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greensagephase · 5 months

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Nonviolent Communication - Part 14

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

Enjoy and thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼❤️

Part 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded and gazed at it.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a new change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes Miguel smile even more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He yearned for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you came along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

“There might be some left.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready.”

“Let’s go then.”

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

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

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

“Here, I’ll refill our mugs then.”

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

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

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

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

“About what?” he asks, curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel turns to look at you when you say that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If not more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time has definitely gone by.

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

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

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

You have each other now.

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” Miguel asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems like the little one agrees.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

You freeze.

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

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

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

—☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel, your best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did? When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry turns to Mayday.

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

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said yes,” he repeats, nodding.

“I did…” you reply, trailing off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey guys, I’m back,” someone says.

The three of you turn at the voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ready for that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow.

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

“Where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“A secret window?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

This universe is a home to you now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel nods and thinks about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, that would look bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wish me luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s pouting?”

“You were just now.”

“Do you have nothing else to do?”

“I always have things to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I leave all the time.”

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

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

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

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

Hobie, Pav, and Miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad you like it.”

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

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

__☆

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

“… Yes,” Pav replies.

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

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

“Why?” Miguel asks.

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

“Or, me,” Miles adds and Pav nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, I guess we wait,” Miles says.

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

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

“Did you have lunch?” Pav asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very thoughtful,” Pav says smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel grins in amusement. “That sounds like a rough start.”

You chuckle and make a face at him, a playful one that inspires a short exhale of air from Miguel out of amusement and ternura [fondness, endearment]. “It was, but thankfully, it slowly got better. He brought up a memory of Peter, from our college days, and that was how we were finally able to get past the awkwardness. I think he was nervous, too. From that point on, we talked about other memories. As you said, it was over before I even realized, thankfully.”

“I’m glad to hear that - that you found something that eased your nerves and his,” Miguel replies, feeling glad that you didn’t spend over an hour of discomfort in Osborn’s presence.

You sigh softly, a sign to Miguel that there’s more. He watches you carefully as you glance at a screen.

“He gave me his personal phone number by the end of it - said that he’d like to meet again, if I was open to it.”

Miguel nods, absorbing these news for a few seconds. He’d like to ask what your thoughts are on that but he refrains from doing so. He believes you’ll tell him once you’re ready to share. Right now, he has a feeling you haven’t fully given it thought considering you just came back.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know the answer yet,” you say at last, turning to meet his gaze again.

With a look of understanding, Miguel replies, “You have time to think about it. There’s no rush to make a decision today.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You nod to yourself, thinking. You’ll take a few days to consider it, but in this moment, all you want to do is settle down for the day - have some normalcy. All day, since morning, you’ve felt nervous and now that the lunch is over, you feel as though it has taken a mental toll on you. “Have you seen the others?”

“According to Hobie, they’ve all taken posts around HQ, waiting for you to come back,” he says, offering you a gentle smile.

“Really?” you ask, your face softening.

“Yeah… Including myself,” Miguel admits quietly, looking away.

You smile, feeling like all the tension from the day is slowly melting away. “I was more than ready to come back,” you admit as well. “You’re all so sweet,” you add, wishing you could lunge yourself at Miguel right now to give him a big hug but alas, Miguel is not there yet. “I really am lucky.”

Miguel’s gaze turns back to you at that, a hint of a smile on his face that grows into his usual smile for you. “We are, too,” he replies softly, sending a warmth through your body with his words.

As you both stand there, you think about how you should go see the rest of the spider gang to let them know that you’re back, but for the second time today, you don’t feel like leaving Miguel’s presence. So, you both stand there in each other’s presence until you both hear thunder.

“I guess we are having thunderstorms,” you say, still leaning back. “But hopefully we’ll be at the penthouse by then.”

“I’m sure we will,” Miguel replies, suddenly wishing that it was later in the day already. “I think - I’m going to leave around the time you usually head out.”

“Yeah? You have something to do?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head but then nods. “Actually, yeah. I was thinking for dinner we could have burritos de tinga, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m always up for burritos de tinga.”

Miguel grins and straightens up, his head tilting to the side. “Really? I had no idea. I thought the reason you smile every time you have them is just coincidence,” he says with a soft smirk now, his voice playful.

You chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ah, I see how it is now. In my defense, it’s not my fault you’re amazing in the kitchen. It’s your fault I love them so much, you know.”

Now Miguel chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “So now it’s my fault, eh? Very well, I’m guilty then, your honor.”

“Who is guilty?” Peter B. asks.

“And for what crime?” Jess asks.

Miguel and you turn, your eyes finding the spider gang. You straighten up as they all approach the platform.

“We heard you were back,” Pav says looking at you. “From Lyla.”

“I got back about ten minutes ago. It went well,” you reply, adding the last bit to ease any concerns from your friends. “It was just lunch,” you add, glancing at Miguel with a knowing look. He gives you a small smile before everyone surrounds the platform to ask you questions until the conversation turns to other things, like how it’s been raining all day and then to how your school age friends are not in school when they should be only to be told that you didn’t need to worry about that, at which Miguel and you shared another look.

Half an hour later, with everyone still in Miguel’s lab, Mayday swings to you to be held. You hold her, standing near Miguel as everyone else has their own conversation. The two of you watch in silence as your friends talk happily amongst themselves. You smile at the sight, thankful to be surrounded by friends once again.

The sight makes you wonder. Do you have space for one more, an old one, that is?

You fix Mayday’s wristband, the one she wears in order to travel through the multiverse with Peter as you think of Harry. Time will tell, sooner rather later.

“Miggle,” Mayday says looking over at Miguel.

“What did she say?” Peter asks, turning his attention to his daughter.

“Por favor no [please, no],” Miguel mutters next to you.

“Did she say ‘mingle?’” Peter asks coming over to his daughter with a bright smile.

You glance over at Miguel who looks like his face is about to turn into a grumpy one. “She said mingle,” you reply, with a smile to Peter. You hand her back to him.

“Another word! Mingle. Wow, where did she hear that? We haven’t taught her that one yet,” Peter says. “Good job, sweetie. Daddy is proud of you.”

After Peter walks away, still praising Mayday, you turn to Miguel, who is looking more than relieved. He glances at you. “Thank you. I know Peter would start calling me that if he heard it.”

You chuckle. “No worries. I got you cover.”

“Thankfully,” he replies relaxing.

After a few seconds and very quietly so only Miguel will hear, you speak again. “So, we are eating burritos de tinga, right, Miggle?”

“Yes, we are. We have all that we need to mak-” Miguel stops mid-sentence and turns to face you, eyes narrowed. “I see how it is.”

“What?” you ask, shrugging innocently.

“You said the m-word.”

You look away to hide your smile. “The m-word… All I said was your name. Miguel.”

“Yeah, okay, uhuh,” he replies. “Might not make the burritos after all.”

“Wait, no - please?” you say, turning to look at him. “Please, Miguel?” you add, emphasizing his name.

Miguel’s lips quiver as he fights the urge to smile but he gives up and almost rolls his eyes at himself. He’s too easily persuaded by you.

“Fine. Burritos de tinga for dinner,” he says with a smile. “But never call me that again with Peter within earshot, please,” he adds quietly for you to hear only.

You grin. “Alright, alright. I got it. Just don’t threaten my burritos de tinga, please. I can’t wait to get home,” you say happily.

Miguel chuckles, something inside him fluttering when he hears you say you’re ready to go home, to the penthouse. “Honestly, this weather makes me want to be home now. Maybe we can head out earlier…” he says softly as his eyes look around at your friends.

“I’d be down for that,” you reply.

“We’ll do that then, if nothing else comes up.”

To Miguel’s relief, and yours, nothing interferes with your plans. At the penthouse now, Miguel has a pan on the stove in which he’s cooking the tinga. The two of you are sitting side by side with your photo album laid out on the counter so the two of you can look at the photos. You brought it downstairs, wanting to look at more photos since the lunch with Harry unlocked memories you’ve been storing away.

Outside, the rain hasn’t let up and thunder has only increased since earlier when you were both in the lab. Thankfully, you are both at home now, shielded from the rain and in the comfort of the penthouse with Miguel’s record player on and delicious homemade food being cooked.

You lean back on your seat, still looking at the photos. Miguel’s eyes scan each one with close attention. You’re both in lounge clothes now, with plans to relax for the rest of the evening. You wonder if tonight you’ll go separate ways, or if you’ll hang out in the living room. You secretly hope it’s the latter, especially on an evening like this.

“Here we were at the student center,” you say softly as your eyes land on one photo of Peter and you in college. “It was some event for a student organization. I honestly can’t remember what it was called but somehow we got involved.”

Miguel chuckles quietly and nods. “So you joined clubs and organizations in college?”

“Yeah, I tried to,” you answer, remembering that that wasn’t something that came up yesterday when he was asking you questions of those days. “I got into honor ones and others.”

Miguel turns to look at you, a smile on his face. “I’m not surprised.”

Turning to face him, you smile, feeling a little shy. “Yeah, I was in a few.” You shrug as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Hmm.” Miguel turns back to look at the photos. “And look at those cords and medals,” Miguel says, gently tapping on a photo.

You look at the photo. “I earned a few.”

“Just a few, right,” Miguel says rolling his eyes playfully before he stands up. “Let me check on the food real quick.”

He checks the food, making sure it’s not burning and satisfied, he prepares everything to start heating tortillas before he returns to your side.

“Next page,” you say softly in a bit of a sing song voice as you turn the page. The photos on the new pages consist of both Peter and you, either photographed alone or together but one in particular catches Miguel’s eyes.

Peter and you are on a couch, sitting side by side. You’re both smiling but you’re the only one looking at the camera because Peter is looking at you. With his gaze glued to that photo, Miguel thinks about how there’s no doubt that Peter loved you. He can see it in the man’s eyes, the pure love and affection in them. You were the love of his life.

And Miguel knows you reciprocated all that love and affection. Despite the years since Peter’s death, your voice and face says it. You speak of him with love and fondness.

You both loved each other. So much.

Miguel gulps softly as he continues to stare at the photo. “You were so in love,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

You look at Miguel, following his gaze and realize what photo he’s focused on. You smile tenderly and nod. “We were.”

Miguel nods, his eyes still on the picture. “It looks like the kind of love that you only find once,” he comments. “The kind that a lot of people search for their entire lives.”

Still staring at the photo, you process Miguel’s words. You remember what Miguel told you about his wife and marriage a few days ago. You’ve been thinking about it since, how Miguel felt that he was in a loveless marriage, and that both him and his partner had only married to have a sense of family. By his words, Miguel has realized over time that he wasn’t truly in love with his partner. He loved her but not in a romantic way.

You reflect on his statements from just now - about searching for love and not finding it. Is that how he feels now? That he’s searched for it but hasn’t found it? That makes you wonder. Is Miguel still open to it? Or, has that door been shut?

You sigh softly and trace the photo with your fingertips, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve had the privilege of experiencing it - feeling it. To receive and return it,” you start, your gaze on the photo. “It’s truly a beautiful thing. All kind of love is, I believe, and our love, Peter’s and I… It was a beautiful one. I was - I am - fortunate to have experienced that kind of love,” you say, finally looking up at him. “However, I don’t believe that it’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

Miguel’s eyes turn to you, questioning. You shake your head.

“I think there are people who have the privilege of experiencing it twice, sometimes even more.” You give Miguel a soft smile. “That’s the thing about love, at least, that’s how I see it. I’m not a love expert,” you say, shrugging slightly. “But, I think love is so complex it can be found again. Perhaps it’s felt differently considering no relationship is the same but that doesn’t mean it’ll be felt with less intensity and connection - it wouldn’t be any less meaningful. You know - one time I remember reading something about this. It was something along the lines of how one can find the love of their life in one partner, and discover their soulmate in another one. I don’t know,” you say softly. “Maybe that makes no sense but… I think it’s possible. Love is love, as long as you love with your heart.”

Miguel nods slowly, your works sinking in just as a loud rumble of thunder fills the penthouse. It seems that over the last few minutes, the rain has grown stronger, and thunder and lightning have become more frequent. “You have a much positive perspective on it than most people do.”

You offer Miguel a small smile. “Maybe I’m naive, and there will be people who disagree, but that’s what I think. Especially, if you’re open to love again.”

Miguel nods, still staring at you as a question comes to mind. “And are… you?” He’s wondered this before - whether you’ve ever even considered the idea of a relationship after Peter, at least one in the future.

You hold his gaze and smile, another loud rumble filling the silence before you reply. “… I am. Just not now. I think I’ve been open to it for a while, the idea of it. One day, maybe. And that’s if I find someone that - you know.”

Miguel nods in understanding. He looks down at the album again. “Maybe one day,” he repeats, now staring at a photo of you alone, smiling at the camera. He silently wonders if Peter was the one who took the photo before he clears his throat, the penthouse’s lights flickering. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts,” he says sitting still for a few seconds before he stands up, remembering to check on the food. “It’s ready, how many burritos do you want?” he asks softly as he retrieves plates, thoughts of your reply in his mind.

You politely tell Miguel how many you’d like and while he prepares the burritos, you gather everything else that’s needed from glasses to napkins. All the while, the sound of rain against the windows grows. You notice the lights flicker a bit more but neither Miguel nor you think much of it, or at least, neither of you say anything about it. You put away your photo album, somewhere where you’ll see it and remember to take back upstairs to your room later on.

“Your burritos are ready,” Miguel says as you look out a window from a distance, watching as lightning scatters around the sky in bright flashes.

“Thank you,” you say turning back to the kitchen again, ready to serve drinks for both Miguel and you just as Miguel heads over to the counter, one plate in each hand.

Miguel has barely placed the plates down when the lights flicker again. You finish pouring the drinks, glancing up for a second.

“At least we still have-” you start.

“Power,” Miguel finishes your sentence, nodding.

Except, the lights flicker once again and this time, the penthouse goes dark. The music from the record player has cut off, so now it’s just the sound of the thunderstorm filling the air. After what feels like ten seconds, Miguel and you chuckle.

“We spoke too soon,” Miguel says, shaking his head in amusement. “Let me go and retrieve some flashlights. It usually doesn’t take long for it to be restored but we can’t have dinner in the darkness.”

“I have some candles upstairs,” you offer. “I’ll get those.”

“Okay, let me just - cover the food so it doesn’t get cold,” Miguel replies before the two of you head off in different directions to get what you need.

You come back downstairs with the candles and quickly light them up to get some lighting. You set them around the kitchen and dining room area, making sure to place each one in a safe area. As you place the last one, you hear Miguel’s footsteps, catching your attention. He steps back into the space, holding three flashlights, and looking around, he realizes your candles are more than sufficient for dinner. Either way, he places them on the counter to the side.

“The candles light up the place pretty well, what do you think?” you ask, meeting Miguel back at the countertop.

“I was just thinking that. No need for flashlights. I’ll leave them here either way, just in case you need one. Feel free to grab whichever. They all have new batteries,” Miguel says, tapping the flashlights before he gestures to your chair. “Come on, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

With a smile, you nod and quickly reach his side before taking a seat. You both begin to eat your food, at last, over candlelight and thunderstorm sounds.

“Oh, yeah, I found this,” Miguel says as he reaches into his pocket. He places a device on the countertop between you and then a few rectangular pieces.

Cassette tapes.

“No way, cassette tapes?” you ask with excitement, which Miguel immediately detects.

“Yes. They became trendy a few years ago - back when Gabriel was still alive, actually - so, many years now. Gabriel is actually the owner of this one. Some of these tapes are his, and some are mine. I saw them once I got the flashlights and figured, why not, since we can’t use the record player right now. I hope it works though, I haven’t tried it.”

“I hope so, I’d love to hear your music taste from back then. And Gabriel’s, too,” you say with a grin.

“Well, I hope you’re not disappointed. I don’t remember a thing from these things,” Miguel says, nervous that the music might not be to your taste, or his at this point in his life. He sets the device up and to his surprise, it works. “This one is one of Gabriel’s tapes. Let’s see what the vibe was for it since he never labeled them,” Miguel says shaking his head in sibling disapproval.

You take a bite from your food as you wait for the music to start and seconds later it does.

“It worked,” you say.

“I’m surprised it did. It hasn’t been used in forever.”

You chuckle and lean back as the music continues. “This is nice. I like the vibes,” you say. “Seems like Gabriel had good taste in music.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow, glancing over and noticing the way the candles lit up your face in a gentle manner. “You’ve only heard half of this song. You should wait before you make a decision because sometimes he’d play music that wasn’t pleasant to the ears.”

You laugh softly. “Really now? And what did he think about yours?”

“Probably the same thing,” Miguel replies with a grin before he takes a bite from his food.

You laugh again before you continue to eat, listening to the music and talking with Miguel, enjoying the conversation. You thank him for dinner once you’re both done and together, you clean up by candlelight.

You’re happy when you both head to the living room afterwards, neither of you wanting to part ways tonight. The cassette player comes along with you, which Miguel places on the coffee table before he settles on the couch, opposite of you. The candles, which you both moved to the living room, now light up the space as there’s still no power over an hour later, but neither of you seem to mind. If anything, you’re both enjoying the randomness of this moment.

You pull your blanket over your lap and grab your book, one you left a few days ago on the coffee table, next to Miguel’s. You’ve noticed that he’s been reading lately, a hobby he mentioned a while back but one he hasn’t made the time for, especially because it reminded him of Gaby. You wonder if seeing you reading has inspired him to start again. Either way, seeing Miguel reading anything other than reports and data makes you happy, especially because he’s reading one of the books you gifted him for Christmas.

As you get settled to start reading, Miguel picks up his, joining you in reading while soft music plays in the background despite the thunderstorm going strong.

You both read for what feels like an hour, at times stealing glances at each other from across the coffee table, until Miguel closes his book and places it back. He stretches his legs and glances at you just as you flip a page, finishing a chapter. You look up at him and give him a small smile.

“Tired of reading?”

“Kind of. My eyes are, at least,” he replies before he rubs them, a sight that you find endearing. He lowers his hands and glances at you. “What about you?”

You tilt your head to the side. “I think I’m done reading for tonight, too.” You repeat Miguel’s actions, closing and putting away your book, next to his again - spine to spine. “It’s still early,” you comment.

“It is,” he responds, looking around, thinking.

You look around yourself, spotting your tablet on the coffee table. “Do you want to look at new ideas I have for the penthouse? I found a few ideas you might like.” You look up at Miguel, waiting for his reply. “Unless, you want to do something else, then I can show them to you later.”

“No, no, let’s - look at them now. Please,” Miguel replies, looking at you. “I’d like to see what you found.”

You grin and prepare yourself to stand up.

“I’ll go to you,” Miguel says, making you stop before you even really began moving. He’s up and in front of you in the blink of an eye, taking a seat on the ground near you. He grabs the tablet and hands it to you before he pushes the coffee table away so he can stretch his long legs comfortably.

You feel a little in awe with how fast he moved but shake it off. You get off the couch and sit next to him on the ground, pulling your blanket along with you, which unintentionally ends up covering part of Miguel’s lap. Finally settled, you pull up saved photos and begin to show them to Miguel, who gives you his full attention. He nods and hums in approval, telling you when he really likes something. You feel a sense of satisfaction when you’re done showing him everything you saved because not once did he show disapproval.

“I like all of those ideas. Do you think we can work on it this weekend?” Miguel asks.

“Definitely. I’m up for it, if you are.”

“I’m up for it,” Miguel replies, still sitting next to you. He smiles softly as you scroll through other saved pictures. “You seem to have more ideas.”

“These are not that great,” you say, making a face of disapproval. “I found better ones later on.”

Miguel hums in response, still smiling. He watches as you make a movement in your tablet, moving pictures around. Despite being done with the photos, both of you remain in place, not moving. After a few minutes, you suggest finishing flipping through the photo album from earlier, something Miguel says yes to.

So, you find yourselves, once again, looking over your photo album. You flip through each page, telling Miguel the stories connected to the photos.

And Miguel? Miguel listens to every word you say, his gaze shifting between you as you talk and the photos.

Before either of you realize it, you close the photo album. “That’s it for this one. I have more, maybe I can show them to you later,” you say.

“I’d like that,” Miguel responds as he watches you place the album on the coffee table before you lean back on the couch, still sitting on the ground with Miguel. You sigh softly. “You tired?” he asks you softly, wondering if the day’s exhaustion has finally caught up with you.

“Nope,” you reply with a smile. “If anything, this weather and the music makes me want to stay up and simply enjoy the evening for a little longer, especially… In the presence of great company.”

That makes Miguel smile. “We can do that.”

You nod, getting more comfortable. You glance at the flickering candles, thinking about what a lovely evening this has been despite having no power and the day’s events. Miguel and you are simply enjoying each other’s presence over his brother’s music in the dim lit living room while it rains. There’s something about it - it’s so homey.

You slide lower, resting your head on the couch’s cushion.

“Do you want to lie down?”

You glance at Miguel. “Hmm, I might. I think - I think I’m going to stay up for a while longer. You?”

“… Same. If you’ll have me,” he says, which causes you to smile.

“It’s your living room.”

“And? It’s your living room, too.”

You look away at that, your cheeks suddenly feeling warm.

“It’s the truth,” Miguel says quietly. “You’re living here, for now, so… I said it before. My home is your home.”

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Always.”

A few seconds of silence later, you lay down and stare up at the ceiling. “This is kind of a moment - a vibe.”

“Is it?” Miguel replies, glancing down at you for a second. He reaches behind him and pulls something. “Lift your head,” he says and once you do, you feel him slide one of the decorative pillows under your head.

You thank Miguel for the kind gesture, unable to stop yourself from smiling about it. You lay there for several minutes, Miguel sitting at your side until he eventually lays down, too.

You both listen as a new song starts to play. It’s the kind that’s perfect for a rainy evening such as this one - soft and slow, and yet sweet and groovy.

“I wanna plant you in my heart, oh, so love can grow…”

Miguel lays there, listening to the song. Gabriel always found gems when it came to music, Miguel will give him that. He continues to listen to the song but his mind shifts to other topics without wanting to, such as his comment from a few minutes ago.

“You’re living here, for now, so… I said it before. My home is your home.”

For now. You’re living here for now.

Once again, Miguel thinks about how great it’s been to have you here, staying with him. He doesn’t want to think about the day you return to your universe. He’s tried to avoid thinking about it and for the most part, it has worked. Until now.

“May I tell you something?” Miguel asks as you both lay on the ground.

“Of course.”

“I’ve been thinking about your apartment - when construction is completed and it’s livable again.”

You glance at him but Miguel is staring right at the ceiling, unable to meet your gaze.

“You have…?” you ask gently, wondering where Miguel is going with this.

“Yes… I’ve been thinking about it. Is it crazy that I,” Miguel pauses, wondering if he should really say what’s on his mind but ultimately, he says it. “I’m going to - miss you,” he says at last with a sigh. A few seconds later, Miguel turns his head to face you, his red eyes find yours. And like always, there’s no judgement from you. Instead, Miguel finds a smile.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” you say softly, your heart swelling with pride, affection, and love for Miguel because you know sometimes it’s hard for him to share his feelings and thoughts and yet, he’s done it tonight.

Miguel’s eyes widen a little at your words, as if there was doubt in his mind that you would miss him, too.

“A lot, actually,” you say, looking away now.

Miguel’s lips twitch upwards into a small smile. “You are?”

You glance back at him, finding his smile. It brings one to your face, too, because Miguel seems genuinely happy to hear your words. “Yeah,” you reply. “You seem happy.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one feeling like that,” he confesses, still smiling.

“You are not. I… I’ve actually thought about how quickly I got used to living with someone again - with you.”

“Me, too,” Miguel says before he rolls on his side, supporting his head with his hand, staring at you. “I think we’re… We’ve been great roommates.”

That statement makes you smile a little more. You nod before you copy Miguel’s position, so that you’re both facing each other now. “I think so, too.”

Miguel gives you a little grin, satisfied to hear that you agree, but a part of him still feels untranquil. You’ll be leaving at one point, even though you’ve both enjoyed this temporary arrangement, that is a given and you both know that. Unless…

Miguel and you look away from each other as a similar thought crosses your minds, one that neither of you dare say out loud.

It’s crazy to think about a long-term possibility, right?

You sigh softly after several minutes of silence, thinking about something else to avoid other thoughts.

“You know, you asked me a lot of questions about college. I feel as though I don’t know the same about you. Yet.”

“Yet,” Miguel says with a small grin, his thoughts scattered. “What do you want to know?”

“Well…” you start with the first question and as always, Miguel listens intently. He answers your questions and satisfies your curiosity like you satisfied his the day before. Each time you ask something different - something he didn’t think about asking already - he returns the question, wanting to learn even more about you.

All the while, there’s a bright look on Miguel’s face as your conversation continues. His eyes light up as he hears your questions and genuine interest in his life before you ever crossed paths.

There’s a happiness in them, one that has grown over time with and because of you, replacing a sadness that had settled in those beautiful autumn eyes for so long.

At some point, without realizing it, Miguel stopped being el muchacho de los ojos tristes, the young man with sad eyes.

And at some point, you started to find safety in those maroon eyes - the same ones you gaze into while falling asleep on the living room floor, but before fully succumbing to your exhaustion, you offer something to Miguel. It’s what you’ve both wanted since you repeated “Always” to each other on your bedroom floor two nights ago. It’s what both your bodies longed for earlier today, before you went out for lunch with Harry.

A heartbeat later, your pinky finger is gently held by Miguel’s and just like that, his warmth, presence, and scent lull you to sleep while those warm eyes guard your sleep.

Translations:café de olla - coffee made in a pot pan dulce - Mexican bread polvorón - description provided in text; for my friend @faretheeoscar !! telenovela - Latin soap opera Mira - look agua de horchata - rice water agua de Jamaica - hibiscus water Uno nunca sabe - one never knows Ya - used in place of "ok" Tío - uncle ternura - endearment; fondness burritos de tinga - I feel like you know this by now. I had some Wednesday and they were bomb despite not being made by Miguel *sigh* Por favor no - please, no el muchacho de los ojos tristes - the young man with the sad eyes; brb gonna go cry from HQ's rooftop now that Miguel showed us the secret window

A/N: I'm gonna make this quick since at this point you've read like three or four chapters from an actual book! 🫣 Some of you may have seen a post I made last Sunday but just in case you haven't: I'm sorry for how long it took me to update. Last month was a bit off for me and I didn't feel like writing. It might sound silly but I feel like I get seasonal depression but for spring. 😂😭 I'm a fall and winter gal, so I always feel down around this time for some reason. I also had other life things going on, so I hardly got on here or other social media. Anyway, I'm better now :) I hope you guys enjoyed this update! Thank you for being so patient with me and for supporting this fic. I say it again and again, so much I probably sound like a broken record, but it truly means so much to me!! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend and please stay safe ❤️

-Alondra

taglist: (text block limit sucks) @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @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 @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii

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darlingmbappe · 2 years

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The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

#kylian imagines #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappé x reader #achraf hakimi #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian x reader #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe blurb #kylian mbappe fic #Kylian mbappe break up #neymar #neymar imagines #neymar jr imagine

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shitsndgiggs · 2 months

Note

Hello there i love your account very much.

Could you pls write a fan fic about kenan dating a muslim girl like him :).

Doenst matter if yn wears the hijab or no your preference

Thank you anyway

A/N: Again, I’m not muslim, so I tried my best. Definitely not my best work

SACRED MOMENTS - KENAN YILDIZ

In which you and kenan pray together

Kenan Yildiz x muslim! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The bustling streets of Istanbul were alive with the sounds of vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh simit wafting through the air, and the vibrant colors of the city all around us.

Kenan and I walked hand in hand, soaking in the atmosphere. Today, we planned to visit one of the city's most beautiful mosques, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, also known as the Blue Mosque.

"It's been a while since we've had a day like this," Kenan said, squeezing my hand gently. His eyes were bright with excitement, and I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"I know. I've missed spending time together like this," I replied, feeling the warmth of his hand in mine. The mosque loomed ahead, its minarets reaching towards the sky.

As we approached the mosque, the call to prayer echoed through the streets, a melodic and soothing sound that always brought me peace.

We stopped at the entrance to remove our shoes and perform wudu, the ritual washing before prayer.

Inside, the mosque was breathtaking. The intricate ceiling and the grandeur of the architecture were awe-inspiring.

We found a quiet corner to sit, in the prayer hall, the atmosphere serene and filled with reverence.

Kenan turned to me, his expression soft and contemplative. "I'm grateful we can share moments like this together."

I nodded, feeling a deep sense of connection not just to Kenan, but to our faith and our community. "Me too."

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting the tranquility of the mosque envelop us. After the prayers, we took a leisurely walk around the courtyard, enjoying the cool breeze and the peacefulness of the surroundings.

Kenan looked at me with a playful glint in his eye. "Do you remember the first time we visited a mosque together?"

I laughed, recalling the memory. "Yes, I was so nervous! I was worried about doing everything right."

"You were perfect," Kenan said, his voice filled with warmth. "And you still are. I love how dedicated you are to everything you do."

Blushing, I nudged him playfully. "Stop making me blush!"

Kenan chuckled, pulling me close. "I can't help it. You're amazing, and I love you."

We continued our walk, stopping by a small café nearby for some tea. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city.

We found a table with a view of the mosque, sipping our tea and enjoying each other's company.

"Kenan," I began, hesitating for a moment. "I've been thinking about our future. About how we'll balance everything, like our careers and our lives together."

Kenan reached across the table to take my hand. "We'll figure it out, just like we always do. Our faith is our foundation, and as long as we keep that strong, we can handle anything."

I nodded, feeling reassured by his confidence. "I know. It's just... sometimes I worry."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Remember what my mom always says? 'Allah tests those He loves.' Our faith will guide us, and we'll support each other through everything."

I smiled back, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. "You're right. I do love how we incorporate our beliefs into everything we do. Like our weekly Quran study sessions."

Kenan chuckled. "And how you always correct my recitation."

I blushed, playfully swatting his hand. "Well, someone has to keep you on your toes."

We both laughed, the sound melding with the soft hum of the café.

Our journey was just beginning, and I knew that with Kenan by my side, we could face anything together.

#football imagine #football x reader #turkiye #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz

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armysantiny · 1 year

Text

My Exception – HRJ

Summary: Renjun’s reading time is sacred; a dedicated few hours every weekend spent with him, his wax melts, a book, and a hot drink. Though he can make an exception for y/n. He can always make an exception for them.

Min's notes: Everyone say thank you to Kyu <;33

Renjun inhales as he settles down in his loveseat, the sandalwood and cardamom wax melt covering his little reading corner in warmth. The air around him smells inviting, tempting him into drifting away into the world of his books. He’s already got a book in mind, picking it out from his stack of books and returning to where he last left his bookmark. It’s a romantic thriller, pulling at his imagination as soon as he begins to read.

Y/n’s on their way back from an outing, he’s got a coffee beside him, and he’s got a good book. What more could he ask for?

It’s silent in the shared apartment, bar the occasional turning of the page and hum of interest. The twists in the novel have already started to appear, one by one in a slow but addicting pace, and Renjun finds himself theorising more as he goes along, taking sips of his coffee and making a note to thank y/n again for splurging on the Nespresso machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

“…home baby~!” y/n’s voice pulls Renjun out of the scene he was reading, drawing his attention to the door where his partner’s taking off their shoes. He leans forward, grins when y/n eventually spots him and waves his greeting. He looks for his bookmark, slotting it in between the pages and returns the paperback to the mini library stand of books. Sure, he could go back to reading his book, knowing all too well y/n would be more than happy to respect his reading time, but he’s missed them.

He can pause his reading time for his favourite person.

“I brought some pastries from that café you like, wanna have some later?” Y/n asks, making their way over to Renjun’s little reading nook and draping themselves over the back.

“Sure. Movie night?”

“Movie night.” They confirm, tapping their lips for a kiss, a pleased smile on their face seconds later when Renjun grants their wish. “How’s the book?”

“It’s so good! The police just started hunting down one of their suspects,” y/n chuckles as Renjun starts becoming more and more animated, “but if you ask me, I don’t think the professor did it at all, he’s clearly trying to cover up for someone else.” Renjun’s review continues, and a little ball of fondness grows in y/n’s chest as they listen, admiring the man they get to call their own. They subtly ask him to budge over and take a seat beside him, half sitting across the grey Hampshire loveseat and half hanging over the armrest.

It's comfy. They’re comfy, with him.

The wax melt burner sits on the tv stand this time, a new wax melt on the surface melting away as y/n brings a tray of cookies from the kitchen, Renjun holding their drinks. It’s a movie night, there’s a shower of rain outside and the Netflix menu screen stares back at the pair, awaiting to play their first of many films that evening. Renjun’s the first to sit down, open arms inviting y/n to cuddle up beside him as they rest on the sofa.

“Want to pick first?” Renjun offers, a simple thing of a gesture and he basks in the soft affection he feels when they nod, a languid smile on their face. He watches them pick, eventually landing on a movie they’ve been putting off for a while now and rests his head on top of theirs.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep just yet,” y/n warns, a smile in their voice. “I’ve been dying to watch this with you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @blankjournal

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @babyboobean, @taem-min, @iiindigocheesecake, @xavi-in-kpopland, @flowerjun, @marxenash, @tinystarstay | Taglist form

#Writer Elf Minnie #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ultkpop #wkcnet #bjnet #nct dream #nct renjun #nct dream renjun #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles #renjun drabble #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #renjun x reader #nct dream fluff #renjun fluff #nct fluff

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elamimax · 3 months

Note

What is the Downfall of TGST? You included it in that eggfic meme, but I've searched Scribblehub and Bigcloset and found not a sign of it.

Okay SO

Chapter 1: The Rise of TGStoryTime

In 2011, a man going by the name of Joe Six-Pack launched the TGStorytime website or "archive," with the express idea of creating a repository for fiction focused on forced feminization and similar "TG" fetish content.

Though it took a bit to find its footing, it nonetheless became a place where all kinds of people could share their stories about men becoming women, usually against their will, after which naughty shenanigans would usually occur.

It also became a place where many trans women both read and later on wrote their first piece of trans fiction (yours truly included). Other trans authors that got their start here were QuietValerie, Purplecatgirl and Trismegistus Shandy, each of which would later (or at the same time) make their name on other fiction hosting platforms as well.

As an aside, an interesting feature of TGST is the fact that every single story needs to be vetted by "the moderation team," which has at times included One (1) member: Joe Six-Pack himself. I'm sure that won't be relevant later.

Everything was going reasonably well, until one fateful day.

Chapter 2: The Problem With Joe Six-Pack

In 2020, a new user joined the website. I have no intention of speculating towards intention, but the effect they had was immediate.

They wrote extremely short stories, often between 50 and 100 words, only a few paragraphs, of people who were forcibly turned into women. What made this so egregious was the denigrating way it referred to these "new women," sometimes using slurs and other speech that has been hurled at trans women to dehumanize or simply demean them.

There was an immediate backlash, the now-quite-substantial trans userbase of the website standing up for themselves and asking that Joe Six-Pack, the host and active owner, do something about this new user's low-effort but offensive stories. At the very least, that he please stop personally approving them.

He refused.

He refused on the basis that TGST was never a place for queer people to find each other, nor was it a place for trans stories. As he put it, TGstorytime was repository. It was an archive of TG - not Trans - stories, one that was his sacred duty to maintain. He was not a moderator, he was simply an archivist. He also asserted that transphobia was a somewhat normal response on the internet and that moderating it would lead to a witch-hunt that would see his website shut down eventually. He would not stop vetting - and personally approving - stories that were rife with transphobia.

Chapter 3: The Exodus

In the following months and years, a large part of the trans community moved away from TGST, spreading to the neighboring websites of RoyalRoad, BigCloset and Fictionmania. Some tried to make their own websites like Fluff4Me and Offprint Café.

But the biggest move was to Scribblehub, one of the few websites that not only allowed users to mark their stories with "Transgender" as a built-in tag, but also had moderators that listened to vulnerable minorities when they raised issues. As a result, many trans women moved over to the at-the-time primarily manga-and-light-novel brained site, causing a pretty significant upheaval and forcing the moderation team to make some changes to the way it weighted its "trending" tab, since it quickly became dominated by transfem fiction.

Despite these changes, Scribblehub remains the best place to find new, and importantly, free trans fiction online, written by both established as well as up-and-coming authors.

If you like this video please like and subscribe. If you want to support me and other creators you can use the code below to subscribe to Curiositystr

#transgender #transfem #trans fiction #queer fiction #queer lit

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ms-fandomgirl · 1 year

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Studying Headcanons

Summary: Morning, afternoon, evening. The grind never seems to stop, but it can be a little less painful when you’re studying with your favorite Haikyuu boys!

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader; Akaashi Keiji x Reader; Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Genre: Fluff! No warnings.

Words: 1,464

Cross-posted on Ao3!

O i k a w a T o o r u

Diffused early morning rays bathed Oikawa’s sleepy face in a soft glow, making you want to give anything to witness the scene firsthand. The world shone brighter when Oikawa’s name appeared on your phone screen, even if it was 9 o’clock at night for you. He gave you a quiet greeting, and you smiled and returned the favor, idly flipping your textbook open.

It’s just a fact: being on opposite sides of the world from Oikawa Tooru sucked. These FaceTimes and phone calls were the closest you could get to being with him in person. Time zone differences made it so that you only had a couple hours of sacred shared time in a day. Therefore, you were determined to not waste a second of them. The second Oikawa began, so do you.

Ambitious, driven, and clever; it’s no surprise that Oikawa exceled in studying, and this was one skill he was determined to pass on to you. After complaining one day that you could never study well, Oikawa took it upon himself to become your studying mentor, showing you every tip and trick he knew. The biggest of these was finding yourself a study partner: someone who could keep you on track and encourage you, yet not distract you from getting work done. For him, it was Iwazumi. For you, it was Oikawa.

A mostly quiet but firm presence on your phone screen, Oikawa made sure you were working on what you were supposed to. The second you tried to scroll through Instagram or any social media, he would know, and he would tell you. It was honestly terrifying how he could tell, even if you were on your laptop. You two quickly fell into a steady routine, with him doing his morning routine while you suffered (a little less) in silence over your studies.

Of course, you didn’t spend the whole call in silence. Oikawa knew the importance of study breaks after all. Therefore, you were given the rare chance to see a side of Oikawa that many didn’t know existed. The quiet, reflective side that only appeared when he was most comfortable. The thoughtful chats over a shared cup of coffee (even if it was much too late for you to be drinking any), and the small, routine actions made you feel as though you knew intimate secrets about him.

Yes, studying with Oikawa had its challenges, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. And when you got an “A” in the class you were sure you’d fail, you also realized you found a bond deeper than you had ever known.

A k a a s h i K e i j i

Soft shadows were beginning to lengthen in the afternoon light as you stepped into the cozy café. As always, Akaashi was there before you, sipping some tea in the booth that was unofficially yours. After ordering your favorite drink and pastry, you settled in next to him, a mixture of happiness and anxiousness settling in your stomach. Happiness because, well, you got to spend the whole afternoon in a coffee shop that looked like it belonged in a Hallmark movie with THE Akaashi Keiji. Anxiousness because Akaashi was a harsh proofreader, and you were sure your poor paper would comeback with more red ink than black.

When you were first partnered to proofread Akaashi’s paper in your English class, you had no clue what you were getting yourself into. Akaashi proofread like there was no tomorrow, and the first time you got your paper back, you were tempted to scrap your whole idea and start over. Of course, Akaashi wouldn’t let you do this, instead patiently explaining all of his markings and reasonings to you.

Now, two years later, Akaashi was your number one confidant when it came to writing papers. From brainstorming to final drafts, he was your go-to and sounding board, and you acted in much the same way for him. Even though you were both in different classes and writing different topics, papers were still papers, so the fundamental process never changed.

You weren’t naïve enough to believe that continuing to meet your proofreader partner two years after the class was normal. Despite this, it was easy to consider Akaashi as part of your norm. From his calm attitude to sharp mind, he had crept into your life slowly yet steadily, like a trail of ivy resolutely climbing up a wall, exploring for any niches and crannies to cling onto and never let go.

After several minutes of searching, you triumphantly presented your paper to him with a grin on your face. It was crinkled around the edges, and one page was dangling from the edge of the staple holding everything together. Nonetheless, Akaashi accepted it in his way of respectful grace that you could never quite seem to master. In return, he unhooked his binder, pulling his paper free of its folder. Organized, crisp, and put-together: Akaashi’s natural modus operandi. The more you thought about it, the more it seemed to be a miracle you two got along at all.

Glancing down at the title of his final project, the paper he had been slaving away on for the past month, you felt a warmth that only continued to grow with each word. Your relationship didn’t make sense at first glance, but that hardly mattered. Happenstance may have helped you meet, but you were determined to stand by Akaashi’s side for as long as you could, exploring any possibility to come. Apparently, Akaashi felt the same way.

“Comfort in Chaos: The Beauty of Contradictions

A Memoir by Akaashi Keiji”

K u r o o T e t s u r o u

Silver streams of moonlight illuminated the library table you and Kuroo had decided to call home for the night. Wrappers of fast food long since eaten were pushed into the corner as diagram trees and flash cards created a messy mosaic, the white board next to them looking like the scribblings of a mad scientist. To the side, two bodies laid sprawled across the worn carpet, furiously solving the problems before them. During broad daylight, this behavior would have most certainly resulted in a reprimand from a librarian. However, due to the late hour, you two basically had the whole floor to yourself.

In a triumphant cry, Kuroo had reached an answer. Slamming his pencil down next to him, he waited with a satisfied grin on his face as you finished not a second after. After giving him an exaggerated eye-roll, you leaned over to compare answers, pleased that you had both reached the same result. With a quick high-five, you moved onto the next question in the practice test.

It was always like this between you two. Everything was a competition, from who could finish their problems first to who could get the most answers correct. When you had first met Kuroo, you found this behavior to be annoying at best. Always beating you to raise your hand in class, you had labeled him as a classic teacher’s pet and wanted to leave things at that.

However, fate had other plans for you. Forced into a disastrous lab where your third group member ruined the experiment and ditched halfway through, you and Kuroo had to put your differences aside to not fail your assignment. After several late nights of lab writeups and gossiping about your flakey third member, you found that Kuroo was actually someone you wanted to work with long after the assignment was completed. Thankfully, Kuroo shared your sentiment, and you two quickly became attached to the hip both in and out of the classroom.

Obviously smart to a fault, Kuroo was also incredibly charismatic and funny. It simply wasn’t fair. If you told him you needed to ace the next test, you could count on him to drag you through study session after study session, making sure you knew what you were supposed to no matter how much you wanted to give up. You admired that about him, that determination that seemed so much a part of him that it ran through his veins like blood. While you had great plans for the future, you could quickly become overwhelmed by the path you had set for yourself. However, with Kuroo by your side, you knew that you could weather whatever storm came your way, trusting him to always have your back.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I wrote these ages ago but forgot to post them until now. They were a fun little writing exercise for me where I tried to write a scene with no dialogue. I hope they motivate you during finals/test season!

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #akaashi x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu fluff #oikawa tooru #akaashi keiji #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru x you #akaashi keiji x you #kuroo tetsuro x you #study headcanons #ms fandomgirl writes

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maitother · 6 days

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Beneath The Darkness

Dark Cravings (Chapter 3)

ᯓ★ Suguru retreats to his hidden dungeon, where the remains of his latest victim lay in the aftermath of his brutal work. Despite the gore surrounding him, his mind is elsewhere—fixated on you, the woman he met at the café.

ᯓ★ Trope: Serial killer!Suguru & Journalist!fmc

ᯓ★Genre: Smut, dark romance, thriller, may contain gore

ᯓ★Previous chapter

⚠️This chapter contain slight gore. No smut. I will provide a warning if they do. Enjoy! :P

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The basement was cold and damp, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. The single, dim bulb flickered above, casting long, jagged shadows on the stone walls. Chains hung from the ceiling, some still swaying gently, as if remembering the weight they had recently held. A heavy, almost oppressive silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional drip of water from a nearby pipe.

He stood in the middle of the room, his shirt sleeves rolled up, streaks of blood smeared across his hands and forearms. The body of his latest victim lay slumped in the corner, lifeless, eyes wide open in frozen terror. The man—just another nameless, faceless casualty—had stopped begging hours ago. Now, he was just a mess of broken limbs and torn skin, the aftermath of his meticulous work.

He looked down at the corpse, his breath steady and calm, as if he had just completed a routine task. There was no rush in his movements. He never hurried. The process was sacred to him—a ritual. Every cut, every scream, was like a note in a symphony only he could hear. He had planned the man’s death for weeks, studying him, learning his patterns. The anticipation was always the best part—the calm before the storm.

The man wiped the blood from his hands with a rag, watching as the dark crimson soaked into the fabric. He wasn’t finished, not yet. The cleanup was just as important as the act itself. He didn’t leave traces, didn’t make mistakes. That’s how he had stayed hidden all these years, how the police never even came close to finding him. He was a ghost, moving through the city unnoticed. But tonight, something was different. His thoughts were no longer just on the man now lying in pieces at his feet.

They were on you.

As he tossed the rag into a bin, he found himself replaying the moment in the café, the way you had looked at him— eyes cautious, curiosity barely masking your own fear. He clenched his jaw, frustrated by how you had gotten under his skin. He wasn’t used to this—to distraction. His focus was always sharp, his mind clear. But tonight, even as he plunged the knife into flesh, he could only think of you.

You don't belong in his world. But that didn’t matter.

He stepped over the body, moving to a workbench lined with sharp instruments, each one meticulously cleaned and organized. The man picked up a bone saw, turning it over in his hands, feeling its weight. He glanced back at the body, knowing he needed to finish the job. The disposal would take time—every piece needed to disappear, every trace of his presence erased.

As he set to work, the sound of flesh tearing filled the room, wet and sickening. Blood splattered across the floor, pooling beneath the body, mixing with the dirt and grime. His face remained expressionless, even as he carved into the corpse with precision, severing the limbs one by one. The skin peeled away like paper, revealing the raw muscle underneath. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, as if he had done this a thousand times before—and he had.

He hummed softly to himself, a low, almost melodic tune, his mind wandering again to you. What was it about you that made him feel… something? He didn’t even know what it was. It wasn’t the same hunger that drove him to kill. It was something deeper, more unsettling.

He paused for a moment, the bone saw still in his hand, blood dripping from its teeth. He imagined your face—how your lips had parted slightly when you saw him, the hint of fear in your eyes. You had been different from the others. He didn’t want to kill you.

No, that wasn't right.

He didn't want to kill you yet.

He tossed the severed limb into a black plastic bag, the sound of it hitting the bottom dull and final. He tied the bag up tightly, sealing it with care, then began scrubbing the blood from the floor, watching as the dark red stains slowly disappeared. The room, once a scene of chaos and brutality, was returning to its usual state of eerie cleanliness.

As he wiped down the last of the surfaces, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, seeing a message flash across it—a name he couldn’t help but sigh at.

"Suguruuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!"

Suguru rolled his eyes. Gojo Satoru. The guy was impossible. He was a handler, sure, but he had the maturity of a child hopped up on sugar. Dangerous as hell, with more bodies under his belt than most hitmen in the city, yet he somehow always managed to make a joke out of everything.

Suguru unlocked the phone and read the message:

"Guess who’s got a shiny new assignment for you? This guy!" There was a goofy gif attached of a cartoon dancing.

"New target. Cute, right? I’d date her if she wasn’t, you know, nosy. Digging into things she shouldn’t be. You know the drill. XOXO."

Suguru's heart skipped a beat when Satoru had sent him the picture of the woman. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The same woman he had met tonight? The one who had been on his mind since the moment their eyes met?

Satoru sent another text almost immediately:

"She’s asking too many questions. We can’t have her poking around in our affairs. Needs to be handled... with love and care, of course. Maybe give her a kiss on the cheek before you do the deed? Mwah!"

Suguru stared at the screen, his jaw tight. Satoru's playful tone grated on him at the best of times, but tonight, it was worse. You aren't just some random woman on his list. He didn’t know what you are yet, but the idea of ending your life, as casually as he had with his other victims… it felt wrong.

Another buzz.

"You still there, Suguru? Hello? Earth to Murder McGrumpy. You okay, buddy?"

Suguru couldn’t help but smirk, despite himself. Murder McGrumpy? Only Satoru could joke about murder with that kind of flippancy. It was maddening.

He tapped a quick reply: "I’ll handle it."

But Satoru wasn’t done.

"Awwww, don’t be like that! You’re no fun when you’re all serious. At least tell me you’ll get creative with this one? Maybe write her a poem? Roses are red, I’m filled with dread, you ask too many questions, now you’re dead!"

Suguru pocketed the phone and finished cleaning up, the room now spotless, the remains of his victim neatly packed away. He turned off the light and left the basement, his mind already planning his next move.

He whispered your name to himself, tasting it, savoring it like a forbidden delicacy. You had no idea what you had just stepped into.

And as for Satoru? He’d have his fun. Suguru would handle you—but on his own terms.

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The living room of your apartment was cluttered with newspapers and sticky notes, investigation scattered across every surface. The soft hum of the fridge was the only sound breaking the silence as you sat on the couch, laptop open, eyes glued to the screen. You were tired, mind running in circles, trying to make sense of the disappearances. The weight of your obsession was pulling you under, and even you knew it.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Shoko strutted in, humming to herself with a mischievous grin on her face. She spotted you exactly where she had left you—buried in work.

Shoko sighed dramatically and plopped down beside her. "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. You’re going to grow roots in this spot if you don’t get up soon. When was the last time you even had fun?"

You barely looked up from the screen. "I’m fine, Sho. I’m onto something with this case."

Shoko rolled her eyes. "That’s what you always say. But here’s the thing—your life is disappearing while you’re chasing down other people’s mysteries. You need a break. A real one."

Your fingers hovered over the keys, hesitating for just a second before you spoke. "I can’t stop now. I’m close. Something feels off about all of this, and if I don’t figure it out…"

"Yeah, yeah," she cut you off, waving her hands dramatically. "I get it, super-sleuth mode activated. But guess what? You’re still human. And humans need fun. Like, actual fun. Which means you’re coming out with me tonight."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Out? Where?"

"To the club, obviously!" Shoko said with a grin. "We’re getting you a makeover, we’re going dancing, and maybe… just maybe… you’ll meet someone who isn’t related to a crime scene or your laptop."

You let out a skeptical laugh. "I don’t think going clubbing is really my thing."

"Well, that’s because you haven’t tried in years!" she retorted, already hopping off the couch and rummaging through the closet. "Seriously, you’ve been on lockdown mode for way too long. And when was the last time you even went on a date? Let me guess—"

You rolled your eyes. "Please don’t."

"No, I’m serious!" she teased, holding up a ridiculously short dress with a smirk. "You need to get out there, meet new people. And who knows, maybe Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is waiting for you at the bar, just dying to sweep you off your feet."

You shook your head but couldn’t help smiling. "You’re insane."

"Insane? No. Fun? Yes." Shoko tossed the dress at you, which you caught it mid-air. "Now, get up. We’re doing this. It’s non-negotiable."

You stared at the dress in her hands. It wasn’t your style at all—bold, tight, and screaming for attention. "This? Really?"

"Trust me." she winked. "Tonight, you’re not 'the Investigator.' You’re the gorgeous woman who’s going to have a great time. And I’m not taking no for an answer."

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with Shoko when she was on a mission. Maybe she was right—maybe you do need a break. You had been working non-stop, and it was starting to wear you down. A night off wouldn’t kill you… right?

An hour later..

The transformation was complete. You stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing yourself. Shoko had worked her magic, and the result was a version of you that she hadn’t seen in years. Your usually messy hair was sleek and styled, face subtly glowing with makeup. The dress clung to you in all the right places, and for the first time in forever, you felt… different. Not the usual serious, focused version of yourself, but someone lighter, freer.

Shoko stood behind you, beaming with pride. "See? You look amazing! You’re going to knock ‘em dead."

You smirked. "Hopefully not literally."

"Please, leave the crime stuff at home," she said, playfully pushing you toward the door. "Tonight’s all about fun. And who knows? Maybe you’ll actually enjoy it."

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

Both of you arrived at the club later that night, the thumping bass of the music vibrating through the ground as you stepped inside. The neon lights flashed, bathing the crowd in vibrant colors as people danced and laughed, lost in the energy of the night.

You weren't sure what to expect, but as the both of you wove through the crowd, something about the music and the atmosphere made you relax, if only a little. You could feel the tension in your shoulders melting away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about investigation, or the haunting images that filled your mind.

Shoko nudged you toward the bar. "Drinks first! Loosen up a bit."

You hesitated for a second but nodded. "Fine. One drink."

As you both approached the bar, she ordered something colorful and sweet, while you stuck with something simple—a cocktail, light on the alcohol. As you sipped your drinks, Shoko's eyes scanned the room.

"I’m telling you," she said, taking a sip from her straw, "this place is crawling with potential boyfriends. Or at least guys you can have some fun with. You never know!"

You chuckled. "Yeah, right."

"Look," she said, pointing to a group of guys at the far end of the bar. "See that guy over there? He’s totally checking you out."

You followed Shoko's gaze and saw a guy with dark hair and a charming smile glancing in their direction. You looked away quickly, feeling a bit awkward under the sudden attention. "I’m not here for that, Sho."

"You’re here to have fun, remember?" Shoko grinned. "Just give it a chance."

You took another sip of your drink, trying to relax. Maybe Shoko was right. Maybe tonight was exactly what you needed—a chance to forget, even if just for a little while.

But as the music pulsed around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Not the casual glances from guys at the bar, but something deeper, more intense. You looked over your shoulder, scanning the crowd, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Just your imagination, you thought. It had to be.

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A Night to Forget (Chapter 4)

The club was packed, the music pulsing through your veins as you navigated the crowd with Shoko beside you. You were still getting used to the idea of being out, trying to let loose, when you decided to go to the washroom.

"I'll go to the washroom first. You wait here!" you shouted over the music, as Shoko nods.

You walk off to the washroom, but the crowd seemed to grow thicker the closer you got. You sidestepped a group of people dancing wildly and, in the process, collided hard with someone.

"Sorry!" you muttered quickly, looking up to apologize.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze—piercing blue eyes that seemed to almost glow under the flashing club lights. He was tall, lean, and strikingly handsome, with a playful grin on his lips as he took a step back, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over.

"No worries," he said, his voice smooth and casual. "Pretty crowded in here. You okay?"

You nodded, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t see you there."

He laughed softly, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "I get that a lot."

There was something about him—his presence, the ease with which he carried himself—that made it hard to look away. He radiated confidence, almost too much of it, and there was a playful charm in his voice that instantly put you on edge. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in.

"Let me make it up to you," he said, his grin widening as he gestured toward the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

Shoko appeared by your side, her eyes darting between you and the man you’d just bumped into. Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave you a knowing smile. "Looks like you’re in good company," she teased before giving the man a nod. "Nice to meet you."

"Gojo Satoru," he introduced himself, holding out a hand to Shoko with the same effortless charm. "And you are?"

"Shoko. And this is…" She looked at you, waiting for you to fill in the rest.

You hesitated for a second before giving your name. Satoru's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

"Nice to meet you both," he said smoothly, eyes glinting. "So, how about that drink?"

You glanced over at Shoko, unsure for a moment. She smirked knowingly and nudged you in the side. “Go ahead, it’s just one drink,” she whispered, almost too innocently.

“Alright, sure,” you said, looking back at Satoru. His grin widened at your acceptance.

“Perfect,” he replied, gesturing toward the bar. He slipped through the crowd with ease, glancing back once to make sure you were following. Shoko waved you off with a wink, clearly encouraging this spontaneous moment.

The noise around you seemed to fade slightly as you reached the bar. Satoru leaned casually against the counter, still watching you closely, his playful energy ever-present.

“So, what’ll it be?” he asked, tilting his head as if reading your thoughts.

“Something light,” you said, not really in the mood for anything too strong.

He nodded and ordered a pair of drinks, his movements quick and confident, like someone who had done this countless times. The bartender slid two glasses across the counter toward him. He handed you one, raising his glass with a smirk.

“To unexpected encounters,” Satoru said, his voice low yet warm, as if the two of you shared some kind of secret.

You raised your glass and clinked it against his. “Unexpected, for sure,” you replied before taking a sip.

The alcohol was light but refreshing, and you could feel your nerves begin to settle. Satoru's presence was strangely comfortable despite the initial intensity of his gaze. He leaned closer, speaking over the hum of the club.

“So, tell me… What brings you here? You don’t exactly strike me as the clubbing type.” There was a teasing lilt to his words, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m not. It’s my roommate—Shoko. She’s the one who dragged me here.”

“Ah, makes sense,” Satoru said, smirking. “I had a feeling. You have this… quiet, mysterious vibe about you."

“Mysterious?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s one way to put it.”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Well, now I’m intrigued. What’s a mysterious person like you doing stuck in a place like this?”

You took another sip of your drink, trying to think of a response that wasn’t too revealing. “Just needed a break, I guess. Life’s been… complicated lately.”

Satoru’s expression shifted, his playfulness tempered by something deeper. “Complicated? I know that feeling.” His eyes flickered for a moment, as if there was more he wanted to say, but he quickly covered it with another grin. “But I’m sure a night out with Shoko will do the trick.”

You smiled, appreciating the way he effortlessly kept the conversation going. As strange as it was, you found yourself relaxing more with him. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t thinking about work or your worries.

“I… don’t really dance,” you admitted, a little embarrassed.

Satoru laughed lightly. “That’s alright. Just follow my lead.”

Before you could protest, he gently took your hand and led you toward the dance floor. The bass pounded beneath your feet as the two of you stepped into the moving throng of people. The air was thick with heat and energy, and the lights flashed in dizzying colors overhead.

Satoru stood close, his hand still holding yours as he began to move to the music. His steps were smooth, easy, and before you knew it, you were moving too—letting the rhythm guide you.

“There you go,” Satoru said with a grin, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. “See? Not so hard.”

You laughed, surprised at how natural it felt to let go for once. The music pulsed around you, and for a moment, it was just the two of you in the sea of dancers. Satoru’s presence was comforting, his hand never letting go of yours.

As the night wore on, you found yourself forgetting about everything else. The work, the stress—it all melted away in the heat of the moment. Satoru’s charm was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, even though you knew next to nothing about him.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a random encounter. There was a reason why you had bumped into him tonight, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

For now, though, you let yourself get lost in the music, in the night, and in Satoru’s confident smile.

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Next chapter

#jjk x reader smut #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu satoru

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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year

Text

Thorns In His Mouth

Part I

Pairing: fae!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: obsession, dubious consent, minor character death, drugs (neither reader nor Steve are involved), slight eating disorder, mentions of tumor, high tech elves.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn't force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone's wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

________

This place gave you the creeps. You certainly didn't expect it to be the same as those lovely little cafés you enjoyed visiting on your days off, but this hellhole was by far the scariest place you had ever been, and it took all your strength to stay seated at the dirty little table instead of running out to the street.

When you saw one of the fairies to your right preparing a needle as her friends giggled, already drunk or high or whatever, you quickly stared at the table top, praying not to see or hear anything at all. If not the promise given to the elf, you would never ever come here. In fact, you wouldn't even know a place like this existed at all.

You still couldn't believe it when you stumbled upon a man who had healed a stray cat when he thought nobody looked. It was way past midnight, and the street was empty if not for you, stopping to rub your bruised feet - you had worn a new pair of shoes that evening to brag about them to your friends. And then, when you saw the man bringing his glowing hand to the cat's torn ear, you thought you were just drunk. You were certainly old enough to know magic didn't exist, and as you stared at the perfectly shaped cat's ear, you wondered if you're sick or drugged or insane.

You weren't, you realized when the elf rose to his feet, startled by you, his own ears too long and sharp for a human, his too-graceful features making you stare at him with your mouth agape while he stilled, unsure what to do with you. He was most likely to wipe your memories like most of the fair folk did if mortals spotted them in the human realm, but you were lucky to convince him otherwise.

"Hey human," a young woman's voice made you rouse from you thoughts, and you stared at the waitress with bright pink hair and pointed ears in front of your table, her once pretty deep blue uniform soiled and unkept with oily stains covering the fabric here and there. "What's your poison?"

You stared at her, unsure what you should say. Was that some kind of code? The elf didn't mention anything about it. He just said you were most likely to meet fallen elves and other creatures in this place, but he said nothing about poisons. You hoped you didn't have to take any.

"I'm sorry," you smiled meekly at the girl. "I don't think I understand."

The waitress blew a big pink bubble and popped it with her sharp teeth, chewing gum as if she couldn't care less, "If you found this place, I bet you already know who we all are. We're the fair folk, hun. The exiled."

"I know," you said quickly, becoming more and more nervous as if feeling other creatures suddenly started paying attention to you.

"Well, then you should know each of us have our own poison. What's yours?" she narrowed her sharp, cat-like eyes at you, growing impatient. "If you don't have any, you can't be here."

Ah. Yes. An obsession. Each and every of the fair folk living away from the Sacred lands had a certain mania, the elf you met on the street said. Missing the magic surrounding them from the moment they were born, they were bound to have an unhealthy attraction to something else in the world of humans, so foreign to them. When you asked if it was arts or an obsession with human technology, perhaps, the man only chuckled.

"It's drugs," he said, cutting you short.

When you stilled, a troubled expression on your face as you had a hard time processing his words, he added, "But not always. Sometimes, it's alcohol or cigarettes. I heard some have battled their addictions and picked something less heavier to obsess over, but I don't think my brother did. I bet you can find him among drug addicts."

Ah, and so you were there, among the drug addicts and drunks and misfits whose sick smiling faces nearly made you retch as you thought of how to find a man you never saw before and knew nothing of him except for very few details the elf from the street was willing to share. It was nearly impossible, he said, but you couldn't back down on your promise because something much more important was at stake.

"I have an eating disorder," you gave the waitress a polite smile you had been showing to the especially demanding customers of yours over the years. "Does it count?"

Her face suddenly changed, and you saw her smiling widely at you in return as if you having unhealthy relationship with food somehow made you one of them. "Sure! What would that be? Sugar, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'll be back in a minute, hun," she said too happily and flew back to the counter, passing your order to someone on the back while you nervously licked your lips. What was she going to bring you? Just cubes of sugar? A whole cake? A poisonous cake?

Hiding your hands under the table and clenching the fabric of your wide workpants, you took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on your goal. You needed to find a man the elf was looking for. Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn't force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone's wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

Why were you here, again? Ah yes. For the sake of your sick mother who the elf you met on the street had been treating faithfully for the whole week.

You could do it. You just needed to be careful and stay out of troubles. You only needed to find a lost man and bring him back to the elf.

But, perhaps, it wasn't in your nature to stay out of troubles, you thought when you saw a stranger with rather long bleached hair and pointed ears joining you at the table, his face, certainly very handsome once, looking tired and grim.

"It's not often we have new faces here," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side as you gaped at him, wide-eyed and slightly scared. "Especially human faces. What's your name?"

For a couple of seconds, you debated whether you should tell it to him. You knew the fair folk were prohibited from putting spells on humans, and it was one of the few laws the exiled magic creatures were abiding by, but giving your name to a weird-looking stranger didn't seem like a good idea.

You still didn't know why you told him your name.

"Steve," he replied quickly, throwing a glance at the waitress who was coming back to your table, a cupcake on her tray. "What a sweet obsession you have."

"That's not funny," the pink-haired girl cut in, placing a plate with a bright red cupcake and white frosting on its top on the table for you. "Your usual."

She then handed him a thin black box people used to store CDs, and you eyed it with curiosity. What was that? There was no label on it, no name, nothing that would help to identify it. You weren't even sure it was a CD inside, but you thought it was unlikely to be used for drugs. The disc box looked way to shabby as if it could open any time, and you suddenly found yourself wondering what Steve's obsession was.

Following your gaze, the man grinned, showing you the box. "There's just a CD inside, nothing else. You see, I'm a very boring creature."

"Yeah, sure," the waitress said, narrowing her gaze and quickly returning back to the counter before you had a chance to talk to her.

Irritated, you forced yourself to stay civil, smiling to the stranger sitting in front of you. You just lost your chance to figure out anything at all, and now you had to get rid of him, too.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" You asked politely, hoping he would leave you alone.

"I just said it. We rarely have fresh blood here," he said and then added immediately, seeing your bewildered expression. "Don't fret. I don't mean any harm. I'm just curious to see why a decent human woman ended up in this hole. As you can see, we have very little entertainment here except for booze and stimulants."

Stimulants. What a lovely synonym he found, you thought and ordered yourself to stop, knowing your disgust would soon show clearly on your face, and you certainly didn't want to upset the elf on the other side of the table. You came here for information, nothing else.

"I, uh, I'm looking for someone." you mumbled, staring man in the face and seeing his eyes were blue like the opening sky, and that his cheekbones were high and wide, and his lips, albeit dry and cracked, were full and well formed. He'd look lovely if not the shadows beneath his eyes, hollow cheeks, and wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth that looked strangely unnatural on his young face.

The more you looked at him, the more his strikingly handsome eyes seemed hollow to you.

"Searching for a friend? A lover?" The elf asked you as if he didn't mind you staring at him intently, and you snapped out of your thoughts, chewing your lips as you glanced at the cupcake waiting for you on a plate.

"Neither. I'm looking for a relative of my... friend." The second you said it, he gave a hearty laugh, shaking his head as if you said something amusing, and your cheeks heat up. Why was he laughing at you? You did your best to swallow your protest, acting as polite as a store clerk in the presence of their boss. "Why is it funny?"

_______

"Don't mind me," Steve chuckled, wiping his lips with his thumb. "I don't suppose you know what it's like to deal with the fair folk from the Sacred lands. To put it simple, they just love it when somebody's willing to do their bidding. That's what it all is about, right? Some elf or fae or phooka asked you to search for their relative in exile."

Part II

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen @magnificantmermaid @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @youngdreamer3214

#yandere #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america #mcu fanfiction

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america-oreosandkitkats · 3 months

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Art commissioned by @seefasters !!! This is such an important scene to the story and I love how she rendered it 😭😭😭😭 Thank you thank you thank you <3

The Places We Call Sacred

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky, Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Laura Ravell | Lara Ravel, Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky/Andrei Stamatin | Andrey Stamatin Characters: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh, fem!Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh, Isidor Burakh, fem!Isidor Burakh, Ersher Burakh, Gryph | Bad Grief (Pathologic), Laura Ravell | Lara Ravel, Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky, Ospina | Aspity (Pathologic), Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Worldbuilding, i will love you in every universe, what if the plague was grief?, and what if the panacea was love and friendship, Gender or Sex Swap, slow burn

Chapter 3

“Mama…”

She buried her oddly-shaped and worn nails into her fists. Her mother’s fingers raked through her hair; her grip tugged on her scalp. “Would I…I know that it’s impossible, but if it weren’t, do you think…I don’t know, do you think I…”

Her words faded into nothing, swallowed up by the hollow of her shame, carved by vain impulses. Isidora pulled a section too hard. It was probably not intentional, but Artemiy dared not utter a sound in protest. Such was the punishment for vanity.

“Do I think you could what, kheerken ?”

Artemiy didn’t have to finish the thought. She could have lied, asked a question as innocuous as could she spend the night at Gravel’s this weekend. She could have dismissed the line of inquiry entirely. Instead, her spiteful tongue tripped over the stupid words and her voice was hardly a whisper. “Be menkhu?”

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #artemy burakh #this is one of my favorite chapters #i loved thinking through khatange culture and menkhu practices #and i adored writing ersher and little artemiy #and seeing her older brother through her gold-tinted glasses #anyway this chapter is very precious to me and i hope you like it too

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tanith-rhea · 2 years

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ello!!!! may I request some sort of coffee shop au with Miranda and female reader? Either we work there and she's the customer who always brightens our day, or we just continue to run into (not necessarily literally, but also what is some spilled coffee if we get Miranda in exchange?) each other all the time? It's really up to you, I'm just asking for some cozy coffee romance :) <3 tysmmm!

Coffee, tea, or could I offer you me?

Working at a coffee shop wasn’t nearly as quaint and romantic as the books you’d read while growing up described. However, instead of accepting the dull reality and focusing on working to pay for college, you decided to make a difference, and be the cupid of the establishment. If you couldn’t live your coffee shop romance, you would help other people do so. That was before you witnessed the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen get stood up by her date.

Word count: 7.1k (oops)

As the cupid of the Rainbow Roast Café, your life mission was to provide ordinary people with the ristretto-like love experience of their life. Or at least give clients a funny story to tell their grandchildren one day.

Your co-worker Maggy had even a bet going on that you would pair off at least one more duo or group of individuals until the end of the month, to which Dave — your other co-worker — betted against, saying you had already struck twice this month and it was virtually impossible for you to get another success in just ten days.

You didn’t see it as a competition though. It was the closest you thought you could get to experiencing a coffee shop romance. Patrons who flirted with you often acted like creeps and it was very rare for one of them to be a woman. So, you decided that giving other people the chance at a nice and soft meet cute and possible love story was your best shot.

At first, you thought it would be a horrible breach of boundaries to tell a client that you saw someone eyeing them from the other side of the café, so you kept your cool and inwardly itched watching people nurturing crushes and not telling the other person about it. Until the day of your breaking point.

There was this girl that always came at eight-twenty and ordered a white chocolate mocha. She had a favourite table by the windows to the side and near the back, and she sat there every day without fail to people-watch and write in a journal-like notebook. That was until a month in on your job, another person arrived at eight and ordered a simple iced and bee-lined to the very table.

When the girl got her order that morning, she was stuck for a bit, watching the intruder of her sacred spot. You thought she felt pestered at having to choose another seat, but over the next few days it kept happening, and the looks she shot at the brooding figure at her table started to appear more like pining than cursing.

You, being nosy and lacking several social filters, approached her on a slow day with the biggest double chocolate chip cookie you could find and tried to strike up a conversation. She turned out to be just as nice as you thought she was, and two days later you finally asked if she liked the mysterious customer at her former table. She timidly admitted to having a crush and asked you to keep quiet about it. The next day you wrote into their cup about the cute girl in a cardigan and how she thought they looked cool.

Lysa and Rae are still customers, but they sit at the same table for four months now.

The following ones were easier. You would write in a piece that customer x told you they liked customer y and see where things went. You always befriended the customer first and then offered to help, and when they said yes you felt over-the-roof-happy. You were always social, but you never thought you’d have such an enormous amount of friends, all of whom were dating while you were still painfully single. It was nice though.

Everything was going great that particular day at the café. Andre had paid a visit to get Mina her usual smoked latte before class and invited you to a movie night at the weekend in her dorm. You had bonded with Mina through your shared guilty pleasure of watching cheesy love triangle dramas when you were sad, and her taste in movies was as close to yours as that of a soul buddy. You wished you had attended uni with them, it would have been so much fun.

But, however good the day was, there was still time for that to change. An hour before the end of your shift, a stupefying figure entered the coffee shop. A woman, so tall she could reach the 8’3 door head if she raised her hand, walked in and settled at one of the front window seats. Judging by her slightly nervous aura, you assumed she was waiting for a date.

There wasn’t much movement that time in the afternoon. Most people were working and the few customers around already had their orders, so you decided to go ask the recent arrival if she wanted something while she waited.

Getting closer, you noticed her whitish-blond hair looked very soft, as did her milky skin and overall presence. If it wasn’t for her height, you could say she would look very plain or unremarkable. A white woman, with blond hair and average proportions. That was before you rounded a table and saw her closer from the front. She had a very remarkable face. It was a combination of gentle eyebrows, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline that somehow managed to not be threatening but disarmingly inviting.

“Excuse me,” you cleared your throat, hoping you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt, “Would you like to order?”

When she looked up from her phone, bright pools of arctic blue glued you to where you stood. If you walked, you were quite sure your legs would give out. She was nothing but exquisite, and suddenly you wished she was waiting for you, and that just this once you were the protagonist of the story.

“I’m sorry?” she prompted, and her voice, for everything that is good in the world, her voice sent chills through your skin even though it was an unusually hot autumn day.

“I just asked if you would like to order something.” You took out your notepad for something to look at other than the gorgeous stranger. “I can bring you something while you wait for…” it was quite shameless, but of course, you were fishing for information, “whatever you are waiting for,” you hoped she wouldn’t feel offended by your less-than-professional approach.

“I’m just waiting for a friend.” She gave you a small, timid smile, and gazed at the table, confirming she very much wasn’t waiting for a friend. “He won’t take long, so I’ll order when he arrives.”

You only nodded, instantaneously slaughtered of all hope and happiness at the kind dismissal. You returned to your place behind the counter and started cleaning already clean coffee machines and the spotless counter.

She was waiting for a he. Of course, that didn’t mean she was straight, and she was so beautiful you’d feel personally attacked if she was. Maggy noticed your state and tsked from the kitchen door.

“What is it? Someone didn’t want to chat?” you usually felt disappointed when some people gave you hints they wanted to be left alone. You wouldn’t annoy a customer for the life of you, but it did make you pout.

When she approached the counter to look at you, however, her eyebrow arched, and a smug smirk twisted her face.

“Ooh, am I seeing a rejected puppy?” her pretentious tone made your lips twitch. She was teasing you, but you wouldn't give her the satisfaction of making you laugh.

"Not rejected. You know I don't flirt with clients, it's creepy enough when they do it to me."

"Oh, so what would you call it then? Friendly banter?" you snorted ungracefully. It was true you were comfortable with teasing, flirting and sometimes even catcalling your friends. What could you say? You loved embarrassing and complimenting them, it was just the perfect means.

"Yes, friendly banter. Not everyone is smoking hot like you to be able to flirt and be taken seriously, you know," you arched an eyebrow and she threw a napkin at you.

"You're impossible!" she kissed you on the cheek before returning to the kitchen for more goods.

Half an hour had passed and the woman's date still hadn't arrived. You pondered going back there and offering something again, but you imagined she'd feel uncomfortable with you noticing she was possibly being stood up. Your bones hurt with the want to go strike up a conversation and distract her from the douchebag that was making her wait, but at the same time, your heart raced in panic at the thought of talking to her.

It was some time since you'd had a crush on a person. Even being a hopeless romantic, you didn't have many opportunities to find anyone attractive in your day-to-day life. You lived close to the campus, so taking the subway to work wasn't necessary. You spent your day at the coffee shop and it always felt like breaching an unspoken rule to fancy a client (even though you admitted some were very aesthetically pleasing), and all your friends were spoken for and their friends were usually on college so a few years younger and that didn't do it for you. So it was very curious to finally feel it again, and for a client to make matters worse.

"Ok, stop ogling her, you'll bore a hole on her neck like this" Maggy mused, bringing the rest of the pastries.

You let out a defeated breath. "You're right, I have work to do and no time for this kind of thing."

"Woah there, you seem to have thought a lot of things in the five minutes it took me to get back, huh?"

You did, and she might not have the knowledge of what went on in your head, but you knew she understood your conclusion. How did she come to know you so well was beyond you, but you guessed five months of friendship and almost uninterrupted proximity did that.

"You know it's not for me." You shrugged and noting she was about to object you excused yourself saying you'd get more excelsa beans.

When your shift was close to end, the woman was still there. She wasn't waiting anymore, you noticed. She was idly taking notes on a small pad and listening to music. She didn't look too affected by the guy not showing up. Maybe she suspected it would happen, or it wasn't the first time, you didn't know but her nonchalance about it made your chest tighten.

Before you could change your mind, you chose one of the biggest triple chocolate ganache palm-sized cookies from the display case and prepared an iced vanilla latte to go. You put the two in a paper tray and fake-power-walked to her, willing yourself to feel the smallest amount of confidence. You were the chatty one of the group, why was it so difficult to act normal with her too?

"Hey, hello..." great start, "Ahem, my shift is almost ending and since I couldn't help you earlier with your order I thought I would bring this to you." You smiled and were almost sure you did ok.

Until she looked up from her notepad with shimmery eyes, and your smile fell. She had not been so nonchalant then.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do I have to order to stay here?" she seemed confused while looking between you and the tray you placed in front of her.

"No! No, I just thought you'd like something sweet," you were nervous like you haven't been for a long time, "I don't know... you just seemed like the type..."

"That likes sweets?" her small voice made sent shivers through your arms, she sounded so fragile, looking at your offer with something akin to wonder.

"Yes. Sorry. When you work here for a while you pick up on these things. If you don't though, I can take it back-"

"No!" she interrupted you, briskly circling a hand to your pulse when you made it to take the tray away and looked at you with a bewildered expression. "Sorry! I do like sweets." She let you go as rapidly as she touched you, chest flaring red, she avoided your eyes and cleared her throat. "Thank you, it is very nice of you," with that, she smiled, almost beamed, and you could only nod and get the hell away from her as fast as you could.

While desperately changing into your own clothes, you jumped at the sound of Dave entering the locker room.

"Shit, sorry!" he exclaimed, looking at you from head to toe. He was a quieter friend, but very perceptive, "So Maggy wasn't joking," he smiled.

"Please, not you too."

He laughed, "I won't tease you for being human. Everyone has a crush from time to time."

"Shut up! I don't have a crush." You finished tying your shoe. "And even if I do, she's probably straight or has a boyfriend."

"So you thought about it."

"SHUT UP!" you couldn't help but laugh and as you closed the back door to the alley you heard him laughing too.

You didn't pay too much mind to your thoughts of the beautiful stranger in the following days. She would likely never go back to the shop and if she did it would take a while and your attraction would have died down.

When she came not three days after, you cursed and ran to the kitchen.

"What are you doing, we need you outside," Maggy furrowed her brow softly.

"Could you please go there for a few minutes? I can finish icing," you pleaded, already taking the bag from her hand; she gave you a strange look but said fine.

Not a moment after she entered the kitchen again with a pleased smile. "Y/n you insufferably adorable idiot, go back out there and serve your customer!" she pointed at the door, and you made a show of slumping your shoulders and pouting while you made your way out front.

The woman was at the counter, she had a light frown, as if a bit confused with something, and startled when you said, "Good morning, how may I serve you?" in your best impression of a customer-service-friendly tone.

"Oh! Hi," she beamed at you, "Nice seeing you again!" Fuck she was gorgeous, "I would like the drink you gave me the other time, I really liked it."

You didn't know if the swell of pride in your ribcage was for being such a kick-ass barista or because of the happiness on her face from your accurate assumption.

"Coming right up!" you started making her drink, pleased with yourself, "Will you want anything to eat, as well?"

"No, if I do my co-workers will want it too," she chuckled and you got a to-go cup. When you handed it to her, she looked puzzled. "How did you know...?"

"The time," you filled in when she didn't elaborate, "Lots of people come before work and the ones that stay are usually students."

She hummed, eyebrows going up with a soft smile, "What about elders?" she handed you payment, exact change with an extra A$2,00 coin. Hot and a good tipper? This woman has no shame.

"We have only one couple and they come a bit later in the day," you smiled, accepting the money.

"Well, thank you then," she awkwardly lifted the cup and gave you one last, sheepish smile, before leaving.

You were so very screwed.

She kept coming. Day after day, she came in at the same hour and asked for the same drink. You offered some variations a few times, but she always went back to the first you made her. You stopped pretending you weren't smug for getting it so right.

Today was raining softly, autumn was settling in finally and cold afternoons were now a guarantee rather than a wish. You heard the doorbell and looked up to see Mina skipping to the counter with a scarf-hidden smile. Her nose was rosy as well as her cheeks which turned her eyes into thin joyful lines.

"Hey, lover! I missed you this weekend." She fake-pouted and you began making her usual.

"Sorry, I worked Dave's shift on Saturday and forgot to let you know."

"It's fine, but only if you go to the next one. If you don't, I'll stop being your friend!" she joked, sitting on one of the stools to watch you make her drink.

"Ok, dear 8-year-old cousin," she laughed and you changed topics to what movies they watched and how you regretted losing Toni's shock-filled eyes at New Moon's 'hot vampire royalty' as Mina said he put it. For someone who said they hated Twilight, you were happy for their growth.

After some more gossip, Mina grabbed her coffee and fled to class with a kiss on your cheek.

It was past mid-afternoon; your shift was slowly nearing its end and you were grateful for bringing an umbrella. It would probably be still raining when you got out.

When she walked through the door half an hour later, though, you wished you had more time. Her hair was a bit damp, and she had a sports jacket on. Maybe she left work around that hour because it was close to the one, she came to the shop the first time.

Try not to be a stalker, you weirdo, you thought to yourself while she approached.

"Hello there," she had her usual easy smile on. So beautiful.

"Hey, what will it be?" you could almost act normal now, the result of prolonged exposure, you assumed.

"You know," she shrugged, leaning on the counter lazily.

You started preparing her drink with a small smile and Maggy shook her head at you, rolling her eyes dramatically before leaving for the kitchen. She had nothing to do in there anymore.

"Tough day at work?"

"Oh, the usual. Paperwork mostly, it's been a while since there's been any excitement." She shrugged, but soon fixed her posture and shook her head frowning. "Not that I want anything to happen. If paperwork is the price, it's fine by me."

Curious comment. You didn't know what she did, you realized you didn't even know her name. You fantasized about leaning over the counter and kissing her silly but could not say who she was. How could it be that through an entire week, you hadn't even caught her name; usually it took you one conversation and the next you would set her up with someone from the shop. Of course, you weren't inclined to do that with her particularly, because of reasons.... but it was rather odd.

"Sorry, I don't think I ever asked your name," you turned to place her order on the counter, not on a to-go cup this time.

"Oh my god, that's true! I only know yours from your tag, it never crossed my mind I didn't have mine on!"

So her work requires wearing tags... Fuck, I'm a creep.

"I'm Miranda." She extended her hand for you to shake, it was just as soft as it looked. You imagined what being caressed by it would feel like... or a massage... or other things.

Shaking your head, you leaned to kiss her hand, rather than shake it. Out of your control, really. You simply could not lose the opportunity.

She looked to the floor, biting her smile. You could not see the red in her chest this time, but her ears were blazing.

"I'll just-" she took the cup, looking at you and rapidly away again, "Thank you. I'll go sit now." You only nodded, amused and slightly euphoric but trying to keep it down, as you saw her go.

She sat on one of the front window tables, leaning on her elbow and pointedly looking at the rain.

Two days passed after that. It was almost the end of the month, and you didn't even find another potential couple to help. You were too busy daydreaming on the job to pay attention to the customers. Maggy would lose her bet, the poor baby.

It was the middle of your shift, so it took you by surprise when you saw the blond owner of your thoughts walking in.

“Hey!” Miranda approached the counter, her smile making quick work of warming your whole being. She was the best part of your day no matter what happened. You thought seeing her smile at you was worth more than winning the lottery. You could live without the money any day.

“Hello, there,” you smiled back, with your usual cheekiness. “Your usual, I presume?” You were almost beginning her latte when she interrupted you.

“No! No, today I’ll be having a cold brew and an espresso. Robin needs her caffeine.” At that, she pointed at a brunette walking slowly in. She looked waspish and you could easily believe she was one of those people who were very grumpy before their first cup of coffee. “I’m her partner,” she leant over the counter and whispered to you like it was an exciting secret. She looked so proud you felt nauseous.

So she had a partner; a week after being stood up. It was understandable, she was a smoke show, funny and adorable all at once. How could she not have a mile-long line of people waiting for a chance? It still disappointed you that you weren’t the choice.

“Do you want me to grind?” you asked, absentmindedly leaning down to search for the good beans. At the silence, you turned to see her. She was turning red very fast, then you realised what you said and almost dropped the bean’s package on the floor, “The beans! Do you want me to grind the beans? You know… so the shots are nice and fresh.” Jesus, good one.

“Yes…” she gazed at the floor for a second and shook her head before looking back at you. “Sorry, I was just distracted… by stuff…" she pressed her lips in a thin line and looked in any other direction than yours. “I’ll just- I’ll just sit there.”

And off she was.

“Could you be less of a flirt? Not everyone can pull girls like a magnet and it’s offensive,” your co-worker’s voice woke you from your trance. Maggy was coming with a tray of fresh cakes.

“Shut up… it was her.” You tried to recompose yourself, your week’s worth of daydreams turning sour as you saw her walk to the back table where her “partner” was. Miranda liked the front window, why did that woman seat in the only corner with no view of the street and the farthest possible from the door?

“Ooh, so you’re finally admitting it.” She began to arrange the sweets in flower-like patterns on the display case, still smiling to herself.

“You only listened to my screw-up. She has a girlfriend,” you didn’t mean to sound so snippy, but you felt angry tears forming in your eyes and couldn’t stop tapping your left foot faster and faster.

Maggy noticed it in your tense posture and tight face, and before you knew it she was shoving you into the kitchen and asking Dave to cover outside.

Incredible. Just magnificent. She had a girlfriend, because of course she did, and you foolishly invested time and hope planning to ask her out and imagining all the stupid little dates you wanted to take her to and all the stupid little things you would do to make her smile. Great.

“Hey, come here…” Mag’s voice was no more than a whisper, bringing you to her chest while you very pointedly didn’t cry.

Your chest was rising and falling erratically with your half-swallowed sobs and your face hurt from all the muscles you strained to keep from letting it all out.

Maggy knew you wouldn’t cry. You were too stubborn for that, too chagrined with yourself to allow release. After less than a minute, you pushed yourself out of her arms, face sullen and voice hoarse.

“They ordered a cold brew and an expresso. I feel suddenly sick, can I go home?” you didn’t feel sick, she knew it too, but she only said:

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll cover for you.”

You nodded, never meeting her eyes, perpetually looking at the ground as you walked to the staff changing rooms and then home.

While walking home that afternoon, you caught the rain. You’d seen the weather report, but you left in such a hurry that you forgot your umbrella and didn't feel like going back to get it.

You got actually sick. The next morning you woke up sweating, feeling every muscle in your body hurting. It was nine, so you were already late. You called your boss to tell him you had a fever and he said Mag had already told him you didn’t feel very well the day before. He gave you the weekend off and ended with a kind “get better soon”; he was a nice boss.

You spent said weekend in bed. When you felt less horrible you took a shower and changed the sheets, prepared some soup and ate on the sofa while watching the news.

Apparently, there was a gang targeting young girls from the university near the Rainbow. All the police could tell at the moment was that they were being abducted after hours when leaving the campus for a night out. What they did to them after was a mystery you felt like throwing up just thinking about. You texted Mina to know if the group was safe; they were, but also very scared.

“The police detective in charge of the case, Robin Griffin, couldn’t disclose any more information,” the anchor’s voice sounded while a picture of a sulking brunette appeared on your screen.

It was her: Miranda’s partner. A police detective of all things.

Of course, Miranda would date some mysterious, grumpy detective that fought for the innocent and had a secret soft side she never showed anyone except for Miranda. It was the perfect ray of sunshine/rainy cloud couple half of the young adult fantasies had.

You wondered what Miranda did for work. You shouldn't be thinking about her, but you couldn't help it. All you knew was that she used a tag, and that didn't reduce your options all that much. You had to get her out of your brain.

After finishing eating and taking another shower, you went to bed early to get some healthy twelve hours of sleep before returning to work. With any luck, Miranda wouldn't come so soon.

You weren't very lucky, as proven by the relationship status of the person you madly wanted.

Miranda came again the next morning, accompanied by her detective girlfriend, Robin Griffin.

"Morning!" she was cherry as all the other times she greeted you but now it caused you physical pain to see her smile and attribute her happiness to the sulking jackass at the back booth.

Maybe you were being too harsh if Miranda was dating the woman she had probably a reason but you chose to ignore it as an outlet for all your negative thoughts and feelings.

"Good morning, how may I serve you today?" you said in a practised monotone, customer smile on your face.

A little line formed between her eyebrows and your fingers itched to smooth it away.

"Hum, I'll accept a suggestion today." she observed herself drum her fingers on the counter, "And Robin wants a cold brew again."

You nodded, starting with a white chocolate mocha and ignoring the figure leaning her weight on the counter.

"You can grind-" you heard her start and stop for a few seconds, "the beans for Robin's, she never commented on coffee before but last time you made it she said it was really good."

"Last time I made it?" you cursed your curiosity, "Someone else made you two coffee?"

Technically, the only time you made coffee for them you only started the grinder and fled, so Maggy was the one to finish it.

"Yeah... we came on Saturday to straighten some things. I like the atmosphere here and Robin didn't mind coming again."

Straighten some things? Were they having fights? None of your business in any case but... were they? You only hummed in response.

You placed her drink on the counter and started the second. Noticing you wouldn't start talking again, Miranda cleared her throat and looked to the side. Why couldn't she look you in the face today? It was normal for her to blush and avert her eyes sometimes when you talked but she seemed incapable of keeping eye contact for five seconds today.

"I like your shirt," she commented, out of nowhere.

"It's my uniform? But thanks?" what in the seven hells?

You finished the second drink and thanked whoever listening for her silent departure. Her awkward nod still made your chest constrict though.

This time there was no Maggy to witness your suffering, instead, it was Dave who was bringing the new arrivals and decided to lean against the door and watch.

"Shut up," you breathed as soon as you saw his smirk.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you were thinking."

"Oh, come on, she was obviously flirting with you!" you hated that you agreed with him, it felt like flirting — hesitant and weird but flirting.

"Her girlfriend is sitting right there, she was not flirting with me just five meters away from her," if you said it out loud one more time maybe you could convince yourself.

"Well, or she's very clueless, or devilishly smart." He shrugged and started putting away some gourmet-looking packages underneath the counter.

Later that day you were still thinking of Miranda's strange behaviour. Dave wasn't one for gossip, but this time he opted to completely ignore that and conspire with Maggy about what were Miranda's intentions with you, quite loudly, just a few feet away. They were insufferable sometimes.

After a few hours of little giggles and middle school singsongs, you mistrusted the sudden silence. Dave, oddly enough, was cleaning the expresso machine serenely while Mag was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did Maggy go?" you asked, walking to the kitchen door and peering through the circle window. She was on her back having a phone call.

"Her boyfriend called, don't know what's about but she looked strange when she came in."

A few moments after, Maggy slowly opened the door and peeked from it, "Y/n, can I talk to you for a sec?" she asked, an uncertain tinge in her voice.

"Sure..." you followed her in.

Once inside, you heard her let out a long breath, "Ok, so I know I only covered for you days ago and that it sounds opportunistic as shit, but could you cover the end shift for me? Markus had an accident playing basketball and needs me to get him at the hospital" her tortured face was the cherry on top of your hellish day.

"Of course, I'll cover for you! What happened?"

"He fractured his ankle, that's why I need to get him; he probably won't be able to walk around the house very well too."

"You're fine, go get him. I don't have anything better to do anyway, bug." You kissed her cheek and rushed her into the staff rooms.

Closing wasn't so bad. Today was raining again but you had your umbrella and wouldn't forget it this time. After swiping the floor and checking the kitchen for stoves on and the like, you closed everything and went home.

Every day it got darker and darker around this time. You didn't notice before because you usually were at home, but now you wished you had charged your phone for some extra light. The rain was thick, and you couldn't even hear your steps. The umbrella didn't do much to shield your legs, which were drenched up to the knees.

After a few blocks, the streetlights got dimmer, the shops and public spaces being substituted by tall apartment buildings. You decided to hurry a bit and ignore the shiver on the back of your neck; soon you would reach home.

Well, not really. You felt before you saw the group of four people nearing you. When you thought of sprinting, one of them caught up to you and held you back with strong arms around your middle and one hand covering your mouth. You trashed, trying to free yourself, but they only shushed you sounding amused. The other three joined and they led you to one of the corridors between brick buildings. You couldn't see a thing, only feel rough fingers in your face and the prickly feeling of days-old facial hair on your ear as a hoarse voice breathed on your ear.

"Be a good girl and stay quiet. It'll be a lot less painful for you."

You felt overwhelmed by panic, gagging in bile and trembling like a baby dear. You didn't know where the strength came from, but you freed your face desperately and screamed your lungs out for help. You didn't know if anyone would listen with the rain, you could barely hear yourself, but it could have something to do with the buzzing on your ears muffling all sound around you.

You stepped on his feet, kicked him and bit his arm but he wouldn't budge. He managed to put his hand over your mouth again, but you bit it until you heard him scream and tasted iron in your mouth. However, that only made him hold you tighter, hurting your ribcage, and the rest of the group came to aid him.

What they did was each try to get you under control, which meant none had a full grip on you, and throwing yourself against one worked for you to start running for your life in the direction of the streetlights. You didn't know if your screams were intelligible of even if they were loud enough to be screams, you couldn't hear, had no frame of reference.

You thought you saw the lights of a car turning the corner, but you didn't have the time to see. The same guy who had you before was jumping at you, crashing you against the asphalt with his body weight. You felt your skin burn. Arms and face glued to the street with the impact. Your head was ringing, and you only saw spots of light and unfocused shouting and around you, a very loud noise was the last thing you heard before it was all black.

You woke up feeling warm. There were quiet noises of clicking porcelain and muffled conversation to your left.

The sterile smell was what hinted at where you were, opening your eyes to bright white ceilings and empty beds around you. You were the only one in the room apart from the three people around the door.

Miranda, her girlfriend and a nurse. Oddly enough, Miranda was dressed as a police officer. What she was doing there you had no idea, in fact, you didn't even know why you were there.

You tried to sit, and all three looked at you. The nurse came over quickly and fussed around you, helping you sit, and asking how you felt. You didn't feel too bad, but there were some friction burns on your elbows and forearms that you could do without. Mostly it was just your head buzzing faintly.

"She said you might have a concussion," Miranda joined in, timidly placing her hand over one of yours resting beside you in the bed. You turned it so she could hold it if she wanted. You felt a pang when she did.

"The detective asked if you would be willing to answer some questions. I told her you might not be feeling well enough right now, but if you do I can tell her so." The nurse didn't seem too pleased talking about 'the detective', which reminded you of the movie hospital staff and made you smile.

"I don't know how much use I'd be," your voice was croaky as you looked from the nurse to Miranda, "I don't really know why I'm here."

She understood the question you didn't make and asked the nurse if she could talk with you alone. She seemed only partially agreeable but left anyway.

"You were attacked last night near the university," she said immediately, even if trying to sound softer, and her hand tighten around yours. "Why were you even out at that time in the rain?"

"I don't know... I worked the end shift?" you remembered Maggy asking you to and remembered closing and going out in the rain. Not much more than that.

"You were so lucky we decided to patrol the area, Jesus Christ," she was talking faster than normal, and you furrowed your brows, "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Why are you here? You aren't asking me any questions..." your head hurt too much to think at that moment. You just wanted some peace and not to have to stare at Miranda's face because your head and arms were enough things hurting.

"What? Because I care about you! Because I saw what those sick men were trying to do and I know how it'd end-" she choked in her hurried whisper. Was she about to cry? "You have no idea the terror I felt when I realized it was you the one on the floor. You weren't responding and all I could do was scream at Robin who somehow arrested three men on her own and still managed to call an ambulance."

Wow, there really was a reason Miranda dated her, then.

You felt exhausted all of a sudden. Emotionally and physically, you just needed some sleep and a hug and you leaned against Miranda for just that.

She took you in her arms, surprised but seemingly not against it. You sighed and swallowed the knot in your throat. It didn't help much. Why did you have to like her so much? Why was she so kind and caring even after knowing you for only two weeks? It was so unfair she was taken, the one person with whom you could envision making it work.

When you parted, Miranda still had her arms around you. She was searching for something on your face, staring earnestly into your eyes as if willing you to understand her. You could not for the life of you understand anything about that woman anymore. Here she was, holding you and comforting you after flirting with you at your place of work. Sending you all these mixed signals and expecting you not to fall for them.

She looked almost frustrated with your lack of understanding, then her eyes snapped to your lips for one second then looked back at you; brows furrowed and eyes pleading. Why did this have to be so complicated? You matched her look, gazing wantonly at her lips, just to torture yourself at not meeting them.

However, at your lack of action and obvious wish, Miranda made the decision and leaned in. You weren't expecting it, suddenly woke from your daydream to a very real pressure on your lips. She had strawberry lip balm on and tasted of tea. Hospital tea, the ones at the reception for people staying the night. She smelled of nothing other than her, no soap or sweat or anything, just her after a long night and possibly long morning of dealing with whatever resulted from the last night's occurrence. She felt like home, her arms around you bringing you close delicately, the pressing of her lips long and slow as if she was trying to convey this ineffable thing you couldn't understand when she looked at you. It was beautiful and sweet and so painful you had to stop.

"But what about Robin?" you whispered against her lips.

"What about Robin?"

"I'm so confused, aren't you dating Robin? Your detective 'partner'?" and as you said it, everything clicked together "Oh, no-" You hid your face in Miranda's chest, feeling silly for all the bitterness and jealousy you indulged for the last week, but also hating yourself for all the unnecessary heartache. "You and Robin are partners, as in you work together on cases, correct?"

"Yes... I thought that was rather obvious..." Her arms tightened around you and she made soothing circles between your shoulders. "I think we even discussed the case in the coffee shop. I thought you heard us."

"I might have misunderstood," your voice was muffled by your face pressed onto her uncomfortable, bumpy, vest. You heard her chuckle, and she took a step back, with her index under your chin prompting you to look at her. She had a mischievous grin and an arched brow.

"Did you think we were together?" you only nodded, "And were you jealous?" at that, her grin went from mischievous to an earnest, excited smile. She was too pure for this world.

You didn't respond, only looked to the side screwing your face up to avoid the relieved smile.

"No, c'mon, I want to hear it," her voice carried a note of amusement, but she only looked kind when tilting your face to look at her again.

"I might have..." she huffed a small laugh "No! Shut up! Listen-" you could not control your smile at her looking so delighted "It's your fault that you were so adorable that first day and accepted my coffee like it was the best thing ever! It was just coffee and a cookie, and you looked unreasonably happy! And after that you kept coming and coming more frequently to my god-blessed queer café and flirting and looking shy and beautiful, what did you expect me to feel? Are you kidding me? This was all your fault, you menace! So, of course, I was jealous when you appeared with a dark and mysterious stranger and sat in the most private corner possible to whisper to each other like teenagers thinking they’re being subtle!"

"Ok, I realize you are very passionate about this," she laughed softly, bringing you to a hug again. "But you forgot that you were flirting mercilessly with me and that I never asked you to stop." She had a point, but again there were people who liked being flirted with, even when they were in relationships. You didn't think Miranda was like that, though.

"I know, but I'm allowed to be a bit irrational about this..." your volume decreased as you finished the sentence.

"You're pouting," she whispered to match you, "Why?"

Taking a deep breath, you locked eyes with her. Here goes nothing. "Because you're my coffee shop romance," you said trying to sound confident. At her lack of response for more than five seconds, you backtracked, "That is if you'd like to be. I shouldn't have assumed, you-"

"Jesus, shut up-" she said and smashed your lips together.

The kiss wasn't too dextrous, both of you smiling too much and too eager for it to work properly, but it was the best thing in the world.

"Not Jesus, but I'll let it pass this time," you murmured against her lip when you slowed down. She was peppering chaste, slightly long kisses on your lips and face.

"Shut up," you heard her smile before feeling it in your skin.

"You'll have to make me," you breathed back.

Decided to put notes at the end. I posted this one here because of the ask, but I hope you liked it and that I lived up to your expectations! I had a lot of fun writing this one, so thank you so much and sorry for the long post 💛

#miranda hilmarson #miranda hilmarson x reader #fluff #coffee shops & cafés #coffee shop au #top of the lake #gwendoline christie

270 notes · View notes

tmntxthings · 2 years

Text

Σ一The Villainess, AKA: Cherrypie ‘A Cute-Meet’。・゜・

summary: way before the night of the ball, Y/n and Raph met under pretty average circumstances, if average includes testing out a prototype for a cloaking brooch & a certain special ring getting stolen

author’s note: this is first prequel to the ongoing collab with <3 @marwhoa <3 we have been contemplating more prequels to continue adding depth to the story and ofc the almighty ‘part two’

warnings: rise!raph x villain!reader, cloaking brooch au, secret identities, cute meet, fluff

〔you’re here〕 → next

—————————————————————————

Through one of the very few quiet streets of the city, a hand emerges from the wall. Around it glitters magenta sparks, twinkling as an entire body follows through it. As dazzling an entrance as that was, this particular stranger happened to be dressed simply. A plain, ruffled, scarlet dress with a billowing skirt, accented by the pair of matching sandals wrapping up her calves, and tied together by a red clutch-purse as its accentuating piece. ‘Plain-Jane’ blinked away a crackle of red magic that was quite literally drawn into a ring upon her finger. Small bits of arcane energy surged in, bouncing erratically beneath the clear film protecting ruby crystals inside—all until the last twinkle blipped into the vacuum.

With a few calming rotations of the ring around her digit and a tucking of stray hairs behind her ear, the silent street was filled by soft tmps of the mysterious newcomer’s light footsteps. Perpendicular to the alley she has appeared through, a sneaky peek was given before she stepped out the next pin-drop quiet street with sidewalks that likely experienced so little foot traffic that they just might be clean enough to eat on.

Luckily, this lass wasn’t here to dine on the sidewalk picnic style—no, no, she was here for a special café that was quite literally the hidden gem beaten off the path. Had it not been for her frequenting, it likely wouldn’t be able to stay open. THAT is just how out of the way it was. Alright, that may have been blown out of proportion, but Y/n couldn’t care less as she and her temporarily-inflated self-importance pushed through the doors. Immediately she was woken up by the soothing hold of coffee grinds and baked goods. They cradled her, placing energizing kisses upon both cheeks.

A barista greeted the door’s chiming bell with a cheerful good morning and “Welcome to Sugar n’Spice!”

Any sleepiness brave enough to stay in your system from a bright and early rise wouldn’t stand a chance in this quaint, domestic place and its enlivening, ambrosial scents as you approached the counter. A glance was passed to the occupants of the room—a man who looked like he just got out of the gym, two sickly looking old ladies by the window, a lady bouncing a kid on her hip, and a man in a suit who’s foot tapped in a ‘watching the clock closely’ fashion.

Giving a curt “Excuse me,” as you navigated around the impatient man, you swallowed the bitterness upon your tongue for these humans who had the privilege to be here, topside, all day, any day. Hold back that discontent, for there is one important rule! A personally appointed exception, specially made for Sugar n’Spice: this place was divine enough to escape your witchy wrath. Show utmost respect by refraining from the usual ‘Hidden City Dweller seething at the humans.’ You could do that anywhere but here. This place was the holy land. The heavenly pinnacle of coffee—the SACRED LAN—

“Ma’am …?”

The barista tilted their head towards you playfully as that increasingly bizarre inner monologue settled abruptly. The distractions were waved off by a shaking of your noggin and an apologetic smile. “Sorry! Caught up with something—could I get the spiced Red Velvet latte? Please.”

Your lips shifted into a patient smile as the barista practically sighed in relief, hand on their chest as they muttered, “..much more normal than that last customer,” under their breath. You quirked an eyebrow at this but quickly rested your features. Humans complained too much for folks that—no! No, no, Y/n, quit it. The rule, remember the rule!

“Oh! Also, can I do the student discount? I’m an Eastlaird student.”

There was a missed opportunity as three of the occupants in the room perked up upon hearing that name; alas, your attention was instead fixated on your red clutch. Swiftly unlatching it and digging out two cards: one to show to the barista, your ID, and the second, your debit card. The animated worker leaned in, nodded at the little plastic, and took off some of the charge via the ‘Sugar n’Spice’s Nice Discount.’ With just one swipe of a debit card and a little wave after the machine’s little ‘doot!’ , you were all ready to go and await your beloved order. Your seeking eyes gazed all around the room in search of a table to claim until landing fondly upon a small two-seater. There, in the corner opposite of the old ladies and other waiting humans, was a perfectly empty space. Morning sun rays seemed to illuminate a chair for you to sit in, whispering a ‘come here to enjoy the one thing humans were able to do right, dear!’

After a moment to place your things upon the uninhabited table, you then went over and leaned against the counter near where orders came out and scrolled nonchalantly through your cellular. A scoff or two may have escaped at whatever human news headlines caught your eyes, at least up until your expression glimmered with a split-second of trepidation as an instinctual swipe did away with an unwanted notification.

NOTIFICATION

You have one new message.

———————————————————

➤ MOTHER sent now

Where are you?

Not here, please, agonized the disguised witch silently. This was your one true escape—the one and only getaway from home that you had. Away from the mystic training, away from her, and into a place where you could be a normal... A normal what, human? Don’t even think about finishing that thought.

But, Sugar n’Spice cafe… this was one of the only human-made delights you had…

Surely that granted you one little ‘cross my heart’ secret kept, right?

Trapped in your chest was a deep sigh; you didn’t want to think about your mother. It felt like she had done nothing but push you to your limits as of lately. Constantly claiming that your magic “wasn’t performing at its peak.”, That you “should train more,” —no, even MORE than that, that you should only be training. The ever-lingering pressure to perform and perform well, lest you don’t come up to par with your mother’s expectations, it was starting to get ridiculous. “Seriously Y/n, are you even trying? If you don’t start taking training seriously—” You quickly shoved the memory away violently.

The little device was hastily shoved into your clutch, along with the unpleasant memory. Your eyes closed as the subconscious habit of twisting your ring came in full swing. You did it mostly when nervous, but every so often it would give off a calming effect—and per usual, it served to ground your racing heart in the here and now.

This place was your safe haven. You didn’t want to mar its charm by thinking of that hateful woman who did nothing but dampen your spirits. Just as you were opening your eyes after building up your resolve, one of the baristas called out, “Spiced Red Velvet latte!” Right on time, just the thing to completely nip these nerves in the bud as if clicking a ‘do not disturb for at least an hour’ switch.

You were so focused on your destination, hand reaching out for its prize. So focused in fact, your hand jolted and floated stiffly as your peripheral caught another hand closing in. Far closer than a stranger’s hand should be, and your eyes were blown wide, resting upon the intruder heading straight for the cup—your cup.

“Oh—”

Both of you stilled. You followed the hand up until you met the gaze of a culprit who dared to try and steal the drink you ordered every single visit! Just as quickly as you made eye contact with a pair of emerald eyes, the barista’s worried voice snagged your attention once more.

“—that’s right! Sorry, both of you ordered the spiced red velvet latte,” clarified the worker behind the counter, slowly, nervously, pulling their hand away from the fresh beverage. “The, uh, the next one will be out shortly!” They amended, turning back to concocting tasty drinks.

“Sorry! You can go ahead, I’m in no rush.”

Your gaze returned to those bright green irises. His voice was deep and soothing, offering a soft smile as he dipped his head towards your drink. Or rather, a drink whose fate laid in the hands of you both. A shared dilemma.

“Wait—wait what?”

Cue the double-take. From the drink, to those curious green eyes, right on back to the drink. Was this… Selflessness? Displayed by one who belonged to a selfish society? “You’re just letting me have it?”

Now, by no means would you ever forfeit something of yours to a human. Not even a drink mishap like this! But, what stopped you in your tracks was the lack of a rude ‘I’ll be taking this! You can wait for the next drink.’ from the stranger.

“Well, yeah, a’course. Raph prides ‘imself on bein’ respectful— ‘s good manners, too.” He was beaming with a proud grin, crossing his arms and standing with a stance that seemed all-too-heroic. The “amaze” factor of his pose was severely detracted by the gym clothes he wore. Basketball shorts and a tank top, sneakers—was this dude on a morning jog? Not the most heroic get-up.

“R.. Right..” Y/n’s eyes rested on the cup and its steam, lingering there for long enough that the drink’s twin had been completed and slid out on the counter, metaphorically framed by the worker chirping, “Another spiced red velvet latte, for here!”

The gears in your head were turning, still frozen by the smallest gesture, far too small for anyone else, but that meant so much more to you. This is a sign, echoed a thought. As he took his drink, you couldn’t have missed him doing a victorious fist to the air and muttering “You still got it, big guy! The precious drink has been secured.” The whimsical nature of the whole interaction had your hand moving before anything could be thought through enough, driven by a single fear. Pushing your hand, the fear begged you, as though letting this one leave here and now would become the biggest regret of your life.

“Wait,”

You nearly whispered the word, feeling an uncharacteristic thump in your chest as those same green hues turned and locked with your own shaky eyes.

“Someone who loves Sugar n’Spice’s spiced red velvet lattes as much as I do, th-that’s hard to find. ‘Cause, y’know what they say, it’s too much sugar and spice.”

“It’s too much sugar n’spice.”

Laughter brought the two together within seconds as the realization that they said the same thing at the same time set in. Y/n’s nerves dissolved—and to be frank, so did this particular stranger’s, not that you would know that.

A shaky invitation was proposed, asking him if he’d like to sit together and share company. With a toothy smile and a nod, the two sat at her claimed table, humming at the clinks the cups made when their bottoms met the polished redwood of the café tables. Just before either could start conversation, one of the old ladies across the room gasped dramatically loud. Y/n would have looked over, had it not been for the man in front of her quickly covering up the scene with a cough and interjection.

“So!”

His voice cracked, seeming to choke on a bit of unease as your eyes returned to him.

“Ya gotta be a regular, too, then?”

“Yes—what gave it away?”

Y/n inquired, taken aback by such a bizarre deduction. Seriously, what gave it away? She glanced at her drink, her seat, and then to the board. The evidence revealed itself before he continued.

“These drinks ‘ave long since been taken off the menu, but they still serve ‘em for the few regulars who knew about it.”

The happy trill he gave upon sipping the hot drink further lowered your guard as you leaned into your hand. The little voice in your head placed its imaginary hands on your shoulders, leaning into your ear with an ecstatic ‘maybe this one’s a good human? say, don’tcha think nice humans exist? there’s the owners of sugar n’spice, so can’t there be others !!?’

“Quite the observant eye you have, sirrrr… Raph” Dragging out the last word until the name came back to you, the same one he said earlier. You were banking on that having been a third-person-speaking moment as opposed to him giving the name of an absentee.

“Raph,” He nodded in confirmation, to which you dipped your head with him, copying his nod.

“And your name?”

“Oh, it’s Y/n.” Your voice spoke sheepishly, wondering why it had taken you so long to say so.

“Issa lovely name, and a pleasure to meet ‘cha!”His smile was so warm and comforting that you let go of the embarrassment swirling around your head, heating your cheeks. Play it off as being from your drink’s steam, that’ll work! Go on, a little ‘shoooo’ to the maroon-red liquid before taking the lightest sip. Ah, it’s still too hot.

“How long ‘ve you been a patron?”

The friendly human asked in order to continue the conversation. This had a tiny smile appearing on your face. You almost couldn’t remember the first time you stumbled into SnS. You blew out a winded raspberry.

“It’s been a good long while..” Pondering hums reverberated from within as your hands lifted the drink once more in a contemplative sip. This was your first year at Eastlaird, so that …plus a couple of years more, Ah!

“Around 3 or 4 years,”

The cup’s bottom tapped the tabletop with a light clink. Ever since you had found one of the more far-off gateways from the Hidden City to the topside, your nose had followed the sweet aroma of coffee. Now every time you snuck away from your mother, you made sure to squeeze a stop here into the schedule. Fortunately for you, sneaking away was one of your specialties, thus your regular status at said coffeehouse.

“Well Raphs been grabbin’ a drink here for 5 or so years!”

The huma— Raph, added after you finished. You wondered internally how miraculous it was that neither of you had run into each other before.

…

…….

Silence filled up the space around you both. Though the conversation had reached a momentary halt, Raph caught himself lingering on a potential topic. Should he bring up Eastlaird? It was an overheard tidbit from the exchange between you and the employee at the register. But, how could he phrase it without sounding like a bit of a creep for eavesdropping in the first place? He glanced up from his glass to find you staring out of the window. Head angled slightly upwards as though captivated by something, and so his own gaze curiously followed yours to the bright blue sky.

Nothing particularly interesting nor impressive stuck out to him. It was just an ordinary sky—not exactly a clear sky, an occasional cloud would make it’s gradual trek across the expanse—, but as his eyes came back to you, it seemed your eyes saw something else in the overhead canvas. A soft smile graced your lips as your eyes affectionately soaked up the view. Maybe it was the strokes of light morning pinks and golden yellows streaking across the canvas. Or it might have been the dashes of clouds, like stretched-out cotton clouds, pinned to the board for depth. Something about this thing that Raph had seen every day yet never truly seen, the twinkle in your eyes had him taking another look. The atmosphere between the two of you opened up to him as he began to realize the position he was in.

Here, at a table for two, with a lady as pretty as you. Deceiving you, disguised and still daring to watch fondly at this vulnerable smile you gave. You were the perfect picture of someone who saw a world he didn’t, and that very thing was leaving a sour pit in his chest. Raph immediately looked down at his drink, taking another swig, but this time the sweet drink left a bitter aftertaste. Everything he did sounded louder to his ears—picking the cup up, swallowing the latte, placing it back down. He was suddenly all too aware of every action he made. How couldn’t he be? Look at you, so well put-together and serene, and here he was making a blunder of the whole conversation. You went out of your way to invite him, and his thanks to that was uninteresting small-talk.

Raph suddenly felt…

Boring.

…

The gap in the conversation only seemed to widen as the two of you both scavenged for the next topic. It was an understatement to say it was humiliating to you—inviting a stranger, who was a human also, don’t forget that very important bit, and then proceeding to give them the driest conversation in existence?

You took the pause as a chance to take in your delightful beverage, and it seemed he had the same idea. As the rays of sunlight filtered in through the bay window beside your table, framed by decorative brown curtains made of the silkiest fabric and lined with gauzy trim, you both had your spirits raised as you bask in warmth and contentment brought at the sweet and refreshing sting of the beloved lattes. As true to their name, the delicate blend of sugar and spice displayed a masterful dance upon your tongue. It was just the kind of drink to set you at ease and clear your head entirely, so much so that you found yourself needing to place the glass down gently and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

A splash or two met your face, dragging you out of the vulnerable trance that the latte left you in.

Think about it, you are sharing a table with someone you hate. Well, not him personally, but his people! They treated your folks so poorly, shunning and belittling them. Don’t even think for a second that your community had forgotten the witch trials!

But, the little voice in your head interjected. This is someone showing us something different. Surely you see that, right? He is yet another example of a good human, and there has to be more, Y/n, you know it deep down!

And just like that, Y/n could feel herself slowly turning back to thoughts she once had as a child—all because of this, this!

This guy. Something about him was making her falter on the hatred her mother ingrained in her. Something about him was making this soldier fall out of line…

And back at the table, that someone was almost disturbing those around him with how his leg was bouncing. A ding from his phone made his knee instantly knock against the table, spilling some of the liquid in his drink-twin’s cup. Begin the panic! Napkin after wadded napkin built up on the table as Raph worked to clean up the spill as best as he could, almost going so far as to pour some of his in to make up for the bit lost. Alas, some restraint was exercised while checking the notification that started this whole debacle to begin with.

It was from a certain nosy brother, texting for “the deets“ of what was going on.

Agitated, he turned to the old ladies at the window who instantly—DESPERATELY—looked everywhere else, pretending they weren’t just boring holes into the back of his head.

“Knock it off, you two! I will not be giving you the ‘deets!‘ So stay out of it—you’re throwing me off”

Raph turned back after having whisper-shouted to the ‘ladies’. No, scratch that, to the not-so-dearest brothers clad in blue and purple who took to elderly human disguises. Why, you may ask? To keep an eye on their brother who was currently trying out a mystic cloaking prototype.

As he leaned into the palm of his hand, huffing and twiddling with the delicate chain around his neck, Raph thought back on what led up to him being here, his special café, with THEM, his meddling little brothers. His human thumb ran across the twinkling ruby as it gave off a magical glow.

So, roll back the cameras—back before you strolled through the door.

Raph had a rather awkward entrance. By no means had he fibbed about frequenting here for the past five years, but there was a crucial detail left out.

This was the first day that he came in with so little clothes.

Not like that, no, I mean that he usually only ventures into the human’s stores and public spaces in get-ups that had him sticking out like a sore thumb. Like seriously, who wears scarves, hats, masks, and coats in summer and spring? But today, clad with a magical item, he was just a normal human being. Normal humans had the privilege of not melting themselves under radiating suns from seasonally-inappropriate disguises. They also held the privilege of getting their drink ‘for here’ instead of ‘to-go.’

And boy was he grateful for that on this day specifically.

See, when he had his antsy, awkward encounter with the barista minutes before you came in, he had been all-too-prepared to grumpily seat himself with the odd old ladies. He had even encouraged himself, “Alright Raph, you got this!” before making a complete fool of himself.

“Raph would like to buy one spiced red velvet latte, thank you….”

He and the worker exchanged glances for a few moments. Nobody could miss the quirked eyebrow they gave at his approach. Recovering from the oddity, they typed away on their device then wordlessly stared up at him. Raph felt that there was something to be done now, as though their eyes were conveying a ‘Well? Go on?’ message. Come on, Raphie, you’ve done this a million times over, why now do you blank out?

“And uh… Where does he pay..?”

Raph added, giving an apologetic smile to the poor worker whose face almost read as ‘this isn’t the normalest customer service experience I’ve had, but it definitely isn’t the worst.’ They gestured to the card reader, adding a low, confused “here, sir.”

After he then fumbled with his card, Raph finally paid and made his way to the pick-up counter. Not so bad.. definitely could do better. Nonetheless, he was brimming with pride from configuring how to order, as a human. He rocked back n’forth on his heels, only coming to a standstill when his attention gravitated towards the baristas working fluidly. Down he came from all the jittery nerves of talking to a human, especially while in a rather comfortable outfit, perfected with the stylish mutant-cloaking necklace! Raph almost started fiddling with the golden chain yet again, this time out of grateful thank yous to the inanimate jewelry piece.

But he held himself back, hands shifting down into his pockets. Donnie had told him plenty of times to, “refrain from touching it.” Which, fair, it was a prototype, and Raph was sure he would need to permanently avoid this place if he shifted back in front of all these people! Or, well, all the workers. Not really a busy place when you’re quite literally a hidden gem. Needless to say, he was only halfway aware of his surroundings when the door chimed. A bell rang out and in walked a figure wearing his favorite color.

Now the color alone would always catch his eye, but the reason he lingered was solely because of her. First, he started at the sandals. Awfully pretty, especially with how they wrapped up and around her calves. Raph could never pull that off, he concluded mentally. Next, his gaze continued to climb, taking in the red dress. The way it—

He blinked and began chiding himself for staring so blatantly. It wasn’t polite! Raph’s eyes darted back to the front and center, aimlessly looking at the menu he may or may not have known well enough to not even look. Away his gaze went, searching for yet another sight to focus on. Ah, right, he noticed the baristas had yet to start on his drink, which he didn’t mind, he wasn’t in a rush for anything more than a normal thing to look at for as long as needed without being creepy. A sign, a table, even a chip in the floors! But all too quickly he found his eyes roaming back to her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail; although, a few pesky strands must have been bothering her because occasionally her swift hand moved to brush them right back behind her ear.

His phone buzzed, bringing him back from his staring trance once again. It was the perfect opportunity to distract himself, and so when he glanced at the notification, the last thing he wanted to see was a notification from Leo. Raph held in an eye roll as he read, ‘Staring quite hard there, brother of mine’ He promptly let his phone slip back into the pockets of his basketball shorts, leaving the message on delivered.

Though he did lull his head towards the two elderly dressed women in one corner of the coffeehouse, giving the one clad in blue a hard stare that read his reply, Shut up. Raph knew full well he was guilty of the accused crime, staring. Didn’t mean he wanted or needed to be called out by his very annoying little brother, and it definitely didn’t help that Leo had a smug face despite the ridiculous amount of makeup he had on. “Gotta look the part!” Leo’s voice echoed in Raph’s head from earlier this morning, as Leo somehow forced Donnie to put on the makeup as well. They looked absurd, and Raph was thankful for the cloaking necklace now more than ever.

Still, Raph found his gaze trailing back to you so much that he dragged his hands down his face, stretching and groaning out, low and exhausted. It wasn’t till the call for a “Spiced red velvet latte!” broke his trance enough that he sluggishly moved over. Like a crescendo, his energy came back with each step until he reached for his drink with a polite nod to the barista. Their shocked look and follow-up sentence was what brought his eyes elsewhere. Down to the cup.

The hand he recognized much-too-quickly stiffly hovered near, and her gaze was a mixture of an unknown emotion and pure confusion. He, too, stiffened up as though meeting the eyes of Medusa herself. Gosh, she’s even prettier up close, a side-tracked thought said, only for him to recoil his rude hand and gesture to the drink. He was apologizing before your gaze could shift into anything that may have ached his heart, following it up with insisting you take the drink. He could wait! Whatever you were saying next was muffled as he found himself entirely entranced, answering in automated sentences that may or may not have been prepared, had he found himself locked in small talk with a human.

So, to break the trance, he accepted the next identical latte handed to him and turned, quick to flee the scene. That is, until the spell knocked up a notch with your hand on him, inviting him to sit.

And that is exactly how he got into this position: sipping his latte as he watched you come back over to your rightful seat, having left the lavatory. All while trying his best to look like a normal person who definitely did not make some of your drink rock out of its mug a second ago. No, not him. Totally. He’s innocent.

“Sorry! I was, er… Splashing my face. To do away with some sleepiness…”

Raph nodded, taking another sip of his drink that had since cooled down. Did he look guilty? Was he playing it off? He choked up on the sweet liquid upon your next statement.

“Whuh—it’s sticky, did you spill something?”

Curiosity and a bit of wariness swirled in your eyes as they bore through him, begging for an answer. He was caught red-handed, entirely so. All he could do was admit his crime, a sigh slipping his lips as he gave an ashamed look to the left like a regretful puppy-dog.

“I was hopin’ I’d cleaned up alla mess ‘fore ya got back. I had some nervous jitters and knocked the table.. Sorry, Y/n..”

There was yet another one of those uncharacteristic thumps in your chest when his eyes met yours, pleading forgiveness. Rather than the usual bitterness settling in your chest, you found yourself a tad bit more patient towards this special boy. Your cheeks flushed, emitting a heat soothed by the cool side of your hand pressing against it with an even more uncharacteristic stammering.

“Y-You’re fine.. Thank you, for the honesty and clearing the mess.”

The next bout of silence was less awkward and more-so dizzying—in a good way. It fluttered your heart and felt welcoming. As the last bit of your drink passed your lips and settled inside, filling you with blissful comfort, you held out a hand for his empty mug. Perhaps a change of heart would do you some good—a kind gesture returned for someone who truly deserved none of your hatred. His eyes met yours, quickly understanding as he stood and passed the cup to you. This moment was coming to an end, and somehow that made your eyes sting for a moment. It was almost as if a tear was threatening you to prolong it as the ceramics were placed upon their respective ‘for-washing’ pedestals at the disposal corner.

“Well, Raph… it was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

His smile had you considering an option you would never ever do. Your mind strayed to where your phone was, itching to ask this boy a certain question. Together, you both walked out of the café—and again, you missed how the two old ladies were practically becoming the window with how hard they pressed to the glass, nosily watching.

The morning sun was still bright in the sky, shining through clouds in a way that almost spotlighted you guys as you gathered the courage to ask! Turning to face him, you bit the bullet and opened your mouth!

“Could we exch—IRK!”

Y/n lurched forwards when someone knocked into her in a fashion that just couldn’t have been played off as an accident. Thankfully she had bumped straight into Raph (and tried desperately to ignore how nice his chest felt), but the draining, nauseating feeling that began quickly washing over was enough to raise alarms.

And she knew the exact cause. It wasn’t the closeness to a human or the lack of an “excuse me” or “sorry” for shoving her. No, there was another, far more important cause to the sickness tightening. Y/n raised her dominant hand, holding her clutch and finding that a special ring was no longer wrapped around her finger. Of the things to have taken, had this one thing seemed much more important than a literal wallet?!

“The nerve of some people! He totally meant th—Y/n, whoa, ya look pale! Are you okay?”

His hand instinctually made contact with you, brushing some stray hairs away from your face as you had done a few times earlier.

“Th-That guy, he—thief, he took my-my!”

You held your hand, twirling air around where a ring once was. Raph blanked for a second, thinking you had meant something to do with your clutch, but as his eyes zeroed in on the light prints of an absent ring, it suddenly all made sense to Raph. A rushed “What? Wait here,” was muttered before he was quickly pursuing the thief. All while leaving you against the outside walls of the café.

You watched Raph’s figure leave. A heavy exhale clawed itself from your chest. How foolish! You had been so caught up in thought—about asking for Raph’s number, that you had allowed someone to get so close. Too close, right into your personal space, and completely able to swipe your ring.

That small piece of jewelry was dearer to you than anything else you owned. It was what contained your power, or rather, what kept it in control. Without it, you were a hazard who started leaking mystic energy immediately. Red sparks crackling around your eyes when you were pushed.

Just seconds from a potential disaster, but somehow it was Raph’s voice that snapped you out of it. You couldn’t lose control here in front of the one place you swore to protect from your evil. You wouldn’t lose control in front of him. So when you barely explained with a shaky voice and he quickly sprung into action, leaving you, there was relief swirling around. This was a good thing. You’d rather him not be around to witness if you couldn’t maintain a firm grip on your power. Not him. Okay, try to distract yourself. Control, think about anything else, anything but your magic right now.

Oh, right! He had held you!

The thought struck you so fiercely your cheeks heated to the same shade as your dress. The warmth of his arms holding you lingered. Even just remembering the feel of his broad chest had you utterly distracted. And it hadn’t stopped there! He had brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers so careful and gentle. That type of touch was quite foreign to you. It had you blushing even more furiously than before—if that was even possible. Your eyes never left Raph’s back until he dashed out of view into an alleyway.

…

As soon as Raph had seen your expression twist and realized you had been wronged, it was like his body moved before his brain could catch up. The perpetrator had sped up into a jog, after hearing Y/n call out “thief.”

Luckily there weren't that many people crowding the sidewalks this morning. Especially since this part of the city wasn't as advertised. Raph’s green eyes tracked the punk as he dodged into an alleyway. He pushed himself faster, shrinking any chances of this guy getting away right on down to zero. Maybe even into the negatives if he tried hard enough,

Fate was on Raph’s side, as is befitting of the hero, because he slowed to a stop to find the petty criminal glaring at the dead end before him. The universe was practically handing this criminal over to Raph in a cute little red bow right now.

“Alright felon, hand back the stolen ring.”

His voice was rough and commanding. Above all else, he despised those who preyed on the weak. Criminal acts like these deserved a good beating, but Raph was willing to compromise on that if this perp coughed up the ring without making things difficult.

“Back up, hero!”

The cornered thief sneered as he brandished a knife, waving it threateningly.

Raph couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. If only this guy knew! Raph and his brothers faced weapons tenfold more menacing on every patrol. He doubted such a dull thing could even pierce his shell. For a second, he toyed with the thought of taking off the cloaking necklace. Showing his true form. This punk looked like the type to wet himself, and the slight trembling in his hand that wielded such a crude weapon didn’t go unnoticed by Big Raphie.

“They always wanna do it the hard way,”

Raph murmured, shaking his head as he moved forward. This guy was sorely underestimating him. It was comical! Raph ended up wondering if his human form, despite its size, just wasn’t all that intimidating. That would be new to him. So Raph opted for using this to his advantage. After all, he may look big, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fast, and what was more rewarding than proving wrong the criminal foolish enough to underestimate the Raphael Hamato?

The crook hardly got a second to blink before he was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his gut as he dragged in wounded breaths. Securely in Raph’s palm rested a wooden ring, Y/n’s ring. It had a band of red jewels inside that glimmered brightly even though the alleyway was covered in shadows. He smiled to himself, it seemed as though you really liked this color. His color.

Yet another thing the two of you had in common, other than drinks. How much more did the two of you share interest in?. He wanted—no, needed—to find out.

Now Raph was sure he had held back on his punches, but it was painfully obvious this culprit was struggling to even stand. I see no issue with him turning his back on a downed enemy, do you? Was that overkill? No? Maybe? Who’s here to judge him, honestly?

“Next time, think twice before stealing from a pretty lady.”

He growled over his shoulder before starting up a run back to you. Raph hoped he hadn’t taken too long as he tried to move just a little faster to get back to your side.

Since having been left by Raph, you were finding each second to be harder and harder to restrain the burst of overflowing magic. Thoughts and distractions could only take you so far before fizzling out. Just as you were your mother’s vessel for revenge, that ring was your vessel for magic—a conduit, even. Others would even call it your arcane focus.

Bottomline was, without it, you could barely handle the destructive force pinballing around within. It seems the state you were in was so worrying that the two elderly ladies from the cafe came out, frantically bickering in harsh whispers that were all too muffled in your ears.

Was it getting hot in here, or was it just you? Anyone else? Just you? Alright. Your body pressed harder into the cafe’s brick walls, soothed by the coolness they held. Your head was spinning, with worry and desperation. Was this area hidden enough to attract more danger? Had you really been so foolish as to leave yourself open in prime human territory? Hell, what if this was all an elaborate trick and that thief was actually in cahoots with Raph, and vice versa?

But, what if these are all just your delirious, panicked thoughts? Remember the little voice, the one beckoning hope. She wants to believe humans are good. She wants to believe Raph is good.

You want to believe humans are good, don’t you? How did that one saying go, the one about how even the smallest things can cause the biggest changes? However it went, it seemed this Raph human might have been your smallest thing, creating this ripple of thoughts in your head.

Or, again, maybe that’s the delirium.

You had almost entirely given up on the last bits of hope for Raph being good when finally you saw his silhouette running back to you. He had the widest grin on his face, waving your focus in the air and calling out “Y/n! I got it, ya don’t gotta worry!”

You weren’t sure when the ladies had left, but when he slowed down in front of you and took your hand, you couldn’t help but notice you were all alone.

Old humans were… strange.

Color returned to your skin, the plummeting left your chest, and your tremors ceased as the polished wooden ring slid back into its rightful place upon your hand.

“Th-Thank you…”

You breathed out, allowing yourself to press into him once again with your senses returning faster than you were capable of handling with a straight face. Your forehead rested against his chest as the overflowing energy was being vacuumed right on back to the ring, leaving you far more winded than any training session with Mother had done.

“It’s no problem, Y/n… This ring must be really important to have you this… Upset…”

His voice was softer than it had been during your talks inside. There was obvious concern and worry laced in it. Such kindness was nearly unrecognizable to you, so forgive the temporary dependence on it.

“More than you know, Raph..”

You replied, rubbing the ring so that it twirled around your skin—a nervous habit that Raph took notice to almost immediately. Forgive him, as well, for the heightened attention he had on you right now. A fond smile settled upon his lips as something came back to him suddenly.

“About your question a moment ago, before… well, this. Sure.”

“What?”

You looked up, confused by what he meant. The smile he gave you was enough to put even more hope in your head, eroding the grime and muck that poisoned you, beckoning you deeper to the villainous pits.

“T’exchange numbers, right? That was what ya almost asked?”

Oh! You had completely forgotten that part. Straightening up and taking a coy step back from him, you pulled your cellular from a pocket in your dress (because, really, what villain wears a dress without pockets? never you, of course) and handed it to him with bashful joy.

After the exchange, you both waved your goodbyes, then turned your adoring gaze to the contact in your phone.

𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 (𝘚𝘙𝘝 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘯)

（1）𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟－𝘟𝘟𝘟𝘟

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