before he can take a step, you catch his wrist—your gloved fingers wrapping around the tactical material covering his arm.

He freezes, entire body tensing like you've applied an electric shock.

"This isn't over," you state, voice low and precise. "I will figure it out."

His eyes meet yours, something dark and dangerous flickering in their depths. 

"I know you will. You always do."

The statement carries too much weight, too much history that you can't access. But before you can question it, he gently extracts his wrist from your grip and steps back onto the street.

You follow, sorting through the fragments of information, piecing together the puzzle that is Agent Min.

He's hiding something. Something important. Something about you, about him, about whatever connection exists between you that defies logical explanation.

And you're definitely going to figure out what it is.

You’ve been walking for exactly twenty-three minutes.

And Agent Min has looked at you ten times in the past five.

Each glance is quick—measured flickers of attention, like he’s trying to calculate something without setting off an alarm.

You count them anyway. You always count things when you don’t know what they mean.

The silence stretches between you, and it’s thick; clinging really. You expected him to appreciate it—your restraint, your control, your refusal to ask questions he won’t answer.

But instead, he’s growing restless.

Another glance. Quick. Sharp.

You stop walking.

He takes two more steps before realizing you aren’t following, turning around with a tilt of his head that would seem casual if it weren’t so obviously deliberate.

You cross your arms. Narrow your eyes. Catalog the slight shift in his posture.

“What.”

It comes out flat. Demanding.

He exhales—short, controlled, dismissive.

“Nothing.”

You frown, recalculating. “Then stop looking at me.”

He raises an eyebrow by approximately 0.5 centimeters. Very deliberate. Very measured.

“Not looking at you.”

You tilt your head, mirroring his earlier gesture.

“Incorrect. You’ve looked at me ten times in the last five minutes. Nine, if you want to exclude peripheral glances.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, which statistically increases the likelihood that he’s internally debating whether arguing is worth it.

You decide to press anyway. “Why?”

His mouth tightens, a minuscule shift of muscle you might have missed before. Not now. Now you notice everything.

“You’re distracting,” he says finally. Short. Clipped. Like ripping off a bandage.

You blink, recalibrating.

“How?”

He sighs, heavier this time—more oxygen expended, betraying more irritation than he probably intends.

“You’re…” He searches for the word like it’s a personal affront to have to find it. “…loud.”

“I’m not speaking.”

“Exactly.”

You process that.

“So my silence is distracting.”

“Yes.”

“Because you’re used to me questioning you.”

“Partly.”

Your eyes narrow. His left hand flexes at his side, the faint creak of leather betraying tension he’s probably holding in check.

“Then elaborate,” you say. Curious. Intrigued despite yourself.

“No.”

You resist the urge to sigh back at him—your own version of his exasperation. 

“Is it proximity?” you try again.  “I can increase distance if needed.”

The corner of his mouth twitches—barely—but enough to register.

“It’s not proximity,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“Then what is it?”

His eyes flicker back to you, sharp and cutting.

“You’re unpredictable,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

You tilt your head again, absorbing that.

“Unpredictability usually denotes a flaw in pattern recognition,” you say thoughtfully. “And you pride yourself on anticipating variables.”

His expression tightens, the faintest edge of irritation sparking.

Good. You’re getting somewhere.

“You’re not a variable,” he says finally, voice low. “You’re an anomaly.”

Your heart stutters—not from sentiment, but from the weight of the word.

Anomaly. Noma.

The nickname he’s never explained.

You hold his gaze, cataloging the dilation of his pupils, the slight tremor in his exhale.

0.4 seconds too long before he looks away.

Enough to register. Enough to matter.

You tilt your head a fraction to the left. Testing. Probing. 

“Your behavior denotes a penchant for sadism,” you observe. Neutral enough to pretend the words don’t sting a little when they land between you.

Yoongi exhales—slow, the faintest curl of amusement threading through the air. 

“Because I’m sadistic, clearly,” he mutters, voice rougher than necessary. 

Calculated imperfection.

You narrow your eyes. Catalog the rhythm of his steps, how they slow imperceptibly as you fall into pace again, how the ambient noise seems to dull when he speaks.

“You are being purposefully obtuse,” you accuse, sharper this time. “Being wistfully cryptic does not align with leadership traits. I would assume the leader of the 7th Hour would not engage in childish tactics.”

A beat.

He hums low in his throat—a noise of neither agreement nor denial. More like he’s tasting your words, deciding whether to bother answering at all.

“Me?” he says finally, deadpan. “Childish? Never.”

The dryness of it slashes across your skin like a blade dipped in velvet.

You scowl, which only earns you another flicker of that infuriating almost-smirk.

“I expected more,” you say, voice clipped. Measured. “That is on me for applying inappropriate expectations.”

“You’ll learn.” His tone drops, lazy and lethal. “Eventually.”

The way he says it—you’ll learn—prickles under your skin. 

Because it doesn’t sound like a threat.

It sounds like a promise.

Your body catalogues the microadjustments again: the flex of leather at his hands, the sharp lines of his jaw as he grinds out the words with so little effort it’s almost mocking.

You resist the irrational urge to step closer.

Proximity is inefficient. Emotional responses disrupt cognitive processing.

You recite it mentally like a catechism.

Still.

The question rises, unbidden.

The same way it seems to always do with him.

“What is the mission objective?”

Blunt. Necessary. Something to tether yourself back to reason.

He doesn’t break stride. Doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says instead, so casually it almost doesn’t register as condescension. Almost. “You’ll figure it out.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. Inefficient communication strategies. You’re tempted to cite the statistical decrease in operational success rates when leadership fails to fully brief its agents, but he’s baiting you. Purposefully.

And you, predictably, are already chasing.

“Statistically,” you begin, voice taut with precision, “the likelihood of successful insertion without a clear objective—”

“Statistically,” he cuts in, unbothered, “there shouldn’t even be a 25th hour.”

The implication lands harder than it should.

You tighten your jaw, recalibrating, watching how he watches you.

Like he’s daring you to keep up.

“You are evading,” you say. “Obfuscating under the guise of intellectual superiority.”

“Am I?” he says, feigning disinterest. His shoulders shrug—barely, beautifully. “Or maybe you just don’t like not being the smartest person in the room.”

You blink once. Slow. Methodical.

Your pulse betrays you anyway, kicking up by approximately 6 bpm.

“You overestimate your own cleverness,” you say evenly, even though some traitorous part of you wants him to keep doing it. 

Keep outsmarting you. Keep sparring until the tension snaps under its own weight.

“You underestimate my patience,” he counters.

Another tiny smirk. Quicker this time. Sharper.

Your chest feels too tight around your ribs.

Inefficient physiological response.

You step away—not because you want distance, but because your processing centers are beginning to overload. You need new data. A new angle.

You pivot sharply toward the park ahead.

Three steps away before you hear his chuckle—so quiet you almost mistake it for a glitch in ambient noise.

You don’t turn back.

Instead, you focus on the new structure—the park that wasn’t there before.

It waits ahead, pristine and out of place. Grass too green. Air too clean. Symmetry too perfect.

Manufactured. Synthetic.

You slow your pace, narrowing your eyes, cataloging inconsistencies: tree spacing (1.3 meters apart, unnaturally even), the curvature of the path (identical to simulation model 8C), the temperature drop (2 degrees lower than the surrounding sector).

You feel Yoongi’s presence a few steps behind you. Not following. Not chasing.

Waiting.

Just like he always does.

Just like he always has.

And somehow, despite everything you know—despite every logic protocol firing in your mind—you want him to follow anyway.

You inhale sharply. Taste static on your tongue.

Focus.

Not on him.

On the mission.

On the park.

Focus on anything except the way Min Yoongi—a ghost, an anomaly—manages to outsmart you without even trying.

So that’s what you do—you focus forward, eyes locking onto the new structure rising ahead of you—all marble paths and manicured trees and gentle, glistening statues under the waning light.

A park that didn’t exist last week.

A plaza that hums wrong against your skin.

Your steps slow as you approach, instinct warning you even before your mind can fully process it.

You analyze the angles of the paths. The symmetry of the displays. The too-perfect gloss of the stone.

The air feels wrong here—too still, like it's been filtered of something vital.

But curiosity nags at you. It always does, when things defy explanations.

You step forward into the park, assessing its dimensions with a precision that seems excessive even to you. The perimeter measures exactly 247.8 meters around. The pathways curve at identical 30-degree angles. The statues are placed at equidistant intervals of precisely 12.4 meters.

Perfect. Too perfect.

Your temporal readings spike by 0.17% as you observe families strolling casually through what your analytical mind categorizes as a statistical impossibility. A man pushes a stroller past a bronze figure frozen mid-gesture. A couple takes selfies beneath the outstretched arm of another.

"The Garden of Stability," reads a polished plaque at the entrance. "Honoring those who sacrificed to maintain our timeline."

You've never seen this place before. You're certain of it. 

Yet your Chrono-Sync Watch registers no anomalies beyond the acceptable variance threshold.

Curious.

You move deeper into the garden, cataloging details: like the fact that the statues are eerily lifelike—capturing expressions with a fidelity that exceeds current manufacturing capabilities by approximately 27%. 

Furthermore, each statue has a small plaque fixed to its base. 

You approach the nearest one, a figure of a woman with her hand extended, fingers splayed as if reaching for something just beyond grasp.

"In memory of Eska Thior—sacrificed herself to stabilize Sector 7 during the temporal disturbance of 2156."

Your eyes narrow as you analyze the woman's expression. 

The sculptor has captured what should be determination, but there's something else—something in the eyes that registers as wrong. 

Your visual processing identifies it as fear, not resolve.

You move to the next statue. A man looking skyward, one foot slightly raised as if caught mid-step.

"In memory of Vayon Zesian—sacrificed himself to protect civilian timelines during the Sector 4 anomaly."

The black man's face is frozen in what the plaque suggests is awe or reverence. But your pattern recognition flags inconsistencies: the tension in his jaw is 38% higher than would be expected in a reverent expression. His fingers are curved at angles suggesting resistance, not surrender.

Your head throbs—a dull, persistent ache that intensifies as you catalog each discrepancy. Yet you continue, your analytical mind demanding more data despite the physical discomfort.

A sharp tug at your wrist interrupts your analysis. You turn, ready to object to the invasion of your personal space, when you register Agent Min's face exactly 31.7 centimeters from yours. His eyes contain a warning that makes no logical sense given the context.

"Shh," he says, the sound barely audible at 22 decibels. "Act normal."

You blink, processing both the command and the unusual tension in his posture. His hand remains on your wrist, gloved fingers gripping with precisely 42% more pressure than necessary for attention-getting purposes.

"This wasn't here yesterday," you whisper, your voice automatically matching his volume. "It's new."

"Yes, it is," he confirms, his eyes never meeting yours. Instead, they scan the perimeter. "And I'd advise against looking at the statues."

The request is illogical. You're already looking at them. You've already cataloged five discrepancies and three statistical anomalies in their design.

"Why?" you ask, the question forming before you can process the tension radiating from his body.

You turn away from him precisely as he tightens his grip—too late to stop your movement. Your eyes land on a statue directly ahead, positioned 15.3 meters from your current location. 

A man in a CHRONOS uniform, arms outstretched as if embracing the air around him.

Robin.

Your cognitive processes stutter, creating a 0.7-second delay between visual input and meaning assignment. 

Robin. Cubicle 47-B. Coffee preference: black with one sugar. Temporal compliance rating: 98.7%. Lunch companion: yesterday, 12:37 PM to 1:14 PM.

"That's Robin," you state, your voice dropping to 19 decibels. "I had lunch with him yesterday."

Your stomach contracts unexpectedly, digestive acids rising by approximately 37%. Your neural pathways struggle to reconcile the contradiction: Robin alive yesterday. Robin memorialized today.

Robin moving, breathing, complaining about the cafeteria's tempeh option yesterday.

Robin frozen in bronze today.

No fabrication facility could produce a statue this detailed in less than 24 hours. 

The metallurgical processes alone would require at minimum 72 hours for casting and cooling, with an additional 48 for detailing and patina development.

Unless...

Your analytical mind reaches the conclusion precisely as your stomach lurches again—a visceral response you didn't anticipate and cannot control.

They're not statues.

"We need to leave," Agent Min says, voice pitched extremely low. 

His fingers adjust on your wrist, shifting downward by 2.3 centimeters until they rest against the pulse point where your glove meets your sleeve.

Your heart rate increases by 13.7 beats per minute.

Not from his touch. From the realization.

"They're not statues," you confirm aloud, your voice clinical despite the acid burning the back of your throat. "They're people. Frozen in some form of temporal stasis."

Agent Min's jaw tightens, the muscle visibly tensing beneath his skin. 

“Not here," he warns, his voice barely audible. "Camera at your two o'clock, range 17 meters. Audio capture capabilities."

You process this new variable, immediately adjusting your behavior patterns. Your posture shifts by 4.3 degrees—more casual, less alert. Your expression recalibrates to something 76% more neutral.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable," you say at standard conversational volume, the words feeling like ash on your tongue. "Such attention to detail."

Agent Min's eyes flash with something that might be approval if it weren't overshadowed by urgency. 

“We should continue our walk," he says evenly. "There's more to see in Sector 4."

His fingers remain at your pulse point for exactly 2.7 seconds longer than necessary before releasing. The warmth lingers—a ghost sensation you struggle to categorize.

You follow his lead, moving away from Robin's frozen form with measured steps despite the increasing pressure in your chest. Your breathing adjusts automatically—in for 4 seconds, out for 6—matching the pattern Agent Min established earlier.

Families continue to mill around you, oblivious to the horror disguised as art. A child points at Robin's statue, tugging at her mother's sleeve.

"He looks so happy, mommy! Like he's giving everyone a big hug!"

Your vision blurs by approximately 12%—an inexplicable visual phenomenon you'll need to analyze later.

Agent Min positions himself precisely 47 centimeters to your left—close enough for temporal alignment, far enough to maintain whatever invisible boundary he's established. 

But something has changed. 

His posture carries 27% more tension than before, and his eyes scan the area with a renowned frequency.

"Don't look back," he instructs as you approach the park's exit. "And whatever you do, don't react when I tell you this."

You maintain your neutral expression, eyes fixed forward as instructed.

"There are seventeen of them in this garden," he says, voice low and controlled. "All from your monitoring facility. All disappeared within the last 72 hours."

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps softly: Temporal variance: 1.12%.

A warning. Your emotional response is affecting your temporal stability.

You inhale slowly, forcing your analytical mind to take precedence over the uncomfortable pressure building behind your sternum.

"Probability of coincidence: less than 0.003%," you calculate aloud, keeping your voice steady despite the data.

"It's not a coincidence," he confirms, voice dropping even lower. "It's a message."

"For who?"

His eyes meet yours briefly—0.8 seconds of direct contact that somehow feels heavier than it should.

"For us," he says simply. "For you."

Your temporal variance increases to 1.17%.

"They're hunting for Outliers," he continues, eyes scanning the path ahead. "This garden is both a warning and a trap. They're watching for reactions—for people who recognize what they're really seeing."

“That's why you grabbed my wrist. You anticipated my reaction."

A ghost of that infuriating half-smile crosses his face. "You're predictable in some ways, Noma."

The nickname dulls the ache sitting low in your stomach for reasons you cannot comprehend.

"Robin greeted me yesterday," you realize aloud, the pieces clicking into place. "At lunch. He looked at me strangely when I mentioned the temporal fluctuation in Sector 3."

Agent Min's expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes darkens. 

“How long was the conversation?"

"17 minutes, 42 seconds."

"And did you discuss anything related to temporal anomalies after that?"

You review the memory, analyzing each exchange with renewed scrutiny. 

"Negative. The conversation shifted to cafeteria food quality."

He exhales—a controlled release of breath that betrays nothing of his thoughts. 

“That might have been enough."

Your stomach lurches.

Robin is frozen in bronze because of you. Because he noticed something. Because he might have reported it.

The data is insufficient for a definitive conclusion, but the probability exceeds 72.4%.

Your temporal variance increases to 1.23%.

"Steady," Agent Min murmurs, his voice carrying a cadence that seems designed to stabilize your readings. "Focus on your breathing. In for 4, out for 6."

You comply automatically, your body responding to the instruction before your mind can process why. 

"Is this what happens to all Outliers?" you ask once your variance stabilizes at 1.09%. "They become... monuments?"

"No," he says finally. "Most are simply erased and reprogrammed. This is... new."

"A tactical adjustment," you surmise. "Enhanced psychological warfare."

"Yes." 

"Why now?"

His jaw tightens, eyes darkening to that dangerous shade that makes your pulse accelerate by 7.2 beats per minute. 

"Because they're getting desperate."

"Why would CHRONOS be desperate? They control reality itself."

His eyes meet yours, something unreadable flashing in their depths. 

“That's what I'd like to know," he mutters, voice dropping to that dangerous octave that makes your skin prickle.

The discrepancy registers immediately. Agent Min doesn't ask questions—he provides answers, often cryptic and insufficient, but answers nonetheless. This response pattern deviates by approximately 87% from established behavioral norms.

Before you can analyze further, your body betrays you.

It starts as a contraction in your esophagus—sudden, violent, measuring approximately 74% stronger than standard swallowing reflex. Your salivary glands activate at 243% above baseline, flooding your mouth with excess moisture. Your stomach muscles clench in rhythmic waves, each contraction more intense than the last.

The analytical part of your mind calculates: gastric acid rising at 7.2 centimeters per second, diaphragm contracting at 3.7 times normal pressure, throat constricting at 82% capacity.

The rest of you simply feels.

Robin's face. Frozen in bronze that isn't bronze.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps a warning: Temporal variance: 2.43%.

A dangerous spike.

Your body heaves, doubling you over with a force that defies voluntary control. The acid burns at exactly 4.7 on the pH scale, searing the back of your throat as you fight to contain it. Your vision narrows to a field of approximately 47 degrees, peripheral awareness fading as your sensory systems redirect all processing power to the immediate crisis.

You register Agent Min's hand on your back—exactly T4 vertebra, pressure precisely calibrated at 2.3 kilograms, generating heat at 38.2°C despite the glove barrier.

"CHRONOS agents," he says, voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "Two o'clock, range 43 meters. Moving this way."

Your body doesn't care about CHRONOS agents. Your body only knows that Robin is frozen in timeless agony while families take selfies beneath his outstretched arms.

Another contraction—87% stronger than the previous one. Your analytical mind attempts to categorize the physiological response but finds no suitable parameters. 

This isn't logical. This isn't efficient. This isn't you.

Agent Min's hand moves from your spine to your wrist in one fluid motion. His fingers lock around the pulse point where your glove meets your sleeve, grip tensing to exactly 3.6 kilograms of pressure.

"Move. Now."

Your body moves before your mind processes the instruction, legs automatically adjusting to match his sudden directional shift. You register environmental changes with fragmented precision: ambient temperature decreasing by 1.7°C, crowd density increasing by 23%, noise levels rising to 72 decibels.

Agent Min guides you, his body angled at exactly 37 degrees relative to yours—shielding you from direct line of sight with the approaching agents while maintaining casual appearance.

"Temporal signature spiking," he mutters, grip tightening by another 0.4 kilograms. "They'll detect it if we don't stabilize you."

Your watch confirms his assessment: Temporal variance: 3.17%.

Critical threshold approaching.

The nausea intensifies, each wave synchronized perfectly with the beeping of your watch. Their correlation approaches 97.3%—statistically significant by any measure.

"Coffee shop," Agent Min decides, adjusting your trajectory by 28 degrees. "Northeast corner. Dampening field in the walls."

Your cognitive processes struggle to keep pace with the sensory overload. The street blurs around you—not from speed but from some perceptual distortion your analytical mind cannot quantify.

You glimpse your reflection in a storefront window as you pass—your face pale by approximately 37% compared to baseline, pupils dilated to 7.2 millimeters, micro-expressions cycling at 3.4 times normal rate.

You barely recognize yourself.

Another contraction seizes your stomach, more violent than before. Agent Min's arm shifts, sliding around your waist with a familiarity that feels habitual despite being entirely new. 

"Almost there," he says, voice dropping to that calibrated cadence that seems designed to stabilize your readings. "In for 4, out for 6. Match me."

Your body complies automatically, respiratory system syncing to his pattern without conscious direction. 

CHRONOS agents appear in your peripheral vision—three of them, moving with the unnatural precision that marks them as Timekeepers. Their trajectory will intersect with yours in approximately 12.3 seconds at current velocity.

"They're tracking your signature," Agent Min confirms, pace increasing by 0.3 meters per second. "Coffee shop.”

The coffee shop materializes ahead—a nondescript building with that averageness that makes it practically invisible to casual observation. Its design incorporates exactly zero distinguishing architectural features, rendering it 87% forgettable to the human brain.

Perfect camouflage.

Agent Min guides you through the door body positioned at precisely the optimal angle to shield yours from external observation. The bell chimes at exactly 56 hertz—a frequency your analytical mind flags as mathematically significant though you cannot immediately determine why.

The door closes behind you with a soft click that somehow sounds final.

Agent Min's arm remains around your waist—a point of contact your body accepts with suspicious automaticity.

Your Chrono-Sync Watch beeps one last time before falling silent: Temporal variance: 1.78%.

Decreasing. Stabilizing.

The nausea recedes by approximately 42%, leaving behind a hollow sensation you cannot properly categorize.

Agent Min's eyes meet yours, and he looks… concerned?

"Breathe," he instructs.

You comply, your body responding to his command without conscious direction.

In for 4.

Out for 6.

In for 4.

Out for 6.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

goal: 100 notes.

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[aidaita]

Oreo’s urgent Vet Bill

Hi everyone, this is the proper post I promised a few days ago and I apologize for the delay, the last 2-3 days was stressful but I’m emotionally stable to type everything down.

I’ve made an update post on my Ko-fi a few days ago if you haven’t seen it.

To start off, Oreo is my male cat son I’ve take care of for the past 9 years since that fateful day I encountered him 8 years ago. At the time, I was in a dark place mentally as I was heavily depressed from losing a dear friend and in an effort to cheer up, I went outside for a walk with a close friend to the canal two streets down from where I live, and that was where I saw a pair of eyes staring at me. A month old kitten I named Oreo and from that day, Oreo has brightened my world and I’ve taken him in as my precious fur baby ever since. My family unfortunately lost our other cat, Blueberry, last year to cancer for the medicine and treatments weren’t enough to ease her suffering from the cancer, so when Oreo’s second blockage on the evening of February 28, 2025 occurred, I was absolutely terrified.

That night, I skipped dinner, I stayed up half the night watching over Oreo and had a fitful sleep of a few hours, waking up in between the few hours to the noises Oreo was making from the blockage. And so on March 1, I went directly to an animal hospital I normally go to for his check ups, exams, previous surgery he had, but unfortunately they had to turn me away for being fully booked, so I was forced to go to another vet clinic that accepts emergency visits and that’s where I ended up in VCA Knowles Snapper Creek pet hospital and the very expensive vet bill.

The initial estimate is the one I originally posted on my other post which I’ll upload here for 48 hours observation.

I was also given an estimation for 24 hr observation but in both estimations, it was super expensive and I work at a $13 part time retail work shift and I could not afford it whatsoever. The last surgeries were paid for by my mom but this time she could not pay for this, and she has other health-related financial payments to recuperate financially and that was when I begun to get very stressed and panic. It was made worse and broke me into an emotional panic when my mother suggested that we may have to put him to sleep as we cannot keep paying $3k every time he gets a blockage.

My heart sank, I was not ready to let Oreo go yet. I became so distraught.

What can I do to save Oreo?

I’ve been frantically looking online what to do, looking into pet insurance, frequently asking for payments plans, asking what they can do to reduce the prices, etc. all while I’m on a time limit as I had a work shift in the next 2-3 hours and with this emergency situation, I absolutely needed every hour I can get. It was the most horrible position to be in the middle of.

Oreo could not qualify for pet insurance because it does not cover for pre-existing conditions/treatments (this is his second blockage), the pet hospital (both the first I went to and the second) do not have payment plans, every new estimations they gave me in an effort to help me and Oreo came with high risks such as one that is the bare minimum (just unblocking Oreo) but there’s a big possibility he could be blocked later that day or the next day.

Secondly, Oreo has already been on a treatment plan with his strict diet of prescription Urinary Care food with Science Hill’s ever since his first blockage sometime last year (or 2? I’m not sure, I don’t have the papers from the first one as my mom took him to the vet that time). And the doctors told me that it seems despite the strict diet he has been in, he still got the blockage from built-up sediments. On top of that, in the last vet visit on January 25, 2025 with the first pet hospital, Oreo has IVDD, or at least the beginning of it that the doctors told at the time said “it’s not a big deal right now,” so it will be a problem to look out for as he’s still young.

My mother’s comment of possibly putting him to sleep loomed over my head over all this…

And that was when I decided I can’t do this alone, I’m not ready to let Oreo go yet, not like this, not so soon. So for the first time, I’ve come to you all on the internet for help.

Due to the time constraints, I have no choice but to open a credit line with CareCredit just for this bill for Oreo but the fact he could get blocked again, issues with IVDD possibly rearing its head more urgently so soon, and with this massive bill to pay with my $13 part time retail shift, I knew that if another emergency or urgent vet visit occurs, I will have no choice but to put him to sleep.

That is why I’ve come to you all for help with the emergency vet bill on March 1, 2025 and… my goodness, within 24 hours, we have reached a little more than 1/3 of the $4000 goal (41% reached as I post this) and I could not be anymore thankful and grateful for all of you kindness and generosity to save my baby in this difficult time.

Yesterday I got to visit Oreo, he’s unblocked and appears to be urinating fine, recovering seems to be going well although he does have UTI so there’s a bit of blood in his urine (doctors reassured me that the UTI and blockage are not linked) so he’s getting treatments for that as well.

Today, Oreo will be discharged later in the afternoon or evening so he’ll be coming home soon.

The bill is still stressful but with all of you kind words, encouragement, generosity, and advice, it doesn’t feel as heavy as before. It is still a lot left to pay off so if you can, please donate to my Ko-Fi here so I can focus solely on strictly ensuring Oreo stays with me much longer such as wet food, running water fountain, new litter box, etc.

All donations received will be used solely for the bill and any additional expenses that may come up in the last few hours as I type.

And to everyone who donated so far, thank you… Truly, thank you. The tears I’ve shed the past 2 days were of stress and huge relief.

I will keep posting updates as they happen.

[kitty384]

Stay With Me

Summary: Y/N hides a serious injury during a mission, desperate not to slow Bucky down or be left behind. But as her vision blurs and her body gives out, she collapses at his side—and Bucky catches her just in time. Furious, heartbroken, and terrified, he carries her to medbay himself, whispering promises she doesn’t hear… yet.

Warnings: Injury, fainting/collapse, panic, Bucky being emotionally overwhelmed, protective/angry Bucky, guilt, soft medbay comfort, implied past trauma, hurt/comfort, angst with a warm resolution.

They’d barely cleared the final corridor when Bucky heard it.

Not the alarms still blaring behind them.

Not the pounding of boots as Sam and Natasha brought up the rear.

No—what Bucky heard was you.

The soft, sharp gasp that tore from your throat as your knees buckled and you went down hard against the concrete floor.

“Y/N!”

He was at your side in seconds, the rifle clattering to the ground as he dropped to his knees and caught you just before your head hit the floor.

Your face was pale.

Sweat dotted your brow.

And blood—so much blood—was seeping through the side of your tactical suit.

His heart stopped.

He hadn't even seen it happen.

“What—what the hell—why didn’t you say anything?” he choked out, hands shaking as they pressed over the wound. You flinched, just barely.

“I didn’t…” You were breathing fast, unfocused. “I didn’t want to… slow you down…”

Bucky swore, sharp and venomous, like he could spit the fear right out of his mouth.

“You’re bleeding out and you didn’t want to slow me down?! Are you kidding me, doll?!”

Sam’s voice crackled in his comm. “Extraction team’s outside. You guys close?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You whimpered, one hand weakly fisting the front of his suit.

“I just… wanted to finish the mission…”

“You are the mission,” Bucky snapped, pressing his forehead against yours for one brief, breathless second. “You’re the only goddamn thing I care about right now.”

The quinjet ride was a blur.

Bucky held you the entire time, arms locked around your body like he could will the blood to stay inside.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, head pressed to his chest, your breathing too shallow.

The moment the medbay doors opened, he carried you straight through them like his life depended on it.

Because it did.

It took everything in him to let the med team take you.

To step back, hands sticky with your blood, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Steve was at his side in a second.

“Buck—”

“Don’t.”

“She’s gonna be okay.”

“She better be,” Bucky ground out, voice raw. “Because I swear to God, if she—if she—”

He couldn’t say it.

Wouldn’t.

Hours passed.

Too many.

But eventually, Bruce emerged, surgical gloves off and face tired.

“She’s stable,” he said gently. “Lost a lot of blood, but she’s going to be fine.”

Bucky didn’t wait for permission.

He was in your room seconds later.

You were asleep—pale, hooked up to an IV, bandages wrapping your side.

But alive.

Breathing.

Still you.

He sat down in the chair beside your bed and just… stared.

For a long time.

Until your eyes fluttered open.

“…Buck?”

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the hair off your forehead. “Hi, baby.”

You blinked slowly. “…Did we finish the mission?”

Bucky almost laughed—but it caught in his throat like glass.

“Yeah. We did. But you—Jesus, Y/N, you scared the hell out of me.”

Your eyes welled up. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “Just—why didn’t you tell me? You collapsed in front of me and I had no idea you were hurt.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

Bucky’s chest cracked open.

His hand found yours instantly, gripping it with everything he had.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You did.

Tired. Soft. Still scared.

“You are not weak. You’re the strongest damn person I know. But if you ever—ever—hide something like that from me again, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I didn’t want to be a liability,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said firmly. “You’re my partner. My girl. My heart. And I can’t protect you if I don’t know you’re hurt.”

You blinked, and a tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re everything to me,” Bucky whispered. “Don’t ever make me carry you into a medbay like that again. Just tell me. Please.”

You nodded, tears spilling now.

“I promise.”

Later, when you were curled against him in your recovery bed, one hand resting over your healing ribs, you whispered,

“You stayed with me the whole time?”

“All night,” he murmured, kissing your temple.

“I’m sorry you had to worry.”

He shook his head, voice thick.

“I’d rather worry a thousand times than lose you once.”

You didn’t hide anything from him after that. And Bucky never let you forget: You weren’t a burden. You were the reason he fought in the first place.

Masterlist

Request

[cxlamarisalxmi]

Being a variant and being on Miles’ side [GN]

[Platonic Headcanons]

c/w: major spoilers, gender neutral terms and pronouns (they/them), no gendered terms used to describe reader, canon inaccuracies? I’m not really sure I’d just gone off what I had perceived from the movie

—

[Unedited]

• Miguel and Jessica had been keeping a keen eye on the teenager spider variant (you) from Earth-2315126 since you’d been bitten at five years old

• Strange thing was your father; Peter Parker was also bit, which meant your dimension had two spider variants as opposed to one— not unheard of but not common either

• It was fortunate for you however because you had someone to teach you, show you the ropes, the fact that it was your father who had become your mentor was only the icing on the cake

• And you were brought up into a spectacular spider variant in his care; strong, compassionate, kind

• Though despite having a father the pair kept a watchful eye on you regardless, seeing promise in your future and believing in your potential

• When you were fourteen your father was killed by Lizard, and for an entire year following you gave up on your heroic persona— hanging up your suit in the wake of your father’s death that rocked your entire world

• Being Spider-Man/Woman is about sacrifice, your father taught that to you when you began and you should’ve expected that you could not have it all

• A loving and doting father and the most badass secondary identity ever, it was always bound to happen and you should’ve prepared yourself for it

• But nobody could prepare themself for the loss of a loved one, and the ache in your chest and the burn in your stomach was something you’d never felt before— nor do you ever wish to feel it again

• So you gave up on the suit and you gave up on being the hero, eventually your Aunt May had stepped in and she scolded you pretty heavily about your state

• You didn’t think she had room to talk and she laid into you pretty hard for that comment because she most certainly did, Peter was her brother after all

• After you got it pretty good you decided that she was right, sulking about and ruining yourself wouldn’t change a damn thing, not only that but you knew your father would hate to see you like that

• You knew he wouldn’t ever force the suit upon you and you accepted that you had the choice to avoid dawning it ever again, but you also knew what he would do in your position

• He would bear the responsibility of his beloved city no matter the circumstances and no matter the heartache, because Spider-Man always gets back up

• So you stood firm upon all the valiant determination you could muster and picked your life back up again

• You got better emotionally and grew stable once more, and in the acceptance of your father’s death you had grown stronger, confident, courageous

• With you back on the streets of NYC the people of Brooklyn often voiced just how much they had missed and needed you

• And you didn’t plan on letting them down again, so despite the lack of a piece of your heart you always showed up when people needed you and you’ve not yet let them down

• Now, back to Jess and Miguel— they had known Peter would die and they had known they could not interfere as this was your canon event, the moment that would make or break you.. turns out it did both

• And they watched as you suffered through the loss, gave up on everything and everyone (including yourself) for a little over a year, worked through your pain and powered forward to overcome your grief, then became one of the strongest variants they had ever seen just before your seventeenth birthday

• Yes, they’ve been watching you for twelve years and yes, you have no idea

• It was on your seventeenth birthday that you had encountered Lizard once again, and this time he had taken enhancement drugs to increase his growth rate to tremendously rapid levels

• To say you were a bit stunned to see Lizard the size of a fucking dinosaur would be the understatement of the entire damn year

• Now, you held malicious and vengeful feelings towards Lizard for a long time in the wake of your father’s murder but it was feelings you had never ever acted upon, not even after you decided to pick up the suit once more

• As mentioned before you knew very well that the angry and hateful feeling brewing inside you at the expense of Lizard killing him could ruin you if you let it

• And that’s not where your morals lie, your beliefs and virtues are straight from those of your fathers— to be strong and courageous, righteous and pure for being Spider-Man/Woman is about hope

• So you did intend to take him down but you’d never do it with sinister intent or threatening tactics— just bring him down is all you wanted to do

• And if you were to speak honestly, it wasn’t as hard as you thought it was gonna be, obviously it was still pretty tough because hello? He’s the size of a fucking house, might as well be fighting a damn dragon

• It was easier because you’d felt at peace with yourself, and when at peace with yourself you worked harder and cleaner, jobs and protecting the city was just.. easier

• The fact the fight was easier than you expected could’ve also been because of your bite, the abilities you had gotten from it were a bit different than your father’s

• See, you’d been bit by a radioactive spider yes but it was a specific species and in accordance with that species you’d gained significantly different skills and traits

• The spider that had bit you was a Northern Wolf Spider, the arachnid gaining that name from it’s behavior of chasing, hunting and stalking prey, and in an odd turn of events you’d gained qualities that were more akin to that of a North American Timber Wolf

• Heightened senses came with the bite for every variant, and your specific qualities included; advanced stamina and strength, increased sense of sight, tremendously keen sense of smell and auditory processing, you had thick and durable fangs meant for tearing and searing

• You also bulked up a whole more more since your father passed, and in gaining more weight in pure muscle you’ve had to make your webs more durable, which helped out a lot with your fight against Lizard

• Speaking of—

“They’ve probably got it handled Miguel, is there any reason to actually go to their dimension?”

“I protect the multiverse which makes anomalies my responsibility, regardless of if that variant can handle them or not. And I’m going to have them join us.”

Jessica didn’t say much after, and she followed Miguel dutifully as he walked into the glowing orange portal. The pair flew through the multiverse for all of two seconds before a portal opened ahead of them and they were dropped onto a roof in your dimension.

“Went a bit too heavy on the ‘roids didn’t ya Doc?” The voice of a young teenager caught their ears. Just off to the side and a couple blocks away. Now facing that way they could see the large head of Lizard standing tall over the lip of the building on the distance.

“Is.. is that?—”

“Dr. Curt Connors.”

You leapt off the metal grail of the fire escape just as Lizard destroyed it with a whip of his massive tail. Using the momentum from your jump you swung a reverse axe kick to Lizard’s chin— putting enough force into it to throw his head back as you flip-jumped from him and landed on the road down below.

“I’m going to rip you apart and feast on your innards!” Lizard snarled as he recovered and glowered down at you with a sinister bear of his teeth.

“Season them well first at least, I’d suggest a nice barbecue rub!” You responded before shooting a web to the corner of the building on your left and swinging yourself into the air. Lizard roared angrily before lunging forward and attempting to catch you between his teeth. They snapped close with a chilling clamp and throaty growl from the beast.

Reaching the corner of the building you had shot your web at you leapt up and backwards flying over Lizard’s head and connecting a web to the side of his muzzle.

“Almost got me there!” You yelled as you swung around and around Lizard’s large scaled snout. “Don’t you know that animals that bite are often fitted with muzzles!” You quipped, enunciating the last word with a firm tug thus tightening the webs you’d been wrapping around his jaws and effectively sealing his mouth shut.

You kept the momentum and attached another web to the end of the one you’d been swinging around his muzzle. Then, you angled your hip to swing towards Lizard’s legs and using the same tactic looped around them several times before you were doing the same thing for his arms. When you deemed him wrapped up enough you landed behind him then tugged hard on the web end in your hand and forced Lizard to the ground by pulling his feet out from underneath him.

Once you were sure he was on the asphalt you were swift to web him up tightly and bind him to the ground. Hopefully, Captain Stacey got your message about the antidote and would arrive soon with it.

Meanwhile, as you waited you playfully walked along the edge of the building. The lip acting as your balance beam as you walked on your toes along it, doing a flip every so often just cause. You’d long since forgone your mask in favor of eating the sandwich gifted to you by the bodega owner on the corner.

Your spider senses tingled before—

“That was pretty impressive.”

You only flinched slightly at the abrupt interruption of your own little world, and turned to see two people. One, a very tall and broad man with wide shoulders and a muscular physique. The other, a woman with dark skin and a styled afro.. and she was pregnant.

“Uhm… thanks?”

“Was that a question?”

“Sorry it’s just—” you shook your head before jumping down and only now standing on the same level as him did you realize how tall the man actually was. “Who exactly are you two?”

“I’d think the suits gave you plenty context.” The woman replied, a smirk tugging up one end of her lips.

“Okay.. and why are you here?” You answered, still on edge about the two variants standing in front of you.

“My name is Miguel O’hara, and I lead an elite strike force dedicated to helping maintain the multiverse.” The man responded and you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here?”

“There was an anomaly reading in your dimension and we’re here to retrieve whatever villain has jumped into your universe.” The woman explained, jumping in to answer before Miguel could.

“You mean Kingpin?” You replied pointing to the billboard behind them and they both spun around to find the suit wearing antagonist webbed to it. Thick, white webs covering his entire body save for his neck and head, finally a web over his mouth. And they all watched as he glitched and morphed in colorful and mixed patterns, the board he was attached to glitching out too before changing entirely.

“How did you?—”

“My AP Physics teacher won’t shut up about the multiverse and also he doesn’t look my Kingpin at all so.. I mean you know,” they shrugged.

Miguel turned his head slightly to look at the woman beside him before he jerked his head minutely then he was facing the teenager in front of him once more. You met his masked stare head on (something he was impressed by, not many people can meet his intimidating glare straight on) as the woman walked away from you two before slinging a web up to the billboard and pulling herself up to it.

“You know the whole sinister and dark ‘nobody touch me I’m emo’ vibe you got going on isn’t very heroic.”

Miguel didn’t say anything, didn’t move an inch as he just stared at you. “See that right there isn’t becoming of someone who’s supposed to make people feel safe.”

“I protect the multiverse.”

“Right. But there are ordinary people in the multiverse, in every dimension you’ll find people.”

“The multiverse is my priority.”

“Yikes, saying things like that are not very becoming of a Spider-Man either.”

Miguel turned his observant stare cold as he chose to glare at you instead for the disrespectful responses and jokes. And he figured you must’ve felt he’d changed to glaring heatedly because you awkwardly looked away with a hand rubbing the back of your neck.

Finally, the woman returned with the Kingpin variant at her feet. This one significantly smaller than yours and lankier too, he must rely heavily on his Tombstone and Prowler. You’d rather have this Kingpin as opposed to your Kingpin— who for some reason is built like a fucking overgrown Silverback Gorilla.

She fiddled with the watch on her wrist before a golden portal erupted into life beside her, and you watched as she threw the Kingpin variant in before stepping in herself. But not before saluting you a goodbye with a playful glint in her eye and cheeky smirk on her face.

The portal closed and then your attention was back on Miguel, and your spider senses tingling brought a hand up to catch the watch he threw at you.

“Join us?”

You looked from him to the device in your hand, then you looked behind you at the Lizard on the ground down below. Captain Stacey at his neck and injecting him with a vial of clear liquid. You turned back to Miguel with a smirk and eager look as you slid the watch onto your wrist. “Sounds like a damn good time.”

• You didn’t know if you actually wanted to be there at Miguel’s Spider Society or whatever he’s calling it but you were also a bit intrigued by it

• So you followed them when he offered you that watch, and you grinned as he gave walked you around the building, giving you a small tour of his headquarters

• When you met Peter B. Parker you had an emotional breakdown and refused to return to the society for days following your first interaction with the man

• When you finally went back he was concerned that he’d done something wrong to garner such a reaction but you were quick to jump in and let him know it was in no way his fault before you explained why you had reacted as you did

• He was more than understanding, offering to keep his distance if that was what you wanted and whilst you appreciated the gesture you told him you would be fine

• And spending time in his company had begun to fill that gaping hole in your heart, obviously he’d never replace your father and you didn’t expect that of him either but his fatherly presence made you feel better than you had in years since your father’s passing

• Mayday was just an added bonus to his presence

• Time passed and you were there for a couple months before you met Gwen Stacey, and the two of you clicked almost instantly, it was a bit odd for you since the Gwen from your universe was about three years old and hadn’t been bitten but you got used to it

• And in that time you’d also learned the pregnant woman’s name was Jessica and that she was Miguel’s right hand in his society that he created

• You’d also met Hobie Brown and Pavitr Prabhakar whom you’d come to adore more than you’d ever outwardly admit lest you wish to give them egos the size of fucking Mars (but those two alongside Gwen were definitely your favorites) (behind Miguel ofc)

• Speaking of, you’d also grown quite close to Miguel in your time as part of his society of spider people, which was a huge surprise to yourself, him, Jessica and pretty much everyone involved

• He couldn’t really explain what it was, just something about your energy and the way you carried yourself that had him intrigued and impressed

• Your attitude that alluded to you never giving up was something he admired about you too, and it was those qualities that drew him in, made him want to protect you

• The bonding with you was something he didn’t expect to happen but was shocked when he wasn’t against it, and he ignored the initial reluctance and fear that he felt when you two began to get closer and closer

• Maybe it was the little things, the way you’d check up on him after a particularly harrowing or difficult mission, or the way you’d do anything to see if you could get him to crack a smile, there was something about your mere presence too, something warm and comforting

• Something he hadn’t felt since his young daughter was still a part of his life, and he was afraid of the consequences that would follow if he ever got close to you and lost you

• The same heartache he felt for his daughter would return, and it was pain that he didn’t want to feel ever again, that’s why he kept himself so guarded, those broken and vulnerable pieces protected behind vaulted steel doors

• But you had somehow managed to slip through his barbed defenses and made yourself right at home in his heart, and again he was initially afraid of the possibility that he’d lose you too and he’d face that pain all over again

• He doesn’t remember when or how he got over it, but he does remember the feeling that washed over him when he finally accepted your friendship

• It felt akin to a bucket of cold water being dumped over that fiery and searing ache in his chest, relief and comfort that he felt weigh so heavily on his chest he almost cried

• After that your guys’ relationship developed to much deepen levels, and he’d never admit to your face but you had quickly become his favorite and he would do anything to protect you, protect your bond like his life depended on it

• And just like Peter, his mere presence seemed to make you finally feel whole again… complete

• And as time continued to pass you’d only grow closer with the two men, finding safety and comfort in their arms, safety and comfort you’d been craving since you were fourteen years old

• Then, Miles Morales came along and everything went to shit

• Despite being on his team for months Miguel failed to mention that there was a spider variant that was an anomaly

• And in failing to mention that you had to figure it out on your own when Miles’ scent hit your nose and he smelled drastically different from the other spider people

• He smelt odd, unnatural and unusual… strange

• It didn’t take you long to figure out that he was an anomaly but you still figured it out by the way his scent, and you thanked the stars for that particular gift you got from the species of spider that had bitten you

• After Miles, Hobie and Gwen returned from the rescue they accomplished in Pavitr’s dimension at the expense of Spot is when things went from bad to ultimately worse

• Miguel had hoped somewhere small in his chest that you would side with him but he knew in a significantly larger part of him that your morals would not allow you to stand for him preventing Miles from saving his father

• Miguel knew that if you had known your father would’ve been killed that horrible night those years ago that you would’ve interfered without hesitation

• So he was not confident that you’d agree with him and well over half of the rest of the spider variants that this is something that must occur

• And he feared the confrontation with you, he feared the hate he’d no doubt see in your eyes when you find out this is where he stood on his opinion about the situation

• He wasn’t wrong either, because when Miles had returned and they all had cornered him after Miles discovered that Spot would be the cause, you didn’t take it all that well—

You were conflicted, you cared about Miguel but you’re morals and beliefs were very important to you— defined who you were. They were instilled into you by your father and you truly believed that by following through with them to the end you were keeping his legacy alive.

And they were loud in your ears right now, deafening in their prominent voice as you watched Miles get more and more tightly wound.

The thing was.. you agreed with him. And your father would’ve agreed with him too. There is no way Miguel knows for absolute certainty that Miles’ universe would collapse if he saved his father. And there’s no way any of the other spider variants could possibly know either.

There were facts and evidence on Miguel’s side but again— your values were speaking much louder than him. Because your father would’ve been disgusted by the behavior these spider variants were displaying, and he would’ve straight up hated Miguel. That you were absolutely sure of.

“This is wrong Miguel,” you spoke up and the spider variant you were speaking of turned to look at you. “You’re just going to let someone die when you know you could change the outcome? How could you possibly think that’s okay?”

“[Y/Name]—”

“Spider-Man isn’t about the acceptance of loss and grief yet to come, Spider-Man is about hope, hope and promise of a greater tomorrow. Hope that there will always be someone there to help… someone there to protect those who can’t do so themselves.”

“The security of the multiverse is important!” Miguel argued, his tone aggressive and his expression frustrated as he ignored the ache on his chest. The ache that had erupted into existence at the expense of his theory proving correct— you would be against him.

“No! What’s important is not standing by and allowing someone to suffer or die! If that’s truly what you believe, then you don’t know the first damn thing about being Spider-Man!”

“[Y/Name]…” Peter B. trailed as he got your attention, walking closer to you and putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We cannot interfere.”

You smacked his hand off your shoulder and stepped back and away from him several times to be standing beside Miles instead. “You too? Peter this is wrong, so unbelievably fucking wrong!”

“[Y/Name], I can’t let you get in the way. I’m sorry.” Miguel apologized before he was throwing something at yours and Miles’ feet. The device activated and put up a scarlet force field, Miles panicked and beat against the walls. As the variants outside the force field argued you looked to Miguel and Miguel only. And he looked right back. You just stared at him, eyes hard and brows taut and pulled together as he stared right back.

You ignored Miles as he continued to search for a way out, Miguel finally pulled his eyes off yours as Peter B. advanced on him. “Miguel! This is taking it too far!”

“He’ll only do more damage, we all know that!”

As they continued to argue outside the shield you turned your back on Miguel and flexing your fingers extended your thick and powerful claws. You could tear this force field apart if you truly tried, that’s what you were going to do. But before you could even put your hands up your senses tingled and you instinctively put your arms around your head to protect yourself as the shield was destroyed by a powerful electrical surge.

When Miles destroyed the force field he hesitated for but a single moment before he turned, grabbed your wrist and took off.

“[Y/NAME]!”

You distantly heard behind you before you were freeing yourself from Miles to run beside him instead, and you two sprinted through Miguel’s headquarters with you leading him seeing as you’ve already been there for close to a little more than six months.

Getting out wasn’t hard, at least not for you. The variants certainly tried but they weren’t any match for you. A well seasoned and thoroughly trained hero with twelve years of polishing your expertise and craft to a fine point.

Miles had a little trouble keeping up but you didn’t get too far ahead of him in which he couldn’t follow, you two only got separated once. And whilst you weren’t entirely sure where he’d gone off to, you had the absolute pleasure of facing off against Miguel (note the sarcasm).

Your senses tingled as you discreetly swung through the underbelly of Miguel’s HQ, and you pulled yourself up just in time to avoid Miguel’s web. And the two of you fought and danced around each other throughout headquarters. Miguel trying to capture you and yourself avoiding that outcome at all costs by expertly evading him. When you had finally reached outside you met up again with Miles on the train overhead cover that was speeding upon a vertical track at astronomical velocity.

It was hard to hang on, even more so with Miguel on your ass but you made due. Better you than Miles and you’d gladly fend off Miguel for him if it meant he could find his way home to save his dad in time. Maybe it was a selfish part of you that wished something for him that you wanted to have, or maybe you truly just wished only the best for the younger variant.

Either way, Miguel was kicking your ass instead of his and you could live with that.

The 2099 Spider-Man choke slammed you onto the cold, hard metal of the futuristic locomotive and pinned you there by a hand around your neck.

“Can’t you see?! He’s the original anomaly! He’s not meant to be here! He is not Spider-Man!” The man snarled in your face. The anger he was feeling making his fangs appear and he sneered down at you, bearing them ferociously.

“He’s more Spider-Man than you’ll ever be!” You retaliated, attempting any sharp words pointed enough to cut him deep and painful. And you watched as his face turned and grew solemn for only one second before he was darkening his expression and snarling at you again.

“I hate to do this to you, but I can’t lose you over this!” He yelled over the roaring grind of the moving train. And your heart fell to your toes when he beared his fangs again— this time with a wide open mouth. A second later he was lunging forward intent to inject your body with venom.

You thanked whatever god above was listening for your much quicker reflexes as you caught him by the lower jaw and redirected his lunge to the air beside you instead.

Then you were bringing your legs up and forcing him away from you, not wasting a second you shot a web to the top car of the locomotive. You pulled yourself all the way up to where Miles had perched himself, and just before you could get a word out Miguel erupted out of nowhere and tackled Miles down.

You moved to help but got a web wrapped around your wrist instead, whoever shot it pulled you off your feet and then you found yourself under Peter B. Parker and Mayday instead.

“[Y/Name], enough!”

“No!”

“You can’t change destiny!” He argued, just as Miguel had done before, pinning you to the ground— though Peter’s was less of an attempt to capture you and just in a way to get you to listen to him.

“We control our own destiny Peter.”

“This’ll put the multiverse in danger! If you’d known your father would’ve been killed that night would you have saved him even if it meant there was an off-chance of your dimension being destroyed?!” Peter was just trying to reason with you now, and you stared directly into his warm brown eyes as you answered him.

“Without question.”

Peter drew back a bit at your response, then you watched behind him as Miguel flew overhead. That was your cue, so you grabbed Peter’s shoulders and utilized the enhanced strength of your specialty skills to push him off you.

Not enough to hurt him or Mayday but enough to give you space to escape, which you did. Once given enough breathing room to leap you leapt, jumping from the locomotive to fly through the air instead. Miles followed you, and Miguel was right behind.

You didn’t get much of that end of the chase, swinging directly to the headquarters and sneaking in past Kess and standing on the platform the machine usually used to send variants back to their proper dimensions.

It was minutes later when the machine suddenly came to life and you watched as the numerous screens turned on, looking a little closer you saw that it was Miles and that he was using his invisibility power to get the machine up and going.

Seconds later you felt his presence land beside you, and as the mechanical spider above lowered down and began creating the web to send Miles home and consequently you to his universe— Miguel erupted through the glass doors like a bat out of Hell.

And you stood back and watched as he sprinted to the platform’s edge, leapt over the gap and began furiously clawing at the web’s exterior.

Just as he was pulling it apart, the sequence completed and you and Miles were lifted into the air as the portal was created before the machine was throwing the two of you through the multiverse and into Miles’ universe.

• After the exhausting and frustrating chase, and even more annoying escape you and Miles had made.. you decided to follow him to his dimension, if only just to see that he’d be okay

• But he took off the second he was back in his own universe (or so you thought) and you were quick to follow, calling out his name in an attempt to get him to slow down but he did not listen

• So you just followed as he swiftly made his way to his apartment, only upon arrival you decided it might be best if you stayed outside which is exactly what you did, and you listened as he told his mom the truth and she responded with a question of her own not knowing who he was referring to

• When your spider senses started tingling uncontrollably is when you though something might be wrong so you webbed yourself to the roof of the building directly across Miles’ apartment and just observed from there

• As you watched him interact with a man that you assumed was his uncle your senses tingled again only it was too late to react when a muscled arm wrapped around your waist and a gloved hand covered your mouth, and then you were pulled backwards and through the portal into another dimension

• Upon arrival at the new universe you were pinned to the ground on your stomach by a heavy weight much larger and much stronger atop you, holding your arms in the small of your back and forcing you tighter against the ground

• You knew it was Miguel and you knew that unlike back at headquarters this pinch would be tighter to get yourself out of— so you didn’t intend to fight against him, you’d already done more than enough for Miles and on the off chance he still needed you then and only then would you fight for him again

• Until then, you’d accepted the fact you’d been captured, so you slumped to the rain soaked concrete of the building’s roof, and as you lay there you could only hope Miles had reached his father on time

—

a/n: Feel like it got kinda lame at the end but I hope you enjoyed the first post of the blog regardless! I’m super excited to get this blog started! Spiderverse is my hyper-fixation right now so that’s what I’ll be focusing on for a moment! Again, hope you enjoyed! Ciao!

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part Nine

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: You spend the weekend looking after Miguel after his encounter with the Green Goblin.

Word Count: 22,193 (I saw the word count at 16K on Friday and my face was literally the second photo on this post after I remembered saying in the last update that the remaining chapters wouldn't exceed that part's word count. I'm sorry if this hard to read because of the length, by the way. I thought of splitting it and doing two parts (9A & 9B) but... I'm just going with this.)

Warnings: Mention of dry blood; Mention of wounds; Mention of syringe; Bland hospital food; Miguel is a bit grumpy at times but who can blame him?; This chapter really shows how I'd look after Miguel if he was hurt, my simpness for Miguel jumped out a lot in this one

Music inspo while writing:

"First Date" - Bill Conti

"Near Town" - The Amazing Broken Man

"Feels Like We Only Go Backwards" - Imaginary Future (cover)

"Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage

"Mia & Sebastian's Theme (Celeste)" - Justin Hurwitz

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten |

Part Nine

Miguel whispers your name, and it takes everything in you to hold back tears as relief washes over you. Your heart races but in a different way than it did hours ago when you were desperately trying to find him. It’s now racing from happiness that he’s awake.

“Miguel,” you whisper with a gentle smile, standing next to him.

Miguel’s eyes flutter close for a few seconds before he opens them again, his gaze meeting yours.

“Calling…” he mumbles. “Me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you nod regardless. “It’s okay, Miguel. You’re doing good. You’ll recover soon, I promise,” you tell him gently. “Are you cold?” you ask, as you look down at the blanket you placed on him earlier after he was declared in stable condition again.

You feel a shiver run down your back as you hear the medical professionals’ voices in your head, repeating that they were losing Miguel. You close your eyes tightly for a few seconds and will those thoughts away. You can’t take it. You open them again and look at Miguel.

“Are you cold?” you ask again, pulling the blanket higher up his body.

“Stay…” he mumbles, closing his eyes again.

You stare at him, heart aching. You swallow the knot in your throat.

“I’ll – I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” you whisper, gently fixing the blanket to cover him. “I’ll stay.”

Miguel nods slowly and in a few seconds he’s asleep again. Tears roll down your face for the third time in only a few hours. You softly wipe them away with the back of your suited hand. You take a step back and release another shaky breath, feeling the knot in your throat grow. You turn away from him, pressing your hand to your mouth as you stare at the wall.

Ever since you woke up, you’ve felt every imaginable emotion in the span of a few hours. You feel emotionally tired, but don’t dare rest, especially after what happened. After losing him.

You take a deep breath as tears flow freely down your face, but you find it difficult to do so for a few seconds. It’s as if you’ve been holding back this entire time and you just can’t hold back the tears anymore, causing you to feel like you’re unable to even breathe. And of course, it’s a familiar feeling. One you’ve only ever felt with Peter’s death. You furiously wipe away your tears, but they keep falling, blurring your vision.

You finally turn back to Miguel, still crying. His relaxed sleeping face brings you comfort, helping you breathe normally again. You sigh deeply as you take a closer step and watch over him again, tears still flowing. You feel the urge to touch him, almost as if to make sure he really is there and it’s not just your imagination playing tricks. You tentatively lay a hand over his arm, layers of fabric preventing skin to skin contact but it still brings you comfort and peace.

Miguel is here and alive. His chest rises and falls softly. His heart rate is displayed on the heart monitor. You can hear his soft breathing. And you can feel his body’s warmth, which comforts you, as you remember how cold his skin felt even through your suit when you found him on that rooftop.

Miguel is alive.

You keep repeating this in your head as you stand next to him, your hand still over his arm. It seems to help you calm down and your tears slow down until they eventually cease, leaving your face feeling puffy and damp but you could care less right now. All you care about is that Miguel is alive.

That your friend is alive.

You stand near the bed for a while. You don’t know how much time goes by. The nurses come in and check on Miguel occasionally, finding you near the bed each time like a guardian. All the while, Miguel sleeps peacefully. He shifts ever so gently but he’s not restless anymore. You eventually take a seat on your chair again, feeling exhausted but unable to take even a fifteen-minute nap. You feel as though you must guard every second. Just in case. You do cover your body with a blanket one of the nurses brought you earlier, warming yourself up as the room is cold. You also fix a pillow they gave you to support your back and then you sit there and watch over Miguel.

You don’t even find it in yourself to use the tablet Ben Reilly brought you earlier. It lies abandoned on the table in the family area of the room. You simply sit there, watching over Miguel and occasionally looking towards the windows. The sky is grey and gloomy, but brighter now. The rain is still there, making you wonder if it’ll stick around all day. The pit pat of rain against the windows is heard through the room along with the heart monitor’s quiet beeping but your ears focus on one thing only and that’s Miguel’s even and gentle breathing.

As you listen to it, while gazing at him, your mind reminds you of the fact that for a few minutes, his breathing ceased. You see his unmoving chest in your mind suddenly; his body was completely still. He was gone. And for the second time in your life, you felt so helpless as you stood there, repeating “No” inside your mind. You remember saying his name, calling out to him. You wanted to take hold of him and beg him not to give up. Not now. You thought of his family, and though you fleetingly thought you had no right to, you prayed that if they were out there somewhere, that they’d tell him to come back because… you couldn’t bear the thought of him dying. You couldn’t bear the thought that this man, with so much life still ahead of him, could really be gone just like that. And then it happened. The medical team resuscitated him. His chest began to move, and the heart monitor started to display his heartbeat again. He was alive. He didn’t give up.  

And it felt like you yourself could finally breath again as you thanked his late wife, Gabriel, and sweet Gabriella, for you don’t know what you would’ve done if… you can’t even think about it. What would life be like without Miguel? It’s about to be a year since you joined the Spider Society and so much has changed since then. You never guessed Miguel would be a constant in your life the first time you met him. He was so serious and distant. His mind was far away as he gave you a simple and cold welcome before he walked off, carrying the weight of the multiverse on top of an array of emotions on his shoulders that you could’ve never imagined he was dealing with.

You shake your head softly, almost in disbelief. It’s amazing how much can happen in one year. You went from knowing very little about Miguel to now knowing about his brother and mother, about his short time with Gabriella and his wife, to sharing cake on Peter’s birthday and eating conchas and candy on Dia de los Muertos to designing Christmas ornaments and welcoming the new year at his penthouse.

And it all started that day you felt so unwell due to your period. You find yourself wondering if any of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that day. And the possibility that none of it would’ve happened makes you thankful for that day, even if you were in pain and discomfort because it led to something you never imagined.

Though you still have no idea how Miguel feels about your interactions, you consider him a close friend. You chat with him and Lyla when you organize the lab. You talk before the meetings start over coffee. You’ve gone on more missions with him than some of the members who joined before you have. You take him lunch sometimes when you head to the lab to organize it, and he happily accepts the empanadas, which you’ve learned are definitely a favorite of his. After the holidays, you’ve made him smile more and even earned yourself low chuckles, both a nonexistent sight and sound for everyone else.

And yet, neither of you have said it yet; that you’re friends. So, it’s up in the air between the two of you for now but you’re okay with it. You know it’ll be a while before Miguel admits it if he thinks of you as a friend, too. And you’ll hold back from saying it for as long as you can for his sake.

You sigh deeply and try to clear your thoughts before you check the time. It’s now past 8 A.M.. When you returned home from Peter and Mary Jane’s universe, you never expected the night to take such a turn. It seems unbelievable.

You went to sleep peacefully, under your warm bed sheets in the same bed you shared with Peter. You were tired and sleepy, and found sleep easily only to be awakened by your spider senses, alerting you something was wrong.

As you stare at Miguel’s face, this simple fact hangs over you. Your spider senses went off because of him despite being in completely different universes. You bring a hand to your temple, wondering how that’s even possible, but you don’t have much time to think about it as the room’s door opens. You turn around and find Jess and Peter. You get up quickly, pushing the blanket off you and turn to face them.

With everything that happened and your emotions a wreck, you never notified them about Miguel’s heart failing but when you look at them, you see it on their faces. There’s pain in their expressions as they scan your face, which shows signs of crying and exhaustion, and their expressions soften.

“Oh Y/N…”  Peter whispers softly, before he quickly approaches, pulling you in for a hug.

You let him hold you in his arms and hug him back. You close your eyes for a few seconds, feeling overwhelmed but reassured at the same time now that they’re here.

“The medical team told us what happened,” Jess begins as she watches Peter and you embrace each other.

Peter lets go gently, though he wraps an arm around your shoulders, making you feel comforted. You give him a sad smile. Peter was the second person you were introduced to when you were first recruited, Miguel being the first one. And once you were accepted, you were introduced to Peter, who immediately presented you to his group of friends and well, the rest is history now. There are times in which it feels like Peter looks over you as some kind of parent because of the age gap. And it’s exactly how he’s looking at you right now after learning what you went through on your own.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry you were here alone,” Jess says gently. “I never thought…”

For once, the second in command of the Spider Society seems at a loss for words. You nod slowly.

“I don’t think any of us expected that… He was in stable condition already,” you answer softly as your eyes return to Miguel. “It just happened out of nowhere…” you add trailing off, briefly taken back to those minutes.

Jess nods and brings a hand to her temple, feeling an ache after the long night. The news of Miguel briefly passing away only added to it, but she feels a sense of relief as she joins you and Peter in watching Miguel sleep peacefully. Miguel is alive. 

You feel Jess’s hand on your forearm, making you turn. She gives you a pained smile.

“I wish someone else would’ve been here with you. I know it must’ve been – hard,” she says solemnly, knowing about Peter’s death and what a toll it’s taken on you in so many ways from leaving you with no family or friends. She feels a pang in her chest for you, for she never imagined you’d see death again today.

You give her a reassuring smile. “I wish so, too, but all that matters now is that Miguel is in stable condition. He’s been sleeping peacefully,” you say as you take a step closer, motioning for them to join you, tugging Peter along with you as his arm is still around your shoulders. “He woke up a little while ago, it was just for a few seconds before he fell asleep again though,” you share but don’t mention that Miguel asked you to stay.

The three of you watch Miguel sleep quietly for a few minutes. It’s a strange sight to see Miguel O’Hara’s face so peaceful and though no one says it, none of you can help but feel heartbroken that it took this to see it.

Jess clears her throat, nodding and feeling relieved that Miguel is well now. All that is left is recovering from his injuries. She stares at him for a few seconds, feeling a little in disbelief now. She’s always warned him about heading out on missions alone at night, but she never thought something like this would happen. She’s just glad that… you found him. That fact comes back to her mind. The last hours have been spent figuring out how to get the system back in order and then directing members to find the anomalies that Miguel was dealing with, but it comes back to her at this moment when things seem to have settled a bit. She wanted to ask earlier when Miguel was first transported but she knew it wasn’t the time to ask.

She turns to you now, seeing that you’re still in your suit. Your hair is a bit of a mess after the search and the rain when you took your mask off to shield Miguel’s face from it, another gesture Jess noticed on top of you giving him your gizmo. Jess decides to put her curiosity aside. For now.

“You should go home. Change clothes or shower,” Jess says, making you turn.

“Thank you but – ” you start, and she raises a hand.

“Please,” your mentor says softly. “Peter and I’ll stay here while you go. Get a bag ready with clothes and toiletries for the next two days or so. Miguel has some recovery to do, and I trust you to do your duties as my third in command,” she continues. “Which includes sticking around with him while Peter and I lead the Spider Society in his place. If there’s one thing I know about Miguel, it’s that he’s stubborn and he’ll try to wave this whole thing over despite what happened. I think we all agree he’ll need to take it easy, and I trust you’ll help me with that.”

You stare at Jess and finally nod. “Yes, okay… I’ll be back shortly then.”

She nods. “We’ll let you know if something changes.”

You reluctantly leave the room but not before you take one last glance at Miguel.

“Stay…” he said earlier, and you promised you would.

You hurry and leave the infirmary sector, wanting to be back as soon as possible. In about twenty minutes, you shower and dress in normal clothes before you prepare a small travel bag with everything you think you might need. As you’re heading back to the infirmary sector, you notice there are a lot of members at HQ today despite it being Saturday and members having the weekends off, unless there’s some kind of emergency. However, the Spider Society’s HQ is buzzing like it’s Monday, and you connect it to what happened.

You’re surprised once again when you enter the infirmary sector. There are now a lot of balloons, flowers, cards, and baskets with snacks in the waiting area. When you approach the items, a nurse informs you that members have been dropping them off for Miguel. You smile softly as you look at everything, deciding that once you check on Miguel and talk to Jess, you’ll take everything to his room.

When you enter the room, you find Jess and Peter murmuring by the windows. Their conversation immediately ceases before they turn around to face you. You notice there’s now a table next to them with food and cups of coffee. You turn back to them. Peter gives you a nervous smile, making you feel like you were the topic of discussion. You ignore it and walk further into the room, gently placing your travel bag on one of the chairs in the family area of the room, your eyes already on Miguel. He's still asleep.

“How is he?” you ask, walking closer to the bed.

“No change. He’s been sleeping the entire time,” Peter says stepping closer to the bed now, leaving Jess by the windows.

“I had someone bring breakfast,” she says. “I think we all need some food.”

“And coffee,” Peter adds with a sigh, making you turn to see him.

You notice for the first time that your friends also look tired. It really has been a long night for everyone. You yourself feel exhausted now. It’s like your shower made every ache in your body known and as you look at the food, you feel hunger, too. 

The three of you take a seat at the table, everyone reaching for a cup of coffee first before anything else. You eat breakfast, stealing glances at Miguel often. It’s like you’re still trying to make sure he’s there and that nothing’s going wrong. Breakfast is silent as the three of you look out the windows, deep in thought.

It's about twenty minutes later that you finish eating. Peter excuses himself to check on Mary Jane and Mayday, stating he’ll be back shortly. He leaves but not before giving you a reassuring smile on his way out, leaving you and Jess alone. The two of you stand by the windows, looking out at the city. You take a glance at Miguel. He hasn’t shifted in his sleep at all, and he looks peaceful.  

Jess stands next to you, arms crossed over her chest, thinking. She doesn’t fail to notice your glances at Miguel, much like those during breakfast. And of course, there’s one pending question on her mind. After a few minutes of silence, she finally speaks up.

“How did you know?” she asks quietly, still staring out the windows.

Your gaze lands on a nearby skyscraper as you hear her question. You know exactly what she’s talking about and even though you wish you could pretend you have no idea what she’s referring to, you know neither of you have the time nor energy to play this game.

After a minute or so of silence, you sigh deeply. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly, causing Jess to look at you slowly.

She watches you as you stare out the windows, and she can tell from your expression and tone of voice that you genuinely have no idea. You sigh again.

“I don’t know how I knew… I was awakened by my spider senses,” you begin and tell her everything that happened up until she joined the search.

Her gaze is on distant cars as she hears you explain everything, occasionally nodding softly. It makes no sense.

“You also knew where to find him,” she says after you’re done. “I would’ve never thought Miguel would be there, considering we knew he was injured,” she adds, thinking about how you seemed certain about his location, not to mention the way you reached the building. It was as if your life itself depended on it.

Your gaze is still fixed on the skyscraper as she brings up this fact. “On the first mission I joined you guys, we went there – to get a layout of the city since it was my first time visiting that universe. It seemed that he liked the view. I guess, amid everything, I thought he would like to see it again,” you quietly murmur.

Jess nods, thinking. Your spider senses alarmed you that something was wrong, and it was Miguel, who was in another universe, in trouble. She knows it’s possible, she just doesn’t know how. She remembers the events from a year ago when Miles ended up stranded in that same universe, and Gwen realized it thanks to her spider senses, too. Now the two are a thing. Of course, Jess isn’t thinking that you and Miguel have a thing going on, but it does signify something to Jess.

You and Miguel have a connection, and it’s strong enough that you were able to sense his trouble even across the multiverse.

“It’s unexplainable but it might have just saved Miguel’s life,” she says eventually after a few seconds of silence, deciding to keep her thoughts about your connection to Miguel to herself. Instead, she changes the conversation to the anomalies Miguel was pursuing. They’ve been caught and sent back to their respective universes. She also notifies you that other members will be taking shifts patrolling your universe while you’re here with Miguel.

Jess sticks around for a little while longer before she heads out to attend to her duties. Once she heads out, you take the time to bring everything left in the waiting room for Miguel into the room, placing it in the family area so that he’ll see it once he wakes up. The hours go by slowly, and you eventually grab the tablet Ben Reilly brought you earlier. You reach out to your friends, who have been asking about you and Miguel’s status. You even reach out to Jess eventually, asking if you can help with anything else but she declines, and so you stay put. You watch over Miguel, fixing his blanket when he moves to make sure he doesn’t get cold.

It's until later in the afternoon that he begins to stir once again. You’re standing by the windows when you notice and quickly cross the short distance between the windows and the bed, standing by his side immediately. Miguel’s eyebrows furrow as he moves his head against the pillows gently. He hums softly as his eyes slowly flutter, and you’re unable to stop yourself from finding him endearing and tender in this moment.

His eyes open at last and he looks around the room slowly, trying to place his surroundings until his gaze lands on you. You offer him a small smile as he blinks a few times at you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Y/N…” he says trailing off, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.

“How do you feel?” you ask, studying his face for any signs of trouble but Miguel looks in good condition.

“I feel a little dizzy,” he responds, blinking again a few times.

“It’s probably the meds. They’ll wear off soon – let me get the doctor, alright?”

Miguel nods before you use the call button. The doctor and a nurse shortly arrive, checking Miguel’s vitals. Everything looks well and as the minutes roll by, Miguel seems more and more awake. The professionals head out after explaining to Miguel what happened, including his heart stopping, and the extent of his injuries.

Miguel lays on the bed silently, staring down at his lap as he thinks about what the doctor told him. You stand a few feet away from the bed, giving him some time to process what they said. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or how he feels as his face is neutral but, on the inside, Miguel feels a little overwhelmed at the news that he was dead for several minutes. The dream he had, which now makes him wonder if it really was a dream after all, is also on his mind. He looks down at his hands, remembering how it felt to hold Gabi. How she forgave him and told him she would always view him as her dad.

Miguel sighs softly, closing his eyes. He can feel what it felt like to hold them again. He can see all their faces and remember their words about moving forward and having a second chance. And as he recalls their words, he also remembers how they kept telling him someone was calling him. He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at you, finding you in the same spot. Ever since the doctor arrived, you’ve been keeping your distance from the bed, as if you’re afraid that you’ll hurt him by being so close. He swallows softly.

“She’s calling you,” Gabi said.

“You know who,” Gabriel said with a small smile. “You know exactly who.”

You.

It’s you.

Miguel clears his throat softly, finding even that action slightly uncomfortable to do right now. He turns his gaze away from you, feeling heat on his face at the realization. Were you really calling him when he was dying – or rather when he died? Was his dream not a dream but – Miguel can’t even think about it now. He can’t wrap his head around it. Is it possible? Miguel has always been a man of science but as he thinks about it, he has no explanation for it.

You notice Miguel turn away, and for some reason it makes you wonder if he doesn’t want you around. You clear your own throat softly, ignoring the feeling of rejection growing in your chest, and put on a neutral face.

“Jess and Peter are taking care of things, which reminds me… They asked me to let them know as soon as you woke up. Do you feel well enough to see them?” you ask softly, fingers on your gizmo ready to send the message.

Miguel’s gaze turns back to you. He hasn’t even thought about the Spider Society until now that you’ve mentioned Jess and Peter. He thinks about it for a few seconds. He’s still thinking about his dream – he’s just going to call it that from now on – and he doesn’t feel ready to be asked questions or get lectured by Jess after her countless warnings about going solo on missions at night. He shakes his head at last.

“In an hour, please,” he says, and you nod, dropping your arms at your sides.

“Of course.” You feel a breeze from the AC turning on again. You nod at him, noticing the blanket on his lap. “Are you cold?”

Miguel continues to hold your gaze, realizing that yes, his arms are cold. He starts to move but you quickly walk to him.

“Remember what the doctor said,” you remind him as you now stand next to him. “She said to avoid too much movement for now until tomorrow, or even Monday. I’ll help you. Do you want me to cover you to your chest?” you ask, picking up the blanket gently.

“Right,” Miguel replies remembering the doctor’s instructions. “Yes, please.”

You nod and take a hold of the blanket, lifting it.

Miguel feels your warmth as you stand near him. It seeps into the side of his body, spreading a pleasant sensation that leaves the rest of his body yearning for it. On top of that, he’s unable to stop himself from inhaling your scent as you lean closer to lift the blanket further up. The moment is brief. You’re there at his side one second and gone the next, suddenly standing three feet away from the bed but your scent lingers, filling his nostrils. He feels the loss of your warmth almost immediately. The remaining warmness fades away and it makes Miguel wish there was another excuse to bring you closer, which fills him with great shame even if it's only human nature to seek such a comfort, especially in his vulnerable state.

Not to mention that everything about you is comforting. It always is. Your voice. Your warmth. Your scent. Your laugh. Your movements. Your mere presence and existence.

“Is that good?” you ask, ready to adjust it to his liking, oblivious to Miguel’s thoughts.

Miguel nods. “Yes, thank you.”

Mierda, he thinks as he shifts his head slightly. A few months ago, on Dia de los Muertos, he wanted you to push his boundaries. He hoped you’d ask him questions about his life, about Gabriella and the rest of his family and now he’s wishing you push his boundaries regarding physical touch. Miguel dismisses it as part of the medications’ aftereffects. It has messed up with his thought process enough that he’s wanting physical touch, surely.

He tries to distract himself by looking out the windows. It’s still raining.

“Has it stopped raining at all?”

You shake your head. “No. It hasn’t stopped at all.”

Miguel nods, still staring and listening to it, trying to get himself distracted until whatever it is he’s on fades and he can be back to his normal senses. It takes him a few seconds to remember you’re still standing nearby, while he’s there, lying in bed. He turns his head, wondering if you’ll be leaving now that he’s awake. He silently hopes you don’t.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks gently, his red eyes meeting yours.

And the way it sounds, well, it tugs at your heartstrings. There’s a softness to his tone that makes you realize your impression from earlier was wrong, and that you jumped to conclusions. Miguel doesn’t want you to leave but there’s also a part of him that isn’t used to this level of vulnerability.

For all the moments and time you’ve spent together over the last year, neither of you’ve been in such a vulnerable state regarding health. Sure, there was that day you were unwell due to your period, but it wasn’t to this level, and it wasn’t him. Additionally, Miguel is already apprehensive about being vulnerable with emotional wounds, so you can only imagine how hard it must be for him to be seen with physical ones. And yet, the way he asks if you have somewhere to be makes it sound like he hopes you’ll stay. You remember how he asked you earlier to do so, while the medications were probably at their peak before he fell asleep. He may not even remember it now, or ever, but you won’t forget it, much like every moment you’ve shared with him. You smile softly.

“I’m where I’m supposed to be,” you answer and then realize how it may sound. You clear your throat, thinking you really should take a nap at some point today. You tell yourself to be more careful with your words right now. You don’t want to upset Miguel or make him uncomfortable when this situation is probably already too much for him. “Jess assigned me to be here. I’m to be – kind of like your bodyguard – until you fully recover,” you tell him, and the bodyguard part makes him smile a little.

“My own bodyguard, eh?” he says, still smiling faintly, feeling relieved that you’ll be around even if he doesn’t voice it. And though he showed no reaction to your comment about being where you’re supposed to be, a warmness spreads in his chest.  

You smile when you notice his small smile, delighted to see it as always, no matter how faint it is. You nod to the family area of the room.

“You have a lot of gifts from members wishing you a speedy recovery. Would you like to see it?”

Miguel turns slightly. He noticed the balloons earlier, but he was feeling too overwhelmed to even wonder about them. Feeling much calmer now, he nods with that faint smile still on his face. You feel happiness rush through you at his response and nod before you walk over to the items. There are about fifteen balloons and even more flowers and cards along with baskets full of snacks. You collect some of the flowers and cards in them before you take them to him.

Miguel can’t help but feel surprised at the number of items left. If he’s being honest, he didn’t expect to receive so much due to his attitude and behavior in the past, especially the events related to Miles.

“I’ll hold the flowers and cards for you to read, that way you don’t move too much, and you can keep your arms under the blanket,” you say now standing next to him.

You place some of the individual cards next to him on the bed before you show him some of the flowers, gently pulling out a card and holding it for him to read. You do this multiple times with the cards from the flowers. Miguel reads them silently, nodding once he’s done. You go through all the flowers and finally start on the individual cards. You notice there are a few handmade ones from members who opted to apply their artistic skills, like Miles, whose card you show Miguel next.

The only thing you see is the front in which Miles took the liberty of drawing Miguel in his suit. You smile fondly at it, admiring Miles’s art as always. You’ve always loved the pieces Miles has shown you and you’re also very happy that he’s decided to pursue art school again. You watch as Miguel reads the card’s message, his eyebrows furrow softly as his eyes move across the card. Up to this point Miguel has nodded and smiled faintly with each card but you notice Miles’s incites this different reaction. He swallows softly and finally nods, turning away to look out the windows in thought.

You can’t help and wonder what Miles wrote, for whatever the message is seems to have struck something in Miguel as he continues to look out the windows. You close it carefully and put it in the stack of read cards, still thinking as you grab another one to show him but he’s still staring out the windows.

“Do you want to take a break? I can show you the rest later.”

Miguel blinks and turns around to face you. He shakes his head gently.

“No, it’s okay. I’d like to see the rest.”

You nod and show him the next one. Miguel’s mood is slightly different now. He smiles faintly here and there, and there’s no doubt in your mind that Miles’s card is still in his mind. You finally reach the last one and you know immediately who it belongs to. You smile as you show it to him. It has Peter and Mary Jane’s handwriting but Mayday’s artistic skills all over the cover. Miguel stares at it and smiles again.

“Mayday,” he says softly before you open it and let him read the message.

He nods once he’s done, that faint smile still on his face as you put it away with the rest. You carefully pick them up to avoid any damage, fixing them into a neat stack again.

“You also have some baskets with snacks,” you say as you now collect the smaller cards from the flowers. “Would you like me to show them to you?”

Miguel shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. There’s no need for you to carry them here. Thank you though – and thank you for showing me the cards and flowers.”

You nod. “Of course, no problem,” you say as you look him over. “Are you warmer now? I have this blanket as well, if you’re still cold,” you say remembering the blanket the nurses gave you earlier.

“I’m much warmer now, thank you. No need for the other blanket.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“If you need something, please tell me, okay? I’m here to help you,” you say after a few seconds.

Miguel takes a few seconds to nod, feeling a mix of emotions. He feels guilty that you’re stuck here having to look after him because Jess asked you but he also feels relieved that you’re here. Still holding the cards in your hand, you decide to move them to the table in the family area.

“You must be tired,” he comments, wondering if you’ve even slept as his eyes follow you.

“I’m not,” you respond gently as you place the cards down on the table.

“If you want to go home and rest, you should,” he says as he looks down.

You sigh softly, knowing where this is going. You turn around to face him, finding him looking down at his body, covered in the blanket you placed over him. He looks up, as if sensing your gaze on him.

“I’m not only here because Jess asked me to,” you start, standing still. You briefly think about how only a few hours ago you were just thinking about how neither of you’ve said what you’re about to admit to him. You didn’t realize you’d be saying it today. “I’m here because I want to – because you’re my friend and this is what friends do,” you continue, keeping your tone as casual as possible as you hold each other’s gazes, though your tone is full of sincerity. “And you don’t have to feel the same way or say anything right now. Just – just know I’m here for you,” you continue softly, repeating the same words you told him for the first time on Dia de los Muertos night, when he apologized for keeping you up and taking you away from chores. You wanted to say more that night, like how you didn’t mind stopping what you were doing to join him because you wanted to spend more time with him. Except you couldn’t say more that night. It was still too soon, and maybe it still is for Miguel but a part of you wants him to know. That you’d be here regardless of Jess asking you because you wish to be here if he allows it. “It’s not an inconvenience to me, if that’s what you’re thinking. So, please – please let me stick around,” you add much quietly as you hold his gaze. Heat rises to your face, and you feel like wincing at your own words because you understand the gravity of them. You’ve never asked anything of him but here you are now, asking him to let you stay with him. To let you look over him, cover his cold body, keep him company as he recovers, and do much more if he lets you help him because all you want is for Miguel to be well again but you also know that this isn’t easy for him and that you’re asking for something that he might not be comfortable with. Your heart races as you wait for his response.

Miguel holds your gaze, noticing the wincing at your own words but he knows you well enough to know it’s not from regret. No, Miguel knows that you’re always so understanding, so respectful of his boundaries, never pushing or asking and that’s what made you wince; that you’re asking for something from him. Your words and reaction sink in. And Miguel wishes he could reciprocate your words about considering him a friend out loud, but he cannot, not yet even though you are his friend. He can’t risk it, so he nods softly.

“I’d appreciate it – if you did. Thank you,” he replies with sincerity at last, with a small smile.

You smile back, once again happy to see him smile. You don’t mind that he doesn’t say more because with the smile and tone he used, you feel certain he feels the same way even if he can’t voice it right now. You know Miguel has a long way to go in fully letting go. Maybe one day in the future, you think, but for now, him letting you stay while he recovers, is more than enough.

“After you meet with Jess and Peter, would you like to eat?” you ask as you walk to the chair. “You must be hungry. I believe you’re clear to eat now.”

As if on cue, Miguel’s stomach growls and he looks at you with an embarrassed look. For once, it’s his stomach and not yours. You try not to smile and clear your throat quietly.

“I’ll ask the nurse if you can eat while you talk with Jess and Peter, alright?”

He nods, meeting your eyes. “That sounds good, thank you.”

You reach out to Jess and Peter once Miguel tells you he’s ready. You wait for them to arrive before you head out quickly to confirm with the nurse that he can eat now and thankfully he’s cleared. You head back to the room once they tell you they’ll take him food, walking in just as you hear Peter ask how everything happened and so, the three of you listen intently to Miguel as he explains. You can’t help but feel fury as he mentions the Green Goblin twisting his trident into Miguel just before the explosion went off, on top of the fact that he targeted the gizmo once he figured out it was important. You sigh quietly, wishing he hadn’t gone on his own. The conversation shifts to Jess, who briefs Miguel about several things like the system failure and how it’s working again thanks to the work of Margo and other members. He sits on the bed and nods.

“I’ll be thanking them personally but for now – please give them my gratitude,” he says softly. “Everyone – has really stepped up, including the three of you. Thank you,” Miguel adds looking at all of you. “I appreciate it.”

Jess nods and offers Miguel a smile. Peter grins at him.

“Any time, pal. That’s what we’re here for, right? We stick up for each other,” Peter says and Jess nods.

“Peter’s right. We stick up for each other and we’ll make sure everything runs smoothly until you’re fully recovered,” Jess says. “All you need to worry about right now is recovering.”

Peter steps closer to you and quietly mutters, “You heard that, right? Jess agreed with me for once.”

You stifle a chuckle and gently elbow him to be quiet.

“What are you going on about, Peter?” Jess asks with a frown.

“Nothing at all. Just telling my friend that the rest of our friend group has been wondering about her, that’s all,” Peter replies raising his hands in defense and discreetly elbowing you to back him up now.

You nod but say nothing, making Jess shake her head. “Alright you two, if you say so. Well – there’s much we need to do. The system failure messed up some files. Lyla and I are organizing it, so I’ll return to that now. Please listen to the doctor’s instructions, Miguel,” Jess says sternly, and Miguel raises an eyebrow briefly but nods.

“And Y/N’s instructions, too,” Peter adds with a grin. “She’s like your – personal bodyguard.”

You subtly elbow Peter again and he gives you a puzzled look.

“Anyway, we’ll keep you updated. Rest and take the time to recover properly. If you need anything let Y/N know. We all want you to recover and be back on your feet,” Jess says.

Peter and you nod at that, thinking about what you would give to avoid this situation completely.

“Thank you. I’ll do that… Do keep me updated on what’s going on. There are meetings scheduled for this week and the weekly reports are not done yet - ” Miguel starts but Jess stops him, raising a hand.

“We’re taking care of everything. You worry about recovering.”

Miguel frowns but Jess doesn’t back down. “Fine but I want to be updated on what’s happening though.”

Jess nods, satisfied with his answer. “Will do, boss.”

With that Jess and Peter say their goodbyes, promising to return at some point again today to check in. Miguel and you watch them leave even though you want to ask Jess something, but you decide to send her a message later instead. You want to ask her if you can help with the reports as it’s something you can probably work on while Miguel rests, but you figure you should keep quiet about it, or Miguel might try and help you and the last thing any of you want is for him to work while he’s recovering. The two of you say goodbye to them before you turn around to face him.

Miguel still has a slight frown on his face. The commander of the Spider Society is not used to being told what to do. You try not to smile at this.

“One of the nurses said you’re clear to eat. They’ll be bringing in food any time now,” you inform him as you step closer to your chair, picking up your blanket to fold it just as

Miguel groans softly. “What’s wrong?” you ask, putting the blanket down immediately.

“Hospital food.”

You chuckle. “I bet it’s not bad like the typical hospital food.”

“Hospital food is still hospital food.”

“I bet it’s better than my universe’s hospital food.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at this, looking amused. “Perhaps but it’s still hospital food.”

You grin just as there’s a knock. A nurse comes in with a tray of food, immediately setting it up for him. The nurse asks Miguel if he needs assistance with eating and surprisingly, or perhaps not too surprisingly, he looks at you, not wanting to be fed by a stranger.

“Thank you but I’ll be helping him,” you inform them, and they nod.

Miguel thanks them before they leave the room, leaving the two of you alone again. He frowns as he looks down at the closed containers and you can’t help but find this amusing. You head to the bathroom to wash your hands before you return to his side. You grab a napkin and open it.

“I’m going to put this on your chest just in case something falls,” you tell him, and he nods but he doesn’t look enthusiastic about eating as you place the napkin on him. “Come on, you don’t even know what they brought yet.”

“I can smell it, and it doesn’t smell too good.”

You shake your head softly as you open the containers, putting the lids to the side as you reveal each food item. You stare at the main food. There’s steamed vegetables, chicken, and rice but it all looks a little… bland.

“Hmm.”

“I told you,” Miguel says grumpily.

You don’t say anything and instead pick up a small tub of gelatin that appears to be strawberry flavored. It looks like the most appetizing thing in the whole tray along with the two drinks they provided, apple juice and water.

“You don’t want to give this a try at all?” you ask softly, motioning to the food.

Miguel sighs, frowning. “I guess I have to.”

You grab the cutlery and offer him a steamed carrot slice. Miguel hesitantly opens his mouth, keeping his gaze on the tray, embarrassed. He can’t believe he’s being fed like a child as he softly bites down on the carrot. He chews, trying not to make a face.

“Not that bad, right?” you ask, and he looks up at you.

“Why don’t you try it, and you tell me?” he says grumpily, almost pouting.

You meet his eyes and hold back from laughing. You clear your throat, ready to ask him if he wants to try the rice or chicken now.

“No, I’m being serious. Try it.”

You sigh. “Why don’t you try the rice or the chicken now? We can drop the veggies then.”

Miguel sighs now. “If even the vegetables aren’t good, I have little hope for the rice and chicken… I’m not joking. That carrot wasn’t good.”

“It can’t be that bad. It’s just a steamed carrot.”

“Try it then.”

You continue to meet his gaze and he motions with his head for you to go on. You scoff softly and pick up a carrot with the fork before you slide it off to avoid eating from the same fork. You bring it to your mouth and frown as the scent hits your nose.

“Even the scent is off putting, right?” Miguel asks.

You nod before you chew and wow, Miguel is right. You grab a napkin and spit it out quietly.

“I don’t know how you ate that,” you say quietly. “You want some water to wash down the taste?” you offer, and Miguel nods trying not to chuckle at your response.

You grab the water bottle and notice straws were provided so you open one and slide it into the water bottle once you open it, too. You bring it to Miguel’s mouth, lining up the straw to his mouth so he can easily access it. He drinks for a few seconds before he releases the straw.

“I didn’t realize I was so thirsty” he says before he drinks more. You hold the bottle steady and watch as he nearly finishes it.

“I can get you another one. It’s been many hours since you drank something,” you mutter quietly. You look at the food. He hasn’t eaten anything in hours either and this food is unappetizing. You look at the gelatin. That’s the only appealing food item on the tray but his appetite won’t be satisfied with that alone.

Miguel leans back, releasing the straw again. The water bottle is empty now and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you.”

You nod and put the bottle away, thinking. “Would you be okay if I step out for – five or ten minutes?” you ask.

Miguel raises his eyebrow softly. “Is something wrong?” he asks just as his eyes flicker to your gizmo.

“Nothing wrong, don’t worry. I was just thinking – I can go to the cafeteria and grab you something from there instead. I can bring you empanadas if I can find some?” you suggest and you’re immediately happy you suggested this.

Miguel’s face changes. His eyes lit up and he nods immediately but then he frowns.

“The cafeteria staff showed up today? They have weekends off. They should’ve enjoyed their day off… And it’s not allowed to bring cafeteria food into the infirmary,” he says, and you scoff in amusement.

“They came in because a lot of members showed up to help. And I won’t get caught. Besides, what’s the worst thing the infirmary team can do? Tell the boss on me?” you ask as you start closing the containers.

Miguel watches you as you do this, with a small grin.

“If anything, I think he’d agree that this food is – a crime,” you say and Miguel chuckles before he groans.

“Mierda, that hurt,” he says closing his eyes in pain and you see his hands move under the blanket to his stomach.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you chuckle,” you say as you move the food tray away from him.

“It’s alright,” Miguel mutters with a sigh, opening his eyes again. “It’s fading away now. That son of a – he really got me with the trident.”

“I’m so sorry, is the pain subsiding now?” you ask worried, and he nods.

“It’s fading now, don’t worry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I’ll go get you food once your pain subsides completely,” you reply, wanting to make sure you’re in the room until he’s completely okay.

After five minutes, Miguel nods. “I’m alright. The pain is gone,” he reassures you.

You sigh softly and nod. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I won’t take long, okay?”

Miguel nods and with one last look, you head out. You walk to the cafeteria quickly, noticing more gifts left for Miguel but you don’t pause to look. Once at the cafeteria, you put together some food boxes, making sure to secure Miguel’s empanadas first before anything else. You fix yourself a box so you can eat since you haven’t had anything after breakfast. Jess offered to take you something for lunch, but you weren’t hungry, so you declined but you realize you’re hungry now. You end up using your webs to secure the boxes together as you remember Miguel saying that it isn’t allowed to bring outside food into the infirmary. You also grab a few water bottles and cutlery, tying everything with more web and swinging the items over your shoulder. You’re about to head back, thinking how you’ll have to sneak into the infirmary sector with the food when you see the coffee station. You decide to grab some as well and when you reach the station you’re met with a lovely surprise.

There’s always only one coffee cup size but today there’s two. It’s double the size, or maybe even larger, than the regular cup. You can’t help yourself and end up ordering two of those. You haven’t slept in a while and you probably shouldn’t have this much caffeine, but you want to stay awake until nighttime as you suspect Miguel might not sleep until then. You pick up the cups and head back, having to sneak past the nurses’ office by sticking to the walls. Thankfully the coffee cups weren’t a problem.

You enter the room at last and find Miguel, still in bed of course, but the TV is now on. As you walk closer, you notice the containers are gone. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion just as Miguel turns around. 

“Peter and Jess came by. Peter took the food with him,” Miguel explains, noticing your confusion.

“I hope he hid them as he walked by,” you say as you set the boxes with food and coffee cups on the tray. “Anyway, I got you empanadas and some sides, along with fruit. I also got coffee. There are new cups,” you announce and motion to the cups, larger than the usual ones.

“You managed to get two?” Miguel asks, his tone full of surprise.

“Yes, why?”

Miguel scoffs softly. “I can never get my hands on these even though they’re meant for me.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen them.”

“Everyone opts to get these instead of the other ones. I have these bought because…” Miguel trails off, meeting your eyes. “Not only do I like coffee, but I also need more caffeine to actually feel the effect. The regular size cups aren’t enough sometimes, but I can never find these when I show up,” he says with a slight frown.

You frown. “Oh - I never realized you might need more caffeine, but it makes sense now that you say it,” you reply as you look at him, realizing that Miguel is a tall man and very built, so of course he’d need more than someone within the average height and weight.

 “All this time I should’ve been taking you two cups instead of one then,” you say, and Miguel shakes his head softly.

“Don’t worry about it. It does help me,” he reassures you.

“I’ll see if I can find these for you from now on,” you answer as you fix the napkin on his chest before you tell him you’re going to wash your hands again. When you return to his side, you open the boxes of food you brought specifically for him, showing him the empanadas and everything else before you get the cutlery ready. However, when you look at the empanadas, you realize this is a food that’s usually eaten by hand not with cutlery. You look up at Miguel, feeling silly to ask but you do regardless.

“Do you want me to cut these up for you or…?” you ask.

Miguel looks down at the empanadas.

“I can wrap the end in a napkin and hold it for you?” you offer and Miguel nods slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that then.”

You feel a little nervous. It’s not like you’ve never fed someone in the mouth before with your hand. It’s just that you’ve only ever done this with Peter… or used to. As you carefully pick up the empanada with a napkin and wrap it, you recall those days with Peter. He always liked to share his food with you, wanting you to try what he was having, and this always resulted in getting fed bits and pieces from him. You always reciprocated and found this to be an intimate act as you never did it with anyone else but here you are, lifting an empanada to Miguel’s mouth, who still looks embarrassed by this. You clear your throat softly, trying to dissipate the nervousness between the two of you over this simple and yet intimate act.

“They don’t feel burning hot so I think they should be at a good temperature to eat without burning your mouth,” you say, and he nods.

You watch as he reluctantly opens his mouth and takes a bite. His face quickly displays a pleased look and you’re unable to stop yourself from grinning at the different reaction from earlier.

“Not too hot?” you ask.

Miguel finishes eating, smiling faintly. “No, it’s perfect temperature. Thank you.”

You nod and bring the empanada closer to his mouth again. “If you want a drink, let me know. Or if you want to try the other food. It smells and looks good.”

As Miguel chews you notice a bit of a smirk on his face at your comment. You smile a bit before you look away and pick up one of the coffee cups, bringing it to your lips with your free hand. It seems that the nervousness between the two of you is subsiding now. You look up at the TV, an action movie is on. You turn back to Miguel and offer the empanada again. Each time, you’re careful no mess is left behind as you don’t want him to get food on himself but eventually you notice a bit of food in the corner of his mouth, so you put the second empanada down and pick a clean napkin. You motion to his mouth.

“You have a bit – in the corner of your mouth, here,” you say before you gently wipe his mouth.

Miguel’s eyes are on the food tray, and you don’t fail to notice a slight tint to his cheeks. You keep a neutral face as you clean him, despite wanting to smile as you find the action endearing but for his sake, you say nothing once you’re done.

“So, what exactly is this movie about?” you ask instead, deciding that maybe this’ll help calm him. You can only imagine how this is making Miguel feel, someone who isn’t used to such vulnerability even with you.

“To be honest, I don’t know. Peter turned the TV on, and it was already playing. I’ve never heard of it but then again… I haven’t kept up with movies in a long time,” Miguel admits before he takes another bite of the empanada as you offered it again.

You nod. “I understand, I haven’t either.”

Miguel nods as he eats, for some reason remembering that on Peter’s birthday you claimed you’d be going to the movies with friends from your universe. Except that was just a lie to hide your true plans and there weren’t friends involved either way. He remembers waking up the next day and thinking about how no one showed up. You planned to spend the evening alone and he couldn’t help but wonder. Sure, Jess briefed him on you before she brought you to HQ. She mentioned that you were completely on your own, with no family or friends but he thought there had to be someone, even if they weren’t too close to you but Jess had been right. No one called or arrived on Peter’s birthday. You were really alone in your universe, and he couldn’t understand why. He had wondered, did they abandon you when you needed someone the most or did you cut ties on your own? He just couldn’t and still can’t wrap his head around the fact that you spent three years completely on your own. He can’t help but feel that you deserved better. He can’t help but wish that he had found your universe sooner, so you could’ve had the Spider Society as a support system earlier.

And maybe, just maybe you could’ve been a part of his life sooner, too. Miguel clears his throat as this thought comes to his mind.

“May I please have some water?���

You nod and place the remainder of the second empanada down before you open the water bottle, slipping a straw into it before you bring it to his lips. You can’t help but notice the difference on his face as he drinks. His face is still missing its full natural color, but he has thankfully gained some of it.  

Miguel eats all the empanadas and sides, along with the fruit. He also drinks two water bottles and asks for some coffee. When you notice that he seems to be rushing so you can start eating soon, you tell him not to worry, and to take his time. He slightly frowns but nods after you talk to him, his mind still whirling with thoughts. When he’s done, you eat as the two of you continue to watch the movie, not really understanding what’s going on but it has caught both of your attention regardless. At some point you remember you have the tablet Ben Reilly brought you many hours ago, so you grab it and look up the movie.

“This is actually the third installment.”

Miguel turns to you. “That explains a lot.”

You chuckle after you take a sip of your coffee, done eating. “It does.”

You resume watching the movie. It’s about five o’clock in the afternoon. The slow and peaceful rain is still going. The room has a somewhat comforting energy about it with the few lights on as Miguel and you watch the movie. His eyes flicker to you though his glances go unnoticed by you, as your eyes are on the TV. He has an idea suddenly and when he’s about to speak, he remembers he doesn’t have a gizmo. That prompts him to remember that you gave him yours when you… found him. He clears his throat as the memories come to him quickly.

He was out of it, his body felt weak and cold when he heard your voice. It sounded so far away until it became clear. He felt your touch when you cupped his face in your small hand. He remembers saying that you were there, and you thought he referred to everyone. In reality, he referred to you alone, for you were the last person he thought about before he felt his consciousness slip for the first time. Even in his state, he felt like he had somehow called for you across the multiverse because you were there suddenly, kneeled by his side, telling him that he would go home. Then, you slipped your gizmo into his wrist, not caring if you glitched and he wanted to tell you so badly to take it back because he now knew what it was like, and he didn’t want you to experience it, too. He didn’t get the chance to warn you though and you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you would glitch just to protect him from glitching again.

And Miguel’s chest fills with a heavy feeling now. His eyes soften as he looks at you, still watching TV, engrossed in this movie that neither of you understand. He smiles softly at you, his friend, even if he can’t say it out loud. Yet.

“I think we should watch the other movies,” Miguel says breaking the silence, and making you turn to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“The other movies?”

“We have nothing else to do… Why not?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling. You haven’t messaged Jess about potentially helping with the reports but you decide to leave it like that for now. You decide to take the opportunity to distract Miguel with the movies, seeing as he’s showing interest in them instead of trying to jump right back into work. Your reaction makes Miguel nod and so he executes the idea he had a few minutes ago. He calls for Lyla.

“Miguel! It’s so good to see you – you look – better,” Lyla says enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Lyla. I need you to do something for me,” Miguel says.

“You’re not allowed to work right now. Y/N, tell him he’s not allowed to work right now. He’ll listen to you.”

Miguel frowns and you watch in amusement. “I know. It’s something else.”

“Oh, then what is it?” Lyla asks with a raised eyebrow, intrigued.

Miguel asks her to buy all the movies available before he asks her to stream the first one on the TV.

“Hmm, this was the last thing I thought you’d ask me to do,” Lyla says with her arms crossed over her chest as Miguel and you start watching the first movie, looking puzzled. “Alright, you two, enjoy the movies! And Miguel, don’t push yourself. Take proper time to heal. It’s the order – from everyone,” Lyla says softly, looking at him with worried eyes.

Miguel faces her, knowing that this is the first time something like this has happened to him and despite being an AI and her attitude, he can tell she was worried. He nods at her. “I’ll be back soon. Make sure you do your job without driving the members crazy.”

She gives Miguel a grin. “It’s part of my personality, can’t help it but I’ll do my job, boss. I might pop by later when the other members are gone. Enjoy the movies!”

She gives him a peace sign and says her goodbye to the two of you before she disappears. The two of you watch the movies for the rest of the afternoon, pausing when the medical team comes in to check on Miguel, and yes, you hid the food boxes amongst Miguel’s flowers and balloons, masking the scent by bringing some flowers to the nightstand next to the bed so they wouldn’t find out until you got rid of the evidence.

A little after ten o’clock, Miguel yawns softly just as the second movie ends. You stand up and stretch, before walking over to him.

“How are you doing? Do you want a drink or maybe use the restroom before bed?” you ask, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable.

Miguel sighs softly, moving a bit. “I really wish I could get up and stretch,” he says. “I’d also like to brush my teeth.”

You nod, thinking. “I can solve the teeth situation but – I’m not sure I can help you get up without hurting you. Let me call the nurses, okay?”

“Let’s try it. Just – you and me. Please,” he says gently, and you can’t refuse with that soft tone of his, so you nod.

“Alright… but slowly. I don’t want to hurt you. Let me get the toothbrush and toothpaste first though,” you say as you go to your small traveling bag. In your hurry to return fast, you opted to throw a new pack of toothbrushes you had and your toothpaste when you were packing. Now you’re glad because you can give one to Miguel. You quickly take both items to the bathroom before you return to him.

The two of you work together to get him to stand up, and you succeed after what feels like fifteen minutes because you wanted to avoid hurting him. At last, however, he holds on to you with his arm wrapped around your waist at your request when you noticed his balance is a little off. Your own arm is around his waist, careful to avoid touching any of his stomach area. You remain like that for a few minutes, letting Miguel get used to being on his feet again. You ask him if he’s okay or if he needs to sit down again but he declines, telling you to give him a few more seconds. Eventually he nods.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

You silently hope this all goes well as you help him take a few steps. Thankfully the action doesn’t hurt Miguel nearly as much as you thought it would since neither of you are rushing. The two of you walk a bit in the area between the bed and the family area, with Miguel taking short steps. You wish you thought of bringing him slippers as you look down at his feet, noticing that he’s wearing standard hospital socks, but you decide you’ll ask for another pair so you can change them out once he’s back in bed. You also decide tomorrow you or someone else will need to go to his apartment to collect some items as he’ll still be here tomorrow.

At last, Miguel stands in front of the sink. He sees himself in the mirror and his reflection makes him pause. He’s never looked this bad and then he remembers, once again, that he died. The possibility that he wouldn’t even be staring at himself right now hits Miguel suddenly. He clears his thoughts and turns his head to you.

“You ready?” you ask softly, looking up at him.

“Yes. I think I can do it on my own,” he replies, and you nod hesitantly before giving him the toothbrush with some toothpaste on it.

He starts lifting his arm, but the movement makes him wince.

“I can help you,” you say quietly and after a few seconds Miguel sighs.

“You already fed me and now you’re going to brush my teeth,” he says but he doesn’t sound angry, he’s just embarrassed.

“And I’ll do more than that if necessary. If you allow me. I just – don’t want you to get hurt,” you say softly. “I know… This can feel embarrassing,” you continue as you take the toothbrush from his hand, guiding his arm down gently to avoid any more discomfort.

At your height, you can’t reach his mouth, so you climb up the counter, resting on your heels, facing him. You grab a towel from a stack and put it over his chest, tucking it gently into the hospital gown’s neckline to avoid getting it dirty. You lean closer and motion for him to open his mouth. He sighs and then follows your order. You start brushing his teeth gently, focusing on the task as you continue to talk.

“I know it can feel embarrassing. I used to feel like that when I got hurt and went home to Peter,” you start. “He took care of my wounds. Helped me shower and dress. Got me in bed and still had the energy to hold me,” you say quietly, your tone full of fondness as you remember Peter once again. “I felt embarrassed even with my partner so I can imagine what this must feel like when I’m just, you know,” you say as you continue to brush his teeth, carefully. All the while, Miguel’s eyes take in the sight of you this close, listening to your quiet voice as you lean closer, even ducking your head to get a good view of his mouth. He blinks when he hears your last words, knowing what you’re saying. That it’s normal for him to feel embarrassed when it’s you, his friend, doing this for him. “But I hope – you allow me to continue to help you so you can recover faster. I don’t like seeing you like this,” you say with a frown, which he notices, as you finish brushing one side of his mouth. You wipe the corner of his mouth softly with the towel. “So, please… if you need help with something, don’t hesitate to ask because of embarrassment. I’m here to help you,” you say as you start brushing the other side of his mouth.

He nods softly after a few seconds while you finish brushing his teeth. At last, you’re done, and you smile at him, drying his mouth from the water.

“Done,” you say as you rinse the toothbrush before you place it on a toothbrush holder for tomorrow. “Anything else you’d like to do before you get back in bed?”

Miguel meets your eyes, thinking about what he’s about to ask.

“Do you mind – passing a towel over my face?” Miguel asks. “My face feels weird.”

You nod, remembering. “I have these reusable cotton face pads. They’re much softer on the skin than a towel. Let me get them real quick,” you say and with that you slide off the counter and exit the bathroom. Miguel stands there, surprised at your offer but he doesn’t have much time to think anything else because you enter the bathroom again holding some round cotton pads. He watches as you climb up the counter again before you open the hot water and pass the pads under it. You squeeze the excess and turn to him at last. “Alright, you ready?”

Miguel nods again. “Yes, thank you.”

You nod, realizing some of his hair is over his forehead. You feel a bit nervous as you think about what you’re about to ask him. “Do you mind if I hold your hair up?”

“Go ahead,” Miguel answers softly, answering almost immediately, which surprises you a bit.

He doesn’t seem to mind, so you nod and carefully reach for his hair. You lift it lightly before you glide the lukewarm cotton pad over his forehead with a tenderness that makes Miguel hold his breath for a few seconds. You wipe his forehead, then his eyebrows. Your movements remain tender, making Miguel feel like he’s some delicate glass object that’s worthy of your gentleness as you glide the pad down the bridge to the tip and sides of his nose. You change pads and ask him to close his eyes before you glide it over his eyelids, moving to the rest of the eye area.

Your face remains neutral as you clean his face though your eyes take in every detail. From the flecks in his red eyes to his eyebrows to the lines on his forehead and under eyes. And when you reach the bottom half of his face your eyes trace his cheeks, jawline, chin, and finally his lips, wiping them softly to make sure you remove any toothpaste excess.

The entire process makes Miguel’s face feel warm, not because of the warmness of the pads but because of the closeness of this moment. No one has ever done this to him. And yet, you seem so unbothered by it. Like this is normal. You grab another pad, damping it with warm water again and repeating the process much faster this time. You let go of his hair and move back.

“Done,” you say softly as you put down the pads on the counter, telling yourself you’ll pick them up later to take home and wash. Miguel watches your movement and for the first time, he notices it. There are light scratches on your hand, and he instantly knows they came from his talons. “Are you ready to head back? Or do you need to use the bathroom?” you ask Miguel, not noticing.

“Your hand,” Miguel says still looking at it. “I scratched you?” he asks, meeting your eyes, sounding extremely bothered by this.

You look down in surprise, remembering that he scratched you a bit when you were trying to calm him down as he grew restless. It was hard not to forget about them, as shortly after that his heart gave out.

“Oh, yes but don’t worry about it. It didn’t hurt that much. I honestly forgot about them,” you admit, making Miguel frown.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t remember – when I did that. Not only must I’ve hurt you but probably ripped your suit in the process as well,” Miguel says, sounding regretful.

You shake your head. “It hardly hurt, really. I even forgot I had these,” you say nodding to the scratches. “And about the suit, I didn’t notice any rips on it this morning and even if there are, I’m sure I can fix it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I can have it fixed for you here. Or you can have a new one,” Miguel offers. “Same design, maybe with some updates if you’d like… But you should get the scratches checked just in case. I’m really sorry that I did this to you,” Miguel says quietly, and he truly does feel bad. He doesn’t even remember doing it.

You smile gently at him and nod. “If it comes to that, sure but we can worry about that later. And don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt. They were very light scratches, nothing to worry about. I promise,” you reassure him. “So, ready to head back?”

Miguel is upset with himself over scratching you, but he sees that you want to drop it, so he lets it go, too. For now. He’ll make sure you have a new suit because he’s certain he ripped yours. There’s no way he didn’t and even though he doesn’t know the exact reason, he knows you’re very attached to your suit. He sighs silently and answers your question at last.

“I need to use the bathroom, but I got it, thank you,” he says gently, thinking the last thing either of you need is for you to help him use the bathroom, too.

“Of course, I’ll be outside if you need me. Please take your time so you don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

He nods, grateful to you for everything but still feeling bad about scratching you, before you head out of the bathroom, closing the door after you.

You check your gizmo to distract yourself, noticing several messages from your friends asking about Miguel and his status, and if either of you need anything so they can drop it off. You smile fondly as you read the thread of messages before responding quickly to them, letting them know that Miguel has been doing well and that you’ll let them know if either of you need anything. You finish sending the last message just as you hear the toilet flush and then the water running. Miguel comes out about a minute later. He seems to be able to walk a lot better on his own now but he’s still moving slow to prevent any pain.

You offer to help him and this time he puts his arm around your shoulders, leaning just a bit on you. You successfully get him back in bed, finding the process much easier than getting him out of it. You tell him about changing his socks since he walked on the infirmary floor, but he says he’s fine without them, so you just remove them for him before you cover him again for the night. You bring the blanket close to his chest and fix his pillow to his preference. At last, he lays on the bed feeling much better.

“Thank you for everything,” Miguel says as he watches you fix your chair to sleep, wishing you’d go home so you can properly rest or for there to be something far more comfortable than the fold out chair, but he can already hear you turning down his suggestions.

You fix your pillow before you turn around to face him, giving him a small smile. “Always,” you say softly. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

He nods and watches as you pick up your travel bag before you head into the bathroom, closing the door quietly after yourself. Miguel turns away and looks up at the ceiling, remembering. Last night around this time he was in the lab, feeling restless but still working, not even imagining what was going to happen in a matter of hours. He sighs softly now, repositioning his head to get comfortable. He feels tired and he knows he'll fall asleep soon, but he wants to make sure you’re comfortable, too, or at least as much as possible.

You come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing different clothes but not pajamas, though they look far more comfortable than what you were wearing earlier.

“The AC turns on a lot during the night. Do you want me to lift the blanket higher up, so you don’t get cold?”

Miguel meets your eyes and answers yes, his mind now shifting to how caring you’ve been all day, even sneaking food for him. He has a lot to thank you for, and he feels as though nothing he says or offers to you will ever be able to fully express his gratitude. You fix the blanket and even tuck it in a bit for him before you step back, giving him space.

“Is that comfortable?” you ask, and Miguel nods.

“It is. Thank you.”

You nod, smiling at him softly before you turn around and take a seat on the chair, covering your lower body with a blanket.

“You’re not sleeping yet?” he asks, noticing that you haven’t folded out the chair.

“I’m not sleepy yet.”

And you really don’t, probably due to the large cup of coffee you drank but you know at some point during the night you will as it’s close to twenty-four hours since you slept. Miguel nods though he frowns.

“Try to rest,” he says quietly.

“I will. Don’t worry about me. Rest,” you answer as you pull the blanket higher up your body, thinking.

Miguel nods again, closing his eyes, unable to fight sleep anymore. He ends up falling asleep about fifteen minutes later, his soft and even breathing filling your ears as you sit on the fold out chair. You watch his sleeping figure, the sight providing you calmness as you think about the day. Miguel woke up, talked, ate, and even chuckled at your comment about the infirmary food being a crime. You smile softly, staring at him. He’s okay. He just has to recover and soon he’ll be back in his lab, working like normal, a sight you never thought you’d wish for until now.

You stay awake for an hour more, watching over Miguel, before sleep consumes you.

Miguel wakes up about two hours later. He opens his eyes and looks around, his gaze stopping on you as he takes your sleeping figure. He blinks a few times, still staring at you. Somehow you manage to make sleeping on the fold out chair look comfortable. The blanket is up to your chest, and you hold the pillow vertically to your body, with your head resting on it and your arms wrapped around it. It looks as if you were laying on someone’s chest while hugging them. And Miguel can’t keep his eyes off you as your soft breathing fills his ears, feeling glad that you’re sleeping at last because he doesn’t know how long you’ve been awake for.

He tries to sleep again but it seems that sleep has deserted him and instead he finds himself thinking about everything as he watches over you now. He was able to avoid thinking about a lot of things throughout the day but now, there’s no escape from his thoughts. You’re not awake, there’s no Jess or Peter, or TV to provide relief from the thoughts that have been on his mind since he woke up. And there are so, so many.

First, there’s the fact that Miguel briefly passed away. It isn’t that he thinks he’s invisible. He has experienced too many losses in his life to know that no one is invisible, no matter how strong, how kind, or how innocent someone may be. Death doesn’t care about those things. He’s also not fearful of dying. It’s never been about the actual act itself. It’s always been other factors. Like how a few months ago he was afraid of the aftermath. About whether anyone would care or even show up to his funeral because of the way he carried himself; distant and detached.

Then, on Peter’s birthday, you led him to lose that fear. Now he feels overwhelmed for another reason. It’s the realization that he feels regret. If he was to look back at his life up until the moment his heart stopped, Miguel realizes he wouldn’t look back with satisfaction when it came to his decisions and way of living. No, he would’ve looked back and seen himself experience loss after loss, heartache after heartache. He’d see himself giving up and turning away anyone who tried to get close, leading to his lonely life with a few lapses of time in which he was happy before he’d lose everything again. His short death has made him realize that he doesn’t want to look back at his life, when he’s older or when he’s gone for good, with disappointment and regret.

There’s also the thoughts about his dream or vision, or whatever the hell that was. Miguel moves his fingers under the blanket, extending his arms out the sides of the blanket so he can look at them. He successfully does this without hurting himself and when he finally sees his fingers, he closes his hands, remembering how it felt to hold Gabriella again. How it felt to hug his brother and wife. The dream comes to him quickly, playing through his mind. A part of him wants it to be real, while another part of him feels that it was real. How could it be otherwise when it felt so real? When it made sense? His family’s words echo through his mind again. Everything they said. They want him to move forward. To take this second chance. To stop his current way of living. Miguel also thinks of the guilt he has carried for so long and because a part of him believes his dream was a real but short reunion with them, he feels relieved. Like a weight has been taken off his shoulders, especially after his variant, his wife, and Gabriella forgave him for his actions.

Another thought plaguing Miguel’s mind is Miles’s card. He tried to act normal afterward but he’s sure you noticed the change of mood in him. He began to read it, expecting well wishes for a speedy recovery or something of the sort, and yes, that was part of it but not all of it. For some reason, Miles felt that it was necessary to talk about Miguel’s actions when it came to their “disagreement,” as Miles lightly put it, even though Miguel wouldn’t dare dream of wording it like that after how he behaved. No, Miguel accepts that his actions and words were disgusting and even though everyone has moved on, he continues to feel shame and regret for everything.

For hunting down Miles across the multiverse, for trying to stop him from saving Mr. Morales, the same man who sent him food for the holidays because for some reason he and Mrs. Morales still have it in their hearts to be forgiving and feel concerned for him, despite knowing that Miguel literally asked their son to accept Mr. Morales’s death as a canon event, not to mention the way he treated Miles. Yet, Miles and his family, and everyone else it seems, have moved on – something Miles made clear in his card. With the way Miles acts around him these days, Miguel kind of knew this already though, for Miles continues to call him “tío” sometimes, a title Miguel hasn’t felt worthy of. On top of that, Miles went on and apologized to him, something else Miguel doesn’t feel worthy of and yet, the young superhero apologized, claiming that he had disregarded Miguel’s fear back then, and that even though his theory wasn’t perfect, Miguel was basing it from what he knew back then, from his own experience. All in all, Miguel hadn’t expected such contents in the card but then again, what could he expect from someone who continuously surprised him. So, there’s Miles’s words, lingering in Miguel’s mind.

Then there’s you. You were the one to say it first, to claim him as your friend. And hell, Miguel wishes he could’ve said it back; that you’re his friend. The one that never asks for anything and has remained the same throughout all these months. Always kind, caring, and understanding. Miguel sighs, wishing. Wishing he could say it, and yet he can’t because he’s afraid. Everyone Miguel has ever cared about is gone, and the losses in his life have led to a fear. A fear that the moment he admits out loud that you’re his friend, too, that you’ll disappear; that something will happen to you and Miguel cannot take another loss. He cannot risk it even when a part of his brain tells him he's being irrational.

Miguel’s thoughts are starting to feel more like reasons. Like excuses. Like signs.

Miguel feels like he’s going backwards. For the longest time, Miguel has believed that the best way to “move forward” was accepting loneliness, the lack of friends and family, and that his life’s purpose is his job – his duty. He also believed he put behind certain hardships in his life like his childhood and how his stepfather treated him, not realizing the truth behind it until he discovered that the man he grew up fearful of, was never his father to begin with but rather the man he worked for as an adult. Or how his mother always placed Gabriel on a pedestal, her words cutting through him each time she told Miguel he would never be anything like him. He never resented Gabriel, but he couldn’t say the same for his mother even after they resolved their issues years later. There are so many wounds in Miguel’s heart and while he believes that he has moved on, or put them behind him, the reality is that all his wounds are still there; open and raw.

But Miguel kept going, thinking the next loss or heartache couldn’t possibly be worse than the last one. It was. Each time. It just reinforced his belief that he was meant for this lonely life.

Now, there’s so many signs, so many reasons… Everything around him, all his thoughts, every part of him telling him to go ahead and get his hopes up again. To let himself go back to a younger version of himself that longed for so much.

For a family. For friendships.

His family told him to try and move forward. His variant told him to seize the opportunity, to find another purpose other than work. Basically, to not let the hardships of his life dictate the rest of it. Then there’s Miles’s card, forgiving him for the way he acted towards him. And finally, you’re here. Sleeping on a fold out chair that he can never imagine sleeping comfortably on, hours later after telling him that he’s your friend. Looking after him in ways he’s never been looked after, treating him like he’s worthy of your friendship. Like he’s deserving of this second chance and being able to call you his friend. So many signs.

Miguel sighs quietly. It feels like he’s going backwards, and there’s nothing he can do about it. And maybe, he doesn’t want to do anything about it, Miguel realizes as he continues to watch you sleep.

He lays in bed, watching you and thinking when his thoughts are interrupted.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Miguel turns to Lyla. “Can’t sleep.”

“So, you’re just watching Y/N instead…?”

“I’m not – what are you doing here?” Miguel asks frowning, talking quietly to avoid disturbing your sleep.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been watching her for like – the last half hour. It’s weird, please stop,” Lyla says crossing her arms over her chest, frowning back at Miguel.

“I wasn’t… I was thinking.”

“Sureee, if that’s going to help you sleep, then go ahead.”

Miguel’s frown deepens but he says nothing else, his eyes returning to you, and once again, he wonders how you look so comfortable in that damn chair. Lyla joins him in staring at you and Miguel notices.

“Now who’s staring?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m just ‘thinking,’ boss,” Lyla says with a smirk, causing Miguel to roll his eyes. “But in all seriousness, I’m glad she’s finally sleeping. She’s been awake since three in the morning when she realized something was wrong.”

That peels Miguel’s attention from you to Lyla.

“What?”

Lyla shrugs, arms still crossed over her chest. “Yeah, she was awake since three in the morning and hasn’t slept until now.”

“No, the other thing. The thing about her figuring out something was wrong.”

Lyla’s eyes widen and she uncrosses her arms quickly. “Oh, you know, I just remembered that I need to do something for Jess. She wants it done by the time she arrives, so I ought to go because I don’t need a lecture from Jess.”

“Lyla,” Miguel whispers in a warning tone.

“Rest well and don’t be a creep, goodnight!” Lyla says before she disappears, leaving him with questions.

Miguel sighs, feeling annoyed that she avoided the question but now he knows. You were the one that figured it out but how? What were you doing at HQ so late? Miguel decides that he’ll ask you tomorrow, or rather later, as it’s already early Sunday. Miguel continues to watch you sleep until your soft and even breathing lure him back to sleep.

★★★

A few hours later, Miguel wakes up. He finds you sitting on the fold out chair, already dressed in different clothes and looking like you’ve showered. You’re on the tablet Ben Reilly brought you yesterday, eyebrows furrowed as you type into the screen.

“Good morning,” Miguel says, his voice sounding raspy and deeper than usual.

You look up and stand up immediately, leaving the tablet on the chair as you approach him.

“Good morning, Miguel. Did you sleep well?”

Miguel nods, closing his eyes for a second, getting used to the brighter light in the room. The sun is out today, and the sky is sprinkled with white clouds. The rain is gone.

“I did, thank you. What time is it?”

“It’s nine.”

“I slept too much,” he responds, opening his eyes.

“You need as much rest as possible,” you reply, observing Miguel’s face. He looks much better today.

“I guess so,” Miguel replies, looking at you again. “You look ready to start the day.”

You nod and smile. “I woke up about two hours ago and decided to go ahead and get ready for the day.”

Miguel gives you a small grin. “What are you working on?”

Meeting his eyes, you continue to smile. “Well, I asked Jess this morning if there was anything else I could help with around here. She assigned me to work on the report for this week.”

Miguel nods, thinking that’s something he always works on, but it doesn’t bother him that you’re doing it. If anything, it makes him think about something. And the thought grows as you grab the tablet and show him your progress so far. The layout is like the current one, just slightly different and he likes it. With the thoughts from last night still present in his mind, Miguel has the sudden thought that maybe he ought to let members do more around HQ. Maybe he should let someone else work on the report with him. Someone like you. He smiles softly as you show him, nodding. He’ll bring it up later, once he’s fully recovered.

“It looks great,” he says, and he means it.

“Thank you,” you say, saving your progress and putting the tablet away. “So, updates. Jess and Peter said they’d be here in a while. They’re bringing breakfast. The doctor came in and said she’ll look at your wounds sometime today to see the progress. Based on how they’re doing, she’ll decide when to discharge you. She also said you can shower today after she checks your wounds. So, would you like me or someone else to bring your personal items for a shower? You can wear normal clothes now, by the way. You just need to wear a jacket or something of the sort that can be slipped on and off if needed without you having to raise your arms too much.”

Miguel nods. “Yes, please. I really would like to shower and wear something else other than this,” he says looking down at the hospital gown. Thankfully he’s wearing his boxers underneath, but he doesn’t like how thin the fabric is and the AC has been constantly on.

“Alright, then we can ask the doctor to check your wounds after breakfast if you want. And then you can shower, which reminds me, the doctor said there’s a male nurse available. He’ll be ready to assist you.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I can do it by myself.”

You frown. “Miguel…”

“At least the lower half of my body, I can,” he says softly and looks away. “I may need help with my hair and torso but that’s it.”

“You’ll let the nurse help you with the rest though, right? You’ll hurt yourself if you try to do it alone.”

Miguel continues to look away. The thought of a stranger, despite being his employee, makes him feel weird, and not because it’s a man. He doesn’t want a stranger to touch him. He sighs and you know why.

“Would you be – more comfortable with one of us helping you?” you ask lowly.

Miguel’s eyes shift to you. There’s Jess, Peter, and you as his options.

You shrug a bit. “I don’t mind. And I’m sure neither would Peter and Jess if you ask them.”

Miguel nods slowly. “I hate to ask…”

You stare at him, swallowing slowly because you have a feeling that he’d prefer for you to help him, but he can’t ask. You decide to put it out there for him.

“I can help you if you’d like.”

And Miguel nods a few seconds later. “Thank you. I’m sorry – I know it’s too much. You’ve done so much already and I…”

“It’s not too much,” you answer softly. “It’s alright. Let’s just focus on you recovering, okay? Everything else – it doesn’t matter.”

Miguel nods but he still feels odd about this. He’s so used to doing everything on his own, which is how he got here, he realizes. He tries to put his feelings away just as there’s a knock on the door. Jess and Peter walk in, both carrying takeout bags. Peter is talking loudly and saying something about a nurse. Miguel and you frown, thinking that they must have been seen carrying in outside food.

“You didn’t get in trouble for bringing outside food?” you ask.

Jess frowns before she realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, right. There’s that rule. Nobody follows it,” she says with a shrug.

You turn to Miguel as Jess and Peter start putting out the food on the same table from yesterday. The two of you share a look of disbelief at Jess’s comment before you grin, shaking your head softly. Miguel offers you a small smile in return.

The four of you have breakfast. It turns out that Jess brought breakfast from a diner in her universe, apparently a favorite spot of her husband’s, who kindly sent the food and wished Miguel a speedy recovery. After breakfast, Jess and Peter ask Miguel if they can talk about certain tasks that need his approval. You decide to take this time and collect his personal items. He gives you a quick rundown of everything he’d need and where you can find it before you head out.

It doesn’t take you very long. You retrieve his personal hygiene items like his shampoo, body wash, and deodorant along with his hairbrush. You move to the clothes next. It turns out that Miguel has a large walk-in closet, located in his room that you completely missed when you came to look for him two nights ago as the doors blend with the rest of the wall so much. You pick up two pairs of dark grey sweatpants, at his request, and two jackets, along with two pairs of boxers. You remember to grab some slippers and socks as well, and pack everything into a travel bag before you head out of his bedroom, briefly taking in his space.

Miguel’s room is large, clean, and well organized but you can tell he doesn’t spend a lot of time here. Everything is in neutral colors like his grey bed set. You head to Miguel’s home office next to pick up the last thing he requested. A vial that’s supposed to contain a green liquid and a syringe. You wondered but of course you didn’t ask.

You enter the office, finding it like the rest of Miguel’s penthouse; clean and organized, all neutral colors. You head to the desk, remembering he said you’d find what he needs in the first drawer and sure enough, you find the items there. The squared vials, which contain a neon green liquid, are in a small box meant to keep them from breaking. You pick one up, careful not to drop it, and place it in one of the small storage bags within the traveling bag. The large syringe is also in the drawer, and it’s apparently Spider-Man themed as you notice the injecting needles are designed to look like a spider’s fangs. You slide it into the bag, too. You walk out of the office, ready to head back as the strange vial is on your mind.

When you return to HQ, you find Jess and Peter standing off to the side. Miguel is on the bed surrounded by the medical team just as they’re preparing to remove his gauzes. You stick back with Jess and Peter, still holding the travel bag in your hand as Jess tells Miguel about the different things done to fix the system failure from yesterday. Miguel nods, listening intently as a nurse unties the hospital gown from the back of his neck, gently moving it down his arms to not hurt him and for the first time, you see the extent of his injuries. Most of his torso is covered in gauzes with only a few areas showing his skin and it makes you realize just how much he was injured. Thankfully Jess continues talking, showing no hesitation. Meanwhile, you sense Peter going still much like you. He looks out the window with a soft and thoughtful look on his face while you look down at the traveling bag, both of you feeling stunned by the sight of Miguel’s torso covered in gauzes.

You eventually look up again, noticing that the team is now removing gauzes, revealing Miguel’s injuries. Even from this distance you can see light pink lines across his skin from the smaller wounds. You also notice other things, like Miguel’s physique. You obviously know he’s well-built due to being a superhero but as your eyes respectfully inspect his upper body you still feel… admiration? Surprise? In a matter of seconds your eyes take in his broad and defined shoulders, his collarbone, and the lines of definition that mark his chest and abdomen. And when you look at his arms, you notice his large biceps and the veins leading down to his hands. As silly as it sounds all you can think about is that phrase everyone uses when they talk about a well-built and handsome man. It’s like Miguel was sculpted by -

“Did you get everything Miguel needed?”

“What?” you reply quietly, blinking and turning your head to Peter, startled.

“I asked if you got everything Miguel needed. You okay? You look a little distracted,” Peter says with a little grin.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you nod. “Yeah, I got everything. And yes, I’m fine. Just – it’s been a stressful weekend, that’s all,” you answer neutrally, looking down at your gizmo as an excuse to avoid Peter’s gaze because you sense that he caught you staring.

You briefly look at Miguel, his eyes are on Jess as she continues to talk, thankfully unaware that you were staring at him. The medical team continues to work and at last, all the gauzes are removed. You can see the worst of his injuries now which include the two large cuts on his side and then the one in his stomach from the trident, which needed stitches. The doctor tells you how to go about cleaning his wounds, as Miguel makes it known you’ll be helping him, so you take note of everything for when the time comes.

“Well, that’s everything. The other thing I was thinking about is that we should consider training or at least educating more members on how to work with the system. Y/N had to get Margo in order to get Lyla working again when she arrived at HQ,” Jess says, not realizing Miguel still hasn’t heard the whole story.

Miguel sits on the bed; the hospital gown is draped over his chest now. At the mention of you arriving to HQ and discovering something was wrong, he meets your eyes. Two people have now mentioned you arriving at HQ and being the one to discover something was wrong. Miguel’s curiosity only grows but he doesn’t ask right now with Jess and Peter here. He’ll be asking you soon, even though he notices you avert his gaze. He returns his gaze to Jess and nods.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he says after a few seconds, which surprises Jess. She was expecting opposition. “Let’s put together a list of members that would be interested and suitable for it.”

Jess nods. “I already have a list. These two are included,” Jess says nodding at you and Peter.

Miguel’s eyes turn to you and Peter. “If you’re interested, you’re approved.”

“Oh, thanks, pal! I’m in.”

You nod. “I’m interested, too. Thank you.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll be the first to be trained,” Miguel says softly. “I’ll personally teach you once I’m back in the lab.”

Peter and you nod, giving him smiles.

“Well, that’s really everything now. We’ll go ahead and head out so you can shower. Don’t worry about lunch or dinner. My husband and I are cooking something for you,” Jess says smiling fondly. “He agreed you two deserve a homemade meal now that things are calmer. You know how he is,” she adds with a smile that you only see on her when she talks about her partner.

“Thank you, Jess. Please give my thanks to your husband as well,” Miguel says pausing, taking the moment to look at all of you. “Thank you for everything,” Miguel expresses, with his tone full of sincerity.

You smile at him as Jess and Peter say something, not finding it necessary to tell him anything else. You’ve told him already. Being here and helping him is not an inconvenience to you. He’s your friend, and you want to be here for him.

Jess and Peter head out shortly after, and you prepare to help Miguel shower.

You set his personal hygiene items out in the bathroom, along with his clothes before you help Miguel out of the bed once again. You walk with him to the bathroom and start the shower for him, angling the shower head so that he can wash the lower half of his body without getting his torso wet, as too much exposure to water can lead to infection. You leave towels out, easily accessible for him and head out but not before telling him to let you know if he needs help or when he’s ready.

You also ask him to take his time so he doesn’t hurt himself as the deeper wounds will take maybe two or three more days to fully heal. And Miguel promises he will.

You head out, closing the door behind you and prepare the items you’ll be needing to dress his wounds once he’s out. You also prepare the soap, washcloths, and two water basins the medical team provided to wash his upper body.

You wait patiently for Miguel to finish and as you do, you clean around the room to give yourself something to do. You fix his bed, fold the blankets, and rearrange the flowers and snack baskets gifted to Miguel since you picked up more items this morning while Miguel was still sleeping from the waiting area. Once done, you look around as you take a sip of leftover coffee from breakfast and that’s when you hear Miguel’s voice. You walk over and knock, asking if you can come in and do so once he replies yes.

When you walk into the bathroom, Miguel is standing in the shower. A towel is wrapped around his waist. The end of the towel is tucked in but he still his hand over it, as if he’s afraid it’ll slip off.

“Everything okay?” you ask. “No issues?”

“No issues, I just took a long time,” he says quietly.

“That’s alright. As long as you don’t get hurt, that’s all that matters,” you say. “Let me grab the other items, okay?”

He nods before you walk out and retrieve the items you prepared earlier. You come in again, feeling glad the shower is large enough to fit about three people despite a shower chair and bench being inside. Miguel watches silently, unable to stop himself from feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. He observes you place the water basins on the shower chair before you check the water temperature to make sure it’s not too hot, as you don’t want to cause Miguel any irritation or discomfort to his sensitive wounds. You finally angle the shower head towards the water basins to fill them as this is how you’re washing his chest. You check the soap that was given to you by the medical team when you remember.

“Shoot, I forgot to ask for something else,” you say, placing the soap on the bathroom counter. “It shouldn’t take me long, hold on.”

“What’s needed?” Miguel asks curiously, as nothing seems to be missing.

You pause, thinking how to word your statement. “I’m going to ask for gloves. It might be better for me to wear gloves to avoid – touching your injuries directly.”

You feel satisfied with your response. You didn’t say that you’ll be asking for gloves specifically to respect his boundaries regarding physical touch. All throughout the weekend you’ve done your best to avoid it, only touching him when there are fabrics in between and when it’s absolutely necessary. Miguel looks down at you with a look you can only describe as soft and tender, but it’s so brief you almost feel like you made it up.

Miguel gazes at you, knowing your true reason for wanting to request gloves, which leaves him unable to stop this warm feeling from taking root in his chest. Tenderness. It spreads across his chest rapidly and he tries his best to hide it even when he’s sure it’s too late to prevent it from showing on his face, but he can’t help it.

Despite everything, how tired you may be and how much he’s already asking of you, you’re still trying to respect his boundaries, something he’s always been silently grateful for. He gives you a small smile.

“I don’t mind,” Miguel says at last.

You nod slowly. “Okay – you’re sure, though? I can quickly go get some. The medical team has been wonderful, and they’d get me a pair in no time.”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to get gloves,” Miguel replies quietly but with a reassuring tone.

You nod again and look at the water basins, they’re halfway filled now.

“Okay… Alright, then let’s get you cleaned up. You might start getting cold with the AC continuously running,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the fact he’s okay with potentially feeling your hands on his skin.

You push away your thoughts regarding that and prepare yourself mentally, as you don’t want to hurt Miguel in the process. You wash your hands thoroughly and go through the steps the medical team gave you in your head as Miguel waits patiently. The two of you decide to start with washing his chest first before anything else as you both figure that it’ll take the most time and then leave his hair for last.

And so, after grabbing the smaller shower bench to stand on because you can’t reach his shoulders all the way, you begin. You start from Miguel’s shoulders and make your way down slowly. You do this in parts. Cleaning the areas gently, rinsing the soap away, and then softly patting dry Miguel’s skin to avoid any infections. Your movements are gentle and cautious, and you continuously ask Miguel if he’s alright; urging him to tell you if you need to be more careful. Miguel assures you he’s in no pain or discomfort. He almost tells you he believes it’s impossible for you to be any gentler with him. Your gentleness makes him feel like some fragile object that may break with just the wrong look. Thankfully, his embarrassment fades slowly as you don’t seem to mind this. You look so focused on the task, like it’s your sole mission to avoid hurting him.

You dip the washcloth into the water basin once more before you slightly push the shower bench away, no longer needing it for height right now until you wash his back. You carry on while Miguel stands there, still holding the towel around his waist with one hand softly, staring at the shower wall and occasionally looking down at you briefly. He distracts himself for a bit by wondering if he’ll have some scars from this. He’s certain the trident wound will most definitely leave one behind since it was the deepest wound, but it doesn’t bother him. Miguel doesn’t view scars or anything of the sort like stretchmarks on a body as a flaw or imperfection. He’s just curious if there’ll be a physical reminder of this event on his body.

Miguel’s thoughts are interrupted when he feels the washcloth lower on his body. You’re about to reach the trident wound at last and that means you’re reaching his lower abdomen. He feels a bit embarrassed as the towel is just inches above his pelvic area. He’s afraid that you’ll find this to be too much but when he looks at you, you have the same look on your face. You’re not eyeing him or helping him with hesitation. You’re only focused on his comfort and making sure that the wounds are clean. He does think about the way you were looking at him earlier though when the team was removing the gauzes. He noticed a look of surprise on your face, but he doesn’t know if it was due to the injuries or his body overall. Either way, he didn’t mind.

You finish at last and rinse the last part before you dry the area softly but effectively, as this is the area with the worst of his injuries.

“We’re done. Do you feel any discomfort? Please tell me if you do,” you state with concern.

“No discomfort. I hardly felt anything,” Miguel reassures you. “Really, you can relax.”

You sigh softly and nod, relieved because you can tell he’s not lying. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I was putting too much pressure at times because some of the wounds had – you know – dry blood, so I wanted to clean the wounds properly,” you softly reply. You give him a small smile now, glad the most nerve wrecking part is over. “Alright, let’s wash the rest of your body now.”

You wash the rest of Miguel’s body, washing his arms all the way to his fingers. You keep a neutral face even when you hold his wrists so you can wash his hands, noticing the slits on Miguel’s finger pads from where his talons come out. And of course, you’re sort of in awe at how large his hands are. It’s not like you haven’t noticed before but they somehow look larger without the suit. You push your thoughts away, making sure that Miguel is in no discomfort and that you don’t waste time but even then, you can’t help but notice how his skin feels or how warm he is. You silently think about how you’ve never encountered anyone with such body warmth.  

The two of you are silent the whole time but it’s a comfortable silence. Neither of you feel the need to fill the quiet and besides, Miguel’s mind is occupied with last night’s thoughts, about the new proposition to educate members on how to operate the system, and on top of that, he’s still wondering how you knew something was wrong. He wants to ask but the fact that you averted his gaze when Jess mentioned it makes him think you’re not ready to talk about it. So, he’ll wait for a few days.

You gently wash Miguel’s sides, his underarms, and finally his back having to use the shower bench again to reach his shoulders. You rinse his body, holding a towel above the one wrapped around his waist to avoid getting it damp. Finally, you pat him dry everywhere again.  

You move to his hair at last. For this, the shower chair is used. You arrange it so that you can stand behind Miguel while he sits on it. With everything you need at your disposal, you start by wetting his hair. You pour warm water, making sure that his hair is completely wet before you lather the shampoo in your hands. You proceed to glide your fingers into Miguel’s hair, gently pressing your fingertips into his scalp.

At your request, Miguel’s eyes are closed since you’re worried water or shampoo will get in his eyes. And the moment he feels your fingertips on his scalp, Miguel’s relieved you requested that of him. His lips part slightly in both surprise and delight at the sensation of your fingers in his hair. Fortunately for him, you don’t notice. He quickly closes his lips and bites the inside of his cheek as he continues to feel your fingertips through his hair. His grip on the towel around his waist tightens and for a few seconds he's afraid his talons will come out.

And you, you’re oblivious to all of this as Miguel tries very hard not to let it show. You just continue to wash his hair, noticing more than ever the curls on Miguel’s hair. His hair is silky, and you briefly wonder what it’d be like to glide your fingers through it when it’s dry. It reminds you of the countless times you played with Peter’s hair, something he absolutely loved, claiming it always eased his stress.

Thinking about Peter in this moment leads you to remember the one time you washed his hair. It was shortly after the two of you moved in together. You painted the living room, and he got paint on it, which refused to come out after the first two showers. He ended up sitting on the tub while you sat on the edge, washing his hair a few times until it finally came off. It was the only time you got to reciprocate such intimate act even though he helped you shower on more than five occasions, when you returned home with nasty bruises and cuts, and completely spent from fighting.

Miguel continues to sit still, your hands still washing his hair gently, and he decides to talk about anything to keep his mind occupied and distracted from your hands on his scalp.

“Have you ever received injuries like these?” he asks, keeping his eyes closed.

The question interrupts your thoughts, and it takes you a few seconds to answer.

“To this degree… One time only. I got cut with a sword,” you say, recalling that incidence. “The guy caught me by surprise while I was helping civilians out of the way. I needed a few stitches.”

Miguel hums softly in acknowledgement. “A sword…”

You chuckle. “Yep. Got home afterwards and well, Peter had to help.”

Miguel turns his head slightly at that. “Peter? You didn’t go to the hospital?”

You slow down your movements as you’re now washing the hair near Miguel’s nape. “I was too – precautious, I guess you could say. Paranoid might be the best term here. I feared that the hospital staff would start asking questions or put two and two together about being Spider-Woman. I was afraid that my identity would be revealed. That Peter’s life would be a mess because of me.”

Miguel listens intently, briefly feeling thankful that the conversation is distracting him from your touch.

“So, I refused to go to the hospital. It was a condition I had. Unless it was very, very serious then I’d go but otherwise no. Peter ended up taking a class on wound care and CPR because of my decision, even though he was very against it, but he was always very supportive… Thankfully by the time that happened he already knew how to take care of it. That was the first and last time he had to give me stitches.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking. To this day you have a slight scar on the side of your stomach, and you carry it with love, for it’s one of the reminders of Peter’s love. You sigh softly and wash Miguel’s hair near his ears now, careful not to get shampoo on them. Miguel sits there thinking about Peter. He never met the man but just from what he’s acquire, he knows Peter loved you. So much, that he took classes on wound care to treat your injuries. Miguel feels grief for you. You had such a beautiful relationship with Peter. He wonders silently if at this point, you’d be married to him. If you’d have a child by now.  

You’re almost done washing his hair when his thoughts lead to a different line of thinking. He hates it because he knows it’s wrong and yet he cannot stop his thoughts. Would you still be here if Peter was alive? Or would you be just another member who reached the conclusion that perhaps he was a lost cause after weeks of him ignoring your coffee cups? Would you go home to Peter and tell him about your distant boss, who spends too many hours on his own in his lab? Would you be here? Would you be a constant in his life the way you are now?

Would any of this have happened at all, he wonders. If Peter was here, there would’ve been no need for him to show up to your apartment that day you were unwell. There would be no talking on Peter’s birthday over cake and ice cream. No sharing of pan dulce and Mexican candy on Dia de los Muertos night, no one to watch the Christmas lights or New Year’s Eve show with. There would be no you.

You wouldn’t be a part of his life the way you are but if Miguel had the power to choose between you being a part of his life or you living your best life with Peter unscathed, he’d choose the latter, even if it meant there would be no you in his life.

Even the thought, the simple thought, that there’s a chance you could’ve never been a part of his life like this, leaves Miguel with a heavy feeling in his chest that rises to his throat. A feeling that he hasn’t felt in a while and it’s one that tells him he has something to lose again. And that’s how he truly knows. He’s been going backwards all this time. Each moment spent with you behind closed doors talking over coffee, or on rooftops gazing at cities across the multiverse, each moment that either of you’ve shared something with the other about your past and loved ones, or each time he thought of you late at night when his exhausted mind wandered off; he’s been slipping backwards all this time and he hasn’t even realized it until now. And despite knowing he’d give this up for you to be happy with Peter, he still can’t help but grief over the thought alone, causing that feeling to grow in Miguel’s throat.

You continue to wash Miguel’s hair and then rinse, laying your hand gently over his forehead to prevent any water from rolling down his face as you do so. You have no idea what’s on Miguel’s mind or what causes him to sigh deeply before he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I haven’t said it but I’m sorry for your loss. Peter – he sounds like he was an incredible human being.”

You smile sadly as you rinse his hair out. “Thank you… He was. I wish he would’ve had more time. I think – he would’ve done a lot of amazing things. He had so many goals,” you share quietly, remembering all the ideas and plans he had, which had remained exactly that. Just ideas and plans. You finish rinsing Miguel’s hair and give him a happier smile now. “We’re almost done here.”

Miguel nods gently, still thinking about everything. For once, his mind isn’t occupied with tasks regarding the Spider Society but with other affairs. As you rinse the bottom of his hair, squeezing out the water gently, Miguel opens his eyes.

“Y/N?” he says, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Miguel stays silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.

“Thank you,” Miguel says softly, heavy with sincerity.

And the way he says those simple words, it makes your lips part in surprise and endearment, for you sense that his thanks extend beyond this moment. Miguel turns his head towards you, his red eyes meeting your gaze. You give him a smile.

“Always,” you reply quietly, and he nods with a small smile of his own before you finish rinsing his hair.

You finish helping Miguel with the rest. You dry his hair with a towel and brush it. You help him get dressed once the two of you figure out a way to do so without him feeling improper. At last, Miguel stands in his sweatpants, still topless as you must dress his wounds. You do this in the room instead of the bathroom, with Miguel sitting on the fold-out chair you’ve claimed as yours this weekend. You sit on the shower bench and tend to his wounds the way you were told to, applying your own knowledge from experience over the years.

The TV is on as you work carefully. Miguel seems unbothered until you reach the trident wound and the two lacerations on his side, wincing silently which makes you stop to give him a moment. At last, his wounds are taken care of for the day. You help him apply deodorant before you slip a beige jacket on, zipping it up so he won’t get cold.

It isn’t until you’re done fixing the bathroom from the shower that Miguel asks about the vial, reminding you about it. You get it out along with the syringe before you show them to him. You know he can’t do it himself and despite your curiosity, you don’t ask questions about it, deciding that he’ll share details about it if he wants. So, you only offer to help, and he accepts. He tells you how to do it and the process is over in a few seconds with a fleeting red glow in his eyes. You don’t say anything and neither does Miguel, who looks down at his hands as you put away the syringe.

As promised, Jess arrives during lunch and dinnertime to bring the two of you food. You help Miguel eat both times and you notice he seems in much better spirits than the day before. It’s about 7pm when your gizmo goes off, alarming you of a new notification, and then another, and then another. Miguel, who now sits on the bed, turns to look at you with a puzzled look much like yours as you check it. You smile in amusement as you see it’s your friends, wondering if you and Miguel need something, and just overall asking about his health. Another one arrives, making Miguel raise his eyebrow as you look up at him.

“It’s my friends,” you say with a soft smile. “They’re wondering how you’re doing and if we need anything.”

Miguel nods, noticing the smile on your face as you talk about your group of friends. He realizes you probably haven’t seen them since Friday after the weekly dinner that Peter and Mary Jane host. Dinners that Miguel has been invited to but has never shown up to.

“If you want to see them,” Miguel starts. “They can come.”

You hold his gaze with a bit of surprise, which Miguel finds amusing.

“There are no rules against visitors this late in the evening, and even if there were – they’d probably be disregarded as well, just like the outside food rule,” Miguel says with a shrug, making you smile even more.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You beam at Miguel, and nod before you invite them over. Your visible excitement makes Miguel feel pleased with his decision. And, in the span of ten minutes, you and Miguel are joined by all your friends, including Lego Spider-Man, who was apparently hanging out with Noir. Miguel sits on the bed, surrounded by some of your friends as you hang out by the windows with Hobie and Pav specifically.

You watch Miguel as he talks to Lego Spider-Man, who’s held in Noir’s palm. You notice he gives Miguel a balloon and a flower, from his Lego universe, of course. Miguel nods at something the small superhero tells him, and you smile faintly before turning your attention back to your friends.

Miguel thanks everyone as they approach him, not only for the cards and well wishes but for helping around HQ. When Miles approaches him, he takes the time to thank him for his words – for his forgiveness.

“Wait, you guys know what I just realized?” Pav asks suddenly in a surprised tone.

You and Hobie both raise an eyebrow.

“This is the first time I’ve seen Miguel in normal clothes. This is so weird,” he shares frowning at Miguel, who doesn’t notice Pav’s shock. “It’s like – It feels wrong to see him like this.”

Hobie chuckles and you try not to laugh, catching Miguel’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking what’s so funny. You shrug and mouth “later.” He nods as Pav continues about how strange Miguel looks until he changes the discussion to Gayatri, his girlfriend.

Miguel looks around the room, now filled with chaotic energy. His eyes land on you as you smile and nod at something Pav says.

He sighs quietly. He thinks about the dream with his family, about their words. He remembers Gabriel asking him to try to move forward and live life, and Miguel telling his brother he’d try. He doesn’t know exactly how he’s going to approach this entirely, but he is going to try. And as he continues to look at you, he thinks of his thoughts from earlier; about the possibility of you not being here or being his friend.

He'd give this up if it meant you’d be happy at home with Peter right now. If he had the power, he would but he doesn’t. He can’t change the past. None of it. No matter how much he has wished he could, it’s out of his hands. And so, he has no other excuse to give this up. No other excuse to push this away or catch himself from falling backwards even though he knows it’s too late anyway. He can’t walk away even if he wanted to.

“It’s gonna be alright, tío,” Miles says out of nowhere, noticing Miguel staring at you.

Miguel looks at Miles and nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you… mijo.”

Miles nods with a grin, his eyes light up at Miguel’s response, which the commander of the Spider Society notices.

“Uh – I just remembered I need to tell Gwen something. I’ll be right back,” Miles says, looking like he can’t believe what he heard, amusing Miguel before he walks to Gwen.

Miguel’s eyes return to you. He has a lot to share with you about his life; like his childhood, the situation with his parents, Gabriel’s death, or why he needs to use suppressants among other events in his life. He’ll share those things with you one day, little by little. The same way one day he’ll say those words that his mouth begs him to say.

You’re my friend.

One day, he’ll claim you as his friend out loud, too. In the meantime, he’ll try to show it through his actions instead.

___________ *Translation for italicized Spanish words:* conchas - Mexican bread shaped like a seashell Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead Mierda - Shit Tío - Uncle Pan Dulce - Sweet bread; Mexican pastry breads Mijo - My son ___________ Hi, guys! So sorry for taking a while to update. I honestly didn't expect to take this long writing this part. I had a clear idea for this part but got caught up with family events and just life in general. To the anon that asked when this part was going up and I said last Monday - I'm sorry it took me basically another whole week. 😭 I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter though. My simpness jumped out for this one so bad lol. The speakable things I'd do for this man are unreal!! I just want to hug Miguel and hold him and tell him he's worth it and deserving of love and friendships!!! 🥺

Anyway, I hope to return to my regular Sunday schedule this upcoming weekend. I'm also planning on doing some short drabbles for this month because I can't stop thinking about autumn and Miguel and just how freaking cozy he would be. Also, just very quickly! Some readers have drawn fan art for Nonviolent Communication, which I still cannot wrap my head around. I'm so, so thankful that these lovely artists drew art for it. I never imagined that someone, let alone two people, would take time out of their days to do so. Thank you again so much! 🥹 If you're interested to see some of the scenes from the story, including someone's take on reader's Peter (which @sunsetdoodler somehow managed to draw exactly like my personal vision of him??! I still feel emotional. One of their drawings was also the inspiration for the larger coffee cups for Miguel after we talked about Miguel probably needing more caffeine because of his physique lol) then please go check it out, and show the artists some love, please!! It's all linked on my masterlist. Thank you so much for the support throughout this story. I genuinely love reading the comments and asks I receive, and I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story to the end. I'm just really in awe with how wonderful this community is and I'm thankful to my 6'9" half-Irish, half-Mexican boyfriend for it.

I'm off to sleep now as it's 1am and I've been writing and editing all weekend lol. Take care guys and enjoy the spooky vibes this month!! ❤️🎃🍁

-Alondra🍁

Tag list: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @mandodinstuff @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea

[fanboyswhore9]

The Proposal (Pt.2)~ Sherlock Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader

Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Summary: After receiving the letter, Fem!reader’s family is reluctant about their sudden news for their engagement. And following their wedding day, where family and friends gather to witness their union. Despite Sherlock’s typical reluctance toward emotional expression, he delivers heartfelt vows, revealing how much she has meant to him all these years. The ceremony is intimate, emotional, and marks the beginning of a new chapter in their lives together as husband and wife.

A/N: HERE IS PT. 1 if you haven’t read it already.

A few months before the wedding, she sat nervously in her family’s parlor, her fingers intertwined with Sherlock’s beside her. The letter she had sent weeks ago was the reason for this tense gathering. Across from them sat her mother and father, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. Her grandmother, ever sharp, was watching them carefully, while her sister stood by the window, quiet but clearly intrigued by what was about to unfold.

Her father broke the silence first, his voice firm but not unkind. “We’ve received your letter. This engagement to Sherlock Holmes—well, it was… unexpected, to say the least.” Her mother, eyebrows furrowed in concern, added, “You’ve barely seen him for years, and now you’re planning to marry? It feels so rushed, darling.”

Her heart pounded, knowing this would be a difficult conversation. She squeezed Sherlock’s hand under the table, feeling his steady presence beside her. He remained calm, his sharp eyes observing the room, ready to speak when necessary.

“I understand why this feels sudden,” she began, her voice steady despite the tension. “But Sherlock and I have always had a connection, even when we were apart. I know this may seem unconventional, but it’s right for us.” Her father leaned forward, his brow creased. “Sherlock is a brilliant man, but he’s not exactly known for being emotionally available. His work is his life. Can you really expect him to make room for a marriage?”

Before she could respond, Sherlock spoke up, his voice low and composed but tinged with conviction. “I understand your concerns, sir, and they are not unfounded. My work has been, and will continue to be, a significant part of my life. But I assure you, I am fully capable of making room for what is most important to me—and that is your daughter.”

Her father looked at him, eyebrows raised, but Sherlock didn’t waver. His hand tightened slightly around hers, a silent reassurance. “I know who Sherlock is,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ve seen sides of him most people don’t. He may seem detached, but he has a heart, and he’s willing to share that with me. We’ve talked about this, and I know what I’m getting into.”

Her mother sighed, exchanging a glance with her father. “We’re only worried because we want you to be happy. You deserve someone who can give you a stable life.” Sherlock shifted slightly, speaking before she could. “You’re right to want that for her, ma’am, but I don’t believe stability lies in a predictable life. I can’t promise an ordinary existence, but I can promise that I will care for her, respect her, and do everything in my power to make her happy.”

Her grandmother, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice raspy but strong. “Love isn’t always about comfort and security. It’s about finding someone who makes your heart feel full, even if the road is rough.” Her sharp gaze shifted to Sherlock. “Tell me, young man, do you love her?” Sherlock met her grandmother’s eyes, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He paused, considering his words carefully. “Yes. I do. More than I’ve been able to express properly. But I am trying, and I will continue to try, for her.”

A tear welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, and he glanced at her with a softness few people ever saw. Her sister, who had been standing by the window, finally spoke up, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s clear she’s thought this through. If Sherlock’s willing to step away from his cases long enough for a wedding, I’d say he’s serious.” She grinned. “Besides, how many people can say their sister’s marrying Sherlock Holmes?”

The tension in the room lightened slightly at her sister’s words, and her father sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re a grown woman, and if this is truly what you want, we won’t stand in your way.” Her mother nodded, though the worry still lingered in her eyes. “We just want to be sure you’ll be taken care of.” Sherlock, his tone gentle but resolute, said, “I will do everything in my power to ensure that she is.”

Her grandmother leaned forward, taking her hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “Then you have my blessing, dear. Just make sure this man understands how lucky he is to have you as his wife, my dear girl.” Sherlock gave a small, respectful nod. “I assure you, ma’am, I do.”

Her heart swelled with emotion, and she blinked back tears, squeezing her grandmother’s hand. “Thank you, grandmother. That means the world to me.” Her father stood, offering her a smile that was both proud and resigned. “Well, I suppose we should start preparing for a wedding, then.” Her mother sighed but smiled as well, standing to embrace her. “We’ll support you, no matter what.”

As her family began discussing the details of the upcoming wedding, she felt an immense weight lift from her shoulders. She had been prepared for a harder fight, but Sherlock’s presence and his words had made all the difference. With their blessing, she knew her future with Sherlock was not only possible—it was right.

When the conversation finally began to wind down, Sherlock gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile. She returned it, squeezing his hand again in silent gratitude. He had been there for her when she needed him most, and they had faced this challenge together. He hugged the woman, shook her father’s hand, and thanked everyone as they were getting ready to leave.

Later, as they left her family’s home, walking side by side, she couldn’t help but feel more certain than ever that this—they—were worth fighting for. And now, with her family’s support and Sherlock by her side, the life they were about to build together felt more real and more promising than ever.

~TIME SKIP~

The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of the bridal suite, casting soft light on the elegant folds of her ivory wedding dress. She stood before the full-length mirror, smoothing the delicate fabric with trembling hands. Today was the day—the day she never imagined would come, at least not like this.

Her mind wandered to Sherlock. What was he doing right now? Was he calm and composed, as always, or had some of the weight of the moment cracked through his famous veneer? She smiled at the thought. Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant detective who had captured her heart all those years ago, was about to become her husband.

A soft knock broke her thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing her sister, eyes wide with excitement. “You look incredible,” she whispered, stepping inside and carefully shutting the door behind her. She turned to face her younger sister, who grinned and pulled her into a quick hug. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. You’re marrying him.” “Neither can I,” she replied with a soft laugh. “Are they all here?”

Her sister nodded. “Everyone’s downstairs waiting. Mom and Dad are practically buzzing, and Grandmother is more excited than I’ve ever seen her. Even Enola’s here, which was a surprise considering how much she avoids these kinds of things.”

Her heart swelled. It meant the world that her family, friends, and loved ones were here to witness this day. They had all been such an integral part of her life, but none more than Sherlock. Another knock came, this time more deliberate, and in stepped John Watson, his suit crisp and neat. He grinned as soon as he saw her. “You look amazing,” he said, his voice full of warmth.

“Thank you, John,” she replied with a soft smile. “How’s Sherlock?” John chuckled, shaking his head. “Nervous. He’s doing his best to hide it, but even Mycroft has commented on how much he’s been pacing. And you know Mycroft rarely mentions Sherlock’s emotions, so that’s saying something.”

The sisters both let out a giggles at John’s comment. The thought of Sherlock being anything other than composed seemed almost impossible, yet it comforted her to know that this day meant as much to him as it did to her. John stepped closer, offering his arm. “Ready to get married?” She nodded, taking a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The small chapel Sherlock had chosen was tucked away in a quiet corner of London, intimate and timeless, just the way he preferred. It was perfect—no grand spectacle, just close friends and family, gathered together for this long-awaited moment.

As she stepped into the chapel on John’s arm, she noticed the familiar faces seated in the pews. Her parents were seated near the front, her mother dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief while her father sat with a proud smile. Her sister sat beside them, beaming, with her grandmother, frail but glowing with happiness, gently patting her granddaughter’s hand.

Enola sat just behind them, her sharp, curious gaze locked on Sherlock with a knowing smirk. Beside her, Mycroft adjusted his pocket watch, his stoic demeanor betraying nothing, though his eyes flicked to her with a rare glint of approval. Even Irene Adler, ever the enigma, sat elegantly toward the back, her presence more a nod to Sherlock’s past than any overt support, though she offered a subtle nod as their eyes met.

But none of them compared to the sight of Sherlock waiting for her at the altar.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, standing tall with his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes immediately locking onto hers as soon as she entered the room. His usual detached demeanor was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity that made her heart race.

As John led her down the aisle, she felt the distance between her and Sherlock shrink, not just physically, but emotionally. The years they had spent apart, the unspoken words, the feelings long buried—all of it seemed to dissolve in the space between them.

When she finally reached him, Sherlock extended his hand, his grip warm and steady. For a moment, they stood there, eyes locked, the world around them fading into the background.

“You look beautiful,” Sherlock said softly, his voice rougher than usual, as if he had to force the words past his own nerves. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” she teased back, her voice shaky with emotion.

The officiant cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony, but neither she nor Sherlock seemed to hear much of it. Her gaze stayed locked on his, and for the first time in years, Sherlock’s guarded expression softened. The mask he so often wore in public had fallen away, leaving behind the man she had known as a boy—her Sherlock, the one who had always been there for her, even when she didn’t realize it.

“You may now exchange vows,” the officiant said, his voice cutting through the haze of emotions.

The soft light of the afternoon bathed the small chapel, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. She stood before Sherlock, her heart racing, her hands clasped in his. The world around them seemed to fade as they focused solely on each other, the gravity of the moment heavy in the air.

When the officiant turned to Sherlock for his vows, there was a brief pause. Everyone knew Sherlock Holmes as a man of intellect, logic, and few words. But here, in this moment, he was different—vulnerable, open in a way that only those closest to him had ever seen. And for her, he would make an exception.

Sherlock took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he held her hands gently in his. For a second, he hesitated, searching for the right words. Then, in a voice soft yet steady, he began.

“From the moment we met as children, you’ve always seen me for who I am—no illusions, no façades. You never tried to change me, though, heaven knows, I probably could have used some change,” he said with a small, self-deprecating smile. The crowd chuckled softly, but his focus remained solely on her. “You challenged me in ways no one else ever has, or ever could. You were the only one who truly understood me, even when I didn’t understand myself. And when you left for boarding school… I told myself it didn’t matter. That I didn’t care. But it did matter. It mattered more than I could ever admit, even to myself.”

Sherlock paused, his eyes softening, emotion flickering in their depths. “I spent years pretending that what we had was in the past, something forgotten. But no matter how many mysteries I solved, no matter how many cases I took on, there was always something missing. You.” His voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat, regaining his composure.

“You were always there, in the back of my mind. And now, standing here with you, I realize that you’ve been the most important mystery of my life—one I don’t ever want to solve, because being with you is the answer.”

Her breath hitched, her heart swelling at his words. Sherlock took another breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m not perfect. Far from it. I’ll frustrate you, and I’ll be distant at times, and I might lose myself in my work, but I promise you this: I will never stop trying to be better for you. I will stand by your side, not as the detective or the man of logic, but as someone who loves you—deeply, and without question. You are my equal, my partner, and my heart. And I will spend the rest of my life proving to you that you were never a second thought.”

For a moment, the chapel was silent. Sherlock’s vows, though longer than anyone would have expected, were filled with an honesty that cut through the quiet.

She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was her turn, but it took her a moment to compose herself, her heart so full she could barely speak. When she finally did, her voice was soft. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts, and when she spoke, her voice was steady but full of emotion, her eyes never leaving Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, from the moment we met as children, I knew you were different. You were always the smartest person in the room, but what mattered most to me wasn’t your mind—it was your heart, even if you never let anyone see it. You’ve always been more than the man of logic and reason people think you are. You’ve been my friend, my confidant, and the person I’ve trusted more than anyone else in this world.”

She paused, her hands tightening around his. “When I left for boarding school, I thought I was leaving behind that part of my life, but not a day went by when I didn’t think of you. I told myself that it was just nostalgia, that maybe I was imagining the connection we had. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just in my head. I missed you—not just the boy I grew up with, but the man I knew you were becoming.”

Her voice softened, and a tear escaped down her cheek, though her smile never wavered. “Sherlock, you once told me that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. But standing here now, I can tell you that sentiment is not a defect. It’s what has kept us tied together, no matter how far apart we were. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, even when I was too afraid to admit it. I love your mind, your brilliance, and your stubbornness, but most of all, I love the man you are when no one else is looking.”

She took a moment, her voice becoming more firm as she continued. “I don’t need grand gestures or flowery words. What I need is you. I need your partnership, your trust, your companionship, and your heart. And I promise that I will give you mine, without reservation. I will stand by you, even when you push me away, because I know that what we have is real, and it’s worth fighting for.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “I will love you, not because of who you are to the world, but because of who you are to me. I’ll be your equal, your partner, and your home. No matter what challenges we face, no matter what mysteries we solve together, I will always come back to you. Because you, Sherlock Holmes, are the one constant I’ve had in my life. And I promise to love you for the rest of mine.”

The room was silent, the air thick with emotion. For a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped, as if nothing existed outside the space between them. Sherlock’s eyes softened in a way they rarely did, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The officiant, slightly overwhelmed by the weight of their words, cleared his throat and continued with the ceremony, though it felt like a formality at this point. When the words finally came—“You may kiss the bride”—Sherlock didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her gently into his arms, his hands cradling her face as he pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting; it was a kiss filled with the years of longing, the unspoken words, and the deep love they had both carried in their hearts for so long. Her hands found his shoulders, holding him close, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

When they finally pulled apart, the room erupted into soft applause. Her family smiled through tears, and John looked at Sherlock with a mixture of pride and amusement. Mycroft gave a small nod of approval, while Enola, though trying to remain composed, couldn’t hide the smirk on her face. Even Irene Adler, watching from the back, offered a quiet, knowing smile.

As they turned to face the small crowd, Sherlock’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. They walked down the aisle together, side by side, hand in hand, ready to face whatever came next. For the first time in both of their lives, they weren’t just solving a mystery—they were building a life, together.

And as they stepped out into the world as husband and wife, Sherlock leaned in, his voice a quiet murmur only she could hear. “Mrs. Holmes,” he whispered, a rare warmth in his tone, “this is the one mystery I’m happy will never be solved.” She smiled, her heart full, and whispered back, “Neither will I, Mr. Holmes. Neither will I.”

[foreverisntenough]

A Little 'Act II' SMAU ft. a little 'Ours' crossover

Jude Bellingham x Reader SMAU | Following the 'Act II' fic

Check out other FIE SMAUs here

🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩 PART THREE | Back For More 🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒

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📍Madrid | [🎶Mamacita - Travis Scott🎶]

liked by Y/N.xx and others WhitneySmith Silence louder than ever 🤫 view all 405 comments…

Winnie.Baby1 Eating the girls up per usual 👏👏👏 User45 Nah cause how many flights you been on this month 😭 Ma7ell Went to Madrid and forgot me… fake sister. ↳Jobebellingham they’re all fake out here bro 🤝 Y/N.xx i’m not crying because I miss you already that’s just the wine 😭😭😭 ↳WhitneySmith i miss you i miss you i miss you User09 Something about this feels… curated? like I’m watching a movie. wtf? This is your life? User34 Wait… Wait… WAIT!?! Are Jude and Y/N together rn?!? Trentarnold66 Baby… Airing our texts is… not it 🙄 ↳Judebellingham Bro, we’ve known you’re a simp. Just embrace your truth ↳User58 No! @/Judebellingham you embrace your truth! Just tell us your dating her 😠 User982 Nahhh the way they’re both BAD 😭😭😭 how are we supposed to compete with this? User87 Is it me or does Trent never repost her?? ↳User30 It’s always the loudest love that’s trying to prove a point ↳User45 Meanwhile Whitney yelling in bold and italics 💀 ↳User31 No, this is real love, not the PR kind unlike others 👀 TobyBishay I fear the private jet is the new Uber XL Judebellingham No photo creds? Rude. ↳User909 Erm…??? Does this mean the war is over? User12 Detective mode: photo 8 = Y/N in Madrid with Whitney i.e. Jude. I fear we’ve been caught lacking. Maman103 You look stunning, comme toujours ❤️ User111 can you relax 😩 some of us are trying to stay emotionally stable in public

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📍Madrid | [🎶Flocky Flocky - Don Toliver🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others Judebellingham ​Blessings 🎰 view all 3,012 comments…

User45 What does this meannnn?!? Are you with her?!? Tell me 🤬 User76 He’s in love. I don't even need confirmation I SEE IT. ↳User899 Unfortunately, I think I'm in love with her too User71 Don’t act shy now, drop the hard launch next 👀 User13 Let me go cry real quick 🧍‍♀️ Trentarnold66 On repeat bro 🔁 ↳User09 Can you lot be proper rivals ffs I have money on these matches. Thnx lads. ↳Judebellingham Bet. User09 One photo dump and I lost my imaginary man. This is SICK User76 I fear this man is in love and hiding it from the world User909 Just say you love her bro it’s okay 🫠 User177 Cama, what do you knowwww?!?! ↳Camavinga No sé 🤐 User62 It’s a soft launch scavenger hunt and I’m thriving. User788 Who are the girls in the car… I need to know IMMMEDIATELY. User125 Please just be friends. Please just be friends. Please just be friends. ↳TobyBishay We’re just friends promise xx ↳User00 Not you 😭😭😭 User34 Can’t even post her properly, coward 😒 Winnie.Baby1 Obsessed. like, unhealthily but maybe an invite next time would be nice xx User28 When did Jude become the man that makes us all single in spirit? User199 y’all… this is it. We’ve arrived at the soft launch. User85 Some things aren’t meant to be hidden forever and I fear Madrid’s making that clear. User250 Tbf whoever it is has amazing taste

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📍Madrid | [🎶Top Floor - Gunna🎶]

liked by Judebellingham and others Trentarnold66 Moments Sky won’t put in my highlight reel, but should 💃  view all 2,391 comments…

User99 Now this is the real kind of love. Someone *cough-cough* should take notes 👀 User834 Does @/Skysports even have a TAA highlight reel? LOL ↳Skysports We have one, we'll add these if he’d like ↳Trentarnold66 🤝 User00 The way you’re holding her hand 🥲 Judebellingham They only see the game. I remember the plane. ↳Y/N.xx you lot are so corny sometimes… User812 congrats to everyone witnessing Trent and Jude’s softest eras User81 Is this your version of a mixtape?? TobyBishay Not the finger flex 😭 We get it, you work out bro User000 This post has no business being this cinematic. Relax. User56 This is really nice, but can you accidentally post a pic of Y/N and Jude together next time? Thanks! Sincerely, everyone xx WhitneySmith Babbyyy 🫠🤤🫠🤤 ↳User81 honestly, same girl. User273 We get it, you were moody and in love in Madrid 🫠 User10 Ok and who approved you two being this pretty Winnie.Baby1 Every time you two post it’s just serotonin User22 just say you’re in love and go 😩

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[🎶Ferrari Horses - D Block Europe, Raye🎶]

liked by Judebellingham and others Y/N.xx Madrid was good to me 🖤🍒 view all 609 comments…

User99 So THIS is Mrs. Bellingham?? I’m crying in my bed rn. User834 We’re doing soft launch bingo now? User12 THIS ISN’T FAIR User72 Slide 4 is JUDE. Slide 7 is TRENT KISSING WHITNEY. So if I'm doing the maths correctly, you're on the double date with Jude right? 👀 Trentarnold66 Dinner 10/10 😮‍💨 ↳Y/N.xx Company 11/10 🤝 User811 I’m actually going through all five stages of grief in one comment section User00 Why did I think I had a chance with any of them. This is crazy. Winnie.Baby1 You’re both shit at hiding it btw 😇 User65 madrid loss is wild but THIS??? Unreal WhitneySmith 9 Made me gasp. Legs??? Coat??? UR HONOUR??? User16 GIRL STOP PLAYING IN OUR FACES User034 Bro she got him smiling on jets instead of training 😭😭 User78 I miss the old Jude. The focused jude. The ball-is-life Jude. Now he’s in slide 4 cheesin like a simp 💀 JudeBellingham good to you… or was it me 😉 ↳User033 Please stop breaking my heart with these mf winks User45 Photo taken in Paris i.e they went to France after the match confirmed ↳User91 And that 5th pic of her? WHO TOOK THAT??? Location Paris??? TobyBishay soft launched, hard exposed 💀💀💀 ↳Y/N.xx delete now… User2 I want this girl blocked from Jude’s phone rn. Respectfully. User700 The first lady of Madrid rn I don’t make the rules. User66 I’m literally nauseous I didn’t need to but I’ve zoomed into every pic ↳User8 Same. Not me overanalyzing every pixel User45 Why she always post like she’s trying to convince someone? User90 Baller bags the hot girl... story as old as time 😂

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📍New York City | [🎶Skeletons-Travis Scott🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others Winnie.Baby1 My people are finally home <3 view all 75 comments…

WhitneySmith Wherever with you. Always xx ↳Winnie.Baby1 K but I prefer when you’re here. Y/N.xx My sister fr 😭😭😭 ↳Winnie.Baby1 Stay forever pls. ↳JudeBellingham Eh, we’re gonna have to pass on that one Win User56 Why did I just stumble across TAA’s gf sister? ↳User56 Edit* Apparently Jude’s gf’s bestie too?? Help 🧍‍♀️ JudeBellingham Think @/carbone delivers to Madrid? 👀👀👀 ↳carbonefinefood @/judebellingham we’ll hook you up king 👑 ↳Y/N.xx Unbelievable 🙄 User899 Shoutout to the girlies with taste because to have footballers in your kitchen is one hell of a SNACK 😮‍💨 ↳Winnie.Baby1 Just friends xx TobyBishay Thanks for the invite. Cheer mate @/judebellingham User10 Imagine friend zoning Jude and Trent LOL ↳Winnie.Baby1 They’re literally like my brothers please 🤢 ↳JudeBellingham Emoji DOES feel a little rude 🤏 but that's fine.... WhitneySmith I’m also giggling at slide 2 of you and Jude ↳User222 Wait so is this the girl who dates Jude? I’m confused. ↳Winnie.Baby1 No! I’m not the one dating him! OMD! ↳User19 Okay then just spill the tea girl! ↳Winnie.Baby1 can’t even post in peace anymore with @/judebellingham huh? ↳JudeBellingham Soz.

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📍New York | [🎶Taste - Nemzzz, D Block-Europe🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others Y/N.xx Or Nowhere 🤍 view all 1,145 comments…

User89 I zoomed in and screamed tbh JobeBellingham this what we doing now? 👀 User20 ohhh we’re soft launching for real! User92 Girl I’d get back with him too 😭😭😭😭😭😭 Winnie.Baby1 She got expensive taste. 😤  She been serving face 😤  User50 Are the boys in slide 9 dating? ↳JobeBellingham We think so ↳JudeBellingahm @/jobebellingham🖕 User74 Oh he’s BURIED in the nape of her neck. omg. User010 She’s in her muse era and we’re just watching him fall for her more every post. User38 The Goyards? His Goyards? Him with his Goyards? Him in her bed with his Goyards? Louis98 Gonna have to say some prayers for Manhattan this week, hein? ↳Aurelientchm Au moins ils sont pas à Paris. User295 That bed got used. I know it. Maman103 Je ne sais jamais dans quelle ville tu es la plus belle User411 First you steal Jude and now you post this? You win. Hope you're happy 💔 User861 From Paris to NYC to his heart. We’ve lost the war ↳User47 Dragging this boy's heart all around the world fr. WhitneySmith Just two girls tagging along on their couples hol ↳User89 Wait I’M CRYINGGGG 😭 ↳Y/N.xx Genuinely. It gets to a point… ↳Trentarnold66 Alright… we’ll go without you next time 🤷 ↳ WhitneySmith Would be funny except you two would so... User111 Don’t think we didn’t clock every detail of those boys in the background 🕵️‍♀️ TobyBishay bro liked this in under a minute @/judebellingham stand up mate User20 I know he took that last slide and that's personally offensive to me. Judebellingham Yooo lads in slide 9 are lengggg 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 ↳Y/N.xx Blocking you ↳ WhitneySmith OMD Pls. 🙄

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[🎶Merci Beaucoup - Pop Smoke🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others JudeBellingham Clearest I’ve breathed in a while. view all 5,034 comments…

Trentarnold66 Uno cards 🤝 essentials User56 With NYC pollution? Sir, you’re either lying or you're in love. Camavinga Ah, l’amour à New York… très cinéma 😂😂😂 User100 R u tired? Why r u always sitting or laying down? ↳User78 The girls got him working in that bedroom lol. User00 The green goyard looking awfully familiar 👀 User38 no location bc he knew it would send us all into cardiac arrest 🫠 Thanks for looking out for our health, king WhitneySmith Making me take that pic to send to her was low key cute 🥺 User90 Jude listening to Pop Smoke 💀💀💀💀 ↳User88 I’m delusional reading into it but NYC artist + French song title = Her User12 Did he just hard launch her? Slide 6? ↳JudeBellingham That’s my mate 👍 ↳Trentarnold66 Just so we’re clear that is my Whitney with him. My girlfriend. Thanks. ↳JobBellingham Hahahahahahaha ↳User34 His Whitney 🥺 ↳WhitneySmith @/Trentarnold66 You don’t ship us? I rate it ↳Trentarnold66 Steady… User01 Unfortunately, I know that is Y/N’s hand in slide 4. WE’RE DONE. I'M SICK. User92 Found the bf filter pack huh? 👀 Toby Can I just say… the caption is giving lover boy. Got you in shambles. User95 Anyone else think he looks like he's not having fun 👀 User46 I support this union. You look happy and moisturized 💅 Winnie.Baby1 The real ones know who’s behind the camera rn Aurelientchm Mon frère… c’est fini pour toi

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📍Home | [🎶Brum Boy or Scouser - KAVO, Vinny 🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others WhitneySmith Got these girls acting naughty 🙃 view all 305 comments…

User100 okay okay but now I really like them 🥺 ↳User08 I’ve accepted Whitney and Trent… sigh. They’re cute. ↳User45 Yeah but Slide 7? Jude and Y/N? It’s end game ↳User299 Don’t make me sick. They’re deffo not. ↳User19 You mean the couple in slide 8 right? Jude and Trent lol Winnie.Baby1 Can you and @/Y/N.xx move back now? ↳Trentarnold66 No. ↳Judebellingham No. ↳Winnie.Baby1 woah ok… relax. User70 Big shoutout to Manhattan for giving Trent a baddie User677 WHITNEY GIRL. You’re leaking relationships EXPLAINNNN Ma7ell Wasn’t a one night stand tho was it @/trentarnold66 😂😂😂 User56 Trent is gonna fumble this. I feel it in my soul. He’s too quiet on her 😒 ↳Trentarnold66 nah, mate. We’re calm. Thanks for the concern tho ↳JudeBellingham Pressure? What pressure? My bro 🤝 User78 2 NYC girls + 0 subtlety = 1 very chaotic week for the fan girlies User18 Ok but how do I get into this friend group. Let me in🧍‍♀️ Y/N.xx I’m screammmminggg at the song 💀💀💀 User23 This is insane. Their friends are getting careless!!! THE TIMELINES. THE LOCATIONS. THE SLIDES. WE’RE BEING FED. Trentarnold66 Love u and ur city, baby. Take the song down now tho. ↳Judebellingham nah, so serious. now Whit… ↳Y/N.xx She said Brum town the best place on earth!! 😘😘😘 ↳WhitneySmith Crying. User67 Plot twist: the girls are crashing Jude and Trent’s dates. And I stand by that. ↳WhitneySmith Not not wrong 😭 User09 Not the IT twins exposed for being in TWO serious relationships and thinking we wouldn’t notice. JudeBellingham You left out the part where I was the one who paid for your EIGHT DOLLAR lattes for a week 😒 ↳User56 Babe, you play for Real Madrid ur fine. Pay for the girl's coffee. ↳Y/N.xx 👏👏👏👏

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[🎶Feel Good - Charlotte Cardin🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others Y/N.xx Brought a little something back to France with me 🪽 view all 520 comments…

User100 Oh she’s in LOVE with him 🥺 JudeBellingham Chips were mid but company was elite, angel x ↳User82 Claim her alreaady!?! What are you doing?!? User45 Erm, respectfully girl, no. You brought SOMEONE back with you 🙄 Maman103 Mon amour, je t’aime ↳Y/N.xx je t’aime aussi xx User78 BABY GIRL WHO LET YOU POST LIKE THIS 😩 User40 UGHhh she’s STUNNING… Aurelientchm Enfin bref 😂 User52 Hey girl just wanted to let you know that I think you’re dating fucking JUDE BELLINGHAM User10 The Paris glow. The bare back. The wine. Jude’s hoodie. Jude’s hand. Jude’s LIFE?! DeniseBellingham2 You look so happy, sweetheart ❤️ Tell Jude I said behave! User80 My man Jude went from Dortmund to Dior real quick WhitneySmith that’s crazy… Never been jealous of Jude before ↳Y/N.xx 💀💀💀 User000 You guys. It’s her. THE hand is back. THE cellar is the same. THE planes. I’ve made a spreadsheet. User30 To all the girls just go ahead and skip to slide 7… Louis98 C’est pas trop tôt! Glad someone other than me can pay for all your drinks. Cheers @/judebellingham! 🥂 User167 Okay… but I wanted to have chips at 3 am and hold hands with Jude? Rude. User20 Strangely… I think I want to be Jude in the relationship 😅

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📍France | [🎶YSL - Elji Beatzkilla,June Freedom 🎶]

liked by trentarnold66 and others Judebellingham Recharge 🔋 view all 3,027 comments…

User09 No because this is literally just her. Trentarnold66 👀 oh so we’re posting now bro ↳Judebellingham it’s just wine barrels and vibes, don’t overthink it mate ↳Trentarnold66 nah, nah, nah 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ you don’t even believe that User22 Hello NASA? I think we just launched User09 I blinked and he’s someone's boyfriend at her chateau. WTF User55 Oh he’s comfortable at her house like that?? Louis98 My bro 🤝 ↳Judebellingham 🤝 ↳Y/N.xx D’acc… User09 JUDE VICTOR WILLIAM BELLINGHAM OMFG K.mbappe Mon frère 👏👏👏👏 ↳Y/N.xx 👀 ☠️ ↳Judebellingham @/Y/N.xx Easy... ↳K.mbappe 😉 ↳Judebellingham Delete that comment now, bro 😂 User57 Not her painting on his back… we’re in the trenches ladies 😭 WhitneySmith I know someone who smells JUST like YSL 👀 User88 Ginger, huh? 😏 Winnie.Baby1 not the lyrics being “angel right in my palm” Jude, you melt 😩😩😩 User600 Is he gonna sign for PSG. Why’s he always in France now? 😂 😂 😂 User45 Me zooming in on every pore of hers. Y/N.xx Enfin là 🪽 ↳Judebellingham mon ange ↳User40 EXCUSE ME?!?! MY WHAT?!? User12 Unfortunately, she’s a vibe. Sigh. Camavinga La chance que t’as 😂 You training at all? ↳Judebellingham Course just refueling in Burgundy 🍷 ↳Aurelientchm Frr Bordeaux > Burgundy ↳Y/N.xx @/aurelientchm Nan, t’abuses User56 Who is she? I need the skincare routine, the wardrobe, the life plan, the coordinates. JobeBellingham bro omd just post her face atp! User89 Goyards are back and so is this girl lol TobyBishay This doesn’t look like preseason, mate ↳Judebellingham 🤐 User22 Oh it’s over for us girls 😭 he’s taken and she’s GORGEOUS

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I hope you enjoyed! Be sure to let me know what you think xx

Check out other FIE SMAUs here

🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩 Next part coming soon! 🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒

[allsouls-emma]

heyy bestie!! i noticed you’re also an f1 fan (as am i) i was wondering if you could write an f1 driver reader! x leon marchand! preferably a ferrari driver (forza ferrari always)🤞

✧Scarlett Red in a Ferrari ✧

─ Léon Marchand x OC, Léon Marchand x Reader, f1 driver reader! x leon marchand!

OMG OMG @scottstr3et, I AM SO EXCITED. I adore F1 (Mclaren Girlie at heart) this was so much fun!! i really hope you love this as much as i did!.

Warnings: f1 driver reader! x leon marchand!, Strangers to lovers, silverstone, F1 and swimming crossover, Fluff!

The roar of the Ferrari engine was a symphony Y/N had dreamt about for years. Every twist and turn of the Maranello track felt surreal, as if they were floating on a cloud made of horsepower and adrenaline. This was their first official day as a Ferrari driver—a dream so vivid it felt almost tangible, like the very wheel they were gripping.

"Y/N, how’s the car feeling?" the engineer's voice crackled through the radio, breaking their reverie.

Y/N's heart pounded in sync with the engine. "It’s responsive, stable... feels perfect. Ready to push it."

"Copy that. Let's get you warmed up with a few laps."

Y/N pressed down on the accelerator, feeling the immense power surge through the car as they exited the pit lane. The sensation was overwhelming—an intoxicating blend of fear, excitement, and sheer determination. The car danced through the corners, gripping the asphalt with ease. Every vibration through the steering wheel communicated the car's every nuance, and Y/N responded instinctively, as if the car was an extension of their body.

But with the thrill came pressure. Driving for Ferrari wasn't just about skill; it was about legacy, and Y/N knew the weight of that responsibility. The team was expecting results. The Tifosi—Ferrari's passionate fanbase—were expecting miracles.

As Y/N completed the first few laps, the rhythm started to set in, nerves slowly morphing into confidence. It was during the cool-down lap that the thought crept in—could they really do this? Compete at the highest level, under the brightest spotlight?

"Good job, Y/N. Bring it back to the pits," the engineer's voice instructed, breaking through their thoughts.

Y/N eased off the throttle, guiding the car back into the pit lane. After parking and stepping out, the intense heat from the car mixed with the cool Maranello air, creating a strange but comforting sensation. The team was gathered around, checking data, and analyzing every second of the run.

Y/N took off their helmet, running a hand through sweat-dampened hair. The sight of the Ferrari crew bustling about with purpose made their heart swell with pride. They were really here.

"Solid run out there," the team principal said, clapping Y/N on the shoulder. "We’ll go over the data, but things are looking promising."

"Thanks," Y/N replied, trying to keep their voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through them.

As they walked away from the car, the reality of their new life started to settle in. This was just the beginning of a grueling season—one that would test them mentally, physically, and emotionally. But Y/N was ready to face it head-on. After all, this was their dream.

The season opener in Bahrain was fast approaching, and Y/N was putting in extra hours at the simulator, fine-tuning their understanding of the car. The Ferrari hospitality suite buzzed with activity as preparations were in full swing, but Y/N's focus was singular.

"You're going to wear yourself out before the race even starts," a familiar voice teased.

Y/N turned around to find Charles Leclerc leaning casually against the doorway, a small smirk playing on his lips. The Monegasque driver had been with Ferrari for a few seasons now, and his presence in the team was both comforting and challenging—a benchmark to measure oneself against.

"Just making sure I’m as prepared as possible," Y/N replied with a smile. "Can’t leave anything to chance."

Charles chuckled. "Smart, but don’t forget to live a little. The season is long, and you need to find balance."

Y/N nodded, appreciating the advice. "What about you? How do you find that balance?"

Charles shrugged. "I go home, spend time with family, or just do something completely unrelated to racing. It helps keep the mind fresh. You should try it."

Y/N knew he was right. The pressure of being a Ferrari driver was immense, and they needed to find a way to manage it without burning out.

"Actually," Charles continued, "there’s a swimming event this weekend in Monaco. I know you're new to the team, but you should come. A lot of the drivers are going, and it could be a good way to unwind before the chaos starts."

Y/N hesitated. Swimming events weren’t really their scene, but the idea of taking a break and bonding with other drivers was appealing. Plus, Charles had a point—getting out of the racing mindset, even briefly, could be beneficial.

"Alright, I’m in," Y/N finally agreed.

"Great. It’ll be fun, I promise," Charles said with a grin. "And who knows, you might meet some interesting people."

---

That weekend, Y/N found themselves in Monaco, surrounded by a different kind of athlete. The energy was more relaxed, yet still competitive. The event was packed, with the audience buzzing as swimmers took to the pool. Y/N was impressed by the sheer physicality of the sport, the way the swimmers cut through the water with such grace and power.

Charles had been right—this was exactly the kind of break they needed.

"Hey, you made it!" Charles said, walking up to Y/N with a drink in hand.

"Yeah, you were right. This is a nice change of pace," Y/N replied, watching as the next race started.

As they were talking, a swimmer emerged from the pool, his dark hair slicked back and water dripping off his muscular frame. He pulled off his cap and goggles, revealing a strikingly handsome face, his intense blue eyes scanning the crowd. There was something magnetic about him, a confidence in the way he carried himself that caught Y/N's attention.

"That’s Leon Marchand," Charles said, noticing Y/N's gaze. "He’s one of the top swimmers in the world right now. Won a bunch of medals already."

Y/N nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "He looks like he was born for this."

"He probably was," Charles replied with a chuckle. "Come on, I’ll introduce you."

They made their way over to where Leon was toweling off, the crowd around them buzzing with excitement. When Charles approached, Leon looked up, a friendly smile breaking through his focused expression.

"Hey, Charles! Good to see you," Leon said, his voice warm despite the exhaustion of the race.

"Leon, this is Y/N. They’re new to Ferrari this year," Charles introduced them with a casual wave.

Y/N extended a hand, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Leon replied, his handshake firm but not overpowering. His eyes lingered on Y/N's for a moment, and there was a spark of recognition, like he was trying to place them.

"You did great out there," Y/N said, trying to fill the silence.

"Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work lately. You’re with Ferrari, right? That must be intense."

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under Leon's gaze. "Yeah, it’s been a lot, but I’m ready for the challenge."

"I’m sure you are," Leon replied, his smile widening slightly. "It’s not every day you meet someone who drives at 300 kilometers an hour for a living."

"Well, it’s not every day you meet someone who swims like a dolphin," Y/N shot back, surprising themselves with their quick wit.

Leon laughed, a genuine sound that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "Touché."

As the conversation continued, Y/N found themselves drawn to Leon’s easygoing nature and the way he seemed genuinely interested in their world. They talked about the pressures of their respective sports, the rigorous training schedules, and the sacrifices they had to make to stay on top. There was an understanding between them that transcended words—a shared recognition of what it meant to be the best in your field.

When the evening wound down and the crowd began to disperse, Leon turned to Y/N, his expression softening. "I’m glad we met today. Maybe we could hang out sometime, when we’re not both in the middle of our crazy schedules?"

Y/N felt a warmth spread through them at the invitation. "I’d like that."

As they exchanged numbers and said their goodbyes, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something significant had just begun. Maybe Charles was right—finding balance didn’t mean stepping away from the competition; it meant finding someone who understood it just as much as you did.

The weeks following their encounter with Leon were a whirlwind. The F1 season kicked off with a bang, and Y/N was thrust into the chaos of race weekends, media commitments, and constant travel. Yet, amidst the frenzy, there was a constant thought that kept them grounded—Leon.

They’d texted sporadically at first, brief conversations about their respective sports and the occasional joke. But as the races piled up and the pressures mounted, those texts became a lifeline for Y/N. Leon had a way of making them laugh, even on the toughest days, and his encouragement was a steady source of support.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves looking forward to hearing from him, their conversations becoming more frequent and personal. They’d talk late into the night, sharing stories about their childhoods, their dreams, and their fears. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing day, even though they hadn’t seen each other in person since that day in Monaco.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race in Spain where Y/N finished just off the podium, they found themselves alone in their hotel room, scrolling through messages when Leon’s name popped up on the screen.

**Leon:** Tough race today. You did well, though. P4 is still a great result. You should be proud.

Y/N smiled at the message, the frustration of missing out on the podium slightly easing as they typed back a reply.

**Y/N:** Thanks, Leon. It’s tough to come so close, but yeah, I’ll take it. How’s training going for you?

**Leon:** Intense as always, but I’m getting there. Actually, I’ve got a bit of a break coming up next weekend. What’s your next race?

**Y/N:** Silverstone. Big one. The British fans are something else.

**Leon:** Sounds amazing. Would you mind some company?

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. The thought of having Leon at Silverstone, cheering them on, filled them with a warmth they hadn’t felt in a long time.

**Y/N:** I’d love that. It’ll be chaotic, but having you there would be awesome.

**Leon:** It’s a date, then. I’ll be your personal cheerleader.

Y/N grinned at the message, their mind already racing ahead to what it would be like to have Leon there. The idea of him being in the crowd, supporting them, made the upcoming race feel even more significant.

---

Silverstone was electric. The air buzzed with excitement as the fans poured into the stands, draped in the Union Jack, chanting for their favorite drivers. For Y/N, this race felt different. The pressure was there, of course, but it was accompanied by a sense of anticipation they hadn’t felt before.

Leon arrived on Saturday, just in time for qualifying. Y/N met him in the Ferrari hospitality suite, and as soon as they saw him, they couldn’t help but smile. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in a polo shirt and jeans, but his presence had an immediate calming effect on Y/N.

"Hey, you made it!" Y/N said, pulling him into a quick, but warm hug.

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," Leon replied, his smile just as bright as Y/N’s. "This place is insane. I’ve never seen anything like it."

"It’s definitely a different kind of crazy," Y/N laughed. "Come on, let me show you around."

They spent the next hour exploring the paddock, with Y/N introducing Leon to various team members and fellow drivers. Leon was a hit—his easygoing nature and genuine interest in the sport winning everyone over. Y/N could tell he was fascinated by the intricacies of F1, asking questions about the car setups, race strategies, and what it felt like to drive at such high speeds.

When it was time for qualifying, Leon took his seat in the Ferrari suite, watching intently as Y/N climbed into the car. The qualifying session was intense, with Y/N pushing the car to its limits around Silverstone’s fast, flowing corners. The roar of the crowd was deafening as Y/N crossed the line, securing P2 for the race.

Afterward, Y/N found Leon waiting for them, a proud smile on his face. "P2! You were incredible out there!"

"Thanks, but it’s only half the job," Y/N replied, still buzzing from the session. "Tomorrow’s the real test."

"You’ve got this," Leon said, his confidence in Y/N unwavering. "I’ll be cheering you on the whole way."

Y/N felt a surge of emotion at his words. Leon’s belief in them was like a shot of adrenaline, fueling their determination to deliver on race day.

---

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, the perfect day for racing. The atmosphere at Silverstone was electric, with over a hundred thousand fans packed into the grandstands, their cheers echoing around the historic circuit.

Y/N felt a mixture of nerves and excitement as they prepared for the race. They could feel the energy in the air, the sense that something special was about to happen. And knowing Leon was there, watching, only intensified those feelings.

As the race began, Y/N got off to a strong start, maintaining their position in the top three. The battle for the lead was fierce, with every lap pushing the drivers to their limits. The corners flew by in a blur, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else.

Leon watched from the suite, his heart pounding as Y/N fought for every inch on the track. He’d never experienced anything like this before—the sheer speed, the danger, the skill it took to control such a powerful machine. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

As the race entered its final stages, Y/N found themselves in a tight battle for the lead. The car ahead was fast, but Y/N was faster, and with a few laps to go, they made their move, diving down the inside at Stowe corner to take the lead.

The crowd erupted as Y/N crossed the line in first place, the checkered flag waving them home. It was a moment of pure elation, a victory that meant the world to them.

After parking the car and jumping out, Y/N was greeted by their team, hugs and cheers all around. But it was Leon they sought out first, their eyes scanning the crowd until they found him making his way through the throng of people.

As soon as their eyes met, Y/N broke into a run, their heart pounding with joy. Leon caught them as they reached him, pulling them into a tight embrace. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in that moment of pure happiness.

"You did it!" Leon exclaimed, his voice full of pride and emotion.

"I couldn’t have done it without you," Y/N replied, their voice thick with emotion. The adrenaline of the race was still coursing through them, but it was mixed with something else—a deep, overwhelming feeling for the man standing in front of them.

Without thinking, Y/N leaned in, capturing Leon’s lips in a kiss. It was spontaneous, driven by the rush of victory and the connection they’d been building over the past few weeks. The kiss was brief but intense, a moment of pure passion that took them both by surprise.

When they pulled back, Y/N saw the surprise in Leon’s eyes, but also something else—something that mirrored the emotions they were feeling.

"Wow," Leon whispered, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "That was... unexpected."

Y/N laughed, their heart swelling with affection. "Sorry, I just... I couldn’t help it."

"Don’t apologize," Leon said, his hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. "I’m glad you did."

Before they could say anything more, the team was calling for Y/N to head to the podium. Y/N looked back at Leon, their eyes locking once more.

"Stay close, okay? I want you to be there when I get off the podium."

"I’ll be right here," Leon promised, his smile warm and reassuring.

With one last squeeze of Leon’s hand, Y/N turned and headed toward the podium, the cheers of the crowd ringing in their ears. As they stepped onto the top step, the weight of the moment hit them—the culmination of all their hard work, their dreams, and the support of the people who believed in them.

And as the national anthem played and the champagne flowed, Y/N’s thoughts were with Leon. They knew this was just the beginning of something incredible, both on and off the track.

When the podium celebrations were over, Y/N quickly made their way back to Leon, who was waiting just where he’d promised. Without a word, Y/N pulled him into another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate, a promise of what was to come.

As they finally pulled away, Y/N rested their forehead against Leon’s, their smiles mirroring each other.

"Looks like I’ve got another reason to love racing," Y/N said softly.

Leon chuckled, his eyes shining with happiness. "And I’ve got a new favorite driver."

Together, they walked away from the podium, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future held.

[lizzy019]

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝓇 𝐼𝓁𝓁𝓊𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃?

Johnny Cade x Fem!Reader [Reader is described as confident… for the plot]

cw -> light praise, fingering, p in v, light cum play

Word Count -> 1.2K

Sitting in the house aimlessly flicking through the TV channels, your eyes flutter lazily from exhaustion. It’s only 11:30 in the night, almost midnight.

The channel you’re watching currently shows nothing other than some drama show, but it tends to the ache of your boredom for the moment.

A sudden knock at your door has you jolt upright in bewilderment, but you shut off the TV and begrudgingly arise from your comfort on the sofa to go check who wanted your attention so late in the evening.

You unlock the door’s lock, swinging it open to see Johnny with a tired expression. Instantly, your back straightens as you look more presentable.

“Johnnycake! I didn’t expect to see you tonight. What’s up?” You asked benevolently, posture straight to push out your chest.

His eyes trail over your body mistakenly, taking in your lovely form in such comfy and careless attire. You’re so beautiful.. even with confidence oozing out of you.

“I- uh.. my parents are fightin’ again, wanted me to be the middleman and take the hits. Can I hang out here with ya, sugar?” He asked so politely, hands obviously fiddling in nervousness in his pockets.

You nodded with a warm smile, hand on his back as you pulled him in from the cold of the night’s wind. 

The way he so gingerly stumbled in from tripping over the little ledge on the door made you smile as you gently stabled him. 

You gently sat him on the sofa, replacing his jean jacket with a blanket to properly warm him. The next minute, you were cuddled by his side and let him use your chest as a pillow.

The two of you were all warm and snuggled, his hands occasionally coming to squeeze the flesh of your breasts.

This had you snickering occasionally, but also a tad bit nervous. To be honest, you were a bit of a prude.

“Johnny? What the hell are ya doin’?” You asked curiously, instantly reddening and panicking when he pulled down the shirt you were wearing just enough to have a breast pop out for him to access.

A surge of mortifying worry consumes you as he mouths your nipple, licking and sucking like it’s his damned lifeline. And honestly.. it was in a way.

All you provided for him was comfort and love, a place for him to stay in the midst of his life’s chaos. You were his everything, more than just physically, but also mentally and emotionally.

He wanted to pay you back.

Even if he was nervous too, you two started slow. Little kisses out of shyness until you both worked up courage to go farther.

You pulled away to tug at his shirt, signaling you wanted it off as he did as told. While he was scared to show bruises from his parents’ beatings, he loved and trusted you wholeheartedly.

A smile came to your lips, hands running all along his torso to simply admire him. Even if his ribcage was prominent from the lack of food in his household, he was still so handsome.

Johnny’s hands came to your shirt to take it off, but your hands flung to stop him. He got confused real quick.

“Huh? Baby, what’s a’matter? Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” He asked so softly, with so much concern too.

You could only give a shy chuckle, stumped but inevitably giving in to his word. You were embarrassed. Sure, you had confidence, but he was out of your league!

“I.. I’m fine, I promise! I’m just a bit nervous..” You assured him, one hand on his cheek while the other held his wrists from getting your shirt off.

Oh, his expression couldn't get sweeter. Eyes once filled with fear were now warm and comforting, hands moving to gently cup your hips and press the sweetest kiss to your soft mouth.

“Baby, I took mine off n you know how I feel about my body.. Can I see yours too? No judgment, promise.” He assured you with the sweetest tone.

How could you possibly say no to him of all people?

With a hesitant nod of your head and that benevolent smile on your lips, he gently took off your little tee and let his eyes widen.

“Damn sugar, what a sight.” 

Your face gets hot with embarrassment, a soft giggle escaping your throat as he kisses you more emotionally. Not lustfully or passionately, more like he feels lucky and cherishes you.

Kisses have turned into hickeys and love bites, his hand meticulously massaging your swollen clit as your hand comes to play with his cute pink nipples.

This lasts for who knows how long, and eventually he can’t take it anymore and chucks his pants off.

Your face gets hot in embarrassment and fear, what if he doesn't like it? What if it doesn't feel good for him?

You were shy and nervous, worried about things you knew you shouldn't worry about. Before you could protest, it was like a sword was sheathed on a pedestal, and his cock was inside your walls.

It was sharp pain for a moment, a cry escaping you before everything seemed to get better.

“Oh baby, yes! Feels so good, oh God-!” Johnny hiccuped through moans and gasps, hands finding your waist and holding you tight.

Writhing in the pleasure, you squirm and moan, lash out and cry, it was mind numbing how good this felt.

Sure, your mortification was prominent, but Johnny’s words did a lot to assure you of your preciousness. He was moaning your name, how could you feel otherwise?

The cord in your stomach began tightening, and it was doing the same to your inner walls. Pussy cramping his cock had him shivering, a guttural groan resonating deep from his throat.

“Oh sugar, I’m gettin’ close! Where do ya want it? You on the pill?” He asked in a flurry, eyes nearly spewing tears from the pleasure.

His question made your mind tense in worry, but you were on birth control so it wouldn't be bad. You nodded your head to signal that you were indeed on the pill, hands finding his shoulders while your nails dug little crescent shapes into the flesh.

“Inside.. it’s okay, do it inside! Oh fuck, Johnny!” You cried out, with what little energy you had left as your orgasm hit you like a wall.

The pleasure had you dizzy, lightheaded from so much emotion and physical enjoyment that your mind just couldn't keep up.

Your orgasm obviously made him climax as well, and he shot his load deep to paint your walls white. It was nice in a way, being so close with someone other than a friend.

Johnny looked at your core oozing his cum and your own, and as if it was instinct, he scooped some out with two fingers and smeared it on your makeup.

While this had you stunned and a bit disgusted, the look on his face showed pure amazement and joy from such a sight.

It was now 1 in the morning, you two cuddled up in your bed after a shower that you shared together. It was cramped, but it was cozy.

Johnny was constantly smiling at you, even with his damned eyes closed. You were so gorgeous, how could he resist a few peeks of his loveliest?

You’d fallen asleep, too tired from such a pleasure filled night to care about anything anymore.

“Sweet dreams, sugar.” Was all you heard before you fully drifted off into a heavenly sleep.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for breaking up with my kind-of girlfriend to have a chance with my childhood sweetheart?

So I (25 bisexual M) was with my childhood sweetheart, X, (25 gay M) for about ten years, so 14-24 years old. X was a massive part of my life and we always used to say that we’d be together forever and everything, and that we’d get married someday.

Around a year ago X got offered the job of his dreams, like this would be the pinnacle of his career, and long story short he was adamant that long distance wouldn’t work for us and so we broke up and X left.

I went through a depressive episode and had some issues with alcohol but ultimately I recovered and that was mainly thanks to a girl that I’ve known since childhood as well, I’ll call her A (24F). There was an instance when X and I decided to explore our sexualities while still dating at around 16 and I slept with A as an experiment (I’m aware this was a shitty thing to do but I was 16 and wasn’t thinking). She’s also wedding-obsessed and wants to get married asap so she can have kids. So A and I dated casually for a bit after my recovery and throughout I made it clear to her that X was still my priority and that if he came back I would leave her for him. She wasn’t happy about this but dated me anyway.

After about six months I decided I wanted to commit to A and I proposed to her, promising that even if X returned I would never cheat on her because she’d be my wife. She said no because she’d still be “emotionally second place” and told me that another friend of hers had offered to marry her, and that they’d been flirting for a bit. She confessed that she’d initially done it to make me jealous (because I HATE this guy, we have history of fights and homophobia towards me and X and just a lot of drama) but she’d slowly fallen for him. A left me for him and they got married.

I dated a bit, etc etc, then one night I got a message from X that fucked me up, not even really saying anything but it just reminded me. I drank, even though I’d been clean for months, and I called A and one thing led to another and we had sex. (A is still married by the way, her husband had no clue.)

She realises she’s pregnant just over a month later and we have a discussion and she tells me she’s always wanted me and she’s deciding to leave her husband for me. It’s all lovey dovey and seems a bit naive and not very well thought out but hey I might get a wife out of it.

Couple of weeks later when A has just started to discuss divorce with her lawyer (but not mentioned it to her husband), X comes back, and I tell A that our plans are off. Even if I can’t be with X again, I realised that I feel like triple what I feel for A when I look at X. It’s just not fair to her. She has a husband and a stable family to raise the kid, and I’ll help as much as she’ll let me, but I can’t be with her. We had a screaming argument and she called me an asshole, so… what do you think??

What are these acronyms?

[wriospersonalworm]

An empty room. That’s what he walked into.

Nyx wasn’t always the most emotionally stable person, but he trusted them enough to not do anything crazy. They had fled not too long ago in search of Malleus. The sadness and frustration they were feeling from him was so unbearable, they needed to do something.

Once they had snuck their way into the capital and to the castle, they stealthily searched through the castle windows; looking for the one that belonged to him. They knocked and poked at the glass, eventually grabbing his attention.

“What are you doing here? You need to go back home.”

“Mal, you’re so upset… Please, I just want to help. Let me stay the night, I promise I’ll leave in the morning.”

They bickered back and forth for a little bit. Truth be told he did want them to stay, but he knew they were already on bad terms with his grandmother that he didn’t want to risk them encountering. At some point, he gave in and allowed them to stay; just for the night.

Lilia wasn’t clueless. He knew exactly where they were headed, and he absolutely dreaded having to sneak his way in as well. It has only been a few hours before he discovered them, quietly opening the window and slipping in. If it weren't for Nyx being a light sleeper he probably would’ve been able to just grab them and go.

“Pop? What are you doing here? You need to go back home!”

“I’m here for you, Nyx. You need to come back, now.”

Their bickering soon woke up the soon-to-be king. The noise coming from his room was becoming a little much and soon grabbed the attention of his servant. “Young master? What on earth is going on here?” Now there was a fourth person added to their argument. Whilst the noise continued to get louder, Nyx felt an overwhelming presence slowly approaching the room. The exact situation all of them had been wanting to avoid had occurred.

“You again? And I see you’ve brought your grandfather to bother my grandson.”

They had no intentions on staying and conversing with her, and instead quickly left to grab Lilia and make a run for kt. Unfortunately for them, they were far too slow. The mere magical strength coming from her was more than enough to immobilize them, the pressure keeping them crushed against the floor. Now an argument between Malleus and his grandmother had started. The pressure soon started to affect Lilia as well, and now he was yelling at his grandmother to release them both. Seeing their grandfather affected by her magic had awakened some newfound strength in Nyx, however. They struggled for a bit before eventually breaking free for her hold, grabbing onto him and making sure he was alright.

They all fell silent out of shock, one feeling more disgust.

“You were warned once to stay away from him, then you disobeyed and got married without my permission, and now you’re sneaking into our home and sleeping in the same bed as him? Have you no manners?”

When she did not receive an answer, she turned her attention to Lilia next. “And you–” She paused, remembering her grandsons presence and cut herself short. “Take your child and leave. If this happens again, I won’t be so merciful.”

“I’ll kill you myself before you even think about doing anything to him.”

“Nyx!”

An intense staring match began between the two, both of them meaning exactly what they said. As if to completely shit on her earlier statements, Nyx gets up and places a kiss to Malleus’s lips—long enough to make a statement—and then quickly grabbed Lilia and left through the window.

[deceitful-darlings]

How, just wanted to come and ask if you’re okay? I hope this doesn’t cause any sort of pressure or guilt towards you but I just want to know if you’re still alive

Hi all!

First thing first, definitely still alive! Somehow. Physically at least. I promise to be quick, because I don’t wanna sound like I’m just here to complain, but I know the question a lot of you have: Where have you been?

Speaking bluntly, 2024 has been literally the worst year mental health wise for me. I’m not kidding when I say that if I weren’t living with people that I felt the need to play a part of ‘mentally stable’ for, I would’ve easily just rotted away in bed, not even eating. I’ve essentially been emotionally numb for most of it and not even had the mental capacity to open tumblr. So that’s been fun!

Onto more pressing matters though, as I’ve noticed an uptick in notes and questions: What’s happening with the blog?

It is not being deleted, and it’s not being abandoned. Over the past year I’ve come to a few realisations about myself, including coming to terms with the fact I may be less neurotypical than I believed I was. I could joke easily about my quirks, and while I don’t have an official diagnosis so I’m not going to say I for certain have any conditions, I’ve had numerous people who’re officially diagnosed tell me it’s very likely I do have them when I’ve spoken to them about my thought processes and action.

The issue is the way I was trying to keep this blog running on a hyperfixation I’d burned out on. I fell out of love with TW and the way the story was going with it, and my brain was trying to jump onto the next thing, but I felt like I had to keep answering for TW. So I crashed, and I burned. Hard. I didn’t have the energy to write.

This is very hard for me to do, because I feel awful for those who have sent asks, but I think I’m going to have to just completely empty my inbox, I feel like I need a fresh slate, and to step away from TW being my main focus. I wanted to be a variety blog, and while I do think my hyperfixations will normally be the focus, I do want to have more flexibility in my writing to avoid this kind of burnout happening again quickly with requests.

It’s super early here, so my brain isn’t at 100%, but Baldur’s Gate 3, Honkai Star Rail and Genshin are the main 3 pieces of media that immediately come to mind.

I’m not emptying the inbox quite yet, I’ll get some sleep, then scroll through it and see if there’s anything that grabs my attention now that I’m back to hammer out, but it will be being cleared out soon.

[narrators-journal]

Platonic yandere!Narukami headcanons

Woot woot, another Narukami thing! Not much else to say, just that I decided to lean for platonic here. I miiiight return to do more romantic yandere headcanons, but no promises.

Narukami is a bit of a complex person in a yandere situation. At least, for me lol.

Considering I see him as some flavor of aromantic, I can’t really decide if he’d be a sexual yandere, or a more platonic one.

I’m leaning more Platonic though.

Not only because I don’t think he chases after a romantic relationship, but because I think he’s so starved for connection, that all it would take to set off the yandere traits would simply be friendship. Not even a crush.

So, yeah, he’s more on the platonic side of the yandere spectrum. But, that wouldn’t stop him from using sexual tactics to keep people with him.

Flirting, hooking up, anything to keep you with him.

And, when that fails, he would resort to violent tactics instead.

Because, oh yeah! Narukami does not strike me as a yandere who avoids hurting their darling. He is not like Minato.

If he truly fears losing you to someone, he would kill whoever it is.

Your boyfriend? Your girlfriend? Hell, your parents? Doesn’t matter, he wants a stable, substantial relationship that isn’t just his fucking uncle. He’ll kill to get that.

And yes, he will hurt you as well. Whether that’s breaking bones so you have to rely on him, or knocking you out to kidnap you.

Which, is where he gets really scary. Considering his uncle’s a detective, and he undoubtedly picked up a good bit of what not to do as a criminal, or how the police generally work.

So, he’ll know a good bit of how to keep you to himself, and make sure you can’t be found to be taken, or escape.

I think the only thing Narukami wouldn’t do as a yandere is directly guilt trip and emotionally manipulate you.

I mean, he’d probably still do it unknowingly, or play into your emotions to keep your sympathy and in your good graces, but he isn’t much of one to stoop so low as to manipulate like, say, Jun would.

[saiphl]

Six Sentence Sunday... and yes, it's more than six -again-

True to my promise of being able to share something from the work I've recently started, I'm happy and proud to present one of my favorite moments from what I have written by now for this project.

So, I hope you enjoy it.

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

"Hi," Scarlett murmured.

Ella blinked. "Hi?" she echoed, brows furrowed slightly, confused by the sudden simplicity of the interaction.

Scarlett cleared her throat, shifting slightly. "You know what?" she muttered, almost awkward, but committing anyway, tilting her head. "Let’s start over."

Ella raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself.

Scarlett straightened, then extended a hand. "I’m Scarlett Harlett," she said, dead serious despite the ridiculousness of it, voice calm, even. "Seventeen. Actress. Writer. Current emotional disaster."

Ella stared for half a second.

Then, with a soft huff of amusement, she took Scarlett’s hand, shaking it delicately. "I’m Ella Vaday," she replied smoothly, matching the energy, leaning into the absurdity just enough to let it work. "Nineteen. Dancer. Sometimes an aspirant actress. Not emotionally stable either."

Scarlett laughed softly, shaking her head. Ella smiled, relaxing just slightly.

And from that point on, the conversation felt lighter.