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thebettybook · 1 year

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(Chapter 1) A Spin on an Enchanted Tale

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, fem!reader, Gabriella O’Hara

Chapter 1 summary: My Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader AU inspired by Disney’s Enchanted (2007). Reader (a princess cosplayer in their late 20s) meets Miguel O’Hara (a 31-year-old single dad who doesn’t believe in fairy tales) and his adorable five-year-old daughter Gabriella O’Hara on a night in Nueva York

Warnings: A fluff story with just a sprinkle of Miguel angst

Spanish used (I used SpanishDict): Papá (Dad); Por el amor de Dios (For the love of God); Dulce sueños, mi solecita (Sweet dreams, my lovely sunshine); Tres leches cake (Sponge cake soaked in three different types of milk)

Chapters: Ch 1 {below} | Ch 2 | Ch 2.5 | Ch 3 {in progress}

“And they lived happily ever after.”

That was the phrase you could always count on at the end of each and every one of your favorite fairy tales.

That was the ending phrase that marked new beginnings, and so far, your “new beginning” seemed like it had already ended.

You let out a sigh, shifting against the metal bench you sat on. It was only about an hour or two since you were kicked out of your apartment; your landlady was tired of you being behind on rent.

To be fair, it wasn’t really your fault (as you tried to justify to yourself). An aspiring fantasy cosplay designer in their late 20s who wanted to create princess gowns, you moved to Nueva York to learn from the best of fashion houses that specialized in haute couture.

As with moving to any major city with bright optimism would go, you found yourself rejected by every fashion house you could find and turned to part-time work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties.

Even though you loved your work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties, the lack of pay from the job led you to this exact moment: sitting on a bench in full princess wedding cosplay and a suitcase carrying all of your belongings (a few day outfits in dire need of a good wash, your sewing machine, and a bundle of fabric scraps and accessories you kept with you at all times) parked next to you.

Ok, maybe it was your fault for thinking you could “make it” in a big city, as if you were in a movie or something.

At least no one was gawking at you. Nueva Yorkers were far too busy rushing into the many restaurants and shops around you or too busy looking at their phones to notice a “princess” in their midst.

Endless layers of ivory tulle pooled around you, shifting against each other as you lifted your feet a bit in front of you to make sure the dirt on the Nueva York streets didn’t soil your gown.

Your fingers picked up one puff sleeve larger than the size of your head that began to droop down your shoulder. If you weren’t kicked out of your apartment, you would have admired your handiwork on the gown—a white puff-sleeved wedding dress with a bustier corset and full floor-length skirt outlined with ruby lines.

You found the dress at a thrift store the day you moved to Nueva York and brought home to spruce it up, and had finally gotten the chance to wear the gown earlier today for a job at a child’s birthday party where you were requested to be the child’s favorite princess in a wedding gown. Your coworker, who was supposed to show up as the prince in his wedding attire, didn’t even come.

Despite that, you made sure the child had a fun party by putting on your best impression of the princess character and singing the character’s songs to the best of your ability along with the child.

A sad smile graced your lips for the first time tonight. You always believed that magic could be found in situations of the unexpected, but right now it was hard to find even a speck of magic to make you feel better.

A groan escaped from your lips as your tiara began to slip, too. The gold tiara nestled on top of your head, gleaming against the Nueva York moonlight with beaded ivory flowers you hot-glued onto the tiara, weighed on your head—heavy with all the questions that began to swirl in your mind.

I’ll have to call my boss tomorrow. How do I tell her I’m basically homeless now?

What do I do now? Where do I go?

You didn’t have any friends in Nueva York you could call about your current situation. Sure, you were friendly with your party princess coworkers, but you all didn’t contact each other much outside of work. Thus, staying with a friend wasn’t an option for you.

Your hands made their way up to your head, plucking off the tiara. You held it in your hands, gliding your fingers over the beaded flowers of the tiara.

The irony of being dressed like a princess in a wedding gown about to ride off into the sunset—or in your case, moonlight—to “happily ever after”—

“Are you a princess?” A voice so small, yet filled with such curiosity and wonder, interrupted your thoughts.

Your eyes flew up from your tiara to the owner of the voice. The voice matched its owner—a little girl who stared at you with awe.

She didn’t look older than six, and seemed to be into soccer, as you saw from her lavender soccer uniform, waves of dark-brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and black-and-white soccer cleats. She also had the same look most children from the parties you worked at did—her warm brown eyes widened and her mouth on the brim of beaming the sunniest of smiles at seeing you like you were a dream come true.

You couldn’t help but offer her a smile; even if your day wasn’t going great, you could at least make someone else’s day great.

“I suppose you could call me that,” you let out a twinkling laughter—one that you learned to perfect for your princess performances. “I’m Princess Y/N.”

“I knew it!” The little girl’s eyes shined like stars—something you’ve never seen in your time in Nueva York. “You’re so pretty, and your tiara is really pretty, too!”

Your lips broke into the most genuine smile you’ve had all day. “You think so?” You held the tiara out so that the little girl could see it better. “Wanna know a secret?”

The little girl nodded, her ponytail swishing behind her.

“I made it myself,” you revealed in a loud whisper, the back of your hand to the side of your lips.

“How?!” The girl’s eyes brimmed with even more curiosity. “I didn’t know princesses could make their own tiaras!”

“Princesses can do or make anything they want,” you winked, making the little girl giggle. “Whether that’s wearing a tiara from the castle’s treasury or sprucing up a $5 one with some paint and a hot-glue gun.”

As the child marveled at your tiara, you scanned your surroundings for any parent or guardian that the girl might’ve belonged to. To your slightly-frantic dismay, the people around you and the little girl just keep walking.

“Little one, could you please tell me your name? And if you have a mom or dad or guardian nearby?” you offered the child a kind smile. If you didn’t find the girl’s parent or guardian and the girl was lost, you decided that you would help the girl and call the police.

She nodded, her eyes moving up from your tiara to you. “I’m Gabriella, but you can call me Gabi. I don’t have a mom, but I have a—”

“Gabriella!” A man’s voice, ringing with worry, called out to the little girl. The thuds of his footsteps grew in volume as he ran towards the two of you and cut through some pedestrians who shot him annoyed glares before resuming their walks.

“Papá!” Gabriella ran towards the man, who immediately scooped her up in a hug.

“I was so worried I lost you,” the man’s voice was only filled with immense relief. He towered over most of the pedestrians around the three of you. While he was tall (probably over 6 ft tall), you couldn’t see his face clearly as he buried his face in the crook of Gabriella’s neck.

Gabriella managed to wiggle her way out of her father’s tight grasp. “I wasn’t lost, I was talking to Princess Y/N!” Gabriella turned around in her father’s arms to smile and point at you.

At the mention of your name, the man’s head snapped up. Your breath hitched; from the way his dark-brown hair swept back and curled at the nape of his neck to highlight his chiseled cheekbones and jaw to the biceps that bulged under his cerulean blazer and white dress shirt, he was nothing short of handsome. The warmth in his hickory orbs at the sight of Gabriella only made him more handsome in your eyes. Truly, he put every prince cosplayer you’ve ever worked with to shame.

Despite the sharp lines under his eyes, Gabriella’s father looked like he was in his early 30s. Before you could introduce yourself or assure him that his child was safe all along, his thick, dark brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed at you. The warmth in his eyes grew cold with suspicion as he scanned you from head-to-toe. You didn’t seem like a threat, but as a father, he had to ensure his child’s safety.

“I was going to call the police if I couldn’t find her parents or guardians,” you couldn’t help but let out in a rush, feeling the need to explain yourself as he continued to eye you.

After what felt like an eternity of his eyes on you, and after him coming to the silent conclusion that you were telling the truth, Gabriella’s father set her down and took her hand in his. He stepped forward, extending his free hand to you.

“Thank you for looking after my daughter,” he gazed down at you, his frown lines softening as he offered you a half-smile. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

“Of course,” you brought your hand toward his. He didn’t hesitate to give you a firm handshake. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m a princess cosplayer for children’s birthday parties, so before you think I’m some criminal trying to kidnap children or something here, I just got kicked out of my apartment right after coming back from a job in this getup.”

Gabriella’s father’s–Miguel’s–smile vanished, his brows knitting together. “Why’d you get kicked out?” His accusatory tone indicated that he wondered if you got kicked out of your apartment for any suspicious reasons on your part.

You fought the urge to let out a sigh of frustration. You had a long day, and you didn’t appreciate being interrogated by this frustratingly-handsome man, but you also understood his concern since he almost lost his daughter.

“I got kicked out because I was behind on rent,” you turned your face away from him in an effort to hide any hint of embarrassment on your face. “Being a princess cosplayer for children’s parties doesn’t exactly help pay bills. After I got kicked out, I ended up sitting here and Gabriella came up to me.”

“Ah,” Miguel paused and pursed his lips, not really sure what to say to make a stranger (a stranger he now deemed as a harmless stranger) feel better. “I’m…sorry you got kicked out.”

“Thanks,” you turn your face back towards him, now being the one to give him a half-smile. Your eyes then flitted down to your and his hands, realizing he didn’t let go of your hand till now. Miguel’s eyes followed yours before retracting his hand with an awkward chuckle. In a poor effort to make things less awkward, you echoed with an awkward laugh of your own.

You were both too preoccupied with this interaction of pure awkwardness to notice Gabriella’s movements. The top of her head barely reached Miguel’s knees as she switched her gaze from her father, to you, and then to your hand in his. A grin a mile wide lit up on her face at the two of you, the wheels in her five-year-old brain turning.

“Papá,” she began. At his daughter’s voice, Miguel instantly turned his attention back to her and kneeled down to face her at eye level.

“I’m glad you’re safe, but what did I say about running off by yourself and talking to strangers?” You noticed that Miguel’s voice was nothing but soft and gentle every time he talked with Gabriella.

Gabriella clasped her hands behind her back. “That I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to the princess. But I won’t go away by myself anymore, pinky promise.”

She held out her right pinky in front of her, making her all the more adorable. Miguel only had a soft smile as he linked his own right pinky with Gabriella’s.

You eased down on the bench in silence, your half-smile growing as you watched the way Miguel gently swiped away a stray eyelash from Gabriella’s cheek with the back of his thumb.

You could tell he was having a hard time kneeling down with his tall stature and all by the way he shifted his feet behind him. But you also noticed that he kept kneeling down to appear somewhat at eye and height level with Gabriella so that he could foster healthy discussions between the two of them as parent and child. Even though you just met him, you could tell Miguel was a great dad and that he loved Gabriella more than anything.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Warmth flooded Miguel’s eyes, pooling gold flecks of honey into his hickory irises. “Let’s go home, say ‘goodbye’ to the princess.”

To your and his surprise, Gabriella shook her head furiously, her ponytail swishing from side-to-side. “No!”

“‘No’?” Miguel raised his eyebrows.

“Princess Y/N doesn’t have anywhere to go,” Gabi pointed at your suitcase, jutting her bottom lip forward to convey a pout. You were shocked she even noticed your suitcase; kids were more perceptive than you thought.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, little one,” you waved your hand, mustering the best and brightest princess smile you could put on. “I’m just waiting for my prince to arrive on his horse. Should be aaaany minute now.”

Miguel’s gaze moved from Gabriella, to your suitcase, to you. He didn’t know whether to stare at you to wonder if you were being serious about the prince and horse (and considering that this was Nueva York, he shouldn’t be too surprised), or whether to smile at the fact that you were trying to keep up your princess act for his daughter.

“My dad’s better than any prince,” Gabi took Miguel’s large hand in an effort to drag him closer to you before turning her head to gaze up at Miguel. “Papá, can the princess please stay with us? We have a ton of rooms at home.”

“No, no, it’s ok—,” you began, shaking your head as furiously as Gabriella earlier.

“—Gabi,” Miguel interrupted you, his tone a bit more firm this time. His gaze set on your gown. “We can’t just take in a stranger.”

Miguel’s hands rested on his hips. He couldn’t help but eye you from head-to-toe again, as if he was trying to detect any threats you might have kept hidden from him.

You met him with a raised brow and crossed your arms in front of your torso, trying to appear nonchalant and ignore the heat growing on your cheeks at the fact that his eyes were on you again.

“But you always tell me that it’s important to help others,” Gabriella put her hands on her hips, comically trying to mimic her father. “And I wanna help my best friend Princess Y/N.”

Miguel’s gaze dropped from yours as he turned to his daughter faster than lightning. “What? I thought I was your best friend,” he mumbled. You let out a snort of amusement as you heard Miguel sound genuinely hurt.

“You can be my best friend again if you let Princess Y/N stay with us,” Gabriella ran over to your side, sitting next to you on the bench.

She wrapped her hands around your arm and clung to your side despite the layers of tulle from your gown that tried to push her away. “I don’t want Princess Y/N to be cold and outside by herself,” Gabriella whispered as she nuzzled her face against your arm, making you want to shed tears right then and there.

“Gabi, I’ll be ok,” you tried your best to muster a smile and appear brave for Gabriella. However, you knew you weren’t being too convincing, and the subtle crack in your voice stemming from your fear of the unknown was something you didn’t miss.

Miguel didn’t miss it either as he let out a huff mixed with annoyance at the situation and sympathy for you. His daughter was just as stubborn as he could be, but she also had a point.

As a gentleman through and through, Miguel didn’t feel right with the thought of leaving a lady like you out alone on the streets of Nueva York in the middle of the night (even if he didn’t question that you could defend yourself). What kind of example would he be setting for Gabriella if he just took her home and left you here?

“…Alright, you can stay with us if you’d like,” Miguel let out with a sigh. “And you can stay with us while we help you find another place in Nueva York to live.”

Your eyes widened at his decision, and your mouth opened instinctively to say “No, thank you,” but before you could do so, Gabi ran back to her father and into his arms.

“You’re the best, Papá!” Gabi’s statement made Miguel beam brighter than the Nueva York moon as he scooped her up. If you weren’t so shocked by his proposal, you would’ve laughed at how endearing he was with his daughter.

The two O’Haras then looked at you while you tried to weigh your options, but you only had two:

1. Stay with this little family you knew nothing about

2. Stay out on the streets until you could contact your boss (which would be tomorrow because you felt unprofessional at the thought of calling your boss after work hours).

“…If it’s not a bother, I would love to take you up on that offer,” you shot Miguel a smile that no doubt displayed all your nerves at the thought of staying at a stranger’s place, even though he was the one who just offered a stranger to stay at his place.

“You’re coming home with us!” Gabriella raised her hands in the hair before scrambling down from Miguel’s arms. Before you could blink, she took your right hand and tugged on it so you could stand up.

“I suppose I am,” you chuckled, letting yourself be led by the child. As you stood up, you used your left hand to smooth the front of your gown’s skirt. You then turned to your suitcase, only to see Miguel approaching it.

“I got it, if that’s ok with you,” Miguel tipped his head to the direction of your suitcase.

You nodded, letting yourself be led forward by Gabriella to the direction of wherever you assumed would be her and Miguel’s home.

“Thank you. Not just for that, but for letting me stay at your place,” you turned to Miguel as he held your suitcase’s handle with his right hand. “I haven’t met many kind people in Nueva York since I moved here.”

“It’s Nueva York, not exactly the place for fairy tales,” Miguel’s sarcasm slipped out with ease without thinking. He then turned his face away from you when he realized that he forgot you were literally dressed as a princess. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” you shot him a rueful smile as the two of you fell into the rhythm of walking next to each other with Gabriella skipping between you two. With one of her hands in your right hand, Gabriella took Miguel’s left hand in her free hand. “I learned that the hard way.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Miguel replied with more sincerity this time. He didn’t follow up with anything more to say, and the two of you walked past a few streets in awkward silence, the beeps! of Nueva York taxis and Gabriella’s upbeat humming filling the silence.

“We don’t need to take a taxi?” You spoke up, trying to start a light conversation with Miguel.

“Our place is just a few minutes from here,” Miguel answered, his gaze set straight ahead. “I was actually taking Gabi to get ice cream not too far from our place after we came home from her game.”

“Yeah! We were gonna get ice cream!” Gabriella’s eyes lit up even more at the mention of ice cream. “‘Cuz I scored a goal today! Wait, Papá, where’s my ice cream?”

“I didn’t know I was in the presence of a soccer star,” you grinned down at Gabriella, who smiled toothily up at you at being called a “soccer star.”

Despite fatigue from a long day of work seeping into Miguel’s bones, his lips couldn’t help but falter from their default straight line into a small smile at seeing Gabriella be so happy—more so than usual—in your presence.

“Well, you ran off, so I had to find you and didn’t get us any ice cream,” Miguel raised an eyebrow down at Gabriella, but his smile and tone indicated his light teasing. “We can get ice cream tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Gabriella raised her hands in the air, swinging your and Miguel’s hands that held hers forward. She then spotted what you assumed to be her and Miguel’s building, and broke away from the two of you to run up ahead.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Miguel muttered under his breath, stopping in his tracks and leaving your suitcase next to you. “Why does she have to run so fast?”

Without another word, he sprinted after Gabriella. You were surprised Miguel could run fast, but you figured that it made sense since he was so built.

Your gaze then panned from Miguel catching up with Gabriella and scooping her up with ease to the building before the three of you.

The building was easily the tallest apartment complex in Nueva York—a cylindrical tower with state-of-the-art glass architecture.

“Wait…,” your voice trailed off, your chin tipped up as your eyes could barely find the tip of the tower. You walked toward Gabriella and Miguel while hauling your suitcase behind you. “Where are we?”

“We’re home!” Gabriella answered in Miguel’s arms as he stood at the glass door entrance. “Papá and I live at the very top!”

Your eyes couldn’t help but bug. “Miguel, is it ok if I ask what you do for a living?”

“I work in research,” Miguel chose not to elaborate, making him sound like a secretive spy in a movie without meaning to. His broad back was to you as he used his free hand to place a card against the building’s recognition panel. It beeped green, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were breaking into a top secret government building.

“Papá’s the king of his job!” Gabriella chimed with adorable pride for her father as the building’s double doors swished open.

You could only assume “king of his job” meant Miguel was either the CEO of his workplace or he held an equally (if not more) high position, but you decided it wiser to not ask any more questions for the time being as you followed Miguel and Gabriella to the elevator.

The elevator, like the rest of the building, was cylindrical, and spacious enough that you guessed it could probably hold 300 people at a time.

Once inside, Miguel tapped a code into a panel, which you assumed was for accessing his and Gabriella’s home. Your shock at everything only increased when the elevator ascended past 50 floors.

50…60…90…

Gabriella yawned when the elevator passed 90 floors, prompting Miguel to rub her back as she snuggled her face against his shoulder. It wasn’t long before she was out like a light, snoozing in her father’s arms.

“Dulce sueños, mi solecita,” Miguel pressed a kiss on the side of Gabriella’s head. A yawn unleashed from him after he pulled back from Gabriella at the same time you let out your own yawn.

Your eyes met his, and this time Miguel gave you a kinder, more sincere smile as he found it funny that the two of you yawned at the same time.

Ding! The elevator chimed once it reached the 99th floor, the top floor of the building. You tried to brace yourself for whatever the 99th floor would reveal of Gabriella and Miguel’s home, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight before you.

Their penthouse gleamed in all its glory, from the marbled flooring to the ivory spiral staircase in the left corner. To the right of the penthouse was a massive kitchen with a sleek silver stove and a matching fridge, island, and cabinets.

The walls were a simple white which only added to the elegance of the entire penthouse. You noticed that instead of expensive paintings that usual penthouses would have, the walls of this penthouse were decorated with Gabriella’s various crayon drawings and framed pictures of Gabriella and Miguel from her birth till now.

Your eyes were captivated especially by those framed pictures, but before you could step into the penthouse, you turned to Miguel.

“Shoes off?” you whispered, not wanting to wake Gabriella. He answered you with a nod.

You shuffled off your [your favorite color] sneakers, placing them on a three-tiered shoe rack by the elevator door as Miguel did the same with his burgundy dress shoes and Gabriella’s soccer cleats.

“I didn’t know princesses wore sneakers,” Miguel’s voice was so quiet that you couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing.

“This princess does,” you straightened up, grinning as if you were revealing a corporate secret. “Especially if she has to run after children all day. Though I only wear sneakers when I get to wear long gowns like these that hide my shoes. Wouldn’t want to ruin the magic for the children.”

“We can’t have that, now, could we,” Miguel flashed you a tiny grin, revealing his pearly whites. “If children realized princesses wore sneakers and not glass slippers, that could mean the end of the multiverse.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at Miguel’s attempt to engage with you in light teasing and chatter. “Multiverse, huh? Are you into comic books or superheroes or something?”

He merely shrugged his free shoulder as if to appear cool and not “nerdy.” “I like science.” Before you could ask Miguel more about what comic books he liked, Gabriella stirred in his arms.

Miguel wheeled your suitcase to you with his free hand. “I’m going to set Gabriella down in her room,” he whispered in an even more hushed tone. You had to stop yourself from chuckling; he just didn’t seem like the type of person who whispered often. “Make yourself at home in the meantime.”

He made a beeline for the spiral staircase, going up to where you assumed were all the penthouse’s bedrooms.

You knew he said “make yourself at home” out of customary politeness as a host, but you found it difficult to instantly “make yourself at home” in such a grand place.

Not knowing where to sit or where you could sit, you took a step toward a wall lined with framed pictures of Gabriella as a baby.

Some photos were in black and white, some were in full color. A smile bloomed on your face at how cute Gabriella looked as a baby, her smile in the pictures just as infectious then as it was now.

You also noticed, however, that Gabriella’s biological mother wasn’t in the picture—in any picture on the walls, to be exact. There didn’t seem to be a partner in Miguel’s life either, from the way all the family pictures on the walls—whether they were selfies taken by Miguel or pictures taken by someone else—only had him and Gabriella in them.

Your nosy mind couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Gabriella was adopted or conceived via surrogate. The first theory, you crossed out of your mind since Gabriella looked too much like Miguel to be adopted.

Before you could come up with other theories, Miguel descended the spiral staircase and made his way over to you with a neatly-folded bundle of clothes in his hands. He stopped next to you and followed your gaze to one of the pictures.

“I took that one on Gabi’s first birthday,” a soft smile on his face as he nodded to a framed picture of a baby Gabriella laughing at the camera despite having globs of cake and frosting on her face and on the teeny swirls of her wavy brown hair. “That was the first time I ever made tres leches cake, and I’d say she loved it.”

You grinned at the picture, before biting your bottom lip in hesitation. “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.”

Miguel simply nodded, his eyes roaming the various pictures of Gabriella. “Has it always…been just you and Gabriella?” you kept your eyes forward. “Sorry, I know it’s a personal question.”

You turned your face towards Miguel, whose eyes set on a black-and-white picture of a sleeping newborn baby Gabriella, swaddled in a blanket and bald head covered with a cap.

Various emotions flickered in Miguel’s eyes which you could only guess to be sorrow, pain, confusion—not at Gabriella in the picture, but at whatever or whoever was related to that picture.

“It has,” Miguel answered simply and all-too-quickly, the edge in his tone indicating that he didn’t want to talk about the subject more.

He blinked, as if telling himself to forget whatever or whoever he was thinking about, and turned his attention back to the bundle of clothes in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any clothes to wear in the meantime, so I grabbed a couple of old shirts and pants from my closet,” Miguel’s voice sounded more normal now. “I don’t think we’re the same size, but you can keep these and use them as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” you took the bundle of t-shirts, dress shirts, and sweatpants from Miguel’s hands. You were sure they were a couple sizes larger than your own based on Miguel’s figure, but the gears were already turning in your brain on how you could sew and upcycle some of these.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Miguel began walking to the direction of the stairs once more, his long and fast strides making it difficult for you to keep up with him.

You followed him up the stairs to a spacious floor with around five rooms and more walls framed with Gabriella’s drawings and pictures of Miguel and Gabriella.

“That room is my office, and the other one is for storage,” Miguel pointed to two rooms to the right at the end of the hallway. “That’s Gabriella’s room and my room’s next to her’s.” He pointed to two rooms on the left at the other end of the hallway.

“And this will be your room for the time being,” he led you to the room in the middle next to his room. “It’s our guest room.”

He opened the door to reveal a neat room with a queen-sized bed with a bedside table, and desk near the window area. The entire room matched the sleek aesthetic of the penthouse, from the silver bedside table to the matching desk.

You rolled your suitcase onto the polished wood-tiled floor of the bedroom, noticing a private bathroom just a few feet away from the bed. The whole room felt more like a hotel room than any bedroom you’ve ever been in.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Miguel stood at the door, his hands naturally resting on his hips. “Our laundry room is downstairs next to the kitchen if you need to use it tomorrow.”

“Thanks again,” you turned your attention away from the desk to Miguel, giving him a smile you hoped that conveyed your immense gratitude.

Miguel simply nodded and turned his back, ready to leave.

You couldn’t help but wonder and worry if he was mad or something at you asking him that question earlier. You also finally noticed the shadows of gray that filled the lines of stress and fatigue under his eyes.

Whether such stress and fatigue was from his mysterious job or from almost losing Gabriella tonight, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that you wanted to tell him the words on the tip of your tongue—maybe to prove to him you weren’t a bad person trying to take advantage of his and his daughter’s kindness, or maybe because you just wanted to say the following:

“Good night, Miguel. I hope you sleep well.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks before turning his face back towards you. “What?” Your statement shocked him; it had been a while since someone other than Gabriella wished him a good night’s rest, and it had been an even longer while since he actually had a good night’s rest.

“I said ‘good night’?” You cocked your head to the side, worrying if you said something wrong again. “And that I hope you sleep well?”

“…Night,” Miguel mumbled, turning his back to you once more, his hand resting on the door knob. “I hope you sleep well, too.”

The door knob clicked after Miguel ducked his head below the head of the doorframe and made his way out of the room.

You stared at the closed door for a few seconds before making your way over to the closet. It was roomy and empty, with only hangers in it. You carefully peeled your gown off your body and hung it on a hanger.

The gown took up a good quarter of the closet’s space from its sheer size alone, but you had a garment bag in your suitcase you could use.

Putting the gown in a garment bag and taking a bath will have to wait till tomorrow. You didn’t fight the urge to let out a yawn. Sleep. I need sleep.

You didn’t even think twice about putting on an old white t-shirt and gray sweatpants from Miguel—both oversized on you—until you stepped into the marble-tiled bathroom and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

I sure don’t look like a princess now. You let out a chuckle before brushing your teeth.

It wasn’t until you set your tiara (you didn’t realize you were still wearing it) down on the bedside table and settled into your new bed that your mind wanted to keep you awake with various thoughts.

I’m wearing a stranger’s shirt and pants. A very handsome stranger. And I’m sleeping in his house.

Wait, that sounds wrong. You shook your head before turning to rest your head on the other side of the plush pillow.

I probably shouldn’t have asked him earlier about whether it was just him and Gabi.

I don’t want to bother Miguel any more than I already have.

Before you could let more intrusive thoughts swim in your mind, another yawn escaped from your lips.

I won’t stay here long.

I’ll figure my life out tomorrow and be out of here before we all know it…

— — — — —

The same time you drifted off into dreamland, Miguel stared up at the ceiling of his own bedroom next door.

It had been a long day for him, from almost losing Gabriella to taking in a woman who dressed up as a princess for a living.

Did I just let a stranger into my house?

Shock.

…

She won’t stay here long. We’ll be back to our own lives as soon as possible.

And with that, Miguel nodded to himself. Logically, or at least logically to him, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to find a new place for you to stay in Nueva York.

Miguel was someone who despised the unexpected—he was used to being in control so he could know what would happen next. So that his daughter could be safe. So that he could feel safe.

Gabriella randomly running away from him at the ice cream shop was unexpected. And you…you were definitely unexpected. While Gabriella liked you and you seemed like a nice enough person, a smidge of distrust for you gnawed at Miguel’s mind.

However, it was your words that bugged him more.

“I hope you sleep well.” Can’t she tell I barely get any sleep?

He let out a puff of air through his nose, only to be surprised by a yawn that followed. It wasn’t long before his eyelids began to droop.

Despite everything that happened today, little did Miguel know that he was going to get better sleep tonight than he did in ages.

🍓 Strawbetty’s notes: If you read all the way to here, Miguel gives you a 🍓 :D. I’m gonna make a separate post with more of my author’s notes on this fic later but for now I’m eepy :’)

🍓 Tag list: @allysunny, @charms-cat, @tymns, @tayleighuh, @moyo5653, @sizeablysized, @deputy-videogamer, @marvelofcourse, @flordelalunas, @thethirdyo, @sleepingghoule444, @eyes-stuff. If you would like to be added to the tag list for upcoming chapters, please comment or reblog below :)

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Miguel content? Check out my masterlist.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #gabriella o'hara

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chiiyuuvv · 6 months

Text

fuma as a crush and bf ₊˚ෆ

crush/bf!fuma x fem!reader 0.7k words requested!

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

When fuma has a crush on you, he’d..

(♡•♡) give you small smiles whenever you enter the room, whenever you open your mouth to speak, whenever you make eye contact.. It’s just his way of saying hello without sounding like an idiot.

(♡•♡) stutter whenever you talk to him. It’s part of the reason why he likes to stick to small smiles. Not because he hates your presence, he just hates the fact that he stutters so much around you, his cheeks burning red as he bats his eyes to the floor, finding his shoes extra shiny

(♡•♡) be protective over you. He likes to call himself subtle, but anyone walking by can see the glares he gives to men when they try to even take a glance at you. You don’t know it yet, but you’re his girl, so no one is going to be looking at you in any type of way >:(

(♡•♡) follow you like a lost puppy. Or should I say, “she said she likes this, so I’m going to do the same thing” knowing good and well he despises whatever action you’re doing. If you decide to put bows in his hair, he’d be cringing on the inside, but hey, at least you’re happy 🤷‍♀️

(♡•♡) confess when you’re trapped inside a run down elevator. Usually fuma would like to keep his feelings to himself, but he hates when he begins to second guess the situation, thinking about all the possible ways something could go wrong. It limits him from being happy, and he hates feeling trapped inside a box. So as you’re sitting there in silence, he’d randomly blurt out the feelings he’s been holding back, finally able to get them off his chest. He doesn’t expect you to like him back, so to say he was a little shocked when you got up and kissed him was an understatement.

When you’re dating fuma, he’d..

♥‿♥ want to go grocery shopping together! He’d insist on carrying all the baskets and paying for all your purchases, your only job is to point at the things you want so he can get them for you. Likes to socialize when waiting in the checkout line, his arm wrapped around your waist while he pushes your head to his shoulder; he’s not exactly a pda type of guy, but he does crave your warmth from time to time :3

♥‿♥ put his hand on your thigh whenever you’re in a dinner setting. This isn’t to rile you up in any type of way, just like a comforting reminder, chanting the words, “I’m here,” if you somehow manage to forget. He’d also feed you snacks if you’re out on a picnic or something. It honestly reminds me of High School Musical, the scene where Troy and Gabriella are trying to throw grapes into each other's mouths. It’s romantic yet silly, something fuma cherishes.

♥‿♥ want you to go to the gym with him. You don’t even have to work out, he just likes it when you’re watching him do his form. He feels powerful almost, knowing he’s the reason why you drool, which keeps him motivated to do better 😋

♥‿♥ be your #1 supporter. Like I said before, fuma doesn’t like being trapped inside a box, so he’d encourage himself to step out of his shell and face his fears, the same goes for you. He understands why you’re scared, but he wants you to understand that he will be with you every step of the way. When you finally face your fear, fuma would be so proud of you, spending the rest of the day (or week (or month)) spoiling you, celebrating your victory. And if you didn’t, fuma would console you, because at least you tried your hardest, you know?

♥‿♥ nag at you. Fuma is not only your boyfriend.. He’s your mother atp. Nags at you for going outside without a jacket. Nags at you for staying inside and playing pokemon all day. Nags at you for refusing to eat your vegetables – he’d give you one stern look, and right then and there did you know that you messed up. He doesn’t want to seem mean, but he wants you to take care of your health is all :((

︴bonus! @kehnarii, i told you were thoughts were in good hands!!

▸ taglist 🎧 @starryriize , @cherrycolaberry , @kehnarii , @wtfisgoingright

🎬 navi

@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

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cupcakeinat0r · 9 months

Text

Broadway Baby Ch. 4

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Summary: Unexpectedly, You meet Miguel’s mother immediately after your performance (the one on stage and the one in ur dressing room *wink wink*).

Warnings: half SFW half NSFW, call me Hannah Montana w how I got the best of both worlds <3, Phone Sex, mentions of toys, masturbation, size kink!!!!, but starts off with major fluff <3

Tags, etc.: Gave Miguel a loving mother cuz he deserves it <3 Sugar Daddy AU, Miguel is a scrumptious DILF and Soft!Dom, Reader is Latina-coded n written by a Latina <3, age gap (wahoo!!), and Miguel is a very horny man.

Word Count: 6.7k

(right, so remember when I said this one was nearing 10k?? No I didn’t <3 Decided last min to cut this n make the rest a part of ch.5!!)

It was above your expectations. Your first time was everything you dreamed of and more, and there was no one else you would’ve rather lost it to than this man you were being cradled by right now. You felt so safe here. He made you feel so safe.

He was the sweetest, most caring, most intelligent, and absolute finest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and he took your innocence so graciously. The way he made love to you felt much more than just sex. It was caring and soft. Any inkling of doubt in your own inexperience that sat in your mind and stomach was immediately dismissed with his encouraging and comforting words. As you rest in his arms and catch your breath in your dressing room, the sweet nothings he had muttered in your ear while making love to you seconds ago replayed in your mind and you smile. When you weren’t focused on your craft or career, you dreamt about a knight in shining armor coming and sweeping you off your feet like this, and you found him, or to be exact, he found you. That moment you had walked out those stage doors and out into the alley to sign Gabriella’s autograph, he knew it’d be you, and watching you teach her piano today only reaffirmed his feelings.

The sight of you speaking to his daughter with a voice that could lull even the most distressed infant. Gabriella was asking you millions of questions, but your patience was doubled that. You were so understanding, and if at times she didn’t get what you explained, you didn’t mind repeating yourself at all. In no way did you make Gabriella feel stupid or a burden because you saw yourself in her. Yes, even though you wouldn’t have it in your soul to treat her or anyone in any other manner because that was just the type of person you were anyways, you were mainly affectionate towards her because of how much she reminds you of yourself. So curious, so wondrous about everything around her. So upbeat and lively. Such a happy girl. You would’ve never guessed Gabriella was going through a tough time due to the unfortunate passing of her birth mother. Granted, you still had the pleasure of having a live mother, so this only made you feel inspired by Gabriella even more. Teaching this girl wasn’t just gonna be an opportunity for extra bucks, but something you felt responsible for. You owed it to this little, precious girl because if it was your singing and dancing that inspired her and made her happy like it did for you when you were around her age, then it was your duty to teach her everything you know.

And so you sat in that piano room today, and you nurtured her little mind and taught her, the beginning of a beautiful student-teacher relationship blossoming. You had no idea how to teach a child, this being your first time ever teaching anyone, but it came to you as it went. Naturally. In your eyes, Gabriella couldn’t mess up, because you were already her cheerleader. In the short amount of time you knew her, all you wanted was to see her win. No, she wasn’t just gonna be a student. That was your friend. She was your kid, even if you didn’t realize it at this moment.

You could already tell you were gonna love being her teacher.

Miguel saw that in your eyes. Every time he peeked into the room when neither of you had noticed, he saw how genuine in your teaching you were. It was so… domestic. He melted at the sight. His heart soared at the fact that he’s found someone that could make his little girl smile like that. After seeing your performance that one night, she couldn’t stop raving about you since you were her favorite character, and Miguel had the privilege of getting to rave right along with her. He had tucked her in and she was still chatting on about how amazing you were, Miguel’s response being, “estoy completamente de acuerdo, mija” (I completely agree with you). now he feels like the luckiest man in the universe knowing you feel the same about him.

“Papa, are you in there?” You both hear the small voice outside your dressing room door, instantaneously picking up your clothes and hastily fixing yourselves to look presentable after having heard her knocks.

As you put on your clothes, you think about facing Gabriella after just having sex with her father… you begin to feel worried. Of course you don’t want her to think anything or let alone know anything, but if this relationship was to continue, she’ll have to know at some point that her teacher is with her father.

Another wave of anxiety came over once you remember Gabriella wasn’t out there alone. She’s with her grandmother. You’re about to face the woman that brought the man you just got pounded by into the world. The timing couldn’t have been more embarrassing. Obviously, you didn’t think about all this before you were getting your pussy deliciously destroyed.

Miguel can see this train of thought visible on your face as he’s putting his clothes back, the gears shifting in your head loud enough for him to hear, and so he goes to your side, motioning for you to look at him.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, as well as his gaze, “Don’t worry. For tonight, just act natural, however, we will have a much more in depth conversation about this later, I promise. I want you to be comfortable. I’ll simply introduce you as Gabriella’s teacher for the moment. Is that okay?” He places a hand gently on your shoulder looking for your confirmation.

You nod, a visible smile on your lips. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you for checking in with me.” You place your hand on top of his, in which he takes it and places a kiss on your knuckles, “claro que si, princesa (of course, princess). I want you to always feel at ease, okay? No matter how many times I need to reassure you.” After helping you zip up your dress, Miguel helps you put your coat on, and he opens the door, looking down to see Gabriella.

“There you are, papa! What took you so long!” She giggles as she’s picked up by her father. “Sorry, birthday princess, I just wanted to make sure Miss y/n got our flowers and gift.” You both look at each other.

Yea right.

“Ooooo, did you like it, Miss y/n! I picked the flowers myself!” She says with a smile.

“I absolutely love them, Gabriella, thank you so much! You’ve got some good taste… Can’t wait to take them home, they’ll look absolutely beautiful!” You chirped as you got closer to her and Miguel. You look over to see an older woman, who’s giving you a slight smile. She has fine lines adorning her face, her graying, almost white hair fixed into a curated low bun, strands of hair framing her face.

“Abuela (grandma), look, this is y/n, she’s the one that signed my playbill and now she’s my teacher!” Gabriella looks at her grandmother, Miguel moving to the side so that you and Conchata were facing each other.

“Mama, this is y/n, Gabriella’s teacher. Estaba hablando de ella el otro día ¿recuerdas?” (I was talking about her the other day, remember?) He says, still holding Gabriella in his arms.

So this is who he bought this place for, Conchata thinks.

Yea, she heard plenty about you. Miguel had mentioned how absolutely amazing and how practically perfect you are in every way. It was after one of your rehearsals, Miguel had his daily conversation with you before heading out. He went to have a cup of coffee with his mother before his shift at Alchemax. It was that afternoon he first mentioned you to his mother. Miguel tried to play it off as if you were just some colleague or business partner; that donating 10 grand to this theater was an “investment”…. Oh yea, this was an investment alright. An investment for his bed. Conchata knew better. She saw the way his eyes lit up every time he said your name. Every time he told her how sweet you are. Every time he told her how passionate and hard working you were. How smart you were. How driven you were. How talented you were. Conchata knew that look. She could see it from miles away. She wasn’t born yesterday. She was his age once upon a time. Something else that gave away Miguel’s infatuation with you was the mere fact that he talked about you. Miguel was never the type of person to talk a lot, let alone, boast about a person. He’d been the quiet type since he was a child. He was too busy dealing with so many personalities at Alchemax, often repeating himself more times than he’d like to, hence why he was often short with his answers. He has friends he’d talk a little about, sure, but never in the way he spoke about you, so Conchata found it odd that in one random afternoon, he was going on and on about some actress he and Gabriella met.

Plus, Miguel knew nothing about art. Give Miguel a mile-long formula and he could crack it within minutes, but theater? Music? Conchata knew something was up when he signed that contract.

You mustered every bit of confidence in your timid soul and smiled widely, offering your hand. “Encantada, señora. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you!” (pleased to meet you, Mrs). You feel like you wait forever for her to take your hand, but she finally takes it, her smile faintly widening when she does. You both give each other the traditional kiss on the cheek.

Conchata is an intimidating woman, to say the least. Considering Miguel’s class in the city, she can be normally seen wearing the finest clothing. Although she had a strong aura, there was still a bit of warmth to her. You didn’t feel threatened or scared, however, you wanted her to like you, not only because of the given circumstances, but just in general. She almost reminded you of your own mother back home. Conchata exuded powerful Latina excellence, so naturally, you wanted her approval.

She looks you up and down, and you seem to be safe as you don’t see any sign of disapproval from her expression.

“Y/n, this is my mother, Conchata.”

“Mucho gusto, y/n. I could say the same about you. These two talk non-stop about you and the show.” (Nice to meet you).

You shoot Miguel a smile. “Your granddaughter is an absolute sweetheart, I already love teaching her. She’s incredibly smart as well!” You add to get a conversation going.

“She takes after her father’s smarts, for sure. The good looks, however, were after her mother, que dios la guarde.” (May God protect her) She looks over at Miguel, a slight joke in her tone as she states that her intelligence is from him but her beauty came from her mother. Miguel rolls his eyes, still taking the joke light heartedly. You think to say something along the lines of Miguel being extremely gorgeous and Gabriella possibly taking after that as well, but you deemed it way too soon for comments like that. You didn’t want to step over any boundaries or give yourself away. Besides, you didn’t want to invade in this cute moment between mother and son.

From your point of view, the two seem to have an equally beautiful relationship as the one Miguel has with his daughter. You smile at their interaction just now. Miguel has mentioned his mother to you during rehearsals before, so you know surface-level things about their history and relationship.

Despite his wife’s death taking a toll on him and his family, they seem to be okay, able to smile and even laugh in her name now. This both comforted you and scared you. Who were you to become involved with them? To cut into Miguel’s life when he had a whole wife before you? You wanted to be serious with Miguel, which would be a conversation you two have soon, but you also don't want to replace her. You didn’t want to be Gabriella’s replacement for a mother. Would she accept you as one? The sudden thought of constantly being compared to his first wife plagued you. Were you truly prepared to be involved with Miguel in this way? Were you willing to go down this road with him?

You decide this will be something you’ll continue to think about later, since now all you want to do is give the birthday girl the present you promised: a private tour of the theater. Gabriella looked so thrilled to be there.

You give his mother a sympathetic smile before you’re about to say something in regards to her late daughter in law, but you figured it could be saved for another time. “Well, I believe Miss y/n has something to show you, Mija.” Miguel says. Gabriella beams with joy and looks over at you. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” You say, scrunching your face at her as she’s lowered back to the floor by Miguel. She jumps excitedly and runs to hold your hand. You take it, Gabriella holding on tight as she looks up at you with eyes of pure admiration.

“I’m sooo excited to see everything! I wanna know everything about the stage, please!” She requests, making you smile and giggle at her adorable smile.

“Of course, mama, let’s start over there, yea?” The two of you begin to walk out of the dressing room foyer, some of the remaining cast and crew members bidding their farewell to you as they go home for the night. You lead her toward the end of the corridor into the wings. “Oooo what are those?” She says, pointing at the row of curtains on stage left. She takes her small hand and grazes it across the velvet of the fabric, making it ripple with each swing of her hand. “Those are called the ‘wings’, mama. This is where I enter from sometimes. See these racks of clothes?” She nods, “I change into those costumes during the show. Right in this spot. I only have 20-30 seconds to change into each of them!” Her eyes widened at this, gasping in disbelief. “Whoa, that’s like… super fast!”

Miguel and Conchata follow behind you two, walking side by side as they watch you become Gabriella’s tour guide, telling her every little fact about every inch of the stage. The birthday girl looks around the stage in total awe, still holding onto your hand. Conchata can see Miguel smiling at you, but you don’t see it.

“She seems nice.” She breaks the silence between the two of them. Miguel is taken out of his trance and looks at his mother, both still walking in the now completely empty and quiet theater, the four of them alone. He breathes in, looking at his mother as he anticipates what the conversation will bring. He predicts his mother can sense that he sees something with you.

There isn’t anything like the intuition of a mother. Especially a Latin mother.

“Yes, she really is. She 's great. Gabriella está loca con ella.” (Gabriella is crazy about her). Conchata only hums in agreement.

“She teaches only piano or?” “No, no, dance and voice, as well. Tomorrow will be Gabri’s voice lesson.” He says, his gaze remaining on you two as you explain to her the different stage directions. He’s fascinated by how engaged you are with Gabriella, his daughter listening and hanging into every word you say. It makes him smile to see his daughter look at you the way she does: like you were her hero. Because you were. “Ah, pero ella ya no quiere jugar futbol?” (She doesn’t wanna play soccer anymore?) Conchata raises her eyebrow at Miguel. Miguel hesitates for a moment. He knew where his mother was getting at now.

Gabriella had shown great interest in soccer for the longest time now, even got signed up for the club at elementary school after begging to. It wasn’t until she watched you in your show that she became slightly interested in the performing arts. It wasn’t untrue that she was totally enamored by the production, nor was it untrue that she said she’d like to learn, but both Miguel and Conchata knew that as of right now, Gabriella had her heart set on Soccer.

Miguel cleared his throat, “no, of course she still wants to play soccer this is just…” he shrugs, trying to find the right words, “this is something that’s fun for her.” Conchata nods. She knows something’s up and Miguel can feel it. Conchata knew her son.

It wasn’t until Gabriella was born did their Mother-son relationship get better, but it wasn’t always this good. There had been a tension between them during his teen years, something that worsened over the course of Conchata’s second marriage. Unfortunately, Miguel was an affair baby, and this took a heavy toll on his mentality. There was a lot of degradation and favoritism amongst the dysfunctional family, but since Gabriella was born, and Conchata divorced her second husband, a lot of healing and talking it out had occurred, resulting in a much better and improved relationship. They have their days or moments, more like, but it’s gotten way better. In the past 7 or so years, their relationship took slow yet long strides toward reconciliation. Now, Miguel felt he was able to look to his Mother for advice and comfort, which was heavily appreciated during the period in which his wife had fallen sick and was approaching her last days. In those devastating times, their relationship had blossomed, it was just a shame that it took his wife’s death for it to happen. Point is, Conchata knows her son better than anyone.

Your private lessons were mostly for his daughter’s pleasure, yes, but it wasn’t the only reason he had asked for them. He wanted to get closer to you, and what better way to do that than to have you come to his home regularly and teach his daughter some valuable skills to become a well-rounded human being. It was a win-win situation. His daughter gets enrichment. He gets you all to himself.

“You sure it’s for Gabriella… or for you?” This was a rhetorical question. Conchata, with a knowing smirk, held her head high and her eyes remaining forward. Miguel looks over at her and stops walking. She stops as well, looking back at him now. “Ver la?” (See?/Right?). The corners of his mouth begin to lift as he shakes his head slowly. “Nothing gets past you, eh?”

“Mijo, I’m your mother, I know everything.” They now link arms and resume walking behind you and Gabriella, watching the two of you as you now show her the mechanics of the back stage.

“And for the record, I didn’t get Gabri those lessons only for that reason,” he chuckles, Conchata letting out a small chuckle as well, “Como ya te dije, ella adora a y/n. Haven’t seen her this happy in a while.” (Like I told you, she adores y/n). Conchata’s gaze softens at his words. She then watches how you hold hands with Gabriella, walking her through the various props and set pieces, passionately talking about how everything worked and answering any questions Gabriella had. She examines you for a moment.

You seem like a good girl.

“I haven’t seen you this upbeat in a while either,” She smiles at Miguel, teeth showing this time, “You’ve been… ay, yo no se (oh, I don’t know)… como que (like)… glowing lately. That’s good. Estoy Feliz por ti. (I’m happy for you). Necesito esto, mijo. (You need this, son),” Miguel smiles back at her, “It’s about time my son found someone that makes him smile like this again. I miss that smile,” she says looking up at him. She rubs her hand affectionately on his arm as they continue walking, “pero la quiero para cenar. Necesito saber más sobre ella para tener una opinión,” (But I still want her over for dinner, I need to know more about her to have an opinion), “pero (but) …. so far, so good.” She shrugs, making Miguel smile even more. He’s just glad to see that his mother is on board with this newfound romance.

“She’s a bit young, no?” She looks back at you again, as if inspecting you, “será mejor que no te aproveches de ella-“ (you better not be taking advantage of her) Miguel furrows his brows, kissing his teeth, “claro que no, mama” (of course not, mother). “Bueno… you better not. I know I wasn’t always the mother you deserved, but I know I raised you better than that.”

“Si, mama, yo se” (yes, mother, I know.)

She grins again, “Deberías tener suerte de que una mujer como ella esté con un viejito.” She laughs at Miguel, who rolls his eyes, unable to fight back a chuckle (you should feel lucky that a woman like her is ok to be with an old man). Miguel glares at her, grinning at her playful tease.

“You weren’t just giving her the necklace in there, were you?”, her voice is low, but Miguel snaps his head toward her, his eyes wide, “Mama!” “-Ay, alright, you don’t have to tell me.” There’s a short beat between them.

“solo digo, no me importaría tener más nietos.” (Just saying, I wouldn’t mind more grand babies). “Mama, por favor (mom, please)-“ “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll drop it.”

“But you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yes, ma, I know.”

They both continue to chat amongst themselves as they still follow closely behind you and Gabri around the theater.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gracias, Miss y/n!” Gabriella gives you one last hug after the hundreds she’s already given you throughout the tour.

“No problema, mama! You’re welcome to come to the theater anytime. I hope you had a wonderful birthday!” You say, tightening the hug. “I did! I did! This is the best birthday ever. Your life is so cool.” She says, inspiration in her voice. It makes you almost wanna cry. It’s moments like these that make you so happy to be a performer. When you pull away, you notice the bow in her hair has gone limp, so you quickly fix it as you add, “I’ll see you tomorrow for your lesson, okay?”

“Yup! I can’t wait!” You brush a strand of loose baby hairs behind her ear, “Me either. Have a good night's rest, mama. See you tomorrow.” You stand as she turns and runs to her grandmother.

“Gracias por todos, y/n. You did a magnificent job in the show. I can see why my granddaughter loves it so much,” (thank you for everything). The older woman says in a poised, soft voice, “and you’re extremely talented. I expect big things coming your way.” You smile at her, going in and exchanging the usual kiss on the cheek before parties separate for the night, “Muchas gracias, señora,” (thank you so much, mrs) You bow your head humbly, “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Igualmente (likewise). I’m happy to know that she’s receiving quality lessons from a quality professional.” Your smile widens. “You’re too kind! Gabriella is a wonderful student, it’s an honor, truly. She’s an amazing girl.” You make Gabriella, who stands next to her grandmother with a handful of Conchata’s skirt in her hand, blush. Conchata nods, “Thank you, but we have Miguel to thank for that.” Miguel smiles at the comment, looking at the floor before his gaze falls on you at last, your gaze locking on his. “You’re right. He’s a wonderful father.” You say.

Conchata smiles at the way you both look at each other longingly before looking at Miguel, who tells her he’ll meet them at the car in just a moment. She nods, taking her granddaughter’s hand, both waving goodbye to you.

Once they were out of sight, Miguel had you in his arms, already smothering the crown of your head in pecks.

“You know… a little heads up would’ve maybe been appreciated.” You say half jokingly with a sheepish smile.

“Forgive me, sweetie, I thought they would’ve waited in the auditorium. Didn’t think they’d be knocking on your dressing room door.” You both chuckle at this.

“That’s okay. I guess I’ll let it slide.” You dramatically place the back of your hand on your forehead, winning another chuckle out of Miguel. “She likes you already, anyways.”

“Aw, en serio? (seriously)""Oh yea, she said you were her favorite character during the intermission,” he takes his hand to fix the collar of your coat so that it covers you from the cold a bit more before continuing, ”but outside the stage, she likes you even more. Says she wants you over for dinner n’ everything.” You playfully pretend to brush off your shoulder, “What can I say, the people love me.”

Miguel laughs at your smugness, “Yea, well, no one’s taking my #1 fan position.” Miguel pulls you closer to his chest. It was pretty cold outside, and he’d hate for you to catch something.

“Oh-ho-ho, you might wanna take it up with your daughter on that one, mister.” You say, your index finger poking at his chest a few times with a smirk on your face.

“Hey, now hold on,” Miguel had a playful scowl on his face, “I should get priority, I’m the one who took her to see the show.” You chuckle. Miguel was right. If it wasn’t for Miguel taking Gabriella to see your show, none of y’all would’ve met.

“Say, how did a geneticist find himself involved with a Broadway show anyway?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Hm, well…if I remember correctly…” Miguel didn’t have to think twice about how it happened. He remembers the exact moment like it was yesterday. “I was in my office and noticed the billboard outside my window had changed. Next thing I know, I’m taking my suit to the dry cleaners because I dropped my coffee at the sight. I’ll never forget how gorgeous it was.” He looked down at you, a look of pure adoration in his expression, the lights from the headline of the theater illuminating his complexion.

“And what was on this billboard?”

“You.”

Even though you already saw that answer coming, your smile grows, as well as the red hue on the apple of your cheeks.

“I thought to myself, ‘I have to go see this. I have to meet her somehow’.” He looks off into the night at the bustling streets, reminiscing on the day he bought tickets for himself and his daughter and surprised Gabriella with front row seats.

“And look at me now,” he looks back down at you, his lips curled into a warm smile, “I’ve got the gorgeous girl from the billboard in my arms.” You pretend to think, pursing your lips, “Ohhh, I don’t knowww, did you get the girl?”

Miguel’s smile widens, a twinge of mischief in his look. “You’re completely right. I need to take you out first. Tomorrow, after the show. I’ll pick you up right here.” He says it more as a statement than an offer. It makes you swoon. You love a man that can name a time and place. Once again, Miguel hasn’t failed to make you a blushing, giddy mess, despite your efforts to play it cool.

“O-okay. Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

You shy away, smiling at the cement beneath you two, but not for long since Miguel lifts your chin. “I wish I can take you home with me, preciosa,” he pouts, “And as always, you were amazing.”

You blush even harder now even though the cold has made you pink in the face already.

“Pare ya (stop already), You’ve told me millions of times before.” “Nunca (never). I’ll tell you a million times more, muñequita (doll). And I wasn’t just talking about the show, either,” He speaks more quietly, the bass of his voice tickling your insides, “And our little performance in the dressing room… fuck… Me hará pensar en ti y ese cuerpo toda la noche (gonna have me thinking about you and that body all night). M’gonna miss my pretty girl tonight.” He coos. You’re submerged even more in his muscles and chest, his lips planting kisses on top of your head. The overdose of physical touch and praise was making you dazed.

The combination of Miguel’s smooth voice and his pet names for you have you butterflies. You genuinely felt like the most fragile, ethereal being in his big, warm arms. You melted into goo in his arms. It was almost strange how warm Miguel was, like a human heater, but you weren’t complaining. You didn’t want him to leave. You wanted to go home with him and cuddle this big softy more than anything else.

You got on your tiptoes, leaning your head back slightly so as to give him better access to your chilled lips, “dame un besito?” (Give me a kiss?) You ask with a pout and pure innocence which made Miguel weak in the knees. And how could he deny his pretty girl? He’d give you anything you wanted. “Claro que si, mamita.” (Of course, mami). The crisp cold air on your lips is consumed by his luscious lips on yours. You could’ve taken this moment and put it in a movie, It was so romantic. His hand not only offered warmth to your face, thumb caressing your cheek, but it also was the icing on the cake to the most cinematic moment of your life… and you’re an actor.

“Mmm, Imma miss you, too. Oh! And thank you so much for the necklace! It’s absolutely amazing and I love it. You didn’t have to do that!” Your fingers play with the Swarovski diamonds. “Denada, princesita, (your welcome, princess), and there’ll be plenty more after that,” you scoff, smiling at the floor again, “I’m serious. You’re gonna have to get used to it.” He lifts your chin again, demanding eye contact.

“You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”

“I guess I could live with that.” You giggle.

You both arranged your plans for tomorrow before exchanging one last tender kiss goodnight. Miguel waits for you as you go back inside to grab your things. He doesn’t go into his car until he sees you leave and enter the subway station. He didn’t like you using public transportation, especially this late at night, but after promising him that you’re literally only a 15 minute train ride away and that you’ll call him once you get home, he allowed it. Even though he repeatedly told you it wouldn’t be an issue to take you home, you still didn’t want to be a bother since you knew he also still had to drop off his mother.

He was now on his way home, after having dropped off his mother at her place, you being the only thing on his mind. Gabriella, sitting in the back, was knocked out. He thinks about how he won’t be getting any sleep tonight, but is happy to see Gabriella is getting her rest.

He thinks about what y’all had done in your dressing room. How good you were for him. You looked so pretty for him, all shy and spread out for him on your vanity. It amazed him how perfectly you fit. Like you were made for him. 4 years without sex. He had to try and reel it back in a couple times while y’all fucked. He wanted to be gentle with you, knowing it was your first time. He wanted to make it special for you, because you deserve nothing less. Had y’all been together for a bit or so already, he would’ve ravaged you until you couldn’t walk. It was so hard having to control all that pent up sexual frustration. He knew he was thirsty for good pussy, but he didn’t truly realize just how badly he needed it until he had you. Now, he wanted more. You had him hooked.

But then he thought about you. Just you being you. Your little laughs, your soft smile, your slight accent. The way you speak. The mannerisms that were unique to you. The way you think. The way you walk. As if you weren’t perfect enough, the way you treat Gabriella was nothing short of heart warming. Anyone else would’ve dismissed her hyper personality, but you handled her with such grace. You were too good to be true. He felt so lucky. He was sent back to his high school days when he would crush on a girl. He wanted so badly to be with someone again; to be soft with someone after a long, hard day at Alchemax. To spoil someone. To take naps with someone. To come home to someone’s arms. Hell, he might’ve been too prideful to admit it, but he wouldn’t mind being babied by someone every day occasionally. For someone to melt away his stress and to tell him how good he’s doing. To have someone’s chest to bury his face into after having to deal with people all day long. Someone to break down his walls again. Someone he feels safe with. He won’t be able to sleep tonight because he knew that, for the first time in a very long time, he won’t be so lonely anymore. He hadn’t felt like this since, well, his first marriage.

A part of him did feel bad, a guilty feeling looming over his conscience the day he met you and fell head over heels. He didn’t want to forget his first wife or betray her memory in any way. His mother had told him in the car before being dropped off that he was allowed to find love. She reassured and validated him, which made him feel a bit better. She told him how his previous wife wouldn’t want to watch him live his life alone. He deserved to be happy. Conchata also would’ve been pissed if he didn’t cease the opportunity of a lifetime, so that there was also some motivation.

If he was being honest with himself, he was beginning to think that he’d live the rest of his life on his own, as a single father, and he was sort of okay with that. It was either that or finding the most perfect partner, settling for less simply for the sake of not being alone wasn’t an option. He would’ve been happy with Gabriella’s love. She was his whole life. You were just a miraculous bonus. You were that perfect someone. You reminded him of what the adrenaline of crushing on someone felt like. For the first time in four long, lonesome years, you gave him a chance at love again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriella has been tucked in, some reports from the lab have been looked over, and now Miguel has just gotten out the shower, wearing only some pj pants. He runs a towel over his hair, lazily drying it, then hears his phone go off.

Knowing it’s you, he nearly jumps for it.

“Hola, preciosa, You home yet?

You ok?”

His voice sounds worried. When you didn’t call when you said you would, he immediately started thinking the worst.

“Yes, yes, I just got home!

The train broke down

midway, we were all

waiting there for almost

an hour.” You groaned.

“I was getting worried,

Mama. I’m just glad your safe.

Nothing happened on the way?”

“Nothing happened,

really, I’m fine, Miguel!”

“I just wanna make sure.

Next time, I’m taking you home.”

“Ay, Miguel, no impieces,

the subway is fine for me-“

“Well it’s not for me.

No me molesta, really.

Yo quiero.”

You let out a sigh.

“Please? At least for

the nighttime?”

“So you’re gonna drive

me halfway across the

city after every show?”

“Mhm.”

You take a beat. This man was honestly so good to you.

“You’re crazy.”

“About you.”

“Yea, I can tell.”

“Uhuh, I know you’re smiling

on the other end.”

“No I’m not.” Yes you were.

“no mientas, nena.”

“or what?”

Yup. You’re gonna play that game.

“Oh? Or maybe I’ll have to

come over there n’ teach

you a lesson, eh, beba?”

“I wish you would. I

miss you already.”

“Aw, yea? dime

que extrañas, princesa…”

“Oh, I dunno…”

“You’re absolutely adorable,

you know that?

C’mon, baby, you don’t have to be

shy on me now. You’re

safe, mama. Dimelo.”

“Oh, alright… I miss how safe

n protected you make me

feel… how small you

make me feel in your

arms… wish you were

here with me, papi.”

“Aw, sweet heart….

say that again for me.”

“Want you here with me,

papi… Make me feel so

good.”

“Mhm… sigue hablando,

mamita.”

“Quiero sentir esas manos

grandes por todo mi cuerpo.”

“Mm, algo mas, beba?”

“Mm… mhm…” your breathing

seems to become labored.

“usa tu palabras, nena.”

“Mmngh… want you on top of

me, daddy… want that big

cock of yours so baaad.”

“Mmfuck baby, I know, I know,

soon though… shit… gonna take

you out for dinner tomorrow and

as soon as I take you home…

o-oh fuck… gonna destroy that pussy

all night long like the good girl you are.”

“Please, pretty please, I can’t

wait… so wet at just the thought…”

“fuck…yo se, mamita,

pero for tonight,

need you to play with that pretty

pussy of yours for me, mkay?

Got me stroking my dick at the

thought of your wet pussy.”

“not…. Not enough,

Miggy…”

“Awww, pobrecita, so

needy…. Imma make it up to you,

‘kay? I promise, baby.

Gonna make you sit on my face

until I’m drenched…”

“God, yes…”

“-n ima fuck that tight little pussy

over n over again until you

can’t think anymore. Gonna have

you bouncin on my thick cock n tell you

how pretty you look on it.”

“But my pussy needs you now,

daddyy... “

“Coño, mami, just

keep trying for me, ‘kay?”

“I wantchu to

fill me up. My fingers

aren’t enough.”

“Aw, Need daddy’s fat cock

that badly, huh?”

“Mhm, so dumb for it.

Just wanna be your…

Oh my god…. Your lil cock slut.

wantchu to ruin me.”

“Mmnnshit… que nena sucia

tu eres, coño. Why don’t you

use a toy for me, hm?

Pretend it’s me stretchin’

you out, bebita.”

“Okay… oohhh… Mmm…Miguellll, ”

“Atta girl, you’re doing so good

for me, f- fuck! Papi

needs you, too, sweetheart-”

“Papi, I’m close…”

“Let it out for

me, baby, let yourself

feel good, Mm?”

You then let out soft whimpers and moans as you pump your toy in and out of you, riding your high.

“Fuck, you sound so fucking

pretty, princess.

Be a good girl for me and

send me some pictures and

videos, yea?

Show me what you’re doin to

that cute cunnie over there.”

“Ungh, o-okay, papi,

I will.”

“Aww, that’s a good girl,

so perfect for me. No puedo esperar

para comerte y tenerte todo para mí.”

After you came on your fingers, you sent Miguel a couple photos and videos of you spreading yourself for him. You’ve never done this before, so this was a total experiment for you, your blush the deepest red it’s ever been. You weren’t sure what angles to use or how to position yourself, but regardless of your worries, you made art, and it was art that Miguel had loved and saved to a private folder to look back on in the future. He’s def looking at them at work tomorrow. You bit your lip to find messages of photos and clips of his own massive cock in his equally large fist, his seed splayed out on his thick thighs and across his sculpted v-line, the sight making the heat between your legs ache once more. It made you salivate.

gracias a dios por este hombre que bellamente has creado y me has dado.

(Thank you god for this man you so beautifully created and given to me).

You think tonight will be a night for falling asleep with the help of your rose toy again. But that’s ok.

Miguel will definitely make it up to you the next day, and that was a promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope u liked it!!!

Also rlly hope y’all like Conchata, she’s supposed to give kind of cool mom/rich grandma vibes.

She def has those mysterious strawberry candies that live in the bottom of her Louis bag, always ready to give to the kids.

Like I said, Miguel only knows peace n happiness in my mind palace, and so he’s gonna have a good mom bc I want him to <3 Gabriel is still his brother as well, I’ll talk about him later tho 👀

Anyways, see y’all in the next chapter!!!

Mwah!!! Xoxo

Cutie patootie taglist:

@honey-eyed-munson

@migueloharastruelove

213 notes · View notes

fangweaver2099 · 2 months

Text

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - CH 2 - LONELY OLD MAN

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23 @iamtheprincess227 @haveclayeveryday @sphynxfoxslut69 @junehasnotbeenfound @thedevaxer @bunnibitez @kodzuminx

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 3

Miguel didn’t realize he was lonely until it all hit at once.

He'd only had Gabriella for a week before Gabriel had swooped in, claiming 'uncle rights', to steal Gabriella away for the weekend. Things had been quiet since the divorce - Tempest had Gabi for the school year, and already, he was feeling distinctly alone, all too aware of the daughter sized hole his brother had forced him cruelly and unusually into.

He was lonely. After the divorce, things had been quiet. Most of his friends had grown distant, with some vanishing and flocking to Tempest's side following their separation. Once a cheater, always a cheater, they'd proclaimed.

He hadn't even cheated on her… at least, not that time.

He was doing everything right- he had grown as a man and as a father too. He was ready to settle down, but Tempest had other plans. It was a mutual decision, best for everyone. There were no hard feelings on his end, but the pain of an empty house was new and raw. He had always lived with someone - his mother, stepfather and brother, then a roommate, then his brother as a roommate, then a string of girlfriends.

He always got the feeling Tempest never really wanted a marriage, but health insurance was too good a deal to give up. It made logical sense, even if she was hesitant at first.

She’d been involved in the kink scene since before he’d ever met her. She was polyamorous, and that had never been a problem either - he even tried it himself but decided it wasn’t for him. It was a boon, even, when he worked late into the night and Tempest needed somebody to keep her entertained.

When Gabi was born, it became more of an issue. He knew from the second he saw her that she was his , not just a daughter but his entire world, and suddenly, the idea of Tempest running around, leaving Gabriella in the hands of total strangers was… suddenly unacceptable. Eventually, he acquiesced to family babysitting, but even then, it itched.

So Webrigger2099 disappeared, logging out one day and never logging in again. He just didn’t have the time, or the interest, or, with Gabi, the desire. Besides, he was married. The archetypal family man he’d never thought he’d want to be.

But still, neither of them were happy. Tempest didn’t like being tied down, and he didn’t like the fact the mother of his child roamed late into the night dallying while he worked. It led to arguments, to stress, and, inevitably -

To divorce. Tempest was a free spirit - Miguel was not. She took Gabriella during the school year, he got her during the summer, and that was enough.

None of the phone calls or report cards she’d sent would make it easier to cope with the loneliness.

Years later, and the big house began to feel cavernous, more a church to the worship of solitary confinement than a home. No daughter, no wife, no family, just himself, online papers to grade, and the week old takeout container of Chinese he’d been steadily avoiding eating.

On a whim, he’d logged back into the account, and there, he’d found… Fawn. Local to the area - and wearing a black facemask in every photo you took. You were beautiful.

Things had gone great. He was having fun. He wasn’t ready for romance, sure, but a man had needs.

He didn’t need to see any more than your eyes to be hooked, but the rest was icing on the cake. Now that he had seen your lips he was even more charmed, despite the circumstances.

You were genuine, a little bit awkward but sweet and eager. Like a virgin, unsure of yourself and needing guidance by a firm but caring hand. And god, you trusted him off the bat.

That power could have been abused easily, and he even warned you as much. Strange men online were not the most trustworthy souls, him least of all. You were his pet, after all, and it was his responsibility to make sure you knew how to tell good from bad.

You were clearly not that experienced, not in sex or in dynamics. You needed guidance on how to touch yourself properly, even. He knew your body better than yourself and that wasn’t exactly something he wanted to pass on to your next dom. Better you learned with his teaching what you wanted and needed.

Maybe he had gotten more attached than he liked to admit, protective of you. It wasn’t like he could keep you to himself forever, as fun as that might have been, but still, he found himself looking forward to your messages.

You were the only one he had ever really felt that way about, to be perfectly honest with himself. Getting married to Tempest was a necessity because of the baby, and sure he loved her, but the cracks began showing quickly into the pregnancy.

Not you, you seemed to want what he wanted. Nothing too serious, long-term not permanent, but still intimate.

It wasn’t fair.

(Nothing in his life was ever fair.)

Miguel’s hands steepled in front of him, a single bead of sweat running down his brow. He was hard as diamonds, but his stomach churned with sickness. This was not a development he was expecting.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only noise in Miguel’s office, and he was thankful he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

He prayed he was wrong - there were well over eight million people in NYC and over fifteen different colleges, maybe you just had a similar tattoo.. And.. build… and hair color… Yeah, that seemed likely.

You stupid fuck , he cursed himself.

It seemed like he just couldn’t stop losing.

Divorced at 32, a mother that hated him, a tense relationship with his brother, a tenser relationship with his biological father.

And a little girl he only had custody of during the summer.

This job was supposed to get him away from the stress that came with working at corporate HQ.

This job was supposed to make everything easier. His two escapes - this job and Fawn - were about to implode all at once.

His phone sat in front of him, mocking him for his paralyzed fear. It should have been simple to check, to compare the tattoos and bikini and write it off as a mistake. Or… maybe he didn’t want to even consider the possibility that he had been sexting with one of his new students for three months, much less what he would do if that was the case.

Fawn would have noticed by now, right? Anonymity sending pictures had its limits and he knew he had an imposing physique. If you were Fawn - you’d surely notice. You’d bring it up, right?

(Then again, college girls weren’t exactly the most perceptive people.)

You - Fawn didn’t seem like the STEM type, had to be something artsy . Right?

Miguel was a lapsed Catholic and yet he found himself praying that he was wrong.

A much worse possibility crept into his mind. You knew, and you liked this turn of events. You didn’t seem like the malicious sort, not interested in blackmailing him for a good grade, but maybe it was some fucked up kink thing. The power dynamic was there, the secretiveness it necessitated, the wrongness of it all. Intentional or not, if word got out your position here was gone.

Besides, Fawn was twenty-three .

She couldn’t be a freshman in her second year. The 4.0 GPA and high marks in your last semester didn’t hint at someone who had to repeat introductory classes.

Or Fawn lied about her age.

That would be even worse.

This was all some terrible mistake. Maybe her tattoo was a tik tok trend of some kind, he would even settle for it being a mark of membership for a cult. Anything was better than the alternative.

Still, Miguel stared at the dark phone screen in his hands. He had ten minutes at most before class started and he had to get to the bottom of this before then.

He snatched the phone with urgency, scrolling quickly through his messages in a frantic search.

He found himself enlarging the image Fawn sent the last evening, just in her bikini. His eyes focused on her arm and that teary-eyed fawn laid down in a bed of grayscale roses.

Miguel was a scientist, he worked through logical conclusions. It was simple inductive reasoning. The placement was the same, even the framed roses.

You and Fawn had similar eyes, similar eye color, similar skin tone - but Fawn’s pictures were always a bit dark or cloudy, her phone was far from new, so the darker skin tone would make sense, right? But you were wearing glasses today, he swore that he’d never seen Fawn wearing glasses.

He placed down the phone for a moment, running his hands over his face with a panicked sigh, trying to keep himself calm. He was so deeply fucked. Contact lenses were used by all sorts of people, and glasses could fog up with a mask on or ruin photos from the flash.

How the fuck had he not noticed? It’d been almost three weeks .

Here, Miguel thought everything was looking good. In truth he adored Fawn. Her companionship, friendship? …Pethood? He didn’t need to really figure that out right now - it was something he enjoyed.

Despite his reservations that she - young and inexperienced - would instantly take his feelings to her as romantic she seemed no problem drawing the line in the sand.

She was perfect , it’s why he wanted to meet her.

Now she might be you .

His student.

One who he was pretty sure despised him.

You never even bothered to ask questions, you sat by Taylor while she stared daggers into him every lesson. Your work was middling at best and you liked to cut corners.

Fawn wouldn’t do that, right ?

He had to get to the bottom of this, right now. Miguel was a good man, he took care of his daughter, he watched over his kinda-niece. He contributed to the community - he took care of people.

Miguel was not the kind of man to sext with one of his students.

Not on purpose, anyway , he thought grimly, slinking into his chair as he fought the urge to hurl.

No. This was fixable, confirmable. He’d just ask you to talk after class. Quick, easy. Confirm you had a twin who he just happened to find online.

(The whole point of Miguel’s anonymity was to protect himself, not fuck himself over.)

And if it was you? Well he couldn’t reveal it was him, surely. He would have to make an excuse as Web, some reason that he had to stop talking to her.

Maybe Web died getting hit by a bus.

He opened the phone again with a click, scrolling through the media tab. He considered for a moment sending fawn a message. He didn’t know what college she went to, or her class schedule.

He saw that the last time she was on Telegram was an hour ago, she hadn’t checked in since then.

He glanced up at the time on his phone. 8:58.

He took a deep breath, counting to 10 and then tossing his phone back in his bag. It took him a moment to stand and fix the collar of his shirt before he walked back down the hall to his classroom.

The hall was full, students looking exhausted or unamused was something Miguel was used to.

It was very hard to not stare at you - sitting in the back of the class, half your body hidden by your laptop wearing a dour expression. You were far enough back your features were mostly nondescript.

Miguel didn’t particularly like teaching, it was technically his ‘hobby’. It wasn’t hard outside of the students. He didn’t do well talking to large rooms but hey - that was fine. He was technically a headhunter for Alchemax after all.

Right now teaching was awful . Miguel wanted to be anywhere but here and found himself randomly pausing during the lecture. Luckily everyone was too tired to notice.

How on earth was he supposed to even proceed? He had invested himself in you, two almost three months of talking and flirting, finally finding someone that had similar interests and intentions.

If he had known before, seen you the first day of class after already meeting, he could simply help you sign up for another class and they’d never see each other again.

It would all end there, too awkward to continue.

Now, it was more complicated.

He couldn’t meet in the summers because he had Gabriella, and she was far more important than a fun fling. He had a responsibility for his daughter, and he made the most out of his time with her as fleeting as it was.

The summer, and a few weekends here and there during the school semester. It was the perfect set up, one that allowed him to dip his toes back into the scene and find a little companionship and fun.

Nothing too serious, of course. Not yet.

He couldn’t just continue things as they were. She had been in his class too long, and if she transferred now there would be questions before it was allowed. How would he explain it to the department lead?

Jess wasn’t exactly pleased with what students thought of him as it was.

The news of him fucking one of his students would be the nail in the coffin before sending him back to Alchemax with his head held down in shame.

He did have the advantage that he - technically - wasn’t fucking Fawn.

He needed to talk to you.

The rest of class went… as normal as it could. As normal as him occasionally seeing your bored face as you typed away notes of what he was explaining. He forgot to ask if anyone had questions again before he clicked off the powerpoint.

He’d pull you aside the moment you walked past him, call you over. Easy. Quick. Just a conversation and then hopefully it was all one big mistake and you’d be off to whatever you did at 11AM on a Monday.

Problem. When you stood, both of the students you always sat with rose with you. The black-haired woman even interlocked her arm with yours. You were smiling and chatting away with the rude, redheaded one who was easily a head shorter than you.

When you finally turned to leave, Miguel cleared his throat. You and your two friends stopped. The redhead frowned. Your eyes widened for a moment.

He said your name, which only made your surprised expression worse. Miguel was grimacing. “I need to-”

Suddenly, a sugar-sweet voice called your name, Taylor, and Babette. Everyone glanced over at the door to - Aurora.

Miguel’s brows raised.

“We gotta go, I left Kore with the car running!” She practically skipped into the room to you and Babette in the squealing, touchy way college girls always seemed to enact upon seeing their friends. Babette practically screeched and pulled Aurora into a hug.

“Oh- Uncle Miggy!” Aurora exclaimed after releasing Babette. Babette and you gasped and looked over at Miguel.

There was no way. He didn’t say anything, stunned into silence. Aurora - his ex wife’s niece… cousin… thing. He wasn’t entirely sure. He had known the girl since she was 13. She was Gabriella's babysitter most of the time… and… somehow... your friend.

You grinned at Aurora as she took the other place at your side, hooking her arm around yours and waving goodbye. She was practically pulling you and Babette out of the room, Taylor trailing behind with their hands in their pockets.

So. Miguel was left standing there - alone, dumbfounded. It was only getting worse. Much worse. He walked back to his office in silence, an unblinking, thousand-yard stare ignoring Professor Parker as he tried to flag Miguel on the way inside, the door shutting hard behind him.

He sat, sinking into his chair, and flipped his phone open. Clicking open the browser, he opened up Aurora’s instagram. That’s what the kids used for all their social media nowadays, right? He had been told about it by his ex-wife and… ex sister-in-law, part of his ‘job’ is keeping an eye on Aurora. While they expected him to monitor her, the truth was he checked in once or twice a semester to see if she was still alive. She had his number for emergencies, and he kept his hands off. It was a good system, one he didn’t have to think about.

Kids could take care of themselves… Kids. Fawn was practically a kid, a young twenty something that had her whole life ahead of her.

God. Was he a pervert?

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose as he scrolled through Aurora’s page. Just as he expected, the screen was littered with photos of you.

On campus, at restaurants, at an apartment with you, both of you in your pajamas. Miguel swore you saw a picture that peeked into your bedroom, a familiar sight from your photos.

You weren’t just one of her friends - you were her roommate .

Miguel took a deep breath, fussing with his dark hair as he checked the time on his phone. He had to be at Alchemax by now. So despite the anxiety curdling his gut, Miguel made his way out of the college building.

Driving had always been a comfort for Miguel, his mind half shutting off and relying on pure instinct as he saw the world flash quickly to his sides. Usually he didn’t think of much anything at all while he drove, taking it as a quiet moment amid the chaos of his responsibilities.

There was too much going on to relax like that. He felt sick as he drove, chest tight and stomach churning. Every relationship he had ever had with a woman seemed to crash and burn, romantic or otherwise. His long list of exes, his mother, now you. Would Gabriella be next, another casualty of his inevitable fuck-ups?

Miguel had really liked - still liked - you. The thing you two had was good, was fun and casual. There were no big expectations. No hard feelings about him having other priorities.

This was easier until it wasn’t.

Was it even possible for something like this to work out? He didn’t want to lose you, but it seemed like the only option as the complications stacked up.

He sat with this feeling through the whole ride, and well into his shift at the lab. He tried to pour over the plans in front of him, the techs trying to explain their work while he was gone… But he was obviously distracted.

“Is this a bad time, Dr. O’Hara?” His assistant chimed, a concerned look on her face as she tipped her head curiously. She had been talking to him for a minute at least, but only when he heard his name did he snap into momentary focus.

The woman in front of him had worked closely with Miguel for years, a reliable if quirky sort some years his junior. Her heart-shaped glasses were hardly fitting in with uniform regulations, but it's not like she was handling chemicals. Not now, anyway.

She was probably the closest thing to what he would call a friend, and he really didn’t want to call Parker a friend even if he was a man of honor at Peter’s wedding. She was better at respecting boundaries.

“Sorry, no. Just a… Headache today. Can you repeat that, Lyla?” He shifted his attention to her as best he could, rubbing his eyes and rolling his shoulders. The doctors told him he needed to stop staying so tense all the time, to release the pressure in his shoulders. It was almost painful when he let them slump, but the shock was probably the only thing keeping him alert.

“I’ll type it up in an email, it’s not that important. You look like shit.” The brunette sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly. She was never one to talk fluff. It was part of why he liked her so much.

An email. A text. No, this was too important to type to her. He would have to wait til the next class.

Besides, What if he was wrong? How would he explain that to Fawn? She was already a bit nervous and new to all this.

Just as the door clicked behind her Miguel heard a ping at his phone, a familiar username popping into view.

“Off to the shore now. I’ll make sure to take pics :3” - Fawnteeth - 12:05 PM

#miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader

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theitgirlnetwork · 10 months

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Ch. 11: Three Months But It Feels Like Forever

Note: Hello! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it and just a warm hope you had a good day to those who don't. Another chapter written in the middle of the night, so...you know. Still I hope you enjoy it. Unfortunately our fave couple still has troubles ahead, but there's a fun, a little (a lot) crazy surprise at the end. As always, thank you for all of the love on this story, I'm really grateful for it. It really inspires me and makes this stuff even easier to share. You're all great. I love interacting so feel free to continue. Also this is short but the next one will be longer bc it's something big. Also again, this taglist situation is probably my bad so I'm gonna sort it out, try again next chapter, and then y'all can tell me if it worked, bc atp I'm embarrassing myself. Thanks and I hope you enjoy. <3

Charlotte's Work Party Look

Lip's Work Party Look

“So this is bullshit. He dumps her for one basketball game?”

“That’s not what happened, he was having an inner conflict, and he was only sixteen.”

“Sixteen year old piece of shit.”

Charlotte huffs, continuing to run her fingers through his blond curls. Lip is laid across the couch, his head in Charlotte’s lap, hand underneath her thigh. Debbie is sitting on the floor in front of the television and Troy Bolton had just told his friends he didn’t give a shit about Gabriella.

“He’s just choosing basketball and his friends.” Debbie protests, breaking free from her basketball boy trance to argue with her brother.

“Basketball and his friends can’t get his dick wet-ow! Charlotte.” he winces, rubbing the spot on his scalp where his girlfriend had decided to bury her hand and tug. “Damn it, I was just sayin’ he’s got like one game left in the season, why does he need to break up with her to play? And that shit she just wrote on the board is wrong-why the hell are we watchin’ this shit?”

“You just don’t get it.” Debbie huffs, pausing the movie. She pushes off of the floor and grabs the popcorn from the coffee table. “Let’s watch try again when he’s not here.”

“Oh excuse me.” Lip rolls his eyes as his sister storms off, running up the steps. When he looks back up at his girlfriend, her cheek is dimpling with her deep frown. “What?”

“You ruined movie night” she fake pouts, rubbing her hand along his chest.

Lip smirks, before indulging her, sitting up and tilting her chin with his finger. “Aw, did I?” he kisses her cheek, “I don’t think I did.” her jaw, “We could go in my room and make our own movie.”

“Yeah?” Charlotte hums, meeting his lips briefly with her own before pulling back. “Can’t. I have work.”

“Stay here,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him. “You can dance for me.”

Giggling, Charlotte lets herself be pulled back in, exchanging kisses with the blond until his phone buzzes on the couch next to him, a dreaded name lighting up on the screen. She pulls back fully this time, standing to go get dressed. “Your professor is texting you. At 8:36 at night.”

Blue eyes watch Charlotte disappear up the staircase before closing tiredly. Lip had been dodging almost all of Helene’s communications. He would read her texts to make sure they had nothing to do with his job, and only responded when they did. He’d hoped that was enough, but everytime Charlotte saw that name pop up on his phone she would retract from him. Leave the room, pick up Liam, interact with anyone but him. One morning she asked again, if she had a thing for him, or if they’d hooked up in the past. No matter how much he wanted to, Lip just couldn’t bring himself to answer her with a yes.

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, before running up the stairs after her. He pushes the door to his bedroom open. “Charlotte-” he pauses, staring at her, taking in her form. She stands in her work outfit, if you could call it that, the only thing offering an ounce of covering is the one leg of a juicy tracksuit she was putting on over it. “Um, what the fuck?”

She turns, meeting him with confusion, giving him a glimpse of the front which only has him letting out a laugh of disbelief. “What?”

“What? You’re gonna wear that to work?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, putting her leg through the other hole and pulling the pants up. “Yeah.” she chirps, reaching past him to grab the matching jacket, zipping it over the small bikini top she has on.

“The only thing that shit covers is your nipples.” Lip says, scratching his head.

“S’a stripclub, Phillip. They’re supposed to see stuff.” she giggles. Her laughter stops when she sees his stoic face. Charlotte makes her way over to him, cupping his cheek, “Hey, you said you were good with this. You’re not?”

Lip looks away from her for a second, shifting on his feet. He’s too embarrassed to admit to her that he thinks he agreed to this whole stripper situation too soon. He’d never been a jealous guy, so he didn’t think it was a problem, but he supposes that jealousy is a new feeling that Charlotte had brought into his life. “No, baby I am, just…shit.”

“What shit. Like shit? Or shit.”

Lip closes the distance between them, waiting for her to meet him in a peck, patting her ass when she does. “Watch your mouth.” he mumbles against her lips.

Big brown eyes just stare up into his blue ones. “M’workin’ for us, remember?” She whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing his hair at the nape. “Besides, why would I look at the losers that hang out at the club, lookin’ at me all night when I could come work and be with my sexy boyfriend?”

“Good point.”

“Yeah?” she laughs, letting him pull her into a bunch of small pecks, between matching smiles. The couple starts to get lost in each other again, only breaking away at the sound of Lip’s phone going off again. Charlotte pulls back with a blank look on her face. “Your other girlfriend is trying to reach you.”

Lip rolls his eyes and sighs as she slips past him again, running down the stairs. “Bunny-”

“Just take me to work, Gallagher.”

“You do privates, honey?” A drunken man slurs, leering at Charlotte, waving a hundred dollar bill in front of her face. He’s with a group of older men who’d been tipping shittily and buying the cheapest drinks since they’d gotten there.

“No, sir I don’t, but the ladies that do are on the other side of the club…and they charge more than that.”

The man’s lip curls as he stands, scowling at the woman. Charlotte subtly takes a step back, glancing over at security, ready to call them if he got aggressive.

“Hold on, wait a minute, Trent. That’s my daughter in law you’re talkin’ to.” a voice rasps.

“Frank?”

The scraggly man emerges from the crowd of older men on the couch, positioning himself between Charlotte and the other man. “The one and only.” His gaze drops briefly. “Nice outfit.”

Charlotte wraps her arms over her chest and frowns at the man. “What’re you doing here, Frank?” She looks at the group behind him. “Are you in trouble?”

“Trouble? I’m enjoying the ambience! You and your lovely naked friends are a sight to behold-”

“Oh, God, Frank!” Charlotte gasps, covering her mouth to hide her disgust.

“What? You have a beautiful form!”

“I’m calling Phillip.” she huffs, turning to go to the locker room, she pauses as a thought passes through her mind. Twirling back around she makes her way back over. “Frank, what are you paying with?”

“Oh,” the older man produces a sock full of cash from his pocket. It’s familiar to Charlotte. Ever since Frank and Monica located the first squirrel fund, Fiona had started keeping the money in a new place. In the dry rotted hole on the floor between the wall and the dryer. Inside of the sock that Frank was currently dangling in Charlotte’s face. “I came into some money.”

“Hey, that’s-” Charlotte tries to grab it, only for Frank to yank it away at each attempt. “For the house! For bills, for Carl’s field trip this month-”

“That’s my house that you’re shacking up in fyi. This is Gallagher money, and therefore it’s mine to spend. Now point me in the direction of the ladies giving private dances. I’m a private man.”

“Frank, I can’t let you spend that-” Charlotte argues, grabbing one end of the sock and pulling. Frank is tugging at the other until he stumbles into a table, causing a couple glasses to fall and shatter, leaving Charlotte with the sock. Charlotte stands over the man angry, disgusted, and feeling a wave of hate she’s never really felt for anyone. Up until this point, she really didn’t consider Frank beyond the far and few in between memories Lip shared. But now she was seeing the man be shitty live and in person. And she was fed up. “It’s for your fucking kids you deadbeat!”

Two seconds later security is grabbing Frank and the manager on staff that night, Sarah, is pulling Charlotte a couple steps away. She can distantly hear Lip’s father yelling and cursing as he’s dragged from the club. “Lottie, what happened?”

“I…Frank is my boyfriend’s father, and he’s trying to spend their house money, and he was being a dick about it-”

“Okay, okay. Well, Frank knows he’s not really supposed to be in here anyway, so it won’t happen again. The new guy at the door must have let him slip through. But, because a personal altercation occurred out on the floor, I have to send you home, babe.”

“Damn, really?” Charlotte whines, looking at the crowd starting to pour into the club, no doubt big spenders. She could practically see the dollar signs fading away. Sara offers her a sympathetic look, shrugging. “Fine, okay, let me call my boyfriend to pick me up.”

Lip had been dead asleep when Charlotte let him know she needed to be picked up from work. He has work tomorrow and so in an attempt to get some real sleep, he was in their room at V and Kev’s house, taking advantage of the quiet. He’d rushed over to get her, grabbing Kev’s car keys without asking and noting to himself that a car should probably be the first thing on their list to purchase with the Bunny Bank. When he pulled up out front she was already waiting there for him, the big burly security man, John waiting beside her to walk her to the car.

He and Lip exchange nods as Charlotte climbs into the car pouting. “What happened?” Lip immediately questions, barely letting the door closed. “Someone was fuckin’ with you?”

Charlotte huffs, buckling her seatbelt, allowing him to turn the light on and try to check her for any bruises or injuries. “No…kinda, just- your dad showed up.”

“Fuckin’ Frank.”

“Yeah, right, and he had all of your house money, and I tried to get it back, and he wouldn’t give it back, and we fought and I told him he was a piece of shit deadbeat.”

Lip frowns at that. He hates this part of having a girlfriend. It’s fucking humiliating. He doesn’t know how Fiona lets a bunch of different guys get involved with their family shit. Finding Frank drunk in the yard, Monica coming and spewing her bullshit, now Frank was showing up at Charlotte’s job. And she was fighting with him over money he’d stolen from his children. It’s fucking embarrassing. “Yeah, well, that’s Frank, don’t worry about that shit okay?”

“Well he was stealing from-”

“Fiona and I handle it, it’s not your problem, alright?” Lip says, muscle in his jaw jumping in irritation.

From the corner of his eye he can see Charlotte stare at him with a hurt expression for a moment, before sitting back in the passenger seat, facing forward. “Okay.” she drops the sock full of money on his lap.

The rest of the ride is quiet, Lip drives her through dingy streets, in a borrowed car and wallows in shame. Charlotte is leaning as far into the door as possible, far from him. When they pull up to their neighborhood she hops out of the car before Lip can open the door, going over to Kev and V’s house. Lip follows a couple paces behind quietly, assuming the fact that she’d left the door unlocked was a sign she still wanted him to come with her.

As he enters the room he finds Charlotte already in her pajamas, curled up on the bed facing the wall. Small movements let him know she’s crying. The blond quietly slips behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his face against hers, pressing soft quiet kisses against her cheek. “M’sorry, baby.”

She just offers a sniffle in response.

Lip sighs loudly, dropping his head to the desk. His eyes fucking burn. He got little to no sleep after he’d basically told Charlotte off and made her cry, and she was quiet as hell this morning. He was such a screw up. “Fuck” he curses, grabbing a cigarette and his lighter from his bag, leaning back in his desk chair as he sparks it.

“Gallagher! You have a visitor!” Eric calls from the hallway. Immediately, Lip’s mind goes to Charlotte. Maybe she was feeling better and didn’t fucking hate him for telling her off for caring about him.

“Let her in!”

The door creaks open revealing Helene with a condescending smile plastered on her face. “You’re a hard man to hunt down, Phillip Gallagher.”

He just sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. “M’busy.”

“With what? Work or your girlfriend?” Helene sits in the chair across from Lip, crossing her legs, rolling her eyes when he doesn’t bother answering, taking another drag. “I’m kidding. But you have been ignoring my calls.”

“Well, you’re here now. What’d you wanna talk about?”

A muffled voice that could only be Eric’s is heard through the door. “His office is this way. You look great by the way.” The door to Lip’s office pushes open again, and who enters this time has him shooting out of his seat. “Gallagher, your girlfriend’s here.” Eric grins, tucking his hands into his pockets as Charlotte slowly makes her way in, eyes flicking between Lip and Helene.

“Fucking shit, okay-” Lip mumbles under his breath, holding his arm out for Charlotte to come to him. He watches as she rolls her shoulders back, standing straight and walking behind Lip’s desk, leaning into him. “Hel-Helene, this is my girlfriend Charlotte, Charlotte, this is my old Professor Helene.”

“Nice to meet you, young lady.” Helene says, holding her hand out.

Charlotte takes a deep breath before setting down the bag she was carrying in her hand, reaching over and taking Helene’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs.-”

“Miss.”

“Ms. Helene.” Charlotte finishes, a tight smile on her face.

The blonde woman laughs, tossing her head back. “Just Helene is fine.”

“Mm well, I dunno. Doesn’t seem right.” Charlotte shrugs, leaning further into Lip. “Thank you, by the way, for helping him get this job, it’s been wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. It was no problem at all, Phillip is a special boy.”

“I know,” Charlotte grins even harder, roughly patting Lip’s cheek. “A very special man. So proud of him.”

Lip watches the exchange trying to figure out if he should be nervous, laugh, or think it’s hot that Charlotte is staking her claim right now, running her hand along his hair, face and chest as she pretends to smile at Helene.

Eric clears his throat stepping further into the room himself. “Charlotte, something smells great, and it came when you did so either you smell amazing or you cooked something.”

“Oh, I,” She takes a piece of blue tupperware out of the bag, placing it in front of Lip. “I made you lunch, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning and you didn’t take lunch so…I thought we could eat and talk, but, I see you’re busy.”

Lip turns to her, voice softening as he grabs her hand. “Bunny, I’m sure I can-”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Eric sighs, tapping his own forehead. “I meant to give you some assignments from my dad, I know it’s your lunch break, but you’d have to stay late otherwise.”

“Fuck.” Lips breathes, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s alright bro, I could take Charlotte to lunch.” Eric offers, not withering under the looks he received from the couple. “My girlfriend and I are meeting up anyway, let the girls hang out and spend my money, Becca’s always looking for a partner in crime.”

Charlotte looks at an apprehensive Lip. And she knows it’s wrong, but the way he and the cradle robber across the desk interact makes her feel petty. “Sure, if Lip’s busy.”

Lip fixes Charlotte with a look of betrayal that has her questioning her decision, but Eric is already guiding her away from him out of the door. Yeah, fuck that. Lip thinks, grinding his teeth as he goes to follow them out of the door. Helene’s hand shoots out to stop him before he can get far. “Oh, and Lip, before you get back to work, there’s a work dinner for all of the different departments that I’m hoping you’ll attend. I mean, I know your boss, Mr. Avery is excited to meet you there.”

“Look, uh, Helene, I mean, thank you for all of this. For the job, recommending me and shit, but,” He scratches his nose, “the texts, the calls, they have to stop. Like, now you’re visiting, and that’s weird, you see I have a girlfriend so…”

“Of course, I wouldn’t ever want to disrespect that, I just thought, after everything, we could be friends.” Helene stands, grabbing her purse. “Well, I can see now that’s inappropriate. But you really should come to this party. It’s good for your career to make friends and shake hands. Bring Charlotte with you.”

Lip tucks his head, “I dunno, I don’t…don’t really think Charlotte is gonna be in the mood, we uh, need to talk.”

“No matter what was going on, my husband and I always made it to each other’s work functions. We always supported each other’s careers. If someone can’t do that for you, are they really the one?”

The young man recoils, frowning at the implication. Yes. She is. Period. Full stop. They were out of tune today, but Lip knows what he knows. And he knows he and Charlotte are there for each other. He knows they love each other. He knows that these past few months were the best of his life. Even when he and Charlotte weren’t on good terms, he knew he wouldn’t want to be struggling to communicate with anyone else. “You uh, mean ex-husband. And she’ll be there.”

Helene barely hides the hurt look on her face before she lets out a short, “Great.”

“Do you think this is okay?” Charlotte twirls, the skirt of her brown dress flaring around her gives Lip ideas that he knows he shouldn’t be having. Especially while they were fighting. Kinda. Something else he’s learned over these last few months is that Charlotte holds stuff in. When she’s upset she doesn’t explode like his family does, shit like he does. Breaking property, getting arrested, fighting. She doesn’t withhold affection like Helene and Karen used to. No, she still let him touch her. Quietly letting him press his lips to her cheeks, not moving when he rubs his hips, bringing him lunch. It was the stillness. The angry tears. The lack of warmth that let Lip know things were strained. And it hurts.

“You look great, bunny. Fuckin’ beautiful.” Lip says from his bed, tapping his cigarette ashes into Ian’s ashtray.

“Okay, good. You ready?” Charlotte asks, smoothing her hands over her dress as she looks in the mirror. Her voice is so devoid of emotion, but her eyes are extremely expressive. Big brown pools full of sadness as they meet his in their reflection.

But Lip is new to this. New to trying to maintain. New to trying to keep someone of value. “Babe, uh, should we talk or somethin’?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath before turning to Lip with a tired smile. “Later. Let’s get you to your work thing and after you wow them with your big genius brain, we’ll leave early and try to get on the same page.”

“Yeah?” he stands, looking down at her.

Charlotte just shrugs, reaching over and adjusting his tie with a small smile playing at her lips. “Yeah.”

And that’s the game plan. When they arrive at the party, which they find is being hosted at a friend of the company’s house. If one could call it that. It looks like a fucking mansion, down to the marble columns. Lip felt out of place, everyone here looked so…expensive, and not in the ‘I worked my ass off way’. He felt different than he did when he’d met Helene’s friends back when they were hooking up. The only thing preventing the bounce in his leg as he basically paraded his intelligence to the highest bidder with the future of his family on the line, was Charlotte’s soft, steady hand on him at all times. Fingers intertwined with his. Rubbing circles on his back. Rested on his thigh as she leaned into him. All Lip could think about was the fact that he was here for her, for them. He could secure their futures together if he turned this internship into a permanent job. He could…could…shit. Is that what he wants? Hell, is that what she wants?

Lip’s thoughts are interrupted by Eric and Rebecca’s entrance. The latter immediately beams as she sees Charlotte, squeezing her way between crowds of people, turning her nose up at a tray of hors d'oeuvres being passed in front of her face. “Lottie!” she cheers, tugging Charlotte up by her hands, pulling her into a hug. “You look gorgeous my love, who are you wearing?”

“Um, I’m sorry, my mother got me this dress, but if you wanna pull the tag out-”

“Oh, no, honey it’s fine. You can call me with outfit details later, I need to go find Eric’s bitch of a mother.” she murmurs under her breath. “Sorry I couldn’t make lunch earlier, but thanks so much for reminding that asshole to bring me something. It’d be just like him to go to my favorite restaurant and bring me nothing.” Rebecca scoffs, tossing her hair before fixing a fake smile on her face, leaving to find her boyfriend’s mother.

“You,” Lip pauses, laughing in disbelief as he stands, looking between Eric and Charlotte. “You went to lunch together. Alone.” He nods to himself, still chuckling, slowly walking closer to Eric.

“Phillip.” Charlotte tries, putting her hand on his arm. “Phillip, we were already there when Rebecca said she wasn’t coming, stop.”

“Yeah, man, it’s nothing serious, I just took your girl to lunch, she’s probably never been to the nicer restaurants in Chicago before-”

“Man, I’m about to knock your fuckin’ head off.” the blond continues, calmly putting his drink down, the force making a sound that gathers the attention of passersby. Charlotte tugs at Lip again, pleading to him his ear, telling him to go get their jackets and she’d use the bathroom.

“Please, Phillip. Please. Just go get the jackets. Please. We don’t have to talk to him. Please.” she begs, cupping his face. Eric huffs as he watches the woman coddle her boyfriend and takes a deep swig of his drink wandering off to go find Rebecca.

Lip runs an angry hand through his hair stalking off to the room where the jackets are being kept without saying a word, trying to maintain his temper. But of fucking course. Of course he’d meet a girl like Charlotte. Of course she’d make him fall in love with her, and like a fucking idiot, he would. And of course they’d meet a jackass like fuckin’ Eric who wanted her, who could give her the things she deserved like nice dinners, cars, houses, the pretty fucking outfits she likes to wear. He could give her that without planning for months, saving, taking money in and out of their joint savings to take care of his batshit family. Lip slams the door behind him, going to sift through the coats before pausing, hearing sniffling from the other side of the room. “Uh, hello?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a watery voice says, stepping out from the closet area Helene is clutching a tissue in her hand, going over to Lip. “I’m sorry, it’s just-” her words are cut off by sobs.

“Uh, shit, sit down.” Lip says, guiding her to sit on the bed in the room.

“I…my son just called, let me know he made it back to school okay. And…it slipped in conversation, his father went on a date. He’s started seeing someone. I’d thought…he’d maybe surprise me by coming here. Oh, and I was so rude about Charlotte earlier, but my partner is the one not here.”

Lip watches awkwardly as the older woman sobs, placing his hand on her shoulder after a moment, glancing around. Sure he felt bad for her, but after all this time, he’d realized she really had been a bitch to him. And her ex-husband. He’d thought so highly of her before, thought she was the best thing that would ever happen to him. Now she was crumpling in front of him and he could barely bring himself to comfort her. “Sorry. But, I thought that was like…you guys’ thing. Fucking other people.”

“No, that was more me, he…tolerated it.”

“Oh. That’s…shitty.” Lip whistles.

“It is.” Helene sighs, sniffing one last time. She wipes her face before fully looking at Lip. “I think I was filling some kind of void you know? Low self-esteem, issues with aging, I have them all. The only relationship I had outside of my marriage that meant anything is you.”

They hadn’t even heard it. At least, Lip hadn’t. The door opening. The sound of Charlotte coming to check on him since he hadn’t returned with their jackets. But he did hear her curse before slamming the door. He couldn’t move fast enough, leaving Helene behind he slips between the bodies of movers and shakers in scattered throughout the house, swinging open the door and running down the steps, finding Charlotte stumbling in the grass as she kicks off her heels, grumbling. “Charlotte!”

He catches up to her quickly, grabbing the car keys from the valet stopping at Kev’s truck. The woman keeps walking, head held high as she limps out of the gate. “Charlotte, are you serious? Get in the car.”

“No!”

“Fucksake.” he growls, getting into the car and backing out of the driveway, following alongside her slowly as she makes her way on foot. “It’s fucking dark, get in the car.”

“Leave me alone.” she huffs, crossing her arms, whining to herself about the dirt touching her feet.

The muscle in Lip’s jaw jumps, his scowl going deeper. He reaches over and lights a cigarette, smoking out of the window. “You know, you’re the one who went on a fuckin’ date with someone else today.”

Charlotte laughs, speeding up. “It wasn’t a fuckin’ date. His girlfriend was supposed to go, and she canceled. We were already there, and you were too busy eye-fucking that old professor that you conveniently left out you used to literally fuck.”

“I really don’t wanna talk about eye-fucking when you get naked for half of Chicago, alright?” Lip grits. Too far. He knows it immediately. He watches her stop, and look at him with hurt he never wants to see, her tear tracks shining in the lights from the streets. His own eyes glisten with unshed tears. He puts the car in park, cigarette still balanced between his lips as he hops out walking around the side and grabbing a kicking, protesting Charlotte by her waist, tossing her over his shoulder. Lip places her in the car and slams the passenger door before getting back into the driver’s seat, staring forward at the road.

Charlotte pettily snatches the cigarette from his mouth, opening her window and flicking it to the road. “Why didn’t you tell me you dated her?”

The blond takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slip closed. “I was embarrassed, and I thought it’d freak you out. That you’d ask me to quit cause she helped me get the job. And I would if you asked me to.”

“I would too. Quit. If you asked me to.” Charlotte sighs.

“I don’t wanna ask you to do that. You like it, it's good money, shit you just started. But I do hate it. Thought I wouldn’t, but I do.”

“So, we’ll talk about it more. Until we both know where we stand on it.” she says, facing forward too, she's quiet for another beat before speaking again. “I’m telling the truth about Eric.”

“I know.” Lip scrubs his hands down his face. “I know. And I am sorry that I yelled about that stupid shit with Frank. That bullshit just shouldn’t be your problem.”

“I want it to be my problem. I love your family and I love you. I want to be part of it. I want…I want to be your family. So I care about the money you guys saved being stolen, I care if Liam’s diapers get bought, and I care if Carl gets to go on his field trip.”

“Fuck, bunny, I know you care. I just don’t want you to deal with that shit, it’s fuckin embarrasin’ you having to see my family like that. Having to kick in money for the house.”

“It’s stuff I wanna do. Ian doesn’t walk on eggshells with Mickey. None of you do. You treat him like an honorary Gallagher. Why can’t you do that with me?”

The couple turns to each other now, Lip reaching over the console, grabbing Charlotte’s hand. “You’re fuckin’ better than us, bunny.” He says, one tear finally falling.

Charlotte reaches up, wiping away the drop before smoothing his hair. “You’re gonna stop talkin’ about my boyfriend and our family like that. Nothing is better than you.” She smiles as Lip brings her hand to his mouth kissing her hand. “Well, except Chad in high school musical, I mean, I let the Troy slander go, but he’s different-” she laughs into the kiss that he pulls her into, the two of them smiling into the embrace as they share soft, tender kisses.

The pair stays like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Sitting in the dimly lit car, running Kev’s gas on the side of the road without a care in the world. After a few moments of peace Lip decides to take a risk. It’s a big one, a very Fiona style decision. But those were random loser fuckers who got her off when she was vulnerable. This, this is Charlotte. His Charlotte. Who'd singlehandedly made his life better in the short time she'd been here. Who he loves an unexplainable amount that almost pisses him off. And he’s scared. Fuckin’ terrified. But he has to try.

“Sweetheart, how long have we known each other?”

Charlotte scoffs, playing with his fingers with an absent smile. “Well, three months, but it feels like forever. You know, I never know if people mean that in a good or bad way. I mean it the good way, obviously.” she beams at him, looking into his eyes and finding him with a serious face, her smile fades. “What?”

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“Hm, nope, not supposed to. You?”

His chest tightens as he answers her. He doesn’t believe in stars aligning, or cosmic whatever, but he thinks that this might just be the fate shit that Debbie is spewing all the time that makes no scientific sense. “Nah, I uh…threatened my boss, so I gotta see if I still have a job. I think he has a thing for my hot girlfriend that I’m..I’m uh really in love with.”

“If he does, he doesn't stand a chance. Because I really love my boyfriend.” she hums. If anything was gonna be his confirmation, Lip thinks this is it. Those words were enough. “So what’s with the questions? You wanna do something?” she asks cutely, leaning her cheek into his hand.

This is it.

He looks down into her brown eyes and decides this is what he wants to see forever. Looking at anything else sucks anyway.

“Yeah, um…”

Just fuckin’ do it pussy.

“You wanna go get married?”

#oc #fiona gallagher #ian gallagher #kevin ball #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x oc #lip gallagher x reader #shameless #veronica fisher #gallagher #charlotte fisher #love #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #better

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 3

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: General audiences, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 16.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Flirting, discussions of deceased soulmates. Not too many warnings for this one, although Jack and shopping is a personal fantasy of mine. Summary: A party and a day out together give you some time to get to know Jack a little bit better. Notes: Sorry for the post delay this week, everyone, but thank you all for being so supportive. Health is a struggle but fiction is a beautiful escape.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack eyes Champ, frowning slightly at the older man as he shoots him a grin across the room. He's been cagey lately, smirking at him like he knows a secret that he won't tell Jack. Something that he knows drives the senior agent crazy. Instead of walking across the room and demanding he tell him what is on his mind, Jack turns towards you. Watching as you meet Ginger's soulmate, Gabriella.

Just a little get together, Diana had said when she called you, smiling down the phone as she issued the invitation. To celebrate! Well, Diana’s idea of small was two or three dozen people - all Statesman employees and their families - gathered at the Rogers’ house for a weekend barbecue. It seems like the whirlwind of introductions may never stop, but this bright and happy woman named Gabriella and the two children that she seems to be an expert at wrangling just put you at ease. Introducing yourself seems a little redundant since this is a party to welcome you specifically, but the kids don’t care - just as kids tend not to. They wave hello and ask their mother if they can go play with the other kids, and are off like a shot the instant they get a ‘yes’.

“They’re sweet,” you say, smiling despite how much you miss your niece and nephew. It’s only been five days since you saw them last, but that’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing them ever.

"They are wild." Gabriella corrects you with a laugh, looking after her kids with the fondness of a parent of someone well accustomed to their antics. "But they promised to behave under threat of torture."

“I wish that worked on my nephew.” When she pats the arm of the chair beside her, you sit down gratefully. Deciding to dress up for this party shouldn’t have included heels, that’s your own fault. “When my niece is finally old enough to be his sidekick, everyone’s going to be in trouble.”

"Menaces, huh?" She chuckles and sips her spiked lemonade before she shrugs, keeping an eye on her own troublemakers. "That just means they will have each other's backs when they are older."

“I hope so.” They have good examples to follow, at least, with how close you are to your siblings. Even if you’re not physically close to each other anymore. “So…this is what counts as a ‘little’ get together around here?” Diana had poured you a spiked lemonade a few moments ago, and you’d added peach nectar as your fruit flavor of choice from the bar of fruit flavored syrups and liqueurs by the large bar set up in the kitchen counter. It’s the best lemonade you’ve ever had in your life.

"Any excuse to have a party is Diana's reason for living." Gabriella jokes, motioning to where she is fluttering around talking to people with the largest smile on her face. Her husband ambles behind her, much slower in pace as he allows her to do as she pleases with a fond smile on his own face and a whiskey in his hand.

“A woman after my own heart,” you laugh, looking over in time to see a young man maybe a few years younger than yourself receive an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek and be shooed inside with lipstick on his cheek. “Their son?” It’s not exactly a stretch to guess. He has Champ’s stance and his mother’s thick head of hair.

"Bobby." She confirms with a nod. "He’s back home for a bit after being overseas for the last two years."

“Something fun, I hope.” But you won’t pry, enjoying the easy atmosphere on this sunny afternoon.

"Oh yeah, he's been traveling for Statesman and has been a little homesick." She murmurs, aware that you aren't aware of the real reason for international travel from some of the Statesman employees. Her wife had filled her in before the party.

“I like that it’s a family operation.” Turning back to Gabriella, you take a sip of your lemonade and smile. “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been here?” You don’t know their story - her and Astrid - but as the newest arrival to what Champ and Diana jovially call ‘the Statesman family’ you feel like you want to know everything.

Gabriella smiles, looking over at Astrid with stars in her eyes. “We found each other about seven years ago. Damn lucky honestly. What with–” She bites her lip, knowing she shouldn’t say the real reason. “Astrid doesn’t have any scars.”

“I noticed that a lot of people don’t seem to have tattoos, either.” It’s just a vague observation, but coming from the culinary world where so many of your coworkers have large pieces or even whole sleeves, it surprises you. “I guess I’m alone in that one.”

“Yeah.” Gabriella gives a slightly nervous chuckle. “There’s actually an incentive to have them removed here. You should look into it. If you want, of course.” If she could get you to remove the tattoos without any suspicion, Jack would be in the clear.

“Why would I want to do that?” Your left hand moves protectively to cover your right elbow, and you think back to your contract to make sure you haven't glazed over anything. There had certainly been a dress code portion of the employee handbook, but nothing about tattoos or piercings. Not even a note on ‘acceptable’ hair colors.

“I meant no offense.” She immediately back pedals and gives a small smile. “I’ve just known plenty of people here who have decided they don't want their tattoos anymore. People change what they once liked…you know.”

“Oh, sure.” That’s true, certainly, and you relax a little. “I guess that’s fair. I just can’t see a single reason I would want to get rid of mine. I just made sure to get it in a place that I could cover, ya know? Just in case. Some fine dining restaurants don’t like to have them showing.”

“Of course.” She bobbles her head quickly, not wanting to alienate you with a thoughtless comment. She wasn’t supposed to know that you are Jack’s soulmate but Astrid had let it slip. “I know all about the ‘professional’ world. I was in the corporate rat race before I found Astrid.”

“Then that makes you a much braver woman than I.” You laugh and sit back in your chair. “I don’t know how you survived it, honestly.” All that corporate nonsense does nothing for you and it never has - no part of your extraordinary life is ever going to revolve around file numbers.

“Oh I’m much happier now with our little house to keep and our kids to wrangle.” She promises. “And just listening to Astrid talk about work gives me all the adventure I could ever want.”

“It’s not that little.” No, you see their house in the walk to work every morning now, and it certainly isn’t petite like yours is. Not that you need more than that for just you and the Dormouse. “You’ve got your slice of heaven, I think. It’s kind of…” You shrug, figuring you’re probably over sharing, but it’s always coming out of your mouth. “Kind of what I always wanted. That idyllic family life.”

“I never knew I wanted it.” Gabriella has no problem admitting that she had never imagined domestic bliss or being a stay-at-home mom when she was climbing the corporate ladder. “Now, I couldn’t imagine anything else.”

“I wouldn’t give up my career for anything.” Anybody who asked you to would be in for a rude awakening. “But a family? That’s…that’s still the dream.” Even with your soulmate, the idea of finding someone isn’t ridiculous. Plenty of people do it every day…right?

“I understand.” Gabriella looks over to where her youngest has spotted Jack and is currently climbing up his leg. Jack smiles and laughs as he swings the boy up onto his shoulders, but there is the underlying sadness underneath. “Sometimes the dreams are all you have.”

“Sometimes they are.” Too lost in your own melancholy overlong losing your soulmate, you don’t see Gabriella’s eyes move to Jack with her son. You don’t even notice Astrid and Tex step up onto the porch together.

“Well, look at you.” Tex whistles as he looks you up and down. “Ain’t you pretty as a picture? You having fun?”

“Hey you.” The sound of his voice is familiar - one of the only things that is familiar around here - and you perk up a little to see two familiar faces. “You made it.” To be honest, you didn’t really know who Diana had invited, but you figured it was a good chance that Tex would be here considering he had been your flight companion and part of your testing team. He seems to be involved in everything the same way Jack is.

“Damn near didn’t.” Tequila admits. “Amsterda—” He cuts off abruptly and shakes his head. “I mean, an armadillo managed to get into one of the storage houses.” He covers his slip up with a mile wide grin. “But I made it.”

“Is that why I haven’t seen you in days?” You pop up from your seat to give him a hug and choose not to say anything about the fact that he was definitely about to say something else. “Because of an armadillo?”

“Tricky suckers.” He huffs, giving you an extra squeeze before he lets go of you. Gabriella sends Astrid a pointed look and then glances at Tequila.

“If I find one in my garden, I’m calling you.” It’s barely a threat, and you don’t have a proper garden yet, but you’ll get there eventually.

“You can call me even if you don’t.” Tex tells you, making Astrid clear her throat and capture everyone’s attention. “Should we get something to eat?” She asks when your head turns towards her.

“Lead the way.” Champ seems to have deputized his son to help him look after the large grill on the other side of the yard, and Jack is nearby with a drink in hand when the four of you approach together.

Astrid and Gabriella whisper together ahead of you as you make your way towards the tables laden down with sides and desserts. None of them yours yet, but a potluck off all those who wanted to contribute.

“I wish Diana hadn’t insisted on just being a guest.” Walking beside Tex, you look over at the table of various desserts with affection. Sweets are what you do, after all. “I would have made a couple of cakes to bring.”

"You aren't supposed to bring food to your own shindig." Jack huffs, walking up toward the group and nods towards you. "It's not how it's done here in the south, sugar."

“I guess I have a few things to learn.” You half step forward to offer him a hug, having left things on a good note after your night at the bar earlier in the week, but you’re not still quite sure what Jack thinks of you and you don’t want to make things weird - so instead you end up just stepping forward awkwardly and looking like your arms don’t work properly. “How have you been, Jack?”

He knows that you are expecting a hug and doesn't know quite how to ask for one. It's slightly awkward, especially since Jack just came back from the funeral of your former soulmate. It had taken a couple of days for his family to be notified and then another week for the body to be shipped back to his hometown. Jack hadn't introduced himself, just stood off a respectful distance while the man he had taken a future from had been lowered into the ground. "As good as I can be." He tells you, looping his arm around you and squeezing you to his side in a friendly manner, although his hand is lower than appropriate on your waist.

“I hope nothing’s wrong?” The side hug is a little awkward but there’s warmth to it - or at least there is to you. It wouldn’t be the first time you imagined that someone enjoyed your company more than they actually did. “Sweets can solve any myriad of problems, you know.”

"Nothing that a party with everyone I care about can't fix." Jack hums, a flash of pain that seems bittersweet and vague for Abigail not being here is almost as a reflex now. He suppresses it and grins. "But I'm eager for another sample of your cakes."

“I’m going to start working on the menu next week,” you tell everyone, chest absolutely bursting with pride. “So I’m going to need everybody to stop by the kitchen a couple of times to try out what I’ll be baking. As many times as you want to come by, I’d love to get the feedback.”

"Everyday." The promise pops out of his lips before he could ever even think about not speaking.

Not expecting such an immediate and earnest response, you practically beam. “Then I’ll start with cakes. By the end of the week you’ll never want to go near buttercream again.”

"Don't tell him that." Tequila rolls his eyes and shoulder checks Jack playfully. "This man keeps bags of candy in his desk all the time."

“Oh yeah?” You raise an eyebrow at Jack and smirk. “What’s your favorite?” Sometimes the smallest thing can be a big inspiration, so you’re never going to shy away from asking the question.

Jack frowns at Tequila for ratting him out and huffs. "I like Snickers." He admits with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“Noted.” The urge to do something in Jack’s honor on your menu is seemingly expanding far beyond his affinity for your tea sandwiches, but on the outside all you do is smile. You haven’t had a crush like this in ages, and it doesn’t help that you’re nursing one for Tex at the same time.

"I like Zero bars." Tex adds, his brows lifted hopefully as he pushes his hands into his pockets. He really likes you, drawn to you in a way he hasn't felt before and he wants to ask you out.

“Which are, arguably, a white chocolate version of a Snickers.” It starts to turn your wheels even more, wondering if you can’t do something with caramel and peanuts that uses two types of chocolate.

"I keep telling you that." Jack smirks at Tex and shakes his head. "Boy doesn't know anything."

“It just means they can work well together.” Completely oblivious to any undertones in the conversation, you just shrug your shoulders and let your wheels grind on a recipe idea while the group of you moves up along the picnic tables to get something to eat.

Tequila frowns at Jack but he doesn’t feel guilty. The boy needs to sniff around somewhere else. It’s obvious you aren’t interested and you’re grieving your soulmate.

“What in the hell is going on?” Ginger whispers, hiding in Jack’s ear as Gabriella and Tequila whisk you toward one end of the tables to the immense batch of tamales that Ginger’s wife made for the occasion.

“What are you talking about?” Jack asks, feigning ignorance. “We’re at a party. That’s what’s going on.”

“You and Tequila.” She fixes him with a frown and pushes her glasses up on her nose a little. “You’re not normally this subtle, I’ll give you that. But it’s like watching peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” Jack frowns and looks over at where you and Tequila have your heads together over the table and there are the sounds of laughter. “You’re imagining things.” He scoffs. “Nobody’s actin’ like a peacock. Just bein’ friendly to the girl.”

“Jack.” Ginger frowns. She wears her cover for her friends on her sleeve and makes no apologies for it. “I know you might not…all things considered, I get it. Not saying anything to her. But please tell me that you told him?”

“Sure I did.” Jack nods, rolling his eyes. “Showed him the damn tattoos the day Champ benched me.”

“But you’re sure he knows it’s her?” She asks, searching his face with concern. When he rolls his eyes, her eyes pinch shut immediately. “It’s February, Jack. It might be warm enough for a backyard barbecue, but we’re all still wearing long sleeves.”

“Come on Ging– he went to pick her up.” Jack scoffs. “Don’t you think Champ told him that he was on an escort mission for my supposed soulmate?

“Honestly?” She shrugs, biting the inside of her lip while she thinks. “I think Champ told as few people as possible. So maybe he didn’t.” There is nothing supposed about you, but this isn’t the moment for that argument.

“Don’t see why it matters.” Liar. The voice in his head screams it but Jack just ignores it and forges ahead. “They are friendly. End of story.”

“If you say so.” The last thing she wants is to start an argument, so she’ll let it go for now. But Ginger knows Jack and Tequila and she knows their habits - and you’re getting at least one request for a date for Valentine’s Day next week. She just doesn’t know which one of them will be first.

Jack is happy she’s willing to drop it. Uncomfortable with the conversation, although he does side eye Tequila before he dismisses it. It’s not like he has a claim over you even if it was true. You aren’t his soulmate and there’s no way he’s yours. Not when his heart died years ago.

It takes two full plates before you’re finally stuffed, sitting in the afternoon sun in Champ’s backyard as most of the party has migrated indoors in anticipation of that same sun setting. There are still a few stragglers outside and you’re happy to be one of them - enjoying the sun’s rays while they’re still there to beat down on you. It’s been a lively afternoon and you’ve met a lot of very nice people, but stealing a few minutes alone has been nice, too.

Jack notices you off alone, nursing his beer as he watches you. Wondering what you think about this place, everyone here. He huffs to himself and stands, closing the gap between the two of you with no clue as to why. “Appreciating the silence or wantin’ some company?” He asks, knowing that if you want to be alone he’ll respect that.

“I wouldn’t say no to company.” Shifting to one side on the little bench you’ve been occupying, you make room for him to sit. You’ve always come to the conclusion that it would take a hell of a lot for you to say no to Jack.

He tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t be so pleased that you accepted his presence, but that doesn’t stop the quiet pride filling his chest. “No regrets so far?” He asks, looking over the party. Champ would have found something to make you stay, but he’s curious as to you wanting to be here. “Get your stuff easy enough?”

“I’m planning on running out tomorrow for a few things, but honestly the house is great.” It’s not like you owned that much to begin with, and the house came fully furnished. You’re just going to go wandering around housewares stores tomorrow to pick up some personal touches and to try some local restaurants while you’re out. “Everybody’s been so nice. Astrid actually sent flowers after I settled in, and Champ’s given me a key to the restaurant so I can be in the kitchen whenever I want. It’s all…pretty perfect.”

Jack knows that Champ might have put a tracker in the keys that he gave you. But he doesn’t like the idea of you going to town without some protection. “Want some company? Tomorrow?” Jack hears the edge to his voice and scolds himself for acting like an idiot. “I mean, I’ve got some errands to run and you can put whatever you buy into the back of the Bronco.” He tells himself that he’s responsible, at least until your tattoo on his skin goes away. Still convinced it’s the universe’s idea of a sick joke.

“You wouldn’t mind?” It’s not flirting, you remind yourself, although your heart does seem to pick up speed a little at the offer. “I mean…I was going to have lunch out while I was picking things up. So…my treat? As a thank you for driving?”

It’s his immediate reaction to protest. To remind you that his daddy would box his ears, but he catches your eyes. Pride. He’s more than a little familiar with the trait and he sees that you aren’t one to just expect someone to go and do. That you need to contribute to the outing. So he nods. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite country kitchen.” He offers. “They do a buffet of all the things folks love around here. Give you a feel for the area.”

“I’d love that.” It’s exactly the kind of thing you were hoping to find for yourself, but doing it with him sounds infinitely better. “Most of what I know about Southern cooking comes from my grandma, so I definitely want to try as many local places as I can.”

“Best food ever, although, come hungry.” He warns you. “They will be asking why you aren’t going back for thirds.”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t happily eat thirds,” you laugh, amused by his serious tone. “I’ll go back every week if it’s that good.”

“Have you ever had cornbread so thin it’s like a pancake and fried until it’s crispy on the edges?” Jack asks you with a grin.

“We have something like that at home.” Johnnycakes are a New England classic, and you fell in love with the quick and tasty cornmeal pancakes during culinary school. “But I can’t wait to try the Southern version.” It sounds like it would be perfect for a caviar service if the tea room ever got that fancy…

“That with a piece of catfish fried to perfection is just like momma used to make.” He confides, winking at you playfully.

“Sounds like heaven.” One of these days you really have to stop shivering whenever he winks at you. But it won’t be today.

“That sounds like a plan.” Jack hates shopping, but he’s not going to let you go out to town by yourself. Or with Tequila, although he knows the boy is leaving on another mission.

“I haven’t lived on my own for a while, so there’s just some finishing touches I don’t have,” you explain, wondering why you feel the need to actually explain yourself at all. It just sort of…compels itself out of your mouth.

“Oh?” It almost startles him how quickly he focuses on that. “Lived with a lover?” He asks. “Statesman will let you bring someone to live with you if you’re trying the long distance thing. It doesn’t work - trust me.”

“I know it doesn’t.” While you didn’t really have any intention of talking about it today, there’s a Nudging feeling inside you that just wants to spill everything to Jack. To lay yourself proverbially bare and let this whole new beginning at Statesman be made of honesty instead of hiding pieces of yourself away. “I—a few years ago, I was with this person. Someone I thought was really going to last, ya know? I mean it wasn’t my soulmate but we had been together for years. Anyway…they got offered a job in New York. And we had all these plans for me to drive down to them and visit on off days and to make things work and they just…” You sigh, hating that everything that happened with your ex still hurts so badly. “It only took them two weeks to find someone else. So I left the apartment we’d been living in with our other friend and moved back in with my family. My little sister had just given birth to my nephew and every pair of hands that could help was welcome.” Rubbing your eyes, you huff ruefully and shrug your shoulders. “Sorry if that’s oversharing, I guess.”

“It’s not.” Jack wants to reach out and hug you, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve to comfort you and he doesn’t trust himself to not try. “Whoever they were, they were an idiot.” He can’t imagine just finding someone else. Not when you claim to love them. It’s why he’s been very careful to make sure that what he did have was very surface level physical pleasure. He hasn’t had an intimate connection since Abigail. Not real intimacy.

“They’re somebody else’s problem now.” If you wanted to, you could probably argue to yourself that Jack moved closer with this small moment of comfort, but you don’t want to tease yourself like that. You do like him, but it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t see you as more than a potential friend, so you don’t want to push anything. “I appreciate that.”

"Hopefully they step on Legos in the dark for the rest of their life." Jack jokes.

“You are cruel.” It draws a laugh from you anyway, a grateful feeling from being supported in a moment of emotional need. Things like this are easy with Jack - no matter how nervous you may get from your little crush, the softest moments are always easy. “But…on point, honestly. A lifetime of barefoot Lego steps would be pretty suitable.”

He laughs and feels like the moment is light and easy with you. Letting it settle over him like a soft blanket.

“Oh…” The memory hits you immediately and out of nowhere, as you sit in a moment of comfortable silence with Jack. “Tomorrow…I was going to go dress shopping, also. I completely forgot. So…if that doesn’t exactly sound like fun for you, I’ll totally get it.” It would be a disappointment to not spend the day with Jack now that you’ve made the plan, but you can’t imagine that womens’ clothes shopping holds any great appeal for him.

“I don’t mind going dress shoppin’.” Jack shrugs. “You know that it could be fun.” He hums, unable to resist imagining you in a sleek and sexy dress.

“I said yes to this wedding invitation ages ago and I just…haven't had any time to prepare.” The impulse to continue to explain yourself is obviously strong. “The plan was just to ignore my plus one and drive down to Boston on the day, but now it’ll be a flight and a hotel and all kinds of craziness and I—” You shrug. “They’re family, so I can’t just not go. So…I have to find a dress.”

“Wedding huh?” He relaxes slightly and shrugs. “You don’t have to ignore the plus one, I’m sure someone would love to go to a wedding.”

“Well, I’m friendly with about six people at the moment, and four of them are married couples.” Hope flames so strong in your chest that you’re sure he must see it. Maybe misinterpreted as a flash of desperation, but that isn’t it. You’re just…so fucking drawn to him. “So unless you or Tex is willing, I’ll just hang out with my siblings that night like I’ve been planning.”

“When and where is this little shindig happening?” Jack asks, smirking as he imagines perching you on his arm for a wedding and seeing how the rest of your family is. Even though the thought confuses him.

“The Whitney Hotel in Boston, a week from today.” Hope. It flares bright and beautiful in your whole body but you try not to look too much like a fawning schoolgirl. Without knowing how old Jack is, you would guess that he had about ten years on you, and you don’t want to come across as immature when you’re just being sincere.

Instantly, it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. Except it’s no team celebration for winning a playoff or prank by Tequila. It’s the horror of realizing that you would have met the man you were supposed to be with if Jack hadn’t been there two weeks ago. Guilt curls in Jack’s stomach and the barbecue and baked beans he had eaten along with about a fourth of the dessert table threatens to make a reappearance. “Sounds- sounds good, sugar.” Jack manages to croak as he leaps ungracefully to his feet. “Excuse me.” He can’t even tip his hat towards you before he is rushing across the yard like the hounds of hell are after him.

******

“I miss you guys.” Hours later, on the phone with your sister, you still haven’t quite shaken the unease left behind by Jack’s abrupt exit from the party. Everyone has started going their separate ways by evening time and you had come home with the intention of starting to write out a shopping list for tomorrow, only to be interrupted by a call from Eliza. “How are my little prince and princess doing?”

“Missing their favorite aunt.” She huffs, even though she’s laughing down the phone. “Driving me crazy and asking when they are going to see you again.”

“At Cassie’s wedding.” You promise, shifting the phone in your hand as you look out into your backyard from the bedroom window seat. “I’m not skipping out on my family just because I moved.”

“I felt like you weren’t going to miss it.” She agrees, happy to hear it. “Have you found your dress already?”

“I’m going shopping tomorrow.” Obviously not with her, like you had been planning, but you’re still going to get it done. Even if Jack backs out of coming with you after leaving the party on such a weird note, you still need to go. “I need a couple more things for the house, so tomorrow is going to be dresses and housewares.”

“I’m so excited to see you.” She huffs, even though it’s only been a couple of days. “Are you settling in okay? I’m just amazed that the job comes with housing.”

“It’s like a little company town out here. There’s a whole neighborhood of full time employees and we all have these cute little houses and manicured yards. And the guest room is open any time you want to come visit.” Other places might have made it suspect or oppressive, but Statesman seemed to thrive on being a family company. “The owner even threw a little welcome party this afternoon. Backyard barbecue, amazing drinks, lots of people just hanging out and kids playing. I met most of the higher ups.”

“It sounds amazing. Friendly atmosphere plus booze?” She laughs. “Tell me the men are handsome.”

“I—” You laugh before you can stop yourself, glancing out the window again into the backyard of the house next door - owned by a woman you met today who works in HR. “Yeah. I’m not even going to be coy about it. Some of these men are stunning.”

“Really?” She knows you can hear the wicked grin on her face through the phone. “Tell me allllllll about them. I need a little cowboy in my life.” She laughs again, well aware she’s never even really interacted with one before but you are in the thick of them apparently.

“So…there are two that stick out.” The only person in the world who knows all your stupid relationship and crush bullshit is your sister. She’s been your best friend for your whole life and never wavered. “They both work security, and they’re…” This time when you laugh it’s a slightly embarrassed sound. “They’re really close friends. So I’m trying not to rock any boats by showing interest.”

“Let me guess, there is one of them that’s older and you like that one best?” She knows her sister better than anyone and whether you want to admit it or not, you have an eye for older men.

“Shut up.” There’s no heat whatsoever behind the scolding and you end up laughing at yourself, appreciating that Eliza isn’t beating around the bush with you. “There is, but if you meet him you have to swear not to embarrass me.”

“Ohhhh, I can meet him?” She asks evilly. “Are you bringing him to the wedding?”

“Maybe.” A part of you instantly wishes you hadn’t said anything, but you know that Eliza always has the best advice. “I don’t know. He offered to go shopping with me tomorrow and come to the wedding but then immediately got weird about it and I don’t know what to think. I’m getting super mixed signals from him.”

“Why do you think he got weird about it? Most men get weird about the wedding part, but you said he basically agreed to go with you, right?” She asks.

“He offered, I didn’t even really ask.” The kids in the yard next door are cackling, laughing as they play with their dog, and you watch them so that you don’t relocate to the living room windows downstairs - which gives you a view of Jack’s house. “It’s like…remember I told you I went to a bar earlier in the week and cleaned up some bikers at a pool game?” At the time, you hadn’t exactly told her the entire story.

“Yeah?” On her end of the phone, she ticks her eyebrow up curiously. “Did you go with old handsome?”

“He’s not old!” You both laugh anyway. “But yes. I went with Jack.” There is a longer-than-necessary pause while you debate with yourself, but you end up shrugging your shoulders. “He calls me ‘sugar’, but I really don’t think I should be reading too much into that because even my boss uses nicknames with literally everyone. It’s just a Southern thing.”

“But he wants to go shopping with you?” She reminds you. “Most men hate shopping.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna let him into the dressing room.” You protest, although you immediately think that if he made a move, you probably would.

“Sure you wouldn’t.” Clearly not believing your bullshit, she laughs. “Maybe he has something weird about the date? A Valentine’s Day wedding is very sappy.”

“Maybe. I really don’t know. And I don’t want to pry, ya know? Because as much as I get mixed signals from Jack, Tex has been nothing but sweet.” Talking it out will help, you tell yourself. It absolutely is not just going to pave the way for further frustration…

“But you don’t really want sweet.” She guesses. “Do you? You’ve always been attracted to the troublemakers.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re both trouble.” Another laugh bubbles out of you and you shake your head. “Remember the guy that came back on the jet with me to help me pack? That was Tex.”

“Oh he was cute, you mean the other one is even better looking? You better bring his ass to the wedding.” She huffs. “Bring both of them.”

“You want me to just strut into our cousin’s wedding with a cowboy in either arm?” God…your whole family would just lose their minds…

“Fuck…a girl can dream can’t she?” Your sister giggles. “I’ll be living vicariously through you.”

“Oh please.” Rolling your eyes is a useless gesture because she can’t see you, but you’re sure she can hear it in your voice. “Is having a surgeon for a husband not enough of a bragging right anymore?” You adore her husband - They’ve been together since high school and discovered their soulmate status after she graduated - but that doesn’t mean you won’t tease her. “Picture perfect kids, a successful husband, and your own amazing career aren’t doing the trick these days?”

“Nope.” She has zero shame and you know it. “I want to hear how hot cowboy sex is.”

When you huff at her it’s supposed to be indignant, but it comes out completely agonized. “If I ever have any, I promise I’ll let you know. But I genuinely doubt I have an actual chance.”

“Please, you’re gorgeous and it sounds like both of them are sniffing around.” She teases. “They want your sugar.”

“I never should have told you that,” you groan, knowing it will probably never die now.

“Hell no, you should save a horse and ride a cowboy.” She laughs and loves how you are sounding better. She knows about your loss of a soulmate and how much it has affected you.

“Oookay.” Snickering, you let out a sigh that is actually more like a half-groan and wipe one hand down your face. “Tell the kids I love them, will you? I’m going to see if I can get some sleep. I think I ate my body weight in barbecue today and it’s catching up with me.”

“I will, okay. I love you,” As much as she misses you, it’s best that you have a fresh start and it sounds like Kentucky is a good place for you.

“I love you, too.” Faintly on the other end, you can hear your mother’s dog barking and laugh softly. The sounds of home are absolute comfort and you do miss it. But this is the right place for you to be right now. “I’ll try to text you a sneaky picture of Jack tomorrow.”

“You better.” She warns you with a cackle. “Otherwise I’m going to embarrass you when he comes to the wedding.”

“If.” The nagging feeling you have that he doesn’t want to go is very real, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He either will or he won’t, and that’s that. “I’ll talk to you later in the week.” Another round of goodbyes is murmured before you hang up, and you sit in the window seat a while longer before dragging yourself to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

******

Jack feels like an ass. No– he is an ass. Actin’ like a fucking pup who had been scolded as he shot across the lawn and away from you. There’s nothing coincidental about where your little wedding is being held and he knows that artistically culinary talented you would have made your way to the kitchens even if they were off limits. He just knows it. Now, he’s watching your house like a damned stalker. Wanting to still keep his promises even though you might slam the door in his face. Spending most of the night up, hearing Abigail’s voice in his head, chewing him a new one for not apologizing for his behavior earlier. As soon as he sees movement, Jack is out the door. His jeaned legs eating up the distance between your house and his, ready to go if you're still wanting, and ready to apologize and just let you use his Bronco if you’re not.

Up, showered, and dressed after a night of lousy sleep and bad dreams, you drag yourself downstairs to make a cup of coffee. This coffeemaker is going to be the first thing you replace, you’ve decided, because you can finally afford a fancy espresso machine like you’ve always wanted. Kitchen gadgets are happening today, and it’s going to be a good time. Whether you go alone or otherwise, you tell yourself. Not knowing what the hell happened with Jack yesterday, you’re not assuming you’ll see him. Until your doorbell rings. Hopefully that’s just Jack holding up his promise to come with you, and not some random coworker wondering if you’ll be coming to church with them.

Shuffling on your small porch, Jack adjusts his hat before he swipes it off his head altogether. Nervous as a teenager going to his first dance, Jack rolls his eyes at himself. He just needs to relax, but for some reason he can't. He doesn't like the idea of you being mad at him. His stomach flips as he hears you walking towards the door.

The door swings open without a single creak, and you bite the inside of your lip when you see him standing there on your porch. “Morning, Jack,” you murmur, stepping aside to let him in. Whether this is an excuse not to come out today or an explanation for his departure last night, you have to admit that you’re just glad to see him. It means you probably didn’t do some unknown mysterious horrible thing to make him hate you - which is definitely what every dream you had last night was about.

Your neutral greeting gives him a smidgeon of hope and feels tension draining away in minute amounts. "Sugar, I-" He steps inside and huffs. "I need to apologize for leavin' so quickly yesterday." He turns and stares at you with a repentant expression on his face. "After makin' a fool of myself, I realized we didn't set our plans for today in concrete and while you might not even want the addition of my presence to your outing, I didn't want to be even more of an asshole and not show up." He manages to rattle this off in one breath and stops to inhale. "However, if you're wishin' to not be in my company, I at least want to offer the use of my bronco to you, since that had been a main sellin' point of the day." Offering for someone to drive Betsy is unheard of, but he's pulling his keys out of his leather jacket to extend them to you if you want.

Verbose. Jack Daniels is a verbose man, who can and will turn any four word sentence into four paragraphs. But you don’t hate that - it flies in the face of ‘quick’ communication like texting or shouting across a kitchen. It’s kind of nice, actually, when you’re not generally upset. “Did I say something wrong?” You finally ask, looking from his keys up to the sincere expression of reticence on his face. “Or did I do something to make you leave?”

"No." Jack assures you quickly, shaking his head and wondering how the hell he could possibly explain. "It was all me, sugar. All me and I apologize for worryin' you. It was never- I feel nearly sick at the idea of makin' you think that you had done anything." He's going to just pray you don't ask him for details.

“But everything’s okay?” If it wasn’t you, then it likely was something personal, and he seems like a fairly private person. A conclusion that’s only being reinforced by the fact that he hasn’t actually explained what happened. You decide, though, that you’ve only known the man a week and he doesn’t owe you his life story, so a sincere apology is enough.

"Right as rain, sugar." He manages to paint on a half grin, rocking forward towards you and there is a magnetism that he feels, like he's being drawn to you. "Does this mean you might still want me to squire you around town?" It's old fashioned and a little a lot flirty, but it feels right.

“Do you want a cup of coffee before we go?” Closing the front door is the silent signal that you want him to stay, and you can feel relief coursing through you that he seems to want to do this. The last thing you would ever want to do is drag him along unwillingly.

"If you're havin' one. If not, we can always swing by the best little coffee shop in town." Jack offers, not wanting to inconvenience you.

“We could do that.” Instead of retreating back into the kitchen, you reach for your jacket and purse instead. “A new coffee maker is on the list of things we’re picking up today.”

Jack chuckles as looks at your standard Mr. Coffee maker that was left in the cabins. "Doesn't quite do it for you?" He guesses, figuring you drink those fancy coffees with art made from the foam.

“My very first job was as a barista in a bakery in the town where I grew up,” you tell him. Keys, phone, purse, jacket, you’ve got everything you need so you open the door again and move to set the alarm via the panel on the wall. “I started drinking espresso and never looked back.”

"Figured." He gives a small chuckle and waits for you patiently, his hand moving to the small of your back when the two of you set out of the cabin and you close the door behind you. "Have you set up your biometric lock yet?" He asks, noticing that you are using the fob for the door.

“Not yet.” Keys go into your purse and you close your eyes momentarily against the warmth of his hand at your back. “Someone is coming tomorrow morning to set it up. Then I’ll lock myself in the kitchen at the restaurant and bake cakes all day.”

"What kind of cakes?" Jack immediately starts drooling, imagining what you might make. His sweet tooth is happy at the prospect.

“Well everybody seemed to like the coconut cake, so I think I’ll leave that recipe alone.” He opens the door of the Bronco for you and you slide in, loving that Kentucky in February is warm enough for an open air drive. “I think I’ll work on the red velvet or a hummingbird cake first. Try to nail down the classics.”

"Diana will adore you if you make her a fancy red velvet." Jack promises you as the two of you get situated in the truck and he turns the engine over. "And Champ will adore you for his wife being happy."

“They’re very sweet together.” The older couple have been nothing but lovely and welcoming to you, and you’re grateful for it. “And I wouldn’t dare open a tea room in the south without red velvet cake on the menu.”

"Maybe one of those scone thingys." Jack rolls his eyes. "She's always talkin' about how no one makes scones here."

"I can do scones." Any suggestions he has are more than welcome, as they give you a pretty good idea of what people in the area are actually looking to eat and that helps you focus your energy while you're putting together your menu. "Scones. Tea sandwiches. Maybe tartlets or quiches. I have way too many ideas."

"Was this always your dream?" He asks, pulling onto the main road and heading towards town. It's in the opposite direction of the bar he had taken you to the first time, but it's amusing to think that he has been showing you all the area himself.

"For my career?" You glance at him as he drives, recognizing the placid look of contentment there. He likes to drive, and you file that away in the back of your mind. "I mean, I did have a pretty decent stretch of time as a kid where I wanted to be a princess, and then about a month in middle school when I decided that I wanted to build a time machine, but...yeah. I pretty much always knew I wanted to be a chef. The debate was savory or pastry, and obviously pastry won."

"You're good at both." He promises you with a chuckle, enjoying the sass that seems to come naturally to you. "A princess, huh?" He looks over at you with a grin. "You know that job title comes with a high chance of being stuck in a tower, right?"

"Yeah, but traditionally it also comes with a handsome prince and really good clothes, so nine-year-old me was okay with it." When he laughs softly you grin, glad to see the tension between you has dissipated. "What about you? Was CEO of an international distillery always on your radar?"

"Definitely not." Jack shakes his head and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Smaller plans. Much smaller." He thinks about all the dreams him and Abigail had talked about, laying in the dark and holding onto one another. "Just a happy life, family, you know - the normal stuff."

"Not everything happens early in life. Sometimes the best things are worth waiting for." Obviously he never got his wish - or at least he hasn't yet - and you frown slightly. Surely he hasn't had any shortage of offers? He must be waiting for his soulmate, and you can't blame him for that.

"Yeah." It's better to agree instead of laying out his own sob story. He knows it would make you soft, probably make you want to comfort him and although he's enough of a man to appreciate the ways women love to comfort widowers - he can't do that with you. He's already doing more than he needs. He should be maintaining some distance but he can't quite stay away.

"It's none of my business." You know that, and can recognize it, but there's something about Jack that just continues to draw you like a magnet. "But if you ever want to talk about it...you very literally know where I live."

"I appreciate it, sugar." He does, he really does but he doesn't want to talk about that right now. Not when the day is turning out to be a beautiful one.

The drive turns back to pleasanter topics and Jack lets you play with the radio, laughing when you settle on a classic rock station just before he pulls into the parking lot of his little coffee shop. There are plenty of chains around - Louisville is a city after all - but Jack prefers this little place to Starbucks or - according to him - just about any place else.

“The corporate places are okay- don’t get me wrong, but you can’t get that hankering for something unusual and bring in what you need and have them make it for you like you can here.” He offers, opening the door onto the small coffee shop.

The smell is brilliant, hitting you in the face all at once, and you inhale almost greedily. Whatever sweets they're doing here, they're baking fresh. It washes over you and makes you eager to get up to the counter to see what they're working with. "What's your favorite?" You ask Jack, seeing a fairly standard bar menu when it comes to coffee drinks, but a plethora of tea options and syrups for flavor.

Jack grins at you, sure that you’re going to give him a dirty look. “Plain black coffee.”

"I can't believe you don't drink sweet coffee with the way you go after desserts." Is it teasing? Probably. But it's still a surprise.

“The bitterness of the coffee enhances the sweets.” Jack argues, huffing slightly. “I will have some of that syrup in a coffee if I’m not having a pastry with it, but that’s rare.”

"You know you don't have to defend that to me." You nudge him a little as the two of you step into line. "I always put a little coffee in my chocolate things. It amps up the flavor so much."

“Well then you should know.” He grins, eyes greedy as they roam over the case. Trying to see what they have for today. “They change pastries daily.”

"How often do you come in here?" It must be a lot, judging from the way the baristas call their hellos to him by name, and the cup of coffee already waiting for him at the counter when the two of you finally make it to the front of the line.

"It's my go to spot when I'm in town." He admits, shooting the girls behind the counter a wink and a nod for the coffee. "I'll take one of those sausage, maple and blueberry crumb cakes." He tells the one waiting for his pastry order. "They look good."

"Could I have one of the tomato, leek, and goat cheese quiches?" You ask, when the girl nods to Jack and asks you for your order right away. "And a café au lait of whatever your single origin coffee in today." The cashier dutifully types everything in, gets your milk preference, and gets everything moving. "Is it even worth my offering to pay?" You ask Jack, slightly smirking at how you had to bargain to even get him to allow you to pay for lunch when you planned out today.

"Nope." Jack shakes his head and his own wallet comes out. "I don't think you understand how badly my daddy would whoop my ass." He chuckles.

"Thank you for breakfast, then." If it's something he feels strongly about, then you'll learn to pick your battles. He's sure as hell not paying for any of your shopping today. "I wouldn't want your daddy to appear out of nowhere just because I'm stubborn."

"He'd be coming from the grave, so don't put it past him." Jack jokes, shuffling down the line and collecting his cup while you wait for the pastries and your own coffee. "Man could probably convince Satan himself to open the gates of hell to let him come back to whoop me."

You snort, laughing as you bring over plates of warm pastries and your oversized coffee to the table he has chosen. "Sounds like our fathers would have gotten along," you admit ruefully. "I love my dad but he is a ballbuster of the highest degree."

"Something about a father that does that." He murmurs, remembering his own pride at learning he was going to be papa. It had been the proudest seven months of his life.

"Yeah, I noticed that with my brother-in-law." Everything looks amazing, and you hum happily over the first sip of your coffee. Sweet and creamy but not overpowering the natural flavors of the coffee. You might have to see if this shop is interested in partnering, so you can use their coffee in the restaurant.

Jack is damn thankful that you didn't pick up on the momentary flash of pain, maybe he hid it well enough. Instead of saying anything else about it, he just ticks a brow up. "So? Whadya think?"

He had to ask while you have food in your mouth? You roll your eyes at him for a second but grin, nodding as you finish chewing the perfect first bite. Choosing not to say anything about the dark clouds in his eyes was apparently a good choice - you're just desperate not to do anything to rock the boat between you. "It's sooo good," you groan after a second, laughing at your own exaggerated reaction.

"Try some of mine." He offers, nudging a piece of his crumb cake with scrambled sausage, fresh blueberries and dots of real maple syrup over towards you along with his plain coffee.

Immediately offering him the same, you both try each others' breakfasts and hum happily. Whatever this place is using for their house coffee blend, it works gorgeously with maple. You'll have to remember that if they agree to a partnership. "So everything is good here? That's the vibe I'm getting?"

"Eh." Jack shrugs. "I don't like some of their stuff. Their cookies are a little too crumbly. I like 'em soft and chewy."

"How do you feel about shortbread?" The question comes with a raised eyebrow as you switch breakfasts again and file away Jack's cookie preferences. You're still not sure why you're so invested in making sure that everything you make is going to be to his taste, but it feels important that it is.

"Only if they have a sweet jam on top or sandwiched between layers." Jack admits, giving a small shrug.

"You realize that you have been all of my menu consults so far?" You ask him, thoroughly enjoying your breakfast and trying not to look too embarrassed or eager about that fact. "I ought to just call the place Jack's."

The joke makes him grin, contemplating it seriously for a moment before he shakes his head. "You don't have to take all my advice, sugar. I just like what you're offerin'."

"I'm sure I'll make something that doesn't suit you but everyone else likes, and that's fine." It's an inevitability of your career. Not everyone is going to like every single item on the menu. But that's why having multiple testers is important. "Champ's giving me three months to get the place up and running. He wants to have it ready for the summer tourist season, so I'll be asking for plenty more opinions before that time comes."

"I'm sure it will be amazing." Jack praises honestly. "You seem like you have a passion for makin' people happy and their belt tighter."

"Hopefully." The sting is unexpected - how the thought that smacks you out of nowhere is wondering whether or not your soulmate would have liked your baking. "Hopefully."

Jack sees the way your mood shifts, and he knows it's because of him. From what he can tell, you had been looking forward to a future with your soulmate and he's taken that from you. Guilt settles on him and suddenly, he's not hungry anymore.

An uneasy silence settles between you and you know it's your fault, the thick melancholy hanging over your shoulders making you blurt out and unasked for explanation. "My soulmate died," you tell him, not able to actually look him in the eye but staring into your coffee instead. "Less than two weeks ago. So I'm sorry if I get...awkward sometimes. I never met them or anything, it's just...it's hard to adjust to."

His stomach drops and he opens his mouth to confess. To take the look of sadness off your face and replace it with anger. Maybe it would help you. Help you focus on something else, direct your emotions on hating him. His lips part and the words are on the tip of his tongue. "I'm sorry," is what comes out instead. "I know how you feel, losing someone - I mean."

"Did you--?" Your fingers squeeze into fists on the table, curling in on yourself to try to keep from crying in public. Jack is the first person beyond your immediate family that you've told, and saying the words out loud again makes you ache. "Your soulmate?"

He figures it's safe. That if you know he's lost a soulmate you wouldn't think he has your marks on his body. After all, he's never heard of another set of soulmates in real life. It's always that hopeful whisper. "Yeah." He admits, frowning slightly and reaching out for your hands to cover them with his before he realizes he's doing it. "Her and- and our little boy."

"Oh my god..." Immediately feeling mortified, your fingers open to squeeze his instead of letting your nails bite into your palm. "I'm so sorry. Here I am getting upset about someone I never even met and you...you lost both of them. Shit, Jack."

"It was a long time ago." Jack offers, not wanting you to feel even worse than you do. "You just- it's different. You are allowed to grieve, sugar."

"I think it's part of why I took this job," you admit, feeling all the thoughts you've been keeping a lid on come bubbling to the surface. "A new start, ya know? A brand new life. I have no idea what it would have been like if I had known them, but I'm willing to bet anything that I wouldn't be working at Statesman if I had." Something makes you absolutely certain of it, in fact, and that's almost comforting. Everything in this new life is something you'll choose for yourself.

Jack's nodding covers the way that he swallows, knowing that you had no choice in this. The ink on his skin makes sure that you would end up at Statesman. He can only hope that you are happy here. "Statesman was my fresh start." He tells you honestly.

“And look how well you’ve done for yourself.” The smile on your face might actually be pride, except you have no claim over him in any kind of way that would justify that feeling. “All the way to CEO. I don’t think that it’s…any kind of exaggeration at all…to think that she’d be so proud of you.”

He tells himself that you are trying to be nice. Smiling weakly and giving a small shrug. "Hopefully so."

“Well,” you shrug, sensing that the topic isn’t exactly comforting to him, and pick up your coffee again. “I would be, if I were your soulmate.”

Jack closes his eyes and gives a soft chuckle. "If I were your soulmate, you'd hate me, sugar." He tells you, knowing that the secret he keeps from you would completely change your thoughts on him.

“I doubt it.” There are very few people on earth that you actually hate, and you can’t imagine a single thing he could ever do to cause that kind of reaction from you. “But I guess we’ll never know.”

"Yeah." That was true because he knew that no one was going to tell you. You would be happy and safe here at Statesman, maybe meet someone and fall in love with them, never aware that Jack is your soulmate. He frowns deeply at that thought and takes a sip of his coffee as he wonders why he hates that idea.

******

Dragging him around Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma ends up being a fully entertaining morning after an awkward breakfast. The shiny kitchen appliances and soft, fluffy throw pillows and blankets that end up in his Bronco pile up, punctuated with scented candles, a few decor pieces, and a beautiful full set of dishes and glasses for your table. The house stuff is easy, earns you a little teasing here and there, and is done before you know it.

"Where to now, sugar?" Jack asks, raising a brow at everything that is packed in the back. "Your dress or you want some more knick knacks?" He is in an indulgent mood and the slight bickering you had entertained him with had showcased how funny you are.

“Seems like dress time. I think I can put off more knick-knacks for another day.” You laugh and roll your eyes at him playfully. Jack had ragged on you the entire time you were in Bath & Body Works picking out scented candles, just as bad as the search for decor items in Pottery Barn. “You keep teasing me and I’m gonna make you buy me flowers for my new vase.”

"Aww, sugar, now you've gone and ruined my housewarming gift." He huffs, scowling at you playfully. He hadn't really been thinking about getting you flowers, but now that you mention it - it seems like a fine idea. "I'll get you the best ragweed Kentucky has to offer."

“If you do, you’ll lose taste testing privileges.” That is a very real threat, since your allergies affect your senses of smell and taste fairly dramatically. Allergies have cost you more than one exam grade in culinary school.

"No ragweed. Check." Jack drolls, just to make you laugh as he guides the Bronco towards some boutique that the women folk went to. Ginger had designed several outfits for formal affairs off what she had seen there.

“This is fancy.” When he pulls up in front of the building you can see into the big picture windows. Ladies sitting on settees with glasses of champagne that is probably cava - just as delicious at a third of the price - and women in crisp suits toting beautiful gowns in and out of dressing rooms.

"Hopefully you can find something beautiful here." He tells you. "They dress a lot of people around here for fancy things."

“Statesman people for fancy Statesman things?” You both climb out of the truck and he leads you to the door, giving you the feeling once more that all his gentlemanly behavior is just how he is with women and has nothing to do with you. Which is fine. It is. You’re just trying to talk your crush down off that ledge before you do or say something stupid. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” But your credit card will be laid respectfully to rest after today for a very long time.

"Sometimes." Jack grins. "We get a hell of a discount here."

“Now you’re talking my language.” The grin you shoot him is broad, morphing into something infinitely more amused when the woman behind the counter recognizes him immediately. “Mr. Daniels!” She practically purrs. “What can we do for you on this beautiful day?”

"Now Stephanie..." Jack turns and introduces you to the shop owner. "This here is our newest Statesman employee and she's lookin' for a dress." He tells her. "And of course, your shop was the first and only one I could recommend to her."

“Oh, you’re too kind.” She titters, downright blushing like he’s just outright flirted. It makes your stomach twist in something awful like jealousy. “My dear, what occasion do you need to be dressed for?”

“Um…a formal wedding.” You know you should have taken care of this ages ago, but if you’re honest with yourself you had just figured you would raid your sister’s closet and called it a day. She has plenty of nice things. “Black tie optional, the invitation said.”

"Black tie." She purses her lips and cuts her eyes over at Jack playfully. "I'm assuming you're attending and wearing the velvet Tom Ford we tailored to you with the black stetson?" She asks, tapping her finger to chin thoughtfully. "We will get a bow tie and pocket square that matches the color of the dress we find her." She decides.

“I really appreciate the help.” That’s undeniable. Clearly you hadn’t managed to get this done just by walking through a mall. “The, uh…the wedding colors are pink and white…if that helps? Obviously no one wears white to a wedding but I guess no pink, either?”

"Red is a no-no." She hums and her eyes light up as she thinks of a dress. "What about a blush champagne colored dress?" She offers. "I have a new design I just got in and it would look magnificent with your coloring."

"That sounds like a good place to start." You nod gratefully and let her whisk the pair of you over to one of the smaller sitting areas beside a dressing room. As soon as she disappears down a hallway another young woman appears with drinks and all but winks at Jack when she hands his over.

Jack winks back at her and nods in appreciation of the drink before he turns to you. "What do you think of this place?" He asks, looking around at it like he hasn't been there a hundred times.

"I have a feeling I'm nowhere near the first woman you've brought here for a dress." It's just an observation, and you try very hard not to sound sour about it, but your stomach is churning as you set your drink down on the small table beside you. "It's nice. They obviously take pride in their business."

"Well, I've brought Astrid, Gabriella, Diana when she wanted to surprise Champ." Jack ticks off names playfully, aware that's not how you meant it, but it's kind of rewarding to see the tinge of jealousy in your eyes.

"I do...appreciate you doing this." There is absolutely no reason to be jealous. Just because you have a stupid crush on the man does not mean he owes you anything. "I know it's a big ask, this whole weekend away thing. Even more so because we really just met."

He gives you a smile, shoving down the worries and insecurities under the veneer of confidence. "It's not a big deal, we'll go and drink, dance, have some canapés and you'll tell me who is the family black sheep and I'll make friends with them."

You snort, shaking your head at him and reaching for your drink as an anchor. "You already have," you tell him honestly. "I'm her."

"Now why would you be the black sheep?" Jack huffs, shaking his head at the mere thought.

"It's more like my family are the black sheep family out of the whole extended group." Having very independent and capable parents with strong opinions had meant that you and your siblings turned out just as independent and opinionated. "But my siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles and all of that...even my parents...they all have really incredible success stories in their education and careers, and everyone in my family has married their soulmate. No one is even going to believe that the restaurant is real. They all turned up their noses when I chose pastry in culinary school. Apparently bakers can't be celebrity chefs, and if I'm not a celebrity chef then I'm nobody." You shrug, long having since given up on gaining the approval of your extended family. "My parents and my siblings are great. And that's really all I care about."

"Ahhhh." Jack nods as he settles back in his chair. "I bet you would blow their fifty dollar socks off when you get your tea room set up. Have you come up with a name yet?"

"I'm still debating." One sip from your glass proves that you were right about the theory that it was cava to save money, but it's still a lovely glass of bubbly. "An Alice in Wonderland reference probably won't mesh with the general feeling around Statesman, so I might name it after my grandmother."

Jack gives a small shrug. "You could always call it The Rabbit-Hole and use the Red Rabbit Burrow blend they are working on marketing for." He tells you, thinking about the new line that is about to come out.

You stare, mouth open, and a hollow laugh sticks in your throat while your brain vaguely short circuits. If you had known about this new blend, you would already have the name down on the paperwork. "I could kiss you." Is the declaration that comes out of your mouth instead, gratitude and giddy glee reaching all the way to your toes. "Jack, that's perfect!"

It's on the tip of his tongue to take you up on that offer, watching your eyes light up with delight and joy. Making you seem even more beautiful than you normally are. "It's going to be launching in about five months." He tells you with an offhand shrug. "I can get you a few gallons to sample and experiment with if you want."

"That would be amazing." You're already itching to get your hands on it, wondering what the tasting notes will be like and what you can pair it with. "The Rabbit-Hole." Humming happily, you barely manage to keep your little wiggling happy dance under wraps when the woman - Stephanie - comes back with a handful of dresses.

Jack takes your glass of champagne from you and smirks. “Go play with the dresses and pretend you're a princess, sugar.” He winks and motions you off.

The large handful of dresses that Stephanie has reappeared with are grand and sparkling in tone of gold, champagne, and rose that will obviously compliment a pink-themed wedding but not upstage it. She seems to have picked out a style she likes for you - glamorous and evoking a bombshell look that would guarantee that the first person anyone in the room looks at after the bride, will be you. "These are stunning," you breathe, letting your fingers graze the sequins on the first dress on the rack. "I've never worn anything like them. But...I guess after today I won't be able to say that."

“Try them all on.” Jack encourages you. “We don’t have anywhere else to be.”

He's right, of course. The only other plan you have today is to have dinner together, so you disappear into the fitting room to swap your clothes for the first dress that might wind up in your closet by the end of the afternoon. The cut is flattering and the color is brilliant, but it doesn't quite feel right in some amorphous way that you can't quite put your finger on. Still, you step out to show Jack and see what he has to say.

Jack whistles and his eyes drag up and down your body. “Damn, sugar.” He huffs. “How do you like it?”

You can't help preening a little, even though you're sure he would compliment absolutely anyone he was with the same way. "It's nice, but I don't think it's quite right. I do love the color, though."

“Well then I guess we can mark that off the list.” Jack smirks. “Next one sugar.”

The next two dresses are nixed - one by you and one by Jack, who insists that the skirt doesn't fall right and you just end up smiling and nodding because you're trying not to spontaneously combust from him paying so much attention to your figure. When you go back into the dressing room, you skip the next one that Stephanie had chosen for you and go straight to the last, sighing over the flowers embroidered all over the dress and its accompanying sheer cape. The rose coloured fabric is darker than the Barbie-pink you know your cousin has chosen and the purple and gold accents make it fascinating to watch shimmer. It's gorgeous and the price tag makes you wince, but you have to try it on.

When you step out of the dressing room, Jack immediately stands and sweeps his hat off his head as he stares. “This- this is the one, sugar.” His body tells him that he really likes the way you look and he motions towards the mirror. “What do you think?”

"It's amazing." His reaction doesn't hurt either, and you turn to face the wall-sized mirror beside your dressing room. The cape falling around your shoulders is the closest to being a princess you'll ever come, and you glance at Jack over your shoulder as you watch your reflection. "It's so comfortable," you admit, laughing that that is so exciting to you when you're wearing such a gorgeous piece of art.

“So this is the one? Yeah?” Jack waits for you to nod and then turns to Stephanie. “Does there need to be any alterations?”

"A slight hem, depending on what shoes your friend will be wearing." Stephanie smiles, making sure to stay polite. "Oh...I guess I do need shoes, don't I?" Turning around in place, you look between them both. "I'm not too steady on high high heels, but...can a hem be done this week? The purchase is...sort of last minute." "I can have it done by mid week for you." Stephanie assures you, stepping forward to inspect the dress on your body and make sure she's correct that nothing more needs to be done. "We do have some heels here, if you would like to look. Gold will work well, or we can dye a fabric pair to match the gown if you prefer."

Jack chuckles. “Go check the shoes out, sugar.” As much as he doesn’t ‘shop’, he’s enjoying himself. Enjoying learning things about you. Maybe it’s crazy, he doesn’t know, but he looks at it like he’s taking care of you. Making you happy.

With a few very careful steps, you get down from the little platform that your dressing room was on and follow the saleswoman around the corner to a large display of heels in nearly two dozen shapes, styles, and heights. There are so many that it’s a bit overwhelming, but your eyes settle on a pair with intricate caging and open toes that will strap onto your feet and hopefully not move an inch all night. Something worth putting up with high heels for. “What about these?” You ask out loud, almost afraid to see this price tag on top of the dress.

Stephanie chuckles, actually chuckles and admires the boldness of your choice. “They are statement pieces, aren’t they?” She reaches for the shoes and pulls them off the display. “They are gorgeous and actually probably some of the more comfortable heels. Let me get your size and we will see how they look?”

“Thank you.” Your fingers subtly stroke the fabric of the dress as she retrieves your shoe size from the back and you walk back to where Jack is waiting.

Jack looks up, still in awe of the way the dress looks on you and gives you a smile. “Are they dying shoes or did you find some?”

“I saw a nice gold pair. Hopefully they have my size.” There’s only a moment of hesitation before you go back into the dressing room, retrieving your cell phone from your pants pocket to bring it out to him. “Would you…mind taking a picture? I…it’s silly. I just really want to show my sister.”

“One without the shoes and one with?” Jack guesses with an indulgent and slightly naughty grin. “I never have a problem taking a picture of a beautiful woman, sugar.”

Stephanie returns with the shoes while your face is still burning from Jack’s compliments. Absolutely no part of this is what you figured today would be like. You had pictures hunting through the dress department at Dillard’s quickly so as not to bore Jack, coming up with something passable but unremarkable. This is an altogether opposite experience to that - and definitely the closest to being a princess that you’ve ever felt.

Jack hums as Stephanie brings the shoes over and you sit down on one of those little poofy circle things women love. Standing, he moves over to you. “Let me help you put them on, sugar.” He murmurs silkily as he drops down to one knee in front of you and takes the shoes from the other woman.

It’s a damn Cinderella moment and all you can do is sit, frozen, trying not to react to the strength and gentleness of Jack’s large hands working the delicate straps on the heels. It’s not that you have a foot fetish, or anything even akin to it. It’s the warm way your skin tingles under his touch and the absolute intimacy of helping someone get dressed that have you holding your breath while Stephanie makes her unnoticed escape. You two clearly ought to be left alone.

He’s never thought of a foot as pretty. Never given them much thought beyond walking and laughing then Abigail had stuck her feet in his lap and demanded foot rubs for carrying his boy. He had acquiesced every time willingly. Now he keeps his fingers light as they move, sliding across your skin or holding your heel while he slips the heels on and buckles the straps.

It’s soft. Gentle. And you have no fucking clue why having him help you with your shoes has you in the verge of tears but here you are. Once they’re in place you shift slightly on the pouf, not sure that you want to break the spell of whatever the hell was just happening, but you need to see if the damn things are actually going to work for you. “Would you…?” You hold your hands out to him awkwardly, asking for help up.

“Of course, sugar.” Jack stands and dusts off his pants before he offers his hand to you with a wink and a slightly embellished flourish. “A Princess should not stand on her own.”

The way you huff is quiet - almost mournful but more like boarding indignant as he helps you to stand and just keeps you in front of him like this. Looking you over like it’s his privilege instead of a right. “If you treat the women you’ve just made friends with like this,” you observe, trying to shake off how special it makes you feel. “I don’t understand how somebody hasn’t snatched you up since being single.” You shrug, a little gesture but an honest one. “That’s just to say…your wife was a very lucky woman.”

“No sugar, I was the lucky one.” He promises, shoving down the wave of sadness and bitterness so he can concentrate on you. You deserve to feel beautiful at this moment. “Remember, manners maketh man.”

“Not in a dress shop, I hope.” A little smile crosses your lips, remembering he had said the same thing before taking those bikers to task a week ago. “And…it’s possible for you both to have been lucky. That’s—that’s what finding a soulmate is. At least…that’s what it seems like.”

It slips out, the dreaded words he hated for so long. “Maybe you will be lucky and have another soulmate.” He murmurs, knowing that according to the universe - you do.

You’ve heard those words before. From your father and brother, mostly, and you paint on the patient smile that you offered both of them when they said it. “Second soulmates are a fairy tale,” you remind him gently. “They don’t happen in real life. I’ll— I’ll just be glad if I ever find somebody willing to put up with my own specific brand of weird bullshit. That’s the dream now.” Companionship, not true love. That’s the best that you’ll dare to hope for.

He sees the brittleness in your smile because he has been far less kind with those words spoken to him. “I know.” He murmurs. “We just have to say it, right? It’s almost required.”

“Right.” You nod, stepping away from him before you say something incredibly stupid, and move back to the mirror to see the dress with these shoes on. It’s a spectacular combination and your smile softens, wondering what your soulmate would have thought of this kind of glamor.

Jack takes the picture you asked for and hands you back the phone. “Excuse me for a moment, sugar. Too much champagne, and I need to use the facilities.” He steps away, disappearing from the private dressing room.

******

“Mr. Daniels.” Stephanie’s head pops up from the front desk in surprise when she spots him, looking like he’s slinked away from where he was supposed to be. “Did you require assistance?”

“Sure can, darlin’.” Jack pulls out his wallet and lays down his credit card. “Everything she wants goes on this card. Tell her that it’s on the Statesman account and she’ll be billed at a heavy discount.” He requests, needing to buy that dress for you for some strange reason.

“You don’t want her to know it’s a gift?” She asks, head tilting slightly like she’s intrigued at the request.

“No.” Jack shakes his head adamantly. “This is a secret between you and me.” He makes it seem more charming with a wink and a flash of a flirty smile.

“Alright.” She’s damn well not going to question it. Not when she makes a commission. “Shall I encourage your friend to peruse our jewelry and clutches to complete the outfit, or would you prefer to keep the purchase small?”

“Whatever she wants.” Jack reiterates. Perhaps some of it is that underlying guilt that springs up around you, but this is mostly to make sure you look amazing at an event where your family will be.

“Very good.” Offering him a nod, she enters his credit card information into the purchase order under your name and hands it back with a smile. “If it’s not overstepping, the two of you do make a very sweet couple.”

“I wouldn’t be good for her.” Jack murmurs as he shoves his wallet back into his back pocket and sighs. “Now to actually use the bathroom.”

When Jack does return several minutes later, you are changed back into your own clothes and pour over a small display of gold earrings with Stephanie. “Hey!” Your smile is wide and true, eyes lighting up when you see him. “For a second there I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m harder to shake than a tic on a dog’s ass, sugar.” Jack jokes, just to make you giggle at his inappropriate comeback.

“Noted,” you snicker, even more amused because Stephanie looks so horrified. “I swear I’m almost done here, and then we can get dinner.”

“Take your time, sugar. The decorations make the cake more delicious.” Jack muses.

“He says to a baker.” This time you throw him a wink, deciding that playful things are just that much more fun today. It doesn’t matter that he’s just being kind, whereas you would willingly and easily drag him into that dressing room to find out exactly how much of that cocky attitude actually comes from his cock.

Grinning, he can’t help the way that his cock twitches in his jeans. You are a sexy woman and even more so when you are playful. He likes that in a woman. “So go on and pick out your doodads.” He motions towards the display case. “Gotta work up an appetite.”

Doodads. You shake your head, feeling the action be much more affectionate than you meant for it to be, and turn back to the case of jewelry in various colors, tones, and styles. The earrings you end up picking are simple but beautiful sparkling gold stud, and a nearby soft fabric clutch in gorgeous metallic gold. Stephanie tries directing you to other pieces like elaborate bracelets, but you just end up wrapping your hand around the simple gold cuff you wear every day on your wrist. It was a gift from your sister and you haven't skipped wearing it a day in the three years since she gave it to you. "I think this is plenty," you announce, when you really understand that she isn't going to stop pushing. It's fine - she probably works on commission and you're making her a lot of money today. But you're not replacing the bracelet your sister gave you for any reason. "Dress, shoes, earrings, and a purse. That's more than I expected to do today, anyway."

“Alright.” Stephanie wants to tell you to spend more money. She knows Jack Daniels can afford it, but you aren’t supposed to know. “I don’t think with the heels you need any hemming, so would you like to take the dress with you now?”

“Please.” The placid smile on your face belies how excited you actually are about the dress - it’s just your credit card bill you’re dreading. “I really appreciate all your help today. I would have been lost on my own.”

“I love helping people dress for special occasions.” Stephanie tells you brightly and scans all the items, wrapping them up and putting them in a boutique bag before pulling out a garment bag for the dress.

“My cousin’s wedding is sure to be memorable.” That’s just the sort of person she is - a very big personality that should never be silenced. You shift your purse off your arm at the counter, digging for your wallet to hand over your credit card.

“That’s great.” Stephanie zips up the dress and smiles at you as she pushes the bag forward. “Well, I hope you enjoy it and have a great rest of your day.”

"I--um..." Standing there with your credit card out, you tilt your head and furrow your brow at the shop employee. "I haven't paid yet," you remind her gently.

“Don’t worry about that.” She waves away your card with a smile. “It’s been put on Statesman’s account.” She explains breezily. “It will be billed to you, at a heavy discount.”

"Oh." Vaguely wondering how many local businesses Statesman simply has an account at, you put your card away and give the woman a slightly dazed nod as you accept the bags she has packed for you. "Well-I...thank you, again."

Jack winks at Stephanie and nods at her politely before taking your bags. “Are we ready, sugar?”

"We're ready." This whole we and sugar business is the kind of thing that makes you feel like a schoolgirl - like you're going to go home tonight and call your sister from bed while you kick your legs and gleefully recall every detail of every interaction. And fuck - who knows - maybe you will. He's been wonderful today. Completely relieving you of any worry you had last night. "Time for dinner?"

“Only if you are ready for the best collards and cornbread you’ve ever stuffed in your sweet lookin’ little mouth.” The urge to compliment you is just too much. Depending on what he says, he gets a sassy comeback or you turn charmingly shy. Both are perfect in Jack’s book.

The eyebrow you raise in his direction is matched by a smirk, and you can’t help yourself. He’s getting more outlandish in his comments and it’s either a Southern thing that you just don’t have up in New England, or he might actually be flirting. “Been thinking about my mouth today, have you?”

“It’s a nice mouth.” Jack opens the door to the shop and lets you proceed him. “The day a man doesn’t think about a mouth that is sassy and sweet, sour and sugary, well - it’s the day they put him in the ground.”

You practically gasp at the admission, taking the garment bag with your gown and carefully arranging it amongst all the other boxes and bags in the back of the Bronco when you get outside. “So you’ve actually been flirting with me and I’m the idiot who just caught on?”

Jack shuffles, looking for the world like a man who’s gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. He had been flirting and he hadn’t even realized it, the feeling so natural with you. Jack Daniels claims to be a born flirt, but ninety percent of it is an act. He hadn’t been acting with you. “Yes?” He asks, slightly worried that it might offend, given what you had said earlier.

He sounds worried, and you almost round the car to press a kiss to his cheek right there. But since the two of you had a short but legitimate conversation this morning about your dead soulmates, you decide not to push it and to just move with the flow of teasing. He seems to like it, and you have to admit to loving finding out that this man returns your attraction. “Good,” you hum, instead of doing anything sappy or too forward. “Keep it up.”

Jack’s grin is slow and he winks at you after he hops into the Bronco again, defying the need for the door. “Bossy lady.” He teases as he turns the key and the engine roars to life. “Easiest order ever, sugar.”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.” The victorious grin that overtakes your face settles there and stays as he pulls out onto the main road. You know what you like and you like him - right from the first second you saw him. It’s just that simple.

Jack drives you about five miles from the dress shop. The outside of the restaurant doesn’t look appealing, it’s the same facade of any strip mall in anywhere U.S.A. For Jack, that was part of the charm. Looks were deceiving. “Here we are, sugar.”

The outside looks like nothing at all, but through the glass windows you can see a line at the cafeteria counter that goes almost to the door. “Looks like we’re just in time for the dinner rush,” you shoot him a grin. “Perfect. Everything will be fresh.”

“Get two scoops of the collards or you’ll be waiting on a new pan.” Jack warns you, smirking as he opens the door and the scent of the buffet wafts out.

“Oh my god it smells like heaven.” The second you’re through the door you’re salivating, eagerly hopping into line with Jack at your side. “It smells like my grandmother’s house in here.”

“Your grandma cooked like this?” Jack asks, arching an eyebrow at you doubtfully.

“You think my coconut cake story was a lie?” You challenge him, grin twisting into the corner of your lips. “Grandma Jane was born and raised in Virginia. She only moved north after my older brother was born. According to her, being a long-distance granny simply was not an option.”

“Well then, let’s see if they cook as good as Grandma Jane from Virginia.” Jack teases, sending you a wink as the two of you get in line.

The building is absolutely packed to the gills, busy employees and happy customers all buzzing with their own energies. You and Jack slowly make your way up to the front of the line where regulars are being greeted by name, and you grin when one very maternal woman behind the counter lights up at the sight of him - this man seems to make an impression wherever he goes.

"Miss Mary, how are you doin' today?" Jack coos as he shuffles forward with you, a grin on his face and he sweeps his hat off his head and snatches her hand to kiss it playfully.

“Always missin’ you, Jack,” the woman laughs, swatting at him ineffectually and obviously enjoying this ritual playful flirtation. “You been in New York again? We ain’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

"No ma'am." Jack shakes his head mournfully. "Work pulled me farther away than New York, otherwise you know I would be flyin' down to sample your famous biscuits." He motions towards you and introduces you to the older woman. "Just had to show our newest Statesman member the best damn home cookin' around."

“Well, welcome, honey!” She shifts her attention to you with a beaming smile. “What is it you’re doin’ over there at the distillery, sweetheart?” “I’m a chef, actually.” You flash her a grin as if you’re both guilty of the same crime. “Brand new to the area, and I asked Jack to show me his favorite place. So here we are.”

"Oh well, I don't know if our cookin' 'ill be up to your standards, but let me know what you think." She looks impressed at the fact that you are a chef, as if running a wildly successful restaurant doesn't qualify her for the same thing. "Sweet Jack here was one of my first customers and sometimes he can be a little biased."

“I haven’t had real Southern cooking in about three years, so I’m excited to dig in.” You tell the woman honestly, making sure not to react to the inquisitive look on Jack’s face that you’re sure you’ll be answering for later. “I’m sure Jack’s bias is completely earned.”

Mary flusters, looking extremely pleased and flattered as she shoos you past. "Well you just enjoy and tell me all about it, you hear?" She demands, motioning you towards the drink station. "Get the sweet tea, honey. It's the real star of the show."

“I’m under orders, I guess. Not that anyone needs to encourage me to drink more sweet tea.” Turning to Jack as you move down the line together, you can see the question still in his eyes. “My grandmother died three years ago,” you explain. “There’s nowhere to get good Southern food in New Hampshire, and…cooking it myself hurt a little too much. Made me miss her too much. So I haven’t made anything except her coconut cake since the funeral.”

"I'm sorry, sugar." Jack knows about loss that just cripples you. He's lived with it for so long, he's functioning. At least as much as he could with his heart ripped out of his chest.

“Thank you.” It’s not ‘okay’, so you won’t say so even off-handedly, but you do slip the thin gold band from your wrist and show him the words written inside: Beautiful girl, you can do hard things. “My little sister had these made a few months later. It’s what she always used to tell us when we were worried or scared. So…she’s still with me. I know it’s not the same as losing your wife and son, but…I get what it feels like. Being so sad you can’t even open your eyes in the morning. I know that feeling.”

Jack stares at the phrase, his own eyes pricking with tears and he nods. "Loving someone is a curse sometimes, as much as it is a privilege."

“It is.” You nod and slip the band back on your wrist. “But that doesn’t mean we should stop. It just means the next person should be worth loving.”

Jack can't comment on that. Not when he's vowed to never love someone again. His own tea in hand, it's a silent perusal for a table, one set up in a small corner and he points to it. Unsure of if you will like it. He knows the silence is his fault, but how could he tell someone that he is wearing their tattoo that loving someone else wasn't in the cards for him.

It’s telling, the way chatty and openly flirtatious Jack clams up at your point of view, and you follow him to the table with a flash of melancholy in your understanding. He’s the kind of man who will simply never let go. No one will ever take his wife’s place and anyone that’s drawn his eye since is just a distraction. And for the life of you, you can’t understand why that makes your chest feel hollow and empty the way it does.

He hates that he's put a pall over the outing and once the teas are set down, he reaches for your hand. "Sorry, sugar." He murmurs softly. "It's just— it's hard to talk about. I don't mean to make you feel bad."

“Oh, I’m fine.” Lying through your teeth is what you are, but you smile for him anyway and squeeze his hand. “I think I went too long without eating, that’s all. It can affect my mood. Nothing to worry about.” Swallowing the lump squeezing your heart, you manage to find his eyes. “You can always talk to me. If you want to, I mean.”

"I appreciate that." He does, but he can't. Not without giving away the real issue. It's like your tattoo is burning and he rubs his arm absentmindedly. "Why don't we get you some grub and we can talk about less haunting things?"

“Sure.” You find yourself nodding around him quite a lot, content to be led by him through this new world you’re navigating. After all, you do like him. And Jack’s never given you a single reason not to trust him. “That sounds like a plan.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Kingsman Golden Circle #Soulmate au

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thornswoggled · 2 months

Text

on chises family, “a storm brewing in the east,” and future arcs

[ive written this post before, but its due for a refresh. now that jasper has been introduced, the whole last half of that post is moot, and i have additional thoughts on chika as well as more context on my thoughts on yori.]

now that fumiki is back in the picture, id like to theorize that yuuki hatori will soon follow. [see post: yori is fumiki and heres why.] more attention being paid to chises life in japan [ch 50, 75], chise wondering why her father “abandoned his role" [ch 57], and elias expressing curiosity over the circumstances that led her to meet seth [ch 74] are all hints towards yuukis story coming to light

one thing TAMB does that i love is how tertiary characters are facsimiles meant to help us understand our main characters. for example, all the dysfunctional pairs we see in the first arc that we are meant to compare and contrast elias and chise to, all in various ways that help us understand the ways their relationship might evolve. these minor characters may seem unimportant, but are preparing us to accept developments in the main cast. i believe there are two characters in the college arc that are prepping us for yuuki hatoris story - seth noel and adam sargent

lets first address fumiki, who ill just call yori. yori seems to have mastery over his eyes, which “have the power to bind [fae]” according to gabriella [ch 51]. this is a power both he and yuuki have, which protects chise and chika for a time. however, chika implies that he didnt always have this ability, or perhaps didnt have the sight at all until he became involved with her. which is strange, considering yori has a “family business” important enough to require he study abroad to train for:

[sources: ch 19, ch 98]

(id like to note that this line about training is almost certainly a result of his "reeducation" in italy, as we already know that his true purpose was to audit and replace simon. but i think theres at least a kernel of truth to it)

lets run with the idea that yuuki started off with weak or nonexistent powers. have any other men in this series been booted from their families because they lacked the skill?

[source: ch 63]

its possible that this “family business,” assuming it exists in truth and is not a fabrication of yoris brainwashing (which i dont think it is, considering he seems specialized in exorcism), eventually learned that yuuki acquired his binding powers, as well as a child with the same ability. again, are there are other men who are forcibly dragged back to their family, to the detriment of their young daughters?

[source: ch 83]

theres a few reasons why i think such care and time was put into the backstory of philomelas family. chise has done much of the character growth thats possible for her at this time, and attempts to “fix” philomela as a way of fixing herself. she projects on her, and for good reason too, since we are meant to compare them almost 1:1. i believe that the amount of time sunk into adam sargents story is meant to warm us up to understanding yuukis situation, regardless of whether we are meant to forgive him for his abandonment. seths story, too, introduces us to the idea of magical families booting their unworthy kin. which leads us to:

[source: ch 42]

going back to the screencap for the beginning, lets give yuuki the benefit of the doubt and assume hes being truthful when he promises hell be back one day. this phrasing is really interesting, and i feel like it implies yuuki knows the place hes going is dangerous. if hes returning to his family, or to some sort of organization (which i say because yori is part of the church), perhaps hes afraid that theyll be taken advantage of. or… maybe he was just lying! there is very little we understand about the church, so there are all manner of reasons why yuuki and yori may have ended up involved with them

regardless of reason, i dont believe that yuuki left because he wanted to. rather, i think he was being summoned. lets look at this little fae that appears twice, just pages apart:

[source: ch 42]

this weasel-like creature appears as soon as yuuki gets home in the first instance, and appears again immediately before yuuki packs up to leave. it looks distinctly different from the abstract, blight-like monsters that trail this family day to day, and id like to theorize that it is specifically keeping tabs on yuuki. in my theory post about yori, i wrote that the fox yori keeps in a tube [ch 51] is a kuda-kitsune, a sort of familiar kept by soothsayers. another word for this type of creature is 飯綱, or izuna, which is read in modern japanese as... the least weasel! yamazaki has solidified her reputation as someone who doesnt shirk on research, and i think this linguistic connection is enough to suppose whether the weasel that summons yuuki home came from the same source as yoris familiar

now, to discuss something i neglected to mention in the first version of this post. the ways in which we can compare philomelas and chises families doesnt end with yuuki. not only is alcyone a sort of elias, but iris is a sort of chika. id like to start with noting that iris' backstory of having been sold by her parents is a reflection of the original backstory yamazaki wrote for chise in the first drafts of TAMB. the dregs of chises old backstory finally gets used when iris' story is revealed:

[sources: merkmal, ch 83]

iris and chika are two mothers who deeply love their children, but are doubtful that they will be able to protect them when it counts:

[sources: ch 83, ch 42]

this next part might be a little controversial, but id like to take a look at the scene when chika snaps. specifically, the way her inner voice is framed:

[source: ch 42]

the black mist that we see in the apartment is similar to other depictions of malevolent magical energy weve seen before, such as the blight elias creates just one chapter before in ch 41 when he languishes over chise leaving him. it also seems to be pouring in from the same window where we've seen the weasel hanging out. the way chikas intrusive thoughts are depicted as a separate, shadowy figure is also remarkably similar to chises inner voice that tells her to kill the nucke-lavee:

[source: ch 61]

its possible that the voice that urges chika to kill chise is coming from somebody else entirely. like how chises curse[s] urge her to violence, i think theres a chance that someone wanted chise and chika to die, but didnt want to get their hands dirty. after all, if the family yuuki left behind died, he would stop trying to leave to reunite with them or retrieve them. being able to frame their deaths as a result of his abandonment would also be great manipulation fodder if he was summoned to wherever he went against his will

to be a naysayer of my own theory, i think it would cheapen chikas death if it turned out that she was not wholly responsible for her own actions. it would also make chises refusal to forgive her less impactful if it... literally wasnt her fault. but the way her attempt to kill chise is visually depicted makes me think theres a nonzero chance she truly didnt want to do it

lets take a look at the way iris' and chikas deaths are depicted:

[sources: ch 83, ch 42]

the visual of billowing curtains was often used in early chapters when it wasnt yet clear what happened to chises mother, and it gets used again when iris dies. and just as chika throws herself off the balcony, alcyone leaps through the window with philomela. im also stuck on the line of "we messed up and let his daughter escape." i dont mean to imply that i think we should hold up philomela and chises respective backstories as 100% 1:1, but they are remarkably similar in terms of broad plot points. if the same force that compelled yuuki to leave also compelled chika to get rid of the remains of yuukis old life, i wonder why it is that no one ever directly tried to kill chise again. did they lose track of her when she began moving from home to home?

speaking of... do we know whether chika took yuukis surname when they married, or the other way around? japanese law requires spouses to have the same last name, but husbands will sometimes take their wifes name. as far as i know, theres no explicit confirmation that the hatori family chise stays with in the OVA are related to yuuki or chika. just as seth changed his name when he was driven from the webster family, it could be that yuuki distanced himself from his past by taking chikas name. after all, if the hatoris who care for chise are truly so fed up with her, why would they not attempt to track down yuuki and "return" her if hes their relative?

(by the way, what yuuki did in taking fumiki was legal. japan is only just now going to start allowing joint custody in 2026, "parental child abduction" was not illegal at the time we're to suppose TAMB takes place, and yuukis disappearance can be considered an instance of jōhatsu. i just think its important for cultural context, because as a western reader i know i tripped up on "wait, WHY was yuuki allowed to do that without consequence?")

do i think that yuuki will ever physically appear in the story again now that fumiki has? i would love him to, but i dont know that chise will ever be allowed the closure of seeing his point of view:

[source: ch 42]

theres such a sense of finality to this line. just as philomela was only able to speak to her father in the form of a curse taking his shape, i dont know that chise will have the luxury of meeting yuuki again. theres a strong possibility that hes already dead, especially if he persisted in attempting to reunite with the rest of his family. frankly, i always thought he looked unhappy with his life in the scenes from ch 42, but his instinct in wanting to bring chise with him makes me believe that only death would ensure he never tried to see or support her again. though, if this is a safe space for me to express a little self-indulgence:

[source: ch 51]

we still dont know who sent yori to audit simon. the church is such a large organization ("a loose collection of private armies," as gabriella puts it in this same chapter) that yori being taken to be reeducated by another branch of the same organization that sent him to audit simon in the first place is not unusual or contradictory. let me first state that i dont think yori has ever been aware that he has a sister, or that he knows chise is in any way related to him (again, this post supposes that yori is fumiki). but in my heart of hearts, in my very soul, i do think it would be just so wonderfully dramatic for yuuki - or any member of his family, for that matter - to send yori off to ensure that elias, and chise by association, are under the watchful eye of someone they can more reliably control. if chise was not worth anything to them when chika died, perhaps their interest in her is piqued now that shes a mage-in-training under the apprenticeship of a vastly powerful creature. even if its not yuuki trying to figure out what the deal is with the mage who bought his daughter, perhaps his family is interested in how she can contribute to them

again, to be a naysayer to my own theories before someone else can be, i doubt that yoris reeducation and months-long stay with simon would be overlooked if a member of yuukis family sent him for the initial auditing. though theres a chance alonza had a hand in making sure his stay with simon continues. we just have to wait and see

under what context might we meet the rest of chises family? i have some ideas, but this soon into the arc everything is too subject to change. im also not convinced any of this will be addressed in the fiendbane arc. after all, yori was first introduced at the beginning of the college arc, and is only now becoming relevant. so all of this may only be laying the groundwork for yuuki to return in another arc, if not this one, which already has a lot cooking with the dragon, the new mage, etc. but then again, we get oberons little prophecy:

[source: ch 99]

it doesnt seem that oberons phrasing in the JP text matches what the great wall of china is called in japanese, but i dont think we are meant to interpret "a distant land" in any way other than japan. yamazaki has a quirky tendency to refer to japan in her works as a faraway land in the east, which extends to spinoffs like wizards blue

with the growing interest elias has expressed in chises life before she met him, and with the appearance of yori, perhaps we will learn more about yuukis story and circumstances when the brewing storm finally breaks. her family may even have something to do with it! but i doubt that any of this will come to fruition during the current arc. so until we get the next arc several years from now... ill leave you with this theory!

#original #theory #the ancient magus bride #the more time i spent writing this the more i delved deeper into the depths of a pepe silvia esque madness #only tamb can make me so utterly convinced of my own half baked theories that i feel like a tinfoil hat wearing chemtrail believer #all right im gonna eat lunch now this took like two hours to write even copy pasting stuff from the older version #i had so many damn tabs open

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minimoxha · 1 year

Text

Tangled (Masterlist)

Summary: After his wife and daughter died he thought he lost everything. However, you for some reason, you'd didn't disappear. So, Miguel locked you up. He had to find some way to protect you so you couldn't be taken from him like Gabriella. What better way to do that then keep you in his dimension where he could get to you in case of anything

It’s definitely named after the tangled playlist songs!

Chapter List:

Ch. 1 - Tangled

Ch. 2- When will my life begin?

Ch. 3 - I have a dream

Ch. 4- I see the light

Ch. 5 - Father knows best?

Ch. 6 - Return to father

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glaciertea · 5 months

Text

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.12<< >>Ch.14

Chapter 13: Every Time I Look into Your Eyes, I See It...

Word count: 4.9K

Miguel was always in his element. Handling anomalies, keeping the other spiders from straying off a beaten path, and having everything follow on that continuous track.

His operation of guarding the multiverse was priority number one.

However, that has slipped off the radar by a notch or two.

Now it was you.

You managed to wiggle your way to the top spots, and he would turn a slight blind eye to his work. You just happened to be as important to him.

You were the undisturbed composure he didn't know he truly wanted. No matter how bad the day was going or has gone, you would be there with that gentle, patient smile. This domestic lifestyle you present and bless him with.

It still baffles him that you chose to be with him among all people. That a person who is the elation of life and a soothing paradise picked someone who is as grim and disparaging as him.

You were someone who loved him.

A sentiment he hasn't encountered in any capacity since Gabriella. He replays the moment he finally found the courage to ask you about how you drowsily revealed that you loved him.

Miguel lied on your couch, listening to the sounds of your humming and clanking from pots and utensils. His mind was floating back to that night. Those three little words clung to him, daring not to evacuate.

“You know, I've been thinking of getting a pet. Maybe a cat or a parakeet will make the place a bit more lively. Do you think you're more of a cat or bird person? Well, you strike me as a cat, but a bird could also suit you.”

He didn't catch anything that was said; he was still stuck on that confession.

Confused, you turned your attention to him when he didn't respond.

You eventually caught on that he was in an inattentive state, and you knew that once that mindset settled within him, you could only wait until he left the realm he succumbed himself to.

Piling his plate with risotto, you tip-toed by him and slid the food on the coffee table in front. You were cautious about not wanting to disturb him when, suddenly, his hand wrapped around yours.

His claws were drawn back, and those usual heavily bagged, fatigued red-brown eyes had an extra layer of passing curiosity. You stepped over until you were in front, pulling both hands in yours and loosely lacing your fingers in his.

“Did you mean it?” Miguel curled his down, fully interlocking them together.

“Did I mean what? Getting a pet companion?”

“No, no, when you said you…”

You blinked several times, staying hushed. Miguel veered his eyes away from yours but placed them back, wanting that gentleness.

“When you said you loved me, did you mean it? Or was it sleepiness? It must have been, right? I've been telling myself that the night you uttered that phrase, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Surely it was the tiredness; it had to be! My brain is convincing me that's the reason, but another part is saying that it's not–”

Thud.

Miguel stiffened at your display of affection. You moved his hands to your hips and yours to his shoulders.

Your comforting gaze melted away his spew instantly. Your nose rubbed against his—that beautiful smile he adored being blessed with seeing.

“Yes. I meant every word, Miguel. I know it's such a strong thing to say, but I feel that bond whenever I'm around you, mi Estrella. That love, that bliss, that safety, and so much more that you give. I always wonder to myself how I got so lucky to have someone like you in my life.”

Miguel gave a tilted smile. “That's what I should be saying about you. How did I get you?”

You both share a quick laugh, dwindling it faster than it began.

“Miguel, with all my heart, you mean everything to me, and if you also allow it, I want to be with you until the end of our olden days. Even when those marigolds and lavenders have bloomed, I will want to trek onward, finding more flowers just like them with you. Maybe even growing our own.”

“I-I…” Without fail, you made him speechless.

“And I will say this, I love you so much, truly, but you don't have to say it back if you're not comfortable. It is a terrifying yet amazing thing, so I understand if you don't. But I do know that what you've shown me and continue to do is enough for me.”

You moved your forehead and replaced it with your lips, grasping onto this for as long as you possibly could before moving away.

He could only gawk. Not a single sound left him, but you didn't mind.

“I love you, mi Estrella. Don't ever forget that.” You whispered and gave one more kiss to his lips. “Now, let's eat this risotto before it gets- Miguel!”

The next thing you knew, your back was on the sofa cushions. Miguel, with no hesitation, hungrily snatched off your pants and tore your white shirt to pieces.

“I think I'm craving something else. Something sweeter, something that brings sensations in more ways than she can count, mi Luna.” His hot breath pricked shudders from your head to your toes.

That night, you learned that it was possible for a couch and wooden floors to squeak and creak when exerted with too much pressure.

That, and you had downstairs neighbors to apologize to.

A complacent grin snuck its way on Miguel as he remembered every scream and cry of his name from your pretty little lips.

Shaking his head clear from those heavenly thoughts, he trailed his mind, wondering what the other yous were like in the multiverse. Was each one as sweet and compassionate as you? Silly and full of that lively energy?

Did they love him just as much as this one did? He would check on that soon enough.

Glancing over to check the time, he realized his 'mandatory break’ (a break he rarely even acknowledged until you) was creeping up.

“I can take it now.”

He leapt off the platform and strided towards the exit of his office, debating whether he should surprise you at work. Would you enjoy that? You've dropped hints that you fancied when he makes random visits and how it brightens up your day.

He could make the trip and back before anyone noticed.

Passing by the many caged anomalies that've been accumulated, it was distressing how many have started appearing more frequently, but he calculated it up to a new wave of spiders being made within the multiverse, especially with the new rounds of drafted ones.

Stepping fully out of his domain, he didn’t take into account how crowded it was today. He had to be creative with stealthy sneaking out, but he would make it work. Determining which route to ensue, he made a sharp left, recalling that there were back rooms located behind a sector where the cameras were scarce so that anyone with vital awareness could know their locations.

And he was the one to have that necessary information.

Avoiding all sorts of traffic and calls for his attention, he took a quick glance behind, ready to disappear into the next section, when two certain voices made their unwelcoming appearance.

“So I finished that book you wanted me to read. I did skim through towards the end because it got too intense, and that’s saying a lot.”

“The intense parts are the ones that speak the most truth and show the true nature behind it all, Gwendy. It’s good to have the requisite facts; you don’t want Big Brother to know all that goes on behind. And speak of the main man himself.”

Miguel came to a halt, an immediate scowl on his face as Hobie placed his hands in his vest pockets and Gwen folded her arms.

“What are you two doing in this area?” He hissed at them, gaining no reaction from Hobie but an eye-roll from Gwen.

“If it’s allowed to the public, then there is nothing stopping us from exploring what goes on deep in this establishment.” Hobie retorted.

“This place is off-limits.”

“Since when?” Gwen raised her brow in a quizzical manner.

“Since now.” Miguel snapped back.

"Nah, mate, being a bit dodgy with that.” The Camden punk leaned against a nearby wall, entrapping Miguel from moving forward. “Where you headed in such a rush?”

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t you two have anything important to tend to?” Miguel casually side-stepped towards the walkway, eyeing his escape.

“Aren’t you the main one to, you know, give out the tasks at hand?” Gwen blocked him as well, unknowingly making Miguel’s left eye twitch. He was fighting everything in his power from violently raving.

“Yes, but right now I’m on my break, so you can communicate with either Lyla or Jess.”

“You take breaks? Well, from how Jess complains, I think you indulge in one too many.” Gwen mumbled under her breath, making Miguel give a hostile leer at the disinterested teen.

Didn’t he resolve that issue with Jess? All the reports were caught up, and most of the anomaly tracking was redirected to him 95 percent of the time. There was no reason for her to still be dissatisfied after all that they'd caught up on. He mentally pinned it so they could discuss what could be the problem now.

“Look, go find something to keep yourself busy, or just stay out of the way.”

“We weren't in the way. We just happened to stroll out of the same place you are going, so shouldn't it be the other way around?” Hobie probed at his ‘leader,’ gaining a balled-up fist from him.

“Hobie.” Gwen elbowed him, shooting a grave look. A warning to quit while he was ahead.

“I’m just curious why he’s attacking us for just scouting the building he enforces us to know. Ya know what I mean? If it were off limits, wouldn’t there have been a sign up to direct us away from this particular area?” He poked the lion in his absurd, pseudo-dependent den, not caring about the aftermath that could potentially follow.

“If I said it’s off limits, it’s off limits. End. Of. Discussion.”

“Hobie, please.” Gwen’s voice increased, only to fall flat.

“Why so sudden is what gets me. Just because you think you’re the ‘big boss,’ you believe that you can switch and swindle the rules around whenever they're applicable to you. So what are you trying to hide?”

WHAM.

Gwen flinched and silently sighed out as Miguel’s curled fist slammed against one of the support beams, leaving an indent on it. His breathing was uneven as he calmed himself.

“In. Out. In. Out…”

Gwen's face creased, and Hobie was stolid, though marginally baffled at the display in front. Miguel was crossed. His dreary eyes glazed over as he removed his fist to his side, still inhaling and exhaling sporadically.

“Can we leave? Please?” Gwen nudged Hobie, making him bow his head.

“Yeah.”

And with that, they pivoted forward into the depths of the HQ, leaving the internally exhausted, battered man to himself.

“Was that really necessary?” Gwen furtively murmured to her friend.

“Yes. There’s something going on, whether he knows it or not. Only time will tell. I’m just giving it a kickstart.”

She could only groan at her instigator of a ‘mate’ and began to swing away, with him close behind.

He couldn’t understand why they couldn't leave him alone. Why couldn’t he just do the things they do on a daily basis? Why couldn’t he leave this hellhole of a life and go to someone who wants to participate in normal activities such as listening to records from decades ago or eating cheesy pizza while watching a cheesy film?

Why is that too much to ask for? Was it too much to ask?

Not seeking to remain any longer or allow that punk to get under his skin anymore than he already has, he headed towards the secret doorway, even more primed to spend the entirety of his break with you.

You bustled back and forth, arranging new clothing and novelty goodies all over the shop. It’s been extra busy, and it’s been taking a toll on your body.

Ever since Jax and Freya, your other two co-workers, decided to simultaneously take a week and a half off, you had to pick up the extra hours to fulfill their duties.

“I swear they are fucking on the side, because this is ridiculous! Whatever you stack up is coming right out of their paycheck.” Ronnie nearly slammed a box of fragile ornaments on the counter before you rapidly caught her. “This is what happens when you hire lazy ass part-timers!”

“Ronnie! I’m upset too, but don’t take it out on the items, please.” You removed the package from her shaky hands into your still ones.

“Ronnie nearly breaking something? Sounds on par with her.”

Whipping your heads toward the voice. Miguel waved at the two, causing you to nearly drop the box on your foot until Ronnie took it back.

“Oh haha. You think you’re so funny. Where have you been these last few days? We could use the extra hands, you fuckfa-”

“Ronnie! Go in the back and take a breather; I can handle the register for a bit.”

You patted the counter to alert her to leave the knickknacks, which she happily followed. Without saying another word, she stomped to her office and closed the door behind.

“I have never seen her that cynical and furious.” Miguel leaned against the wooden surface, planting a kiss on your forehead. “And why are you working again today? Aren't Thursdays your off days?”

“Two other employees dipped on us at the exact same time, and it’s been crazy busy, so the stress has been catching up to both of us.”

Miguel peered into your eyes and noticed how weary and depleted you were. You only told him that work had more customers than usual, and you would leave it there.

It did make more sense now that he had context, as you were too tired to hang out or even stay on the phone because you would randomly pass out during the middle of a sentence.

“Ay Luna mía, ¿por qué no me dijiste que te estabas agobiando así? I would’ve come by and helped you relax these past few days. That explains why you told me not to come last night.” Miguel brushed your hair with his palms, making you shake your head.

“I didn't want you worrying. You already deal with so much; I don’t want you piling on more things, especially revolving around me.”

“Oye, no, no. You deserve to be worried about. I’m not going to have mi Luna beat and tire herself down. We can only have one of us doing that.” You and Miguel snorted at that before laying your foreheads on one another.

“I don’t want you doing that either, mi Estrella.” Your thumb caressed his sharp jawline.

Miguel planted a kiss on it. “Let me treat you, mi corazón.”

There was no hesitation in that. He peeled his shades off and set them on the table. You timidly tilted your head, holding that adorable confusion that nearly broke him.

“Treat me? No, you have to treat you! You go through more than me.”

“I’ve already made up my mind. This Saturday night, I’m taking you on a proper date. We haven’t really had one since the garden, so let me tend to you. Allow me to spoil one of the very few things that brightens up my life and sky.”

Now it was your turn to be left speechless. “But, but, I can’t leave Ronnie by herself.”

“If you don’t say yes to that date, I will take it for you!” Ronnie pulled her dull ginger hair into a messy bun, accentuating her gray, baggy eyes and square face.

“Besides, I’m closing the shop up early to go clubbing that day anyway. You can’t be the only one with eye candy all over you. So go.” She cheekily wiggled her eyebrows; that smug grin sat too comfortably on her face.

Miguel sauntered behind the counter and carefully squished your cheeks together.

“Por favor, mi corazón, permíteme hacer esto por ti. Por esta única noche. Déjame tratar mi cautivadora y brillante Luna."

“I-I took French…” You were greatly bashful.

“Just say yes, my girl!” Ronnie smacked a bare display model.

“Si, mi Estrella.” Your voice was hushed, but enough to be heard by him.

Two more broke on the floor.

His lips found yours for a brief second, until a rubber band was launched between you two.

“¡Oye! Sé que eres mezquino, ¡pero vamos!” Miguel growled at the owner, only receiving her tongue sticking out.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. No snogging in my store! If I can’t do it, neither can you two, so break it up. So nasty!”

Ronnie and Miguel went back and forth as you rubbed your lips with a coy smile dancing across them. Your brain was in space as you gleamed upon the one you were deeply in love with. He would always surround you in the galaxy, no matter what. That you were so lucky to have him.

That you two were lucky to have each other.

You regained your bearings when Ronnie began threatening Miguel over something nonsensical. You ended up separating the two when Ronnie plucked the undraped dress-form mannequin, nearly whacking him with it, as Miguel’s feet were planted proudly, ready for the strike.

You humorously scold the two, bossing Ronnie to take her break early.

“Fine! Not because you told me too.” She gathered her windbreaker and purse from behind the register.

“And no fucking in my store!” She snapped her fingers before darting fully when she was halfway out of the building.

Appalled by that declaration, Miguel shouted, and you eyed the register, intrigued if it could knock you out in one fell swoop.

“Ay coño, I swear she is like a more vulgar version of Peter!” Miguel grumbled and rubbed his temples in a discontented way.

“Maybe I should meet Peter. Balance each other out.”

He scoffed at that. “And have you succumbed to that faith? No way, mi Luna, you are not suffering more than you already are.”

You blew a raspberry at him and knocked your hips into his.

“I could handle one at a time, just not in the same vicinity.” You examined the fine figures after releasing them from their boxy prison.

“Now that I’ve witnessed Ronnie’s… tumultuous tendencies and principles, I wouldn't have them in the same proximity.” You and Miguel winced simultaneously.

You bantered back and forth, Miguel periodically slipping into the back when you had to handle a customer, appreciating the hoarded collections accumulated over the decades. Though he would get an occasional distraction when a shopper would flirt or chat with him, only to struggle when they were faced with an agitated frown or an empty glare and darkly tinted sunglasses.

When confronted or questioned about that ‘daunting, behemoth of a man’ in the back, you defended him by stating he isn’t much of a people person, and he prefers to be by himself. The few shrugged it off, refusing to go deeper, but one or two jostled, nearly causing a commotion, only to scurry when Miguel spooked them away.

How thankful you were for him.

“My break is nearly up; as much as I don’t want to leave, I have to before Jess comes at me.” Miguel checked his watch and tutted in resentment. “Will you be okay, mi corazón?”

Sprawling your arms, you dangle them off the edge of the counter.

“Nothing I can’t manage. I’ve been doing this for almost four years and I have the bat, remember? And besides, Ronnie will be back soon, so yes, I will survive!” You copied along to the song blasting overhead, tossing one arm in the air, and receiving a chesty laugh from him.

“Fair. That is fair, mi corazón.” He lifted both of your hands near his lips, grazing against them. “Saturday. I will pick you up around seven, and I will use the door.”

“Oh, you’re going to use the door? This is how I know it’ll be very romantic.” You both beamed and moved into your affectionate stance. “I’m excited to know what you’ll have up your sleeves, or should I say suit?”

Miguel stole a kiss from your lips, triggering you to mildly quake your head back and forth on his forehead, getting him to grin even harder. “Mi Estrella, I love you so dearly. You be safe, okay?”

“You know I will, mi Luna. Now, tomorrow I’ll text you the details on what to expect without going too much into detail, got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You saluted, earning a grunt from the spider.

“Mm–right. Saturday at seven, I’ll talk to you soon. Te adoro, mi Luna.”

And with a wave and a blow of a kiss, Miguel was traversing back to his wretched domain. The spot where he isn’t warmly welcomed. Only dreaded or inwardly and outwardly met with snide remarks. Harassed constantly for tediously, miniscule activities.

He already missed you.

Friday managed to approach faster than he expected, as monitors surrounded him as he requested (mostly demanded) Lyla to search for fancy restaurants or romantic spots.

“Okay, this restaurant has four stars and serves Mediterr-"

“Too low! Higher, Lyla, she deserves only the best!” Miguel distraughtly swiped one screen away to the next.

“I found over fifty places, and you turned down each and everyone! I’m done, Miguel!”

“Maybe if you found better picks, I wouldn’t have to do that.” He snarked back at the A.I. companion.

She gave a dismissive scoff and tossed the tiny screens around her in an animated trash can.

“You know what? I am done with this. Good luck, boss. You are definitely going to need it.”

“Wait, where are you going?!” Miguel drove his talons down into a screen, creating spider-web cracks in it.

“All the luck!” She finger-gunned at her creator and blipped away back into her cyberhome.

Miguel hardened for several seconds and launched the screen he was holding at another one. It was nearly midnight, and for the past hour and a half, he scrambled to locate the perfect destination for the upcoming date.

And so far, luck has refused to be on his side.

Unleashing a cultivating yell, footsteps caught the rest in his throat.

“You know, I really have to stop coming in when something is going down with you. Or maybe it’s a sign that I have to be in here when you’re distressed in a high capacity.” Peter flung himself up to Miguel and scanned the iridescent PC displays.

Various restaurants, dinner cruises, and wineries with high ratings were showcased throughout. “Ah, doing something intimate with her. That’s why your suit is all up in a bunch. When’s the date?”

“Tomorrow, and I still haven’t found the right one for her.” Miguel mumbled behind his clawed hands.

“She doesn’t strike me as one who cares for lavish things. She definitely gives off those down-to-earth vibes, that no matter where you take her, she’ll be fine with it as long as you’re together.”

“But that’s why she should only get the best. She does so much and–wait. What did you just say?” Miguel whirled his neck in Peter’s direction. He didn’t discern himself from Miguel’s wary eyes as his brown eyes continued staring ahead.

“She wouldn’t care where you brought her. You all of the spiders should know, even with or without spidey senses.” He scrolled down some, clicking random tabs.

“And how would you know that?” Miguel’s fangs bared as his claws uncomfortably sank in and out.

Peter slumped his head, wishing Mayday was here to help with this blowout. “I accidentally met her at the job she works at.”

Miguel’s jaw dropped before his face twisted in outrage. “¡¿Por qué estabas en su trabajo?! ¡¿Estás acechando a mi paraeja?!”

He shriveled at his leader's vexing response. “No, I'm not stalking your girlfriend. Every time you would bring in those boxes with the goobers, I would always catch the name on them. So, I decided to go check it out. That's how I saw her. Now here, let me help you find something.”

That didn't sway Miguel's seething mood at all, as Peter sulked back from the monitors. He then tried to deliberately pull his puppy-dog eyes on the scorching, taut red ones before him, but that changed nothing.

Without even needing to utter a single phrase, Peter took the hint.

“Fine, the full story. Look, you live in the future, and where I'm from, antique shops are common. During my break today, I moseyed on down, curious if any items we had were considered ‘ancient’ here, right?”

Miguel crossed his arms, his brow jutting up, suggesting Peter keep talking.

“And as I was there peeking, I saw her in the back labeling, and then something in my brain went off! I remembered this girl, and I couldn't figure out why.”

He knocked on the side of his head. “I had to jog my memory on why she was so familiar when, I guess, she caught me staring and asked if everything was okay. I mean, everything was okay; I told her I was just browsing; I didn't want to come off as the weird guy–”

“Get to the point, Peter!” Miguel pounded his work desk after each word.

“Hold on! I'm getting there! So, after that, she gave a thumbs-up, and that's when it came all rushing back. I recalled her picture icon from your messages! She seemed shocked at first, and we awkwardly shuffled to the front. I still don't know how we exactly ended up there, but, yadda yadda, things in-between, I dropped your name, and she caught on to who I was!”

Peter's arms were outstretched after performing a one-man show replicating the events he experienced earlier. Miguel's shoulders collapse as he is suddenly overfilled with lethargy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, Spanish trickling down faster than Peter could translate, as the fuzzy-robe-wearing spider fidgeted with a loose string.

“Ay, Peter, I pray you didn't harass her. Please tell me she had a pleasant time.”

“We did! And she loved Mayday! Also, I'm actually talked about outside of work? I knew you were secretly fond of me.” Peter lifted a leg, his eyes twinkling, and clasped his hands together.

Miguel's body twitched.

“You took May with you?”

“Sure did! And she played with her so much while we all talked. She seems to know a thing or two about kids—well, enough to keep them entertained.”

His mind raced to you cuddling May, her big smiles as you cooed and giggled with the baby. Your gentle hold, letting May look at the wonders that held so many memories as you would lightly bounce her on your hip, taking the time to give a story behind each trinket, acting it out in an engaging manner as May would squeal with delight at the cute, dramatized acting.

Then his mind meandered to his kids. That same enthusiasm you’ll share with them as you unveil the phenomenon behind the world's creations. From a plain, shiny stone to a prehistoric fossil or an old CD player to a turntable.

The smiles and giddy glee, the exhilarating hops, and the glinting awe they'll have with his red eyes.

A string lies snapped.

He tuned Peter back in, catching whatever he was rambling on in mid-sentence.

“And that Ronnie person—she reminds me of someone. I can't put a finger on who exactly, but man, she's a rambunctious individual. The amount of times we had to catch her from letting some non-PG things slip was astounding!”

Peter flailed his hands in exaggeration before being face-to-face with Miguel's withdrawn gaze. The usual fierce, no-nonsense commander appeared as a beaten and lost puppy.

Peter's nose flared, and he snatched up one of the monitors, typing away at the screen.

“Look, Miguel, you don't need to stress over this. She will still love you no matter what, you know.”

His ears perked at that. “She told you she loves me?”

“Yes! When I said the first syllable of your name, her face lit up as if millions of fireworks went off at once! She spoke fondly of you. Saying that there was this devotion that drifted whenever your name wormed its way into the conversation, words cannot describe. It was staggering to witness that glow whenever it happened! It reminds me of when Mary and I rekindle that flame.”

His lips quivered upward, then he shoved the screen in Miguel's face. “But, enough about that. If you're so keen on impressing her somehow more than before, then take a look at that.”

An unsure stare ran across Miguel, tearing away to look at what Peter had searched for.

A jazz lounge.

A lounge complete with multiple performances from singers and musicians, a sensual and inviting aura, comfy furniture, and savory cuisines. Just an overall quintessential venue.

It was perfect.

“From what I picked up, this seems to be up her alley. Take her there. I'm sure this would be a great time for you two. So no more worrying, please. I beg you! You over-thinker.”

“Peter, I don't know how to thank you."

“Thank me by going out and having fun.”

Another snapped string.

The spider companion nudged his shoulders with his as he viewed Miguel making reservations to it.

This was going to be a night you would never forget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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