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wincore · 8 months

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indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real."

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 months

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I do believe the hunger games books do fall into the femininity thing. Katniss doesn't describe the shape of the Capital's buildings but she does say that they're all the colours of artificial candy.

And Capital fashion in the books is even more outlandish than the films, with jewels embedded in people's skin, whiskers in people's cheeks, people dye their skin green or tiger-striped.

Yeah, so, I don't think the books do much better on the "Does being a girl make you part of the Bourgeoisie."

I still like em though.

Yikes. I forgot that part. All of those things are unironically awesome and it's bold of the books to assume "respectable" mainstream rich people have done anything that cool with fashion in a long time.

Well, it's been a hard-wired trope in a lot of media for over 200 years at this point. I suppose we're bound to still fall victim to it sometimes. But it remains annoying.

I mean, imagine how cool a mostly colorless, sleek, ultra-modern Capitol would have looked contrasted with districts full of folk art (which has always been a thing, since humans always love art and creativity) that are visually beaten but not totally broken. That still have some joy and individuality to express in the face of oppression- which the Capitol writes off as "tacky" or "childish." Warm woodwork and bricks against cold plexiglass and steel. Old buildings with surviving stained glass, crumbling but still standing, against impersonal skyscrapers. Mended, treasured objects made of natural materials against disposable plastic.

I'd love to see it.

#ask #anon #the hunger games #demonizing aesthetic elements commonly associated with women in western culture

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 8 months

Text

Within cells, interlinked (Miguel O’Hara x Ai/Hologram! Fem! reader) Part 1

Hiii! Very excited about this bad boy, this is inspired by K and Joi’s relationship in bladerunner 2049, and this panel from 90’s run of the Spider-Man 2099 comics. Also there is some heavily implied (at the very least one sided) holofang (Miguel x Lyla) at the beginning, if that isn’t your cup of tea, then I’m sorry but that’s how I wrote it. Not proofread, enjoy!

(Y/N)-Your name.

Implied (one sided???) holofang, Lyla is like basically dead, mentions of sex work, cursing, Miguel being a sad lonely lonely man, ansty (if you squint), Miguel being a little mad scientist like at the end. Tbh idk really know what to tag these as.

Word count: 3k

Part 2

Masterlist

Playlist I listened to while writing

—

Neuva York 2099.

A dystopian wasteland that was once a pristine and other worldly city. But, like every other beautiful thing, it would be destined to fall, thanks to Kingpin, who now had the city under his thumb. Straile white buildings that once stood tall, crumpled and decayed, being replaced slowly but surely with dark titanium steel. Holographic projections filled the sides of ugly skyscrapers, advertising anything and everything, ranging from restaurants and video games to Ai women and cyborg upgrades.

Miguel’s original Ai assignment was unfortunately no longer functional, her software having been corrupted due to a virus that was released onto Miguel’s suit during a fight with Doc ock, Miguel having no other choice but to terminate her software, putting her out of her misery. It not only set Miguel back from his usual tasks as Spider-Man and his work at Alchemax, but the whole spider society, Lyla being the one who controlled the whole mainstream to the entire operation, along with help from Spider-Byte, but she couldn’t run the whole society technology wise, she had a life outside of her role there.

If Miguel had the time, he would have done what he had done the first time, and redesign her from scratch, raising her from her nonexistent grave. However, he knew he didn’t have the time. He had spent months programming her, not to mention the years it took for him to upgrade her into what she had become. It’s only been a week, and he could already see the cracks that were forming without her to hold it all together. His universe was already in disarray, he didn’t need another thing to crumble into dust in his hands.

The walk from the Alchemax back to his apartment was meant to help him clear his head, but it only dampened his mood more, bitter cold air and large dark clouds rolling in slowly, threatening to pour down on the decile city. Keeping his head held high and eyes forward despite his desire to go deep into a dark alleyway and swing the rest of the way home, keeping the tension in his temples build up with every sleazy salesperson attempting to sell him a sketchily low price for random gadgets that he was certain was stolen, or sex workers attempting to coax him into a small brothel. All kinds of lives walked past him as he ventured home, humans, cyborgs, full robots and AI holographic companions, a million life stories that could be told.

Less and less began to cross his path as he neared his apartment building, eye bags dark and sunken in as he turned his head to the left, he was now alone on the sidewalk, stopping as he put his hand on the railing that lined the evaluated walkway, he remembered not even 10 years ago, that very spot would look out to a beautiful pond, small ducks that pattered around, families gathering around to have little outings, ones that Miguel only ever really dreamed of. Now, all that was a ginormous digital billboard that would switch advertisers every week or so. Although he never really expected they’d project the one that was on display now. He had to squint a bit so that the now dripping rain didn’t get into his eyes as he watched the projection.

“The perfect companion, the perfect coworker, the perfect partner. Joi, your personal Ai. Everything you want to hear, everything you want to see.” The sentences rotated between each other over and over, Miguel stayed silent as he stared mindless at the naked back of the large Ai hologram, their skin admitting a light glow as she sensually ran her hands through her hair. Despite the words “companion” and “coworker” showing up on the ad, it was painfully obvious what the holographic woman was really meant for.

Still, he caught himself unable to look away, despite seeing the ads hundreds of times prior to this moment. He didn’t even register when the Ai had turned around and squatted in front him, making it so the two were at eye level.

“Hello handsome.” His eyes finally drifted up to meet hers once she spoke, he wasn't very fond of the default version they often used on most of their ads, so seeing this version in front of him was a lot more of a nicer sight to see. “What a day hmm?” When he didn’t respond she just came closer, “you look lonely… I could fix that…” She whispered with a head tilt, “you look like a good Joi…” before getting back up and moving away from Miguel once more.

Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was his way of pretending he wasn’t mourning an algorithm, maybe it was just him being tired of carrying everything on his shoulders, still… his eyes slowly went down to his orange watch, moving it in front of the bare glowing figure, before his free hand slowly hovered over the watch, hesitating for a moment, before pressing purchase.

—

Once Miguel got home he spent the next hour or so reworking your programming, jailbreaking and removing restrictions, wanting to make sure you were prepared to handle the society’s system before he even turned you on to make sure you wouldn’t crash the second you were hooked up to it.

Eventually, once everything ran to meet his expectations, he stood back and waited for you to appear in front of him. Waiting impatiently as he watched the small loading circle chase itself until you appeared, although you weren’t fully “awake” still, eyes closed, head slumped forwards and arms hung limply to your sides. Still needing to be given a name, an outfit and if he desired to change anything from your physical appearance he could. He decided to keep your assets the same, and placed a simple outfit on you, deciding if you ever evolved enough to be sentient on the same level as Lyla was, that he’d give you free range to change it. For a name though, it was a bit harder of a choice.

Maybe it was him having his previous one for as long as he did, but he wanted you to be… different, then her, a name that wasn’t, well, Lyla. Something nice and pleasant to say, but not simple enough for him to forget in the midst of him in a fight. After some pondering, he finally typed in the name into his watch and pressed the “finalized model”. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw your head slowly begin to lift and your eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Hello Miguel.” You said him a smile.

“Hello (Y/N).” His lips twitched upwards for half a second.

—

It took a while for your program to adjust and be accustomed to the database, he never realized how much strain he put on his older Ai until he watched you try and accommodate the same thing, yet then again, he built it all around her, instead of vise versa. It wasn’t just you who had needed some time to adjust though. The amount of times that spiders (including Jessica and Miguel) would call for Lyla still instead of you was starting to… annoy you for lack of a better term.

You had been patient at first, appearing despite the slip up, simply correcting the person who called for you and going on with the request, then it seems that the patience started to run thin. Rolling your eyes or letting out snarky little remarks, then eventually you just started to not respond unless they called you by your actual name, which only led you landing yourself in a lecture from Miguel, being threatened to reboot your system. Him ranting about how it could be dangerous or something, after the first few times, it stops being fear insulating, once you even let out a yawn at his usual lecture. A yawn. How close he was to throwing his desk across his office.

The longer you stuck around the more knowledge you gather, the more self-aware you become, mimicking human thoughts and emotions, reading anything you could get your digital little hands on. From the words of Ancient Greek philosophers to thousands of different articles on how the human brain works, what different areas controlled what. You found humans quite interesting, such complex yet flawed creatures, you can understand why so many filmmakers and authors who write science fiction have some odd variation of robots wanting to either become humans or destroy them.

It’s almost cliche, but you can’t help but develop the same fascination with Miguel. How could you not? You were quite literally around him 24/7, you could tell he wanted to be taken care of when he wasn’t taking care of everything himself, and who were you as his assistant to refuse?

—

“Welcome back Miguel.” You smiled as you appeared next to the door before he could even step foot through its threshold. Your eyes followed him as he took his shoes off and threw his keys on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, landing with a loud clunk.

“I just saw you back at HQ.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him before he made his way to his kitchen, “It's been 20 minutes.” He added as he turned the corner, being met with you already there, leaning against the counter as his coffee machine was already pouring him a new cup in his favorite mug, with the stove being lit on for him to place his left overs onto to warm up.

“Being greeted when you arrive home helps boost your overall well-being.” You quipped, which only gained a small hum of acknowledgement as he placed a pot of bistec on top of the open flame, and a bowl of leftover white rice in the microwave.

“It could also help boost my overall well-being if you didn’t act like such a brat half the time.” He countered back as he stirred the streak and potatoes to make sure it didn’t burn before turning to face you, meeting you with that all too familiar smirk he always gave you. You were quick to mirror it. “You're supposed to make my life easier, ya know?” Despite it being a rhetorical question, your smirk only widely more.

A silence fell over the kitchen as he goes back to focusing on his food, you just stay there, watching as he made quick work fixing his plate, mumbled a small “sorry” to you everytime he would “bump into you” (as Miguel liked to call it) despite him only passing through your holographic body as he grabs the plate and cup of coffee and goes it set it down at the table, making sure to be fast as to not hold onto the gradually warming glass crockery long enough to burn his rough hands.

With a sigh, he sat down in front of his plate as he heard the faint noise of your projection deactivated from the kitchen, leaving him alone in the quiet home of his. He’s fork moving around the contains on his plate, piercing the potatoes and steak but never lifting it up to bite into the steaming meal. After a few more moments of playing with his food, he placed his fork back down, keeping his eyes down on his plate despite him lifting his head up.

“(Y/N).” He called out after cleaning his throat.

“Yes?” Your voice called back out, ringing through his apartment as he waited for you to reappear, only to let out a huff when you didn’t.

“…have dinner with me?” When he finally looked back up, he was met with you already in the chair across from him, a digital plate of food replicating his in front of you. His lips twitched up as he whispered a light thank you for entertaining his wish, even down to mimicking eating as you both sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.

After his appetite was satiated, and the dish were washed, he wander to his living room, being met with the sight of you already being sat down on one of the small leather accent chair that sat to the right of the coffee table, a small orange tablet-like screen being held in your hands as you tampered away on it, most likely readjusting tomorrow's schedule or researching more on some random topic you found interesting. Leaning against the doorway, he couldn't help but watch you, admire you. He found it humorous that you chose to physically sit down and read about topics even though you were built with the knowledge of practically everything. It made you feel more… real. It made him feel less insane when he found comfort in your company.

“Would you like me to leave you alone mig?” You asked after a second, eyes never leaving the screen in front of you. His heart stopped for half a second when you called him by the nickname as he shook his head.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” He asked as he made his way towards you, stopping once he was close enough that if you had a physical being, his legs would have been touching your knees. (What are you doing?)

“Just going over your suit diagnostics, I’ve noticed that it’s been lagging a bit.” You hummed, not even fazed by the close proximity.

“…(Y/N).”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.” He commanded, but his tone is still somewhat soft with the order, your screen evaporating from your hands as you went to meet his gaze. He hesitated for a moment, leaving his dry lips before finally continuing. “You know, I feel like I don’t appreciate you enough.”

“Miguel, I’m your Ai assistant, my whole purpose is to help make your life easier.” You couldn’t help the slight snark that came seeping through your sentence, causing him to let out a scoff and playful eye roll.

“That’s not what I mean, you know that.” He countered with a head tilt, his hands sliding over his thighs and finding their way into his front jean pockets.

“What do you mean then?”

“What do you think I meant?” Now it was you who let out an eye roll as you huffed.

“Miguel, you know I can’t ‘think’. I’m not human, I can simply process and collect information and recite it back. I speak only in facts and unbiased sources.”

He couldn’t help but hate it when you talked like that during casual conversation, despite the deadpan look in your eyes and the small sass in your infliction, it only reminded him that you weren’t real. The only difference from your body and air, was that you were a set of ones and zeros. He could swat a hand through your body and you would simply glitch around it as it interrupted your coding and it attempted to adjust around him, how for once, he wishes that when he would “bump into you” that he would be met with solid flesh, you stumbling back a bit while you scold him, his hand coming around to met the small of your back to help re-stabilize your footing as he lets out a small chuckle.

“Don’t be a smartass with me (Y/N). You know, most humans I know don’t have the ability to think either, and they for sure aren’t as nearly intelligent or knowledgeable as you are. If they can form an option then you can too.” He was met with your face contorting in confusion, a rare expression on your face, one he appreciated when he got the opportunity to witness it. “I want you to think, give me an original thought. Not a statistic, not a fact. Think for yourself (Y/N).” The was a pause before your lips parted.

“I… I think…”

“Thaaaat’s it…” He leaned forward, his face close to yours as he encouraged you to continue in a low whisper. “I think?”

“I think… that if I was a human, that… that I would be in love with you Miguel.”

Oh.

“(Y/N).”

“Yes Miguel?”

“Shut off.”

“Yes Miguel.”

Within a blink, you were gone. His hands came out from his pockets with a heavy sigh, before he rubbed his face and ran them through his hair, causing the semi-neatly slicked back hair to become desiveled. Glancing around the now empty living room, the small constant buzzing from your hologram now being replaced with the gentle tapping of the rain against his window.

Miguel O’Hara was truly a lonely man. A man with weaknesses and flaws despite himself, a man with feelings, and vulnerabilities and emotions. Miguel O’Hara was just a man, just a human. A human who wanted to be loved. To not be seen as some sort of emotionless being, the irony wasn’t lost on him that the only thing that seemed to really care for him, and see him in that way was something that wasn’t even programmed with actual emotions. Oh how he wished you were real, how you were human.

He couldn’t turn you into a human, but he could get close.

With a sigh he entered his home office, the only room he had restricted giving you access to appearing in. Closing the door behind him before leaning against the door, his eyes instantly finding themselves stuck on the limb on the table. An arm to be more specific, the synthetic flesh that matched your complexion wrapped around its exoskeleton. It took him almost a month to do just one arm, and although the time length of that he estimated for this project was a bit more lengthy then he’d like, if it meant getting every minuscule and minute detail perfected, he’ll take all the time in the world for it. He’d make sure it was perfect, that you’d be prefect.

—

Tags: @oscarissac2099

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara au #spiderman 2099 x reader #astv miguel #astv spiderman 2099 #Miguel ohara x Ai reader #miguel fanfic #Miguel O’Hara #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 fanfic #spiderman 2099

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owl127 · 4 months

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Supercorp idea - Let Us Have This

(abo, alpha!kara, omega!lena- Rated M)

I have 3ish chapter for this idea, and I wanted to see if there is any hope for it. Posting chapter one here (unbeta´d):

Kara bit her lip, puffing her cheeks in a long exhale. “Kara Danvers didn’t sleep with Lena.” She met Alex’s confused expression. “Supergirl did.” (...) Feeling her ears burn, Kara nodded. “It has a zipper.” “Oh my God, why did I ask,” Alex groaned and threw her half-eaten pizza slice back into the box.

For a moment, Lena was sure she was going to die.

Part of her knew the attack was coming. She knew something big and nefarious was sent her way the moment she ignored her mother’s single message requesting L-Corp’s archives on synthetic kryptonite.

So for that brief, frightening moment when the warmth of the explosion kissed the back of her dress and the pressure sent her forward, Lena was absolutely sure that was her end. Eyes closed, she leaned forward and surrendered with surprising peace while wishing for it to be quick.

And then she was up, up and away, cold wind biting her face as dizziness took over her mind at the sudden acceleration. She could smell the telltale of scorched fabric and a touch of musk. Weightless, her arms crushing a strong neck she knew so well, Lena winced as the white noise from the explosion below flooded her hearing.

When her heart caught up with her mind to understand what had happened, Lena shuddered and autumn's chilly air filled her lungs with a tinge of strength and alpha that sent her mind reeling again.

“Supergirl,” she breathed, tightening her grip around her superhero. She couldn’t see well with the deafening wind speed, but she could swear the Girl of Steel smirked.

“You seem very intent on getting yourself killed, Miss Luthor,” Supergirl said as they stopped many feet above the city.

“I don’t know. Seemed like a typical Wednesday for me.”

Supergirl laughed, clear and low, adjusting her grasp on Lena’s body.

“Let’s try and tone it down to once a month, shall we?”

Lena smiled, her body pumping adrenaline and her lungs fighting for air, because with the same conviction she had known it to be her end, she also knew to trust the Super. She opened her mouth to reply, but the hero frowned suddenly, looking behind Lena. Iron-grip fingers dug firmly into her back and legs, and Supergirl’s voice was calm but stern as she spoke, “Miss Luthor, try to get yourself very small and hold tight.”

“What—”

But Lena’s answer came in the form of an armored suit busting into their solitary air space, and she was off in mind-blowing speed, head cradled against Supergirl’s collarbone. Her scent was stronger there, and Lena was getting lost in it until her entire cocoon of protection shook with an impact, and Supergirl groaned.

As another shot flew past them, Lena realized that Supergirl would be fighting off whatever was targeting them if it wasn’t for Lena’s human, frail body that needed protection. However, as the city’s skyscrapers flashed below them, letting go did not seem like an option. So she did what she could: she held tight as Supergirl shielded her from blast after blast. The alpha swallowed groans that Lena could imagine were of pain, her own body shaking violently at each impact. But Supergirl held tight, hands firm and steady as she guided them away from the city.

“Take a deep breath.”

Lena heard it almost too late, inhaling Supergirl’s essence from her neck and hiding against the fluttering cape as they surged upwards. When Lena realized clouds were getting closer, she closed her eyes and wished to not open them again.

But they turned, completing a loop, and a sudden increase in heat made Lena open her eyes in shock to see the powerful beams leave the hero’s eyes. An explosion ahead of them, and the fingers that surely bruised Lena’s hips relaxed, if only a bit.

She could hear Supergirl’s heartbeat, fast but steady, and the radiator that was the woman’s body was the only reason Lena wasn’t a shivering mess.

Or maybe she was.

She couldn’t speak as they flew back to the city grounds, and she didn’t question why Supergirl knew which building and balcony to land outside her apartment. When her legs hit the polished balcony floor, her knees gave away instantly and Supergirl, also in shaking hands, swooped her back up in bridal carry.

Lena didn’t protest and let herself be carried into her dark living room. Supergirl guided them to the couch, sitting down slowly but not letting go of Lena. A brief thought that Supergirl was hyperventilating crossed her mind, but then she noticed she was the one having a hard time breathing.

“You’re safe,” Supergirl said, not complaining about the fact she had been holding Lena for what must have been a good part of an hour. “You’re safe,” she repeated, one large, warm palm resting over Lena’s on the superhero’s chest.

Lena’s fingers grip the crest over the suit. She tried to and matched Supergirl’s breathing, slowing down until her desperate pants didn’t fill the room, only the sirens far down echoing in the background. She breathed more of the alpha’s scent, earthly and fresh, and it was all new and at the same time familiar.

The moment shifted, fast like a winter sunset. Lena’s hand continued to rest under Supergirl’s, hot and clammy, and Lena took a deep, deep breath in the soft spot where the suit revealed skin. Supergirl’s breath caught at the back of her throat, and Lena was suddenly aware of how they were pressed together on her couch.

Lena almost died today.

But as she rested her lips on Supergirl’s neck, the remnant adrenaline in her body made her feel most alive. She felt the pulse against her lips quicken. She was not sure what she was looking for, but as the grip on her body became a shy touch away from hurting and Supergirl moaned low at a second kiss on available skin, Lena knew she had found it.

“Miss Luthor,” Supergirl asked—or pleaded—and when Lena gathered the courage to look up under the low light, she saw bright blue eyes shut close.

“Supergirl.” Lena’s voice was unsteady, breathy, rough. If anyone was pleading that night, it would be her. She watched as Supergirl blinked her eyes open, a whimper escaping her mouth under Lena’s touch on her neck. Blue eyes seemed dark in her living room, consumed by what Lena hoped was arousal but also a tinge of doubt. She had never seen the hero so close.

Trembling legs straddled the superhero’s waist, trapping the most powerful alpha on the planet under the weight of an omega.

Supergirl gulped.

Not thinking twice, or not thinking at all, Lena reached down for a proper kiss. Her chapped lips touched soft ones, once, twice. Supergirl didn’t respond but for the hands on Lena’s back warming up. Now that she could feel it, Lena wondered, perplexed, how something so powerful could be that soft.

When she pulled away to apologize, to take a breath, or anything else, Supergirl met her halfway and finally responded to the kiss. Slow, moderate—until it wasn’t, and Lena opened her mouth to deepen the kiss and her need.

“Miss Luthor—”

“Don’t,” Lena found her voice, hands diving into messy blonde curls. “Let us have this.”

“We don’t—”

“We can have this,” she insisted, and the storm of emotions shining in blue eyes was too much. Not letting her hero rethink anything, Lena leaned for another kiss.

Arms maintaining their death grip on Supergirl’s neck, Lena grinded herself down on the suit, smiling at the resulting bulge.

They established a rhythm in their kissing and grinding. Lena attacked every available skin on Supergirl’s neck, face, and strong hands fumbled with Lena’s dress zipper just for them to hear the fabric tearing.

Wide blue eyes met Lena as they stopped at the sound. “I’m sorry!”

Smiling, Lena shrugged off the scorched, destroyed garment with minimal effort. She was left in her underwear; she wondered if she should have picked something else than a comfortable bra and panties, but as wide blue eyes zeroed on her chest, she thought that it might be okay.

She met Supergirl’s lips again, hard, and moaned into the responding thrust between her legs. Lena looked between them, and then back at the gaping hero.

“Oh, Rao,” Supergirl said, her cheeks darkening in the dim room.

A pale hand rested between Supergirl’s legs, and she hissed on Lena’s neck, tongue licking her way back to the omega’s mouth.

They were impossibly close, moving together, finding secret spots and whimpers to pull out of each other. Noses bumping, they shared the same air, a sudden need for touch consuming Lena and prickling at her skin.

As much as Lena enjoyed the suit, she wanted it gone. But she had no idea how to get the alpha out of it. Was there a secret zipper somewhere?

Her frantic search around Supergirl’s crotch went to a sudden stop as the same warm hand that was on her hip rested on top of Lena’s. She thought Supergirl was going to put a stop to it, stand up and leave her wet and bothered on her couch. A protest formed in her throat, but the strong hand simply reached between them, and a satisfying zipper sound echoed in the living room filled with labored breaths.

“Yes,” Lena whispered and captured the softest lips she had ever kissed once more, swatting Supergirl’s hand away so she would have the satisfaction of freeing the hero from her confines.

Suit on, then.

It was dark, messy, and Lena was partially in shock. But none of that broke through the calming certainty that took over Lena, and she pushed her own panties aside, dripping, and watched the Girl of Steel zero her attention between their bodies as she sank down in one swift motion.

God, she should have taken her time.

Hissing, she swallowed Supergirl’s moan when their lips reunited as they began to move, the discomfort ebbing away at each new thrust.

One hand on her hip and the other pushing her down by her shoulders, Lena let herself be guided by the hero, accepting the rhythm she imposed with strong pushes of her thighs.

Lena did not expect it to be sweet or kind. She did not expect this at all, only following what her body and the moment guided her to do. But there she was, with Supergirl under her, inside her, soiling her couch in the best possible way. And still, not expecting anything, Supergirl found home in the warm spot on her neck, leaving a new collection of marks that Lena was sure to cherish. She spoke something in a foreign tongue, clipped and slow, words that broke every time their bodies met.

Lena gasped and pulled her closer, nails digging into a covered shoulder, knees spreading wide over her white leather couch.

A hand traveled to between their bodies, clumsily slipping between them to find Lena’s point of pleasure. She spread her legs wider, trembling knees digging into the couch, muscles flexing, and she moaned out loud when the soft pad of a thumb found her.

Was that talent or superspeed?

Whatever it was, when coupled with the deep thrusting reaching the right places inside, it led Lena to a shuddering, breathtaking orgasm. Her mind went blank for a sweet second, and she sucked firmly on Supergirl’s neck.

“Lena,” the hero breathed wetly on her cheek, hands finally undoing the mess that was once her bun, and hips picked up speed as Lena bounced freely.

Supergirl was going to come inside her, and Lena never felt so complete.

It was quiet; the long moan that left the alpha’s mouth was close to a whimper, stretched thin and fading to a gasp as she lost her imposing rhythm and shuddered. She trembled and grunted, pushing one, two, three final times before allowing their heated bodies to cool down with elaborated breaths.

Lena did not know Supergirl could pant like that.

The weight of the day hit her hard, and she slumped over the alpha’s chest, spent, tired, ultimately satisfied.

“I’ve got you.”

It was the last thing she heard before closing her eyes to the sight of cornflower blue.

Lena woke up in her bed, blinking against the early morning light. Her body felt tired, bruised, aching in all the right places.

Was it a dream?

She touched between her legs, finding dampness and a delicious soreness. She touched her neck, the skin prickling under her fingers, sensitive. She bit her lips at the memory of warm skin and soft, soft lips. There was a single flower on her nightstand, fresh and red.

Not a dream.

0000

Kara would not know what they were watching for the life of her. Throughout the evening of the typical sisters’ night, she tried to find a way to talk to Alex as they lounged on her couch. More like to confess to Alex.

“I can hear you thinking,” Alex probed, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“I need to tell you something.”

Kara took a deep breath and faced her sister. Unimpressed, Alex took another bite from the meat lovers pizza. “Kara, whatever it is, I am sure we can—”

“I slept with Lena.”

Alex stopped mid-bite, swallowing dryly. “When you say sleep, do you mean sleep or sleep sleep?”

Kara fidgeted with her glasses, blue eyes scanning her loft before tentatively finding Alex’s again. “Sleep sleep.” Her hands moved in front of her under the blanket, but the movement was not lost on Alex.

“Oh, Kara.” The older alpha perked up. “I’m happy for you?” It sounded like a question since whatever was warming up Kara’s face was not joy. She took her glasses off, put them on again. “I thought you liked her?” Alex tried.

“No, that’s not—I mean, I do, I do like her but…” Kara bit her lip, puffing her cheeks in a long exhale. “Kara Danvers didn’t sleep with Lena.” She met Alex’s confused expression. “Supergirl did.”

It took a second or two, but Alex widened her eyes. Her pizza slice sat between them, forgotten in her hand. Alex frowned after the initial surprise. “What do you mean, Supergirl did? How would she not notice—oh God, Kara… with the suit on?” Alex’s mouth contorted into disgust at Kara’s burning face. “How do you even?” It was Alex’s turn with the vague hand gestures between her free hand and the pizza.

Feeling her ears burn, Kara nodded. “It has a zipper.”

“Oh my God, why did I ask,” Alex groaned and threw her half-eaten slice back into the box.

They remained in painful silence. “Kara,” Agent Danvers asked, since at that moment she was not asking as an older sister. “Do you think she can ID you?”

“I don’t know! It was kinda dark and—”

“Please no details,” Alex begged, hands in a protective stance between them.

“I honestly don’t know. She’s been on leave since the attack last week—”

“During an attack, Kara?” Alex’s lips pulled down again, and Kara rolled her eyes.

“Not during, more like, after!”

“Ugh.” Alex ran a hand through her short hair. “You cannot expose your identity to Lena Luthor.”

“I guess I’ve exposed enough.”

“Kara! This is serious.” Alex stood up, pacing in front of the couch as Kara observed. “We need to find out what she knows.”

“As I was saying”—Kara reached for a slice herself—“she is coming back to work tomorrow. I will try and figure that out.”

“Good, good. Sounds like a plan.” Alex nodded at each affirmation. She closed her eyes, one hand massaging her temple. “I don’t think I can look at you the same in that suit anymore.”

“I thought you would be happy for me for… you know, living my life and everything,” she said with her mouthful of pizza.

“But the suit, Kara?” Alex whined.

“It’s machine washable!”

“Don’t ever let Winn know. He will sew up your zipper.”

Kara made a face, and Alex flopped down on the couch.

“But how was it?” Alex was trying hard to balance her roles as DEO agent and sister there, Kara had to give her that.

The little gasps that puffed into Kara’s neck each time she drove into Lena. The combined heat of their bodies and how Lena opened up for her, breath caught in her throat.

“Really good,” she confessed, ears burning all over again.

“This is messy.” Alex reached for her abandoned pizza slice. “You need to promise me you won’t tell Lena your secret identity, no matter how good sex was with her.”

“Alex…”

“For now, Lena Luthor thinking she had a thirsty night with Supergirl is safer for everyone.”

Kara played with the threadbare end of the blanket covering her legs. “I understand.”

They ate in silence until Alex couldn’t hold it anymore.

“With the suit on, Kara. I can’t believe you.”

“It has a zipper!”

00000

Monday rolled around, and Kara found herself double-checking her email every other minute. Lena had yet to show up at CatCo, and the waiting was gnawing at Kara’s patience. Not that she was an example of patience, but still.

She cleared her spam box and went as far as checking the promotions tab.

The elevator dinged to put her out of her misery as she excluded an expired Calvin Klein’s coupon.

Lena emerged from the elevator in her usual grace—pressed, knee-length black skirt and a soft-looking turtleneck the color of the rose Kara left next to her bed a couple mornings ago.

Kara knew exactly what the burgundy solid-knit hid. Marks, an entire constellation of them, left by her mouth on alabaster skin.

“Hi, Kara.”

Lena was in front of her.

“Lena! Hi!” She went for a hug that Lena responded in kind. “You didn’t answer my messages, are you okay? You never take sick days.”

Lena took a deep breath, and a shy smile graced her lips. “I needed some time to center myself after the last… event.” Her lips pulled down, and Kara wondered if there was a better word for “when my mother tried to kill me… again”.

“Yes, of course. But are you okay?”

Lena stared so deeply into Kara’s eyes that Kara thought that was it; Lena knew, she saw the truth, the suit and zipper were not enough to keep her secret.

But the intensity in light green eyes faded, and Lena eased back to her smile. “Yes, I’m feeling much better.”

Eve showed up with coffee for Lena, and Kara followed her into James’ office. James wasn’t there yet, and Lena dropped her bag on the empty couch. “Kara, do you want to have lunch today? I wanted to talk to you.”

She didn’t meet Kara’s eyes as she asked, but the phrase sent a shock down Kara’s spine nonetheless.

Yep, that was it. Lena clearly knew.

“Yes, of course.” Kara was a little breathless. Lena took a sip of her coffee and looked up at Kara again, eyes glinting.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, eyes looking around them discreetly, as if she had a secret.

“Yeah, sure,” Kara replied and thanked Rao she didn’t break the pencil she was holding.

“I need some friendly advice on something,” Lena continued, her back to Kara as she left her coffee on the corner of James’ table and fished a tablet from her purse. “So don’t bail on lunch.”

Kara nodded and walked back to her desk. She had half a mind to call Alex and request the pile of NDA documents Lena would undoubtedly have to sign after this but decided to wait for lunch.

As she sat back down on her chair, the pencil finally broke in two between her fingers.

Lunch came too fast and horribly too slow. A few hours later, Kara found herself at the outside area of their floor with two boxes of Chinese food while Lena had enough greens to feed an entire rabbit family.

“So… what do you want to talk about?” Kara fought to keep her eyes on her food but lost the battle quite quickly as she watched Lena playing with a cherry tomato.

Green eyes as sharp as a knife fixed on her, and Kara swallowed a dumpling without chewing.

“Have you seen Supergirl lately?” Lena measured her focus back to the cherry tomato as Kara blushed as red as the fruit.

So much for being subtle.

“No, not really, no,” she answered and went straight for her water to wash down her nerves.

It did not work.

Lena hummed, catching the stray tomato and chewing it slowly behind lips just as red.

“Do you know if she has any… companions?”

Kara had the decency to chew her dumpling this time. “What do you mean?”

“As in a lover.”

Nope, more like half chewing it as it bothered her throat going down.

“Not that I know of, no.”

Lena’s tongue poked out to lick at the side of her lips, capturing a stray drop of olive oil. Kara’s eyes followed the motion, hypnotized. When Lena caught her staring with a slight frown, she focused back on her fried rice.

They ate in silence for a moment, and Kara wondered if Lena was getting ready to drop the truth bomb. She had an excuse ready and cleared her afternoon so they could both head down to the DEO, and J’onn would scold her so badly, and—

“I had sex with Supergirl,” Lena said in a natural tone, gaze on her salad, and Kara widened her eyes. It worked well, since Lena probably thought it was a simple surprise and not Kara’s honest reaction to Lena not connecting the dots.

The glasses did work!

“Kara?” Lena raised one sculpted eyebrow, and Kara nodded, blinking raptly.

“Oh, wow, I mean, oh.” She didn't know what would be the appropriate response, lips opening and closing, face flushed. Should she say congratulations?

Thinking about it, she was in a unique situation to get interesting… feedback.

“But like, how was it?” Kara pretended to go back to her potstickers, but when Lena smiled broadly, she gave it up to drink in Lena’s reaction. Lena bit her lip, cheeks coloring a beautiful shade of crimson that harmonized with her turtleneck and lipstick.

“Really good,” Lena laughed, and Kara preened a little under the indirect praise. “I mean,” Lena continued, pushing her salad aside to lean over the table. Kara did her best not to lean and meet her halfway. “It was kinda fast.”

Kara sat back against her chair, stuttering. “Well, I suppose it was what, at the end of the day? Supergirl probably works a lot, like a lot, and—”

“Kara.” Lena laughed freely at that. “I didn’t mean fast like that! You alphas.” Lena’s face flushed further, and Kara felt her own ears tingle with heat.

“It was fast in a way that it was not planned,” Lena corrected, drinking a sip of water to wash down the last bit of her amusement. “It kinda just happened.”

“Oh.”

“Okay, I may have pushed it a little bit,” the omega admitted from behind the rim of her water glass.

Kara busied herself with another dumpling. “So it was good?” she asked with a mouthful.

Lena looked to the side while biting her lips. She drummed her fingers on the table and played with her fork. Kara held her breath.

“You’re my best friend, and I need to gush about it with someone,” she said in a rushed breath, and Kara reminded herself to breathe like a proper human.

“Yes?” There was soy sauce on Kara’s lips, but she couldn’t care less as Lena knocked on the table excitedly with both hands, light touches to expose part of what seemed to be barely contained giggles.

“Okay.” Lena folded her hands in front of her. “It was a bit dark, and it was fast and all, but, Kara.” She looked up, and Kara felt a responding tug in her pants. “Supergirl has some talents.”

“Talents?”

Talents, talents? Kara needed specifics!

“Her hand, her finger.” Lena looked down at her own hands, eyes a little fogged, eyebrow knit in concentration. “It vibrated, like a legit vibrator. Maybe it’s a superpower thing?” Lena faced Kara once more, and Kara shrugged in response.

But yeah, it was a superpower thing. Kara tried to control her smirk, but it showed some of it by the way Lena blushed and rolled her eyes.

“And she’s… okay, don’t go all alpha dog on me,” Lena excused herself before any further admission, and by then, Kara was sure of two things.

One: Lena did not recognize her that night.

Two: Kara had freaking good game.

She stared at Lena, holding herself together not to smile. She could feel her lips fighting it, twisting up, but she nodded at Lena to continue.

Lena rolled her eyes. “She is well endorsed,” she admitted with a bright new flush. “Not like, too much, but God, perfect. It was almost too much at first but then...” She got lost in memory, and Kara bit the inside of her cheek. “It was good.”

Kara’s smile was out of control now, but Lena avoided her eyes. “Yeah, so, that happened,” Lena added, one hand pulling her salad back in front of her.

Kara sucked on her lips, smiling and probably looking like a total fool. She ignored the alpha pride bubbling in her chest and her instinct making its own party down her pants to look back at Lena.

Then she asked what she should not, probably.

“Do you want to do it again?”

Lena's eyes squinted in what appeared to be concentration. She took her time to think, eating a mouthful of greens. When she finally swallowed, she fixed Kara with eyes that could only be described as predatory.

Kara knew that stare; she had seen it in the dim living room before Lena kissed her senseless.

Rao, why did she ask that.

“I do.”

Thank Rao she asked that.

“Do you want me to tell her that?” Aiming for nonchalance, Kara played with the peanut in her fried rice. She was out of dumplings and potstickers already.

“What if she wants to keep it a secret? Oh God.” Lena’s hand landed on her own heart, and Kara heard how it accelerated. “Should I have not said anything?”

“Lena, calm down.” Kara had a small smile. “She won’t mind that you told me. I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me when we meet again.”

Lena’s eyes darkened in that predatory way that Kara thanked Rao she chose dark chinos today.

“If she does, you better let me know what she says about me.”

“Will do,” Kara laughed quietly. “But for the record, I’m sure any alpha would be amazed to be with you.”

Lena blushed at that, light and pink, different from the previous blushes of their lunch.

“Thank you, Kara.”

“Anytime.” Kara’s entire face worked on her smile. “Now, do you have plans for that milkshake of yours?”

“I got it for you.”

“Yes!”

0000

Lena woke up feeling good, ready to face the day. In yoga pants and a black tank top, she made herself buttered toast with a touch of cinnamon and opened a new bottle of orange juice.

Her treadmill faced the full wall window with National City waking up forty floors below. The sun had just started to rise when Lena began her run. Classic music played from the speakers on the treadmill, the watch marking the first ten minutes of her run.

At first, she didn’t think it would be something major. The rising sun seemed too bright and the music too loud, so she shut part of the blinds and lowered the volume. The stopwatch marked fifteen, and Lena had a sudden change in her mood, feeling exhausted, almost dizzy. At twenty, the dizziness intensified, her legs threatened to give away, and she had half a second to press on the emergency red button before she stumbled off the moving lane.

Lena breathed hard, controlling her intake of air not to hyperventilate. She sat on the floor and crawled to the living room couch, resting her back against it. As the room spun around her, Lena tried to keep her breakfast down. Her stopwatch marked thirty-five by the time she could stand up on wobbly legs.

She took a long time in her morning shower, washing her hair and staying under the lukewarm spray until she could feel like herself again.

By the time she made it to CatCo, dressed in a navy pantsuit and white satin shirt, her day did not look any better. She felt tired, exhausted even, and the smell of coffee turned her stomach. She sent Eve away with a promise to bring peppermint tea instead.

“Lena?”

Lena turned at the call of her name, finding worried blue eyes. Mint scent filled the air, and she gratefully took the tea Kara offered.

“How are you? You don’t look so good.” Kara helped Lena into the chair at her desk outside James' office.

Leave it to Kara to be delicate about the fact that Lena looked like shit.

“I’m not feeling well today,” Lena mumbled before taking a scalding sip from the offered tea. It burned her lips but distracted her from the lingering dizziness.

Kara pushed another chair next to her, one warm hand finding Lena’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Lena looked up to find Kara’s eyes crinkled in worry.

The bluest eyes Lena had ever seen fixed on her face as Supergirl rocked her entire body at each deep thrust.

“Lena? You okay? Maybe you should go home.”

Lena shook her head, pulling away from Kara’s touch.

“No, I’m okay, just… déjà vu.”

Kara’s hand hovered between them for a bit, unsure. She nodded, clearing her throat.

“I still think you might want to take the morning off.”

“I’m fine, Kara.”

Throughout the day, Lena had a hard time shaking Supergirl off her mind.

0000

The fight had been all over the news. From the multiple screens at CatCo, Lena watched Supergirl fight, and get really close to losing, with an alien three times her size. The Girl of Steel had heroically taken the fight away from the city and the people, and helicopters and drones struggled to keep up with the superhuman duel.

Whatever happened that cameras did not catch, Lena was sure it had taken a heavy toll on the superhero.

Still feeling a little off like she had been in the last week, Lena left James responsible for the coverage of the fight and headed home. Her phone screen flashed with updates all afternoon: it had been messy, and hard, but Supergirl had prevailed and captured the rogue alien.

Lena saw the pictures of Supergirl—lips bleeding and a trickle of red lining her forehead—and grimaced. She had never seen her bleed before.

She made herself tea at home, trading her skirt for sweatpants and fluffy socks. Lena had a book under her arm and steaming tea in her hands, ready to retreat to her bedroom, when she heard her balcony door open.

A shiver went down her spine, pure and raw fear at another possible attempt on her life. She turned suddenly, some of the tea sloshing down her hardwood flooring.

Fear left her at once when she saw the figure hovering at her window, not quite entering, hair moving with the night breeze. She left the tea and book on her coffee table and walked to the window in time to let the tired body lean over her smaller frame.

“Supergirl?” she asked breathlessly, hands going to the back of the hero. She was warm, maybe too warm. Her suit was torn in places, and her cape was missing.

Supergirl’s nose found the side of her neck, and Lena smelled blood and soot. She hugged Supergirl closer.

“Can I—”

“C’mon.” Lena stepped back, one hand guiding the hero that looked smaller under her living room light. They walked past the couch, Lena pulling the suddenly shy hero until they made it to her bedroom.

Supergirl blinked, looking around and taking a step back. “I shouldn't,” she said mostly to herself, but one knee buckled when she turned around, hitting the floor with a crack.

“Nonsense.” Lena helped her up, or more likely, stood next to her as she balanced once more. Without another word, Lena helped the hero to her bed.

Supergirl complied like a trained puppy, head hitting the pillow in a long exhale. Lena helped her out of the suit—there were many hidden zippers everywhere—and watched as the pile of muscles that was Supergirl lay on her bed with nothing but boxer shorts and a tank top. The blood on her face had dried, but there were different cuts all over her golden body. Under the light of her bedside table, Lena pushed Supergirl’s hair behind an ear, inhaling the alpha scent under the remnants of her battle.

It felt strangely familiar.

Blue eyes blinked open, and Supergirl turned off the light next to them.

“You’re safe,” Lena said to the dark room, finding her place as the small spoon.

She felt the alpha’s responding smile against the back of her neck.

Lena awoke to the sensation of heat. Her bedroom was warm, and she moved to kick the covers, but she was not under the blankets. As sunrise made itself known against the blinders in her bedroom, Lena took a deep breath of alpha.

Last night came back to her, and she turned between the arms of her personal space heater to face the most relaxed, peaceful Supergirl she had ever seen. She couldn’t make out the details of her sharp jawline, the sun barely hinting at east, but she could feel her chest expanding and hear the little snores.

Lena smiled.

She reclaimed her space under the Girl of Steel’s neck, not shaking the feeling of odd familiarity. Lena’s hand rested on Supergirl’s exposed waist and ran it over her arms to check for the bruises and cuts from last night. They were there, but less pronounced.

“Hmm,” Supergirl mumbled in her sleep under Lena’s touch, pulling the omega closer, Lena’s cheek resting on a strong collarbone.

Lena would have been content with that, the comfort of a night together.

“Do you want to do it again?”

Kara’s question came to her, uninvited, sudden, and Lena shivered.

Supergirl had slept in her bed, and yes, she would like to sleep with her again, whatever that meant.

If only Kara could see her now.

A small kiss on her temple got her out of thoughts, and Lena melted against the strong chest warming up her bed.

“Hi,” Supergirl said huskily against messy dark hair, arms wrapping Lena and turning so Lena could rest her chin over a dark tank top. She felt nipples hardening against her own cotton shirt.

“Hello,” Lena replied, taking in the scent and warmth around her. “I’m glad you stopped by last night.” She looked up to meet sleepy eyes.

Supergirl blinked, slowly, and stretched in the languid way cats do after a nap—neck turning to the side and legs spreading so Lena could fit snugly between them.

“I should go,” Supergirl said as the sun kissed Lena’s curtains, never stopping its west crawl.

“Can you stay a bit longer?” Lena herself stretched, her hips grinding in front of Supergirl’s boxer briefs and eliciting a moan from the superhero.

“I could stay a bit longer,” Supergirl confessed, dipping to catch Lena’s lips in a kiss that woke them both up.

So Lena started her morning on her hands and knees, head buried in her pillow as Supergirl made her day so much better.

000000

Kara chewed on buttered popcorn as cars exploded on her TV from one of the Bourne movies. She wasn’t sure which one, but it happened in Europe. Maybe.

Alex had picked the movie.

Alex watched the car chase and shootings fascinatingly, murmuring some of the lines along with all kinds of spies. Kara waited for the final car chase scene to end until she had Alex’s attention.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

Mouth full of popcorn, Kara stared at the TV, not brave enough to meet her sister’s eyes.

“I did it again.”

“What?” Alex got the popcorn bowl from Kara’s lap.

“Lena.”

Alex promptly choked on popcorn.

“Kara!”

“I know!” Kara covered her warming face with a pink cushion.

“You need to stop before that woman develops a kink for suits,” Alex said after downing half of her beer and clearing her airways.

“There was no suit this time.”

“Kara, did you tell her?” Alex stared at Kara with stern dark eyes that made the superhero shrink to her side of the couch.

“No. But it was different. I slept there.”

“Oh, Kara,” Alex’s eyes had something that might have been close to pity, and Kara couldn’t take that. “Does she know?”

“I don’t think so.” Kara looked down at her hands, wiping the popcorn grease on her sweater pants. “It was kinda…” Her ears burned, and she avoided Alex’s questioning eyes. “Like, from behind.”

Alex made a face at her and fake-gagged. “Please, no details.”

“It was dark, so I think I’m good.”

“Just stop.”

“I might have forgotten my cape there.”

“Sometimes I wish you were an omega.”

“I’d still do it.”

“Of course you would.”

000000

The email did not call for her immediate attention. Lena had received it at 9:37 am and only looked at it by the end of her day, the clock nearing 8 pm as she made her last checkup on Sam at L-Corp.

She had done the diagnostic tests in her own lab, of course. Being the CEO of one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies had its perks. But even Lena knew that, sometimes, a specialist should take a look at the results. After an entire week of feeling constantly exhausted and surprisingly hungry, Lena had performed her usual, annual checkup a few months earlier. Most results seemed normal, but a few hormonal levels caught her attention, and she ran them with her head researcher of their omega-focused department.

Seemed fitting.

The doctor had sent her an email, at 9:37 am, with the simple title of “Lab test 127 results”. Very innocuous and unassuming. Easy to ignore, considering Lena’s busy life.

She said good-bye to Sam at the elevator, and she had to reassure her CFO that, yes, she was fine. Sam had looked at her with a somewhat puzzled expression, but she didn’t press it. When Lena checked her reflection on her phone inside her car, she realized that she might have been looking like… total shit, yeah, exhausted and wishing she was home with warm tea, pizza and fluffy pajamas, and maybe her strong alpha to cuddle her to sleep.

The last thought hit her so hard that she wondered if she should add scotch to her tea. Was she going into heat early? It would explain her wandering thoughts.

As she finally opened the email when she padded into her kitchen, make-up-free and wearing warm winter socks even though it was still autumn, she realized the scotch would have to wait.

It would have to wait quite some time.

The following morning, Lena did not expect the buzz next to her front door, her intercom startling her out of her email inbox.

“Miss Luthor, there is a Miss Danvers in the lobby for you. Should I let her in?” Came the gruff voice of the doorman, and Lena looked puzzled from her forgotten phone to her closed door.

Did she sound desperate in her text earlier?

“You can let her up, Charles, thank you.” She was still a little breathless from hurrying to her door to respond. She checked the messages to see what could have caused Kara to drop by unannounced after her texts an hour ago.

Yeah, considering the protective-labrador personality Kara had, she could have framed that better.

Which was why she found herself opening her front door, in pajamas and bed hair, to a whirlwind of pastel and chinos at 9:47 am.

“Lena, are you all right?” Kara had coffee and donuts in her hands, but she balanced everything on one side to place a warm palm over Lena’s forehead before stepping in. “Do you have a fever? What happened? Is it bad? Oh no, Lena, are you dying?”

Lena took it all like the champion she was, getting one donut from the bag and ignoring the coffee, opening the door wide and thanking God for her lack of neighbors.

“I’m not dying,” she mumbled after her first bite—glazed, simple, just what she needed—and herded Kara and her endless questions to her couch.

She wondered if Kara would be mad if she knew what else had happened on that couch, but the alpha was already blushing and adjusting her button-up after dropping the rest of the baked goodies on the coffee table.

“You kinda look like you’re dying,” Kara said mostly to herself, one hand pushing her frames up her nose.

Lena fixed her with her most convincing glare, which, admittedly, could be lacking strength without any make-up and hairdo, just a sloppy ponytail she barely bothered to do this morning.

But she had reasons!

“Thanks for stopping by, even though it’s unnecessary,” she said. “But I do need to talk to you.”

“What happened?”

Kara had one of the bluest eyes Lena had ever seen—warm and familiar and insightful. She closed her own eyes at a warm wave of other blue-eyed memories. Images of another pair, so shockingly similar, shining with tiredness in her darkened bedroom.

If only Kara knew what a stare like that could do to an omega.

Lena used her thumb to clear nonexistent sugar from her lips, watching as Kara took an entire mouthful of a powdered donut. The alpha had white powdered sugar all over her mouth, but she didn’t move to clean it up. Lena smiled, and at that moment she knew she could count on Kara for anything.

“Remember when I told you that I had sex with Supergirl?”

Kara nodded and emitted a confirmation sound from her donut-filled mouth. The white of the sugar became more prominent as she blushed.

“I did it again.”

“Oh.” Kara had completely stopped chewing, just hanging in there with chipmunk cheeks.

Lena reached for her donut but didn’t bite it. She played with the glaze between her thumb and forefinger, pursing her lips.

Would Kara be disappointed?

Only one way to know.

“And I found out last night, you see…” Lena took a deep breath, meeting blue eyes as she exhaled. “That I’m pregnant.”

Kara had the courtesy to look away from Lena as she spat a half-eaten donut all over her coffee table and coughed for a good ten seconds. Lena grimaced at the scene but padded her friend in the back, waiting patiently as she gathered her breath.

Kara held a finger up, clearing her throat and using an offered napkin to wipe her lips. She almost succeeded.

Eyes glossy from almost choking, Kara finally looked at her. “You sure?”

“Precisely.” The word tugged Lena’s lips to the side, and she glanced at her laptop where she had double-checked the results. She had also called her doctor, had bought a collection of pregnancy tests from the downtown pharmacy, and all in all, had looked for any direction that could let her out of this situation.

Kara stood up, pacing relentlessly in her living room. “Okay, okay. I see. I see. You’re pregnant.” She looked at Lena, who remained on the couch watching Kara freak out. Kara pointed at her, not accusingly, just fitting together the pieces of her speech. “You’re pregnant. With Supergirl’s pup.” She glanced behind Lena, fingers now pointed to the window. “Supergirl’s alien pup,” she completed.

“Yes,” Lena confirmed, eyes studying as Kara kept pacing back and forth behind her coffee table.

“Okay. Okay, that is…” Kara stopped, both hands on her hips, her head down, and when she looked up, Lena was not expecting the brightness of tears. “That is kind of amazing,” she said in a shaky voice, biting her lip, and Lena could not take a second look at a crying Kara and not feel her own eyes fighting the flood.

“Is it?” Lena heard her own voice—small, unsure.

Kara nodded, sinking back on the couch and reaching for Lena’s hands. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

They sat like that, hands together, and Lena wondered if every friendship was like that.

“Oh, Rao,” Kara breathed out, releasing Lena’s hand to massage her temples. “I need to take you to the DEO.”

“What?”

When Kara looked up, she had a panicked expression that did not help Lena’s turning stomach.

“Alex’s gonna flip,” Kara whispered, and Lena felt utterly confused. “Oh, Lena.” She stared at Lena, then at Lena’s window, and back at Lena, and Lena felt like crying again.

“Kara?”

Kara took another deep breath and a veil of determination covered her face. “I need to take you to a facility that will be able to help you. Supergirl works there. They need to know this. Supergirl has so many enemies, and if anyone finds out about a pup they could…” Kara’s scent grew, a metallic tinge of fear, and Lena recoiled unconsciously.

“It’s ok, you’re okay,” Kara reassured her, closing her eyes for a moment as the scent dissipated. “We will help you.”

Lena had many questions. There was a strange feeling growing in her stomach, and she had the suspicion it was not morning sickness.

“Kara, I have enough equipment at L-Corp to go through with this.”

“Lena please…”

“I don’t want to expose myself to the government or… anyone else.” Lena stood from the couch, ready to turn her back to Kara, but the alpha held her hand, gently pulling so she could face her again. Kara didn’t stand up, instead looking at Lena from her place on the couch.

“I’m sure Supergirl would want to know. She would want to protect you,” Kara pleaded, lips in a thin line that ghosted a smile.

The feeling in Lena’s tummy grew.

“Just for today,” Kara insisted. “Do you trust me?”

The memory came back. Blue, blue eyes with specks of gray and amber. She shivered.

“Yes.” Lena tightened her grasp around Kara’s hand.

0000

Oh, Rao; oh, Rao; oh, Rao; oh, Rao.

Kara messed up.

She knew that. She was aware of that. She was painfully aware she had messed up beautifully this time.

It was not that she had anything intrinsically against what had happened. It just didn’t go the way she had hoped. After months of having feelings for Lena and preparing herself to ask the omega out, all it took was one night of weakness, and Kara messed up everything.

Okay, one night and a morning.

The order of events was supposed to be something like: declare feelings, date, mate, pups.

They jumped a lot of steps.

Now she got a visitor’s badge for Lena while they went through security at the DEO, and even though she never felt sick, she wondered if the feeling was anything close to the turmoil in her stomach.

Oh, Rao.

She ignored the questioning glances from the other agents as she strode in all her pastel glory into the DEO with a very confused, very curious Lena Luthor following behind.

Winn almost had a heart attack.

“Kara! Lena!” He stood up from his rolling chair, hand holding one of his toy guns. “Kara? Lena?” He looked between the two women, their linked hands, Lena’s questioning gaze, Kara’s silent plea. His eyebrows hit his hairline.

“I need to see Alex in the med bay,” Kara said and hopefully her tone would not require further explanation. Lena’s hand was stiff and clammy in hers, and she guided them to the stairs and into the med bay. Thankfully, it was empty.

Kara helped Lena to a seat, and before she could roll a chair for herself, she heard Alex making her way upstairs.

“Just a sec.” She squeezed Lena’s hand and left the room to meet Alex outside. She watched Lena from the inside with a frown, lips pushed together as if she had swallowed a protest.

“Alex,” Kara whispered, closing the door behind her. She could still see Lena watching them from the glass, green bouncing between the sisters. “I need to tell Lena.”

Alex was unimpressed.

“Why is Lena Luthor in my facility?” she asked with a stern tone reserved for Kara’s mishaps, arms crossed over her black polo.

“Alex, this is important.” Kara reached with both hands to hold Alex’s forearm, and maybe with a little extra strength because Alex frowned and hissed, but Kara didn’t let her go.

“What’s going on, Kara?”

Kara took a deep breath and met Alex’s eyes with unshed tears.

“Lena is here to tell Supergirl she’s pregnant.” Kara’s voice was hardly above a whisper but clear enough for Alex to hear every word.

“Ouch!” Alex tried to slap the back of Kara’s head, but since it was equivalent to slapping solid rock, her own hand hurt in the process. She shook the pain off, but her stare was still murderous.

“Why did you do that?” Kara said, concerned, reaching for Alex’s hand.

“Because I don’t know if I should hug you or slap you!”

“I could really use a hug right now!”

They angry-hugged which turned into a long hug while Lena, puzzled, watched the exchange from the other side of the glass.

“Jesus fuck, Kara,” Alex whispered. “You okay?”

“I really need to tell her.” They separated from the embrace, and Kara wiped a stray tear. Alex schooled her shocked expression to something neutral as she opened the door.

“Don’t make us all regret it,” Alex said and walked inside, finding Lena, still completely confused, staring at them. Kara closed the door behind her, leaving the three of them alone inside. Lena stood up to greet Alex.

“Luthor,” Alex acknowledged Lena with a nod.

“Agent Danvers.” Lena arched one sculpted eyebrow.

“Your discretion about this facility will be expected.”

“Alex,” Kara warned, eyes widening and her hand finding Lena’s. Alex looked down at their hands for a total of a single second before focusing on Lena again.

“And your discretion about this conversation will also be expected,” Lena replied in a similar tone.

“You do not give orders here.”

“Alex!” Kara’s free hand rested on her sister’s thigh, bringing her attention back to herself. “Lena won’t say anything. We’re not here to expose the DEO.”

“I need to see Supergirl,” Lena intervened.

“I see,” Alex said, sparing a look at Kara. “Kara might help you with that.”

“Could you…” Kara gave a pointed look at Alex, who busied herself at the other side of the lab, gathering supplies. Kara pulled a rolling chair next to Lena so they could both sit down, bringing Lena’s hand up for a quick kiss.

Lena couldn’t look more confused, and Kara laughed to herself, a puff of air that almost ended in a sob.

“What was that all about?” Lena’s voice was small, tense. Her shoulders were pulled high and tight.

“I told Alex so she would know what kind of equipment to bring.”

As if on cue, Alex gathered a tablet from one of the metallic desks and walked to the door. “I will get the ultrasound and will be back in a few.”

Kara waited until the door closed behind Alex.

“Kara?” Kara hated the way Lena looked at her—vulnerable, small. Afraid. Lena was too smart not to notice something was up. “Where’s Supergirl?”

“Yeah. About that.” Kara sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, gently laying Lena’s hand down. She turned around in her chair, her back to Lena. She took off two simple hair clips that held a lock of hair around her high ponytail. It fell to the side of her face. Both her hands reached behind to unlace her thin hair tie, golden waves finally free to spill over her shoulder. There were no hair tie marks on her hair, as it never had, no matter how tight the braid was. She took off her glasses, setting them on the table next to Lena, though her back was still to the omega. Finally, she turned around.

Lena stared, confused, but she blinked twice, her lips pressed together. The green of her eyes reminded Kara of the sea after a storm, with marks of repressed anger and uncontrolled waves.

With a deep breath, Kara started to undo her shirt buttons. One, two, three.

When the House of El crest became visible, Kara heard the tiny gasp coming out of Lena’s mouth, and she lifted her head.

“No.” Lena shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “No,” she repeated, eyes glossy, shaking her head still.

Kara gulped. “Lena…”

“You don’t get to do this,” Lena hissed, any softness gone, voice dripping with an anger Kara had never seen addressed to her before. “You don’t get to lie to me like this.”

“I never meant to—”

“To what?” Lena stood up, and Kara followed. “Never meant to lie to me for years?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Kara defended, but it sounded weak.

Alex chose that moment to open the door and wheel her equipment into the room.

“Oh, you couldn’t tell me, but you had no qualms about fucking me on my own fucking couch!” Lena’s voice raised, one manicured finger pointing at Kara’s chest, still blatantly exposing her identity. Kara took a step back if only to give Lena more room.

Kara heard Alex saying nope and wheeling her equipment back the three steps she had managed inside the room, and they were once again alone.

“Lena, please, listen to me.”

“Oh, now I should listen to you,” Lena laughed sarcastically, and the movement sprung a tear out. “Let me guess, now that I’m pregnant, you felt some kind of obligation to tell me the truth since, you know, I’m carrying an heir to some dead species or whatever.”

“It’s not like that.” Kara closed her hands in fists, turning her head to the side. She couldn’t meet the coldness in Lena’s eyes.

“Humor me, Supergirl, how is it then?”

Kara bit her lower lip, one hand threading through her hair. She could feel the heat radiating from Lena’s body, could see her ab muscles flexing, could smell the swell of her scent, her omega presence, and if she focused, Oh, Rao, if she focused she could hear—

“Don’t.”

Kara snapped her head up from the intense stare directed at Lena’s midriff. The omega had taken a step back, a protective hand over her abdomen, and Kara gaped.

“Don’t use any of your powers to get out of this conversation,” Lena warned, eyes bright. She had graced herself with light makeup and a high ponytail, but she wore jeans and a long-sleeved, gray shirt, a simple attire from her usual choices.

“I like you,” Kara confessed, out of practice and out of timing. Lena took another step back, hitting the table with her hips. “I’ve liked you for a long time, and I couldn’t fathom destroying our friendship over my feelings. You were always part of Kara Danvers’ life and not Supergirl’s, and I just…” Kara Danvers, you are my hero. “I was afraid to lose you.” She found Lena’s eyes, and the intensity there softened for a moment.

“I need some time.” Lena said and turned her back.

“I understand.” Kara took a deep breath; Lena’s scent, even when they were fighting, still soothed her nerves. Kara’s alpha had chosen Lena a long time ago.

Kara walked to the door and gave one last glance at Lena, who hadn’t moved. Alex was outside, but Kara wasn’t able to face her sister without the urge to cry, so she headed towards the stairs.

Alex took it as her queue to enter the room.

“So…” Alex started, wheeling her equipment close to the bed.

Lena wiped at her face with her sleeve, feeling her cheeks warm.

“There are two bathrooms at the back of the room, and there are gowns in there for you to change into.” Alex seemed surprisingly neutral with everything. Lena hardened her own expression and nodded.

Her anger was not aimed at the older Danvers, since she could see the logic of keeping Kara's Identity a secret. But Lena hated being the only one in the room not knowing something so important.

“What kind of exams do you intend to perform? I’ve done multiple tests at L-Corp and didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.” Her voice sounded steady, and for that, Lena was grateful.

“How familiar are you with Kryptonian anatomy? My initial concern is how your body will react to a Kryptonian fetus.”

"Half-Kryptonian," Lena corrected.

Lena had many secret files on Kryptonian anatomy, but Alex did not need to know that. Also, Alex’s data were probably from Kara herself, which was something Lena lacked. As much as she wanted to leave that place as soon as possible, an unfamiliar instinct told her that the best for her pup was to at least listen to what Alex had to say.

“What concerns would that be?”

“Superman didn’t present his powers until his teen years, but he always had a different metabolic rate, caloric ingestion, and disease resistance.” Alex was all business, and Lena breathed a relieved sigh. “But Kara did not grow up here and manifested her abilities from day one.”

“Are you suggesting this pup could have super strength in the womb?” The idea sent a cold shiver down her spine, and one hand rested on her belly. They both knew what that would mean for Lena.

“You’re still here, so not for now. But it’s not unlikely.” Alex donned black gloves over her hands and started the process of sanitizing the probe.

Beyond the glass, Lena found Kara’s eyes on the other side of the DEO floor. She found blue laced with worry and frowned.

“Can she hear us?”

Alex turned her attention from her preparation to find Kara leaning over the railings on the opposite side of the hall.

“Yes,” Alex answered without a beat. “But she won’t if you ask her not to.”

Lena locked eyes with Kara. “Stop.”

Kara nodded and paced away. She had closed her yellow button-up to cover her suit, but her hair was down and her face free of the usual frames.

“Have you felt any tiredness? Nausea? Increased appetite?”

Lena’s attention went back to Alex, who was now closing the curtains around the bed to shield Lena from curious eyes. She nodded at each question.

Alex noted something down on her tablet. As Lena turned to change, Alex called her back.

“I know this can be a lot,” she started, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “But please know you’re in good hands. This pup is family.” She looked up at Lena. Her alpha scent spiked for a moment, and Lena felt a soft wave of safety.

“Thank you.”

She tried her best not to cry inside the bathroom as she changed. The water was cold against her face, and she could feel her emotions fighting to break free from the endless little boxes she had pushed them into. But she was Lena Luthor, and she was not going to freak out.

The exam was simple, effective. Alex didn’t ask much, taking measures from the grainy image and typing away on her tablet. When she asked if Lena wanted to hear the heartbeat, the omega hesitated.

After the whirlwind of emotions that had been the last twenty-four hours, that would be the moment to make it real. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she must have nodded because the next thing she could focus on was the rapid beating coming from the monitor.

“Would you look at that,” Alex said affectionately, and it was the first time in that morning Lena saw her smile.

“Yeah,” Lena breathed deeply. She cleared her throat when Alex turned the machine off.

“I’d suggest we keep the checkups here, but I understand if you want to do similar procedures at L-Corp. I’m not an OBGYN, but we have doctors who specialize in alien pregnancy.”

Lena had to admit she did not have that. There could be someone in the market for hire, but if anyone got a whisper of who sired this child… another unfamiliar wave of protectiveness filled her lungs, and she shook her head.

“I agree that we need to keep this in a low profile.” She stood from the table.

Alex discarded her gloves and pulled part of the curtains away to let Lena walk back to the bathroom to change.

Lena caught another glance of Kara at the same place against the railings. She was on her side, one hand fidgeting on her temple, and frowning so deep Lena thought she had never seen Kara Danvers like that.

Blue eyes found her again, and she looked away.

“Did you record it?” Lena asked, one hand on the bathroom doorknob.

Alex threw her gloves in the trash and was working on pulling the rest of the privacy curtains away. “Yes. But you don’t have to worry, no one will—”

“You can give it to her.” The bathroom door closed softly behind Lena.

#supercorp #drabble #I have another chapter or 2 for this #but it never really took off in my head #but maybe?#idk #throwing this here #because in itself is kinda funny #or at least I hope so #supercorp fanfic #abo #kara danvers #lena luthor

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anticidic · 1 month

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❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜

Decided to write this, uh, ficlet-ish? to get the brain juices going for the other things I'm writing, so enjoy. 547 words of Dazai and Chuuya and contemplating the deeper meaning behind why Chuuya will not leave Dazai's mind.

There they stood beneath a tree—its leaves ripped from it by the winter wind. Of what remained, bony branches waved at them from above, creaking in the silence. An echo of a twig snapping underfoot hit the air and when he blinked, cold steel skyscrapers returned to the world under a layer of fine snow. And falling down all around them.

Once, they were two figures on the spring ice: one trying his best to ignore the other shouting with all his might, fingers plugged in the ears. La, la, la.

Now, Chuuya sounded almost mocking saying those words. Even the curve of the corner of his mouth and the exposed sharp tooth suggested he was ready to play, only they would play by his rules and not Dazai’s own. Sounded familiar, awfully familiar, but Dazai could not pick out just one moment in time when everything about Chuuya screamed familiarity and a home away from home which he’d never return to.

Because without having something constantly on his mind, the morning would never come.

Then came nostalgia. Cooped up in the little four-by-four, shaking… Terrible nostalgia. For himself. For humans. For the world. All too much to bear and yet he loved it. That hate, as Chuuya put it, kept him going. In fact, maybe he was nothing without his spark. True terror would be the day Dazai opened his eyes with the feeling all but vacated from his soul. And left in it, vast emptiness. There were still tiny fragments of emotions hidden in the depths—he just had to reach in with his bare hands and yank them out. But it was like wandering in the darkness and relying on the tiniest light to guide him to where he needed to go. To where? He did not know, but oh, how beautiful the fireflies were that lit up the summer night of yesteryear.

What was it like to miss someone? These words never follow; the answer was ancient, like the blood all over the floor of a forgotten room in a ghost of a building far away, and a relic of the past he'd rather not return to. But it was also good and bad; an ache that brought him joy.

He just wanted to be a person who could sleep at night. Countless times had he been mauled by nightmares, bite marks in his bones. While Chuuya thought himself a dreamless man without an expression marked by worry, the gray beneath his eyes made him look younger, not older. It fooled neither Dazai nor the reflection that stared back in the mirror.

Things went like they did for a reason, he realized. Of the future, of the past, and of all that was not made to last, it would continue this way, and Dazai would turn to him and say, "Every day I think of how to kill you. It isn’t any deeper than that."

He would say it with a cheeky smile and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, but soon, time too would wear that down. For now, this was what they had, and Dazai held onto it for dear life. Something, someone slipped from between his fingers before and it would not happen again.

For ever and ever.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #soukoku #soukoku fanfiction #i guess technically but i'm trying to practice writing shorter pieces instead of blowing everything up into half million epics #like i'm predisposed to LMAO #my writing #anticide writes

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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Chapter 6: You Gave Me the Strength to Keep Going

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It's only perfect.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: T, more yearning for Jack and his ranch, a kiss!, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time to see what Jack's ranch is all about, and to find out exactly what he's keeping in that barn. Hint: my horsey girls will be very excited about it! There's been a dearth of horse content in this sequel but we're about to change that.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist || Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The conversation on the drive back to Jack’s ranch is peppered with questions about Lacey’s wedding, your life in the “real world” as you both have taken to calling it, and observations of the landscape as the town thins out. Jack listens to you describe your job, tedious as it may be, and the hobbies that fill your free time. They pale in comparison to the cozy warmth of this town and Jack’s life commingled with it. The cool grays and blues of your apartment, the shimmering glass and steel of skyscrapers, the distinct coldness of how easy it is to live your life without ever interacting with another human being. None of it entices you home.

“It must all sound boring after what you’ve been through,” you muse, Jack chuckling softly.

“I don’t know, Sugar, I think you had some trials of your own,” he says as he parks the truck. You look at him curiously, making a smile quirk on his lips. He shrugs, shifting in his seat to face you better.

“When we were…there…you told Mary and Jeb about a husband.”

Mouth drying out, you recall the story with the thrum of anticipation that moment brought. Jack’s body so close, a lie because the truth was too hard to weave. The twin emotions of relief and disgust at how easy it was to imagine Eric removed from your life.

“Now, I realized it may not have been true, but on the off chance it was I took my time making sure.”

“Sure of what?”

Jack chews his mustache, hand smoothing around the steering wheel.

“That you weren’t happily married. That I wouldn’t ruin your life by barging in if you found someone in the time it took me to find you.”

Your cheeks heat up, embarrassment and curiosity warring.

“How?”

Now Jack’s cheeks are pinking, eyes darting to the barn outside and back to you.

“The private investigator I hired. I asked if you had a marriage certificate, and he didn’t find one. Then, I went to see for myself. Had a list of places you might be, and a few times I found you.” The hazy mist of half-formed memories drifts in - broad shoulders passing you by, a cowboy hat in the corner of your eye. You must look shocked because his eyes plead with you. “I’m sorry Sugar, I know how bad it sounds, I just…I told myself I’d walk away if I had proof.” He nods down at your hands worrying in your lap. “That tricked me for a while.”

You look down, the muted teal of the ring on your left hand pouring realization over your head.

“It’s not a…” you stammer, but Jack interrupts with a placating wave.

“I heard. You and Lacey were talking about it. She got it for you?”

It dawns on you that most of what you’d discussed in the past two days was Jack’s year of awakening. He knew nothing of yours. Spinning the ring on your finger, you find words that hurt less every time you speak them.

“I was engaged when I met you. Really unhappily, but I couldn’t admit it. You…you changed something for me. I went back and left him. Lacey helped me through it, and it was this ring she got me on her own Westworld adventure that made giving his back more bearable.”

Jack’s eyes harden and soften in record time, hand flexing in his lap. You wish he would reach for yours.

“I’m sorry you went through that, darlin’,” he says, shifting in his seat and putting one hand on the door handle.

“I’ve been a lot happier since then,” you say, a wider smile blooming on Jack’s face.

“Good,” he says, warm and thick like honey. Yanking on the handle, you find a little bravery that’s less foreign in your mouth.

“There hasn’t been anyone since,” you add. Since you sits on your tongue, but you swallow it back. His quick glance, edged with a heat that sends a frisson down your back, responds as loud as you need it.

Good.

Traipsing out, Jack saunters around the truck. A lightning bolt of white and brown streaks out from between the buildings, Russell bouncing in a tight orbit around Jack’s feet.

“Yeah, yeah, missed us Russ?” he says, the casual roll of us off his lips making your heart pound. He scratches Russell between his floppy ears as his tongue lolls out wildly. Straightening up, Jack shifts nervously with his hands on his hips.

“I thought before you head back, you might want to see the rest of the place?” he offers, your heart clenching at the way his jaw ticks side to side as he waits for your answer. It’s barely past noon, sun high and hot in the sky, the deep earthen scent of dust and clay in your nose. You wait for an objection to surface, some hard and fast desire to run from how messy and strange this all has been.

For once, your mind is silent.

“Yeah, show me around cowboy,” you say, and the bashful smile that one agreement elicits makes you want to kiss him.

Holy shit, you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

But he’s turning and ushering you towards the barn, a steady stream of tour guide-worthy tidbits matching his stride.

“...barn wasn’t in good shape, so I fixed it up with a few other guys in town. I mostly keep the machines I work on in here, some hay and feed, you know.” Pulling open one of the large doors Jack leads you in, your eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. What looks like a delivery drone rests on the floor, a toolbox and tablet on a table nearby.

“That’s a new generation seeding and fertilizing tool, though they don’t make ‘em to last. Blades always get damaged or the motor burns out. Parts are cheap, but not many people know how to fix complex machines.” Your body continues to warm at this blatant display of knowledge and competence, being careful not to step too close to the drone. Catching Jack’s eye, you quirk an eyebrow at complex machines and he shrugs. “Lots of older folks just trying to make a living. I help them, they help me. It’s…familiar.”

Looking up, you startle as a handful of glossy glowing orbs point at you from the hayloft. Jack follows your line of sight and tsks.

“How are there even more of you now?” he exclaims, and from above a chorus of mewls tickle a laugh out of your throat. “I swear they’re making my loft a den of ill repute, but damn if they aren’t cute.”

“Soft spot for animals?” you tease as blurry shapes move away from the edge. Jack shrugs but it’s even shyer now, Russell settling at his heel and staring adoringly at his master.

“They’re easier than people sometimes,” he says, colored with subtle melancholy. You kneel and hold a hand out for Russell, which he sniffs before allowing you to scritch his princely head.

“I always wanted a bunch of animals when I was a kid. My parents never let me have any, didn’t want to end up taking care of them.” Russell’s tail wags furiously as he lets you roughhouse him a little, wiggling his little lean body under your hands. When you look up at Jack there’s a thick layer of fondness on his face that he hurriedly tries to wipe off.

“Well then you’ll love the rest of the zoo I’ve got here,” he says, clearing his throat as inconspicuous as he can. You bounce to your feet, excitement thrumming in your veins.

“I can’t wait,” you say, giddiness washing away the lingering anxiety in your shoulders. Jack motions you out of the barn with a flourish.

Once back outside he leads you between the house and the barn to a domestic vista that swells around you. There’s a delicate wire fence corralling about fifteen chickens, a perfect row of henhouses lined up in the sunshine. A caramel colored is strutting outside the fence, head snapping quickly to you and Jack. He tips his hat and rumbles a “Ma’am” at her, little head cocking with a cluck before returning to her strut.

“She’s the boss,” he says, brightening at your giggles as the hen patrols…well, like a mother hen.

It’s easy to see Jack is in his element here, amongst the animals and a small town that doesn’t ask for much beyond what he can give. His eyes are bright and mirthful, hands moving quickly, and he’s lighter than you’ve ever seen him. He’s clearly home.

“Now, for the piéce de résistance,” he jokes, opening the wooden gate around the second barn and ushering you in.

Sunlight filters in through an opening in the roof, the rays speckled with hazy dust motes. Your nose fills with the scent of sweet hay and horse musk, and you can’t stop a smile from beaming on your face. The short walkway is lined with stables, many without doors and stacked with hay or saddle racks. A few saddle cloths drape over the partitions, sable browns and rust reds you observe as you step quietly behind Jack.

Then, a sound that makes your body spark to life - the plosive snuffle of a horse’s snout.

“I didn’t mean to hide them from you so long, didn’t get a chance to show you before,” Jack chuckles at your open expression as a long black nose pokes over the top of the stable door. “This here’s Jet. He’s my work horse, always carrying my ass around.” He pats the onyx horse on the neck, earning another whuffle as you smooth your palm between his eyes. Jet moves with the calm self-assurance of an experienced creature, sure-footed and even tempered.

Another, almost indignant snort comes from behind, and you turn to investigate. Just across the walkway is another stable, another occupant, and one that takes your breath away.

An Appaloosa. A long, delicate snout speckled with chestnut brown and buttery white, nostrils flaring as it tosses its silvery mane. Unbidden you walk over to it, barely aware of Jack by your side. It stomps and shifts in the stable, shaking its head again as you come within reach.

“She’s new,” Jack says quietly, your eyes still locked on the mare as she watches you with one unblinking glossy eye. “Folks selling her said she was too ornery, but she warmed up just fine to me.” Jack reaches out to pat her neck and she settles down, still shifting on her feet. You reach out a hand to stroke between her eyes, just as you did with Jet, but she jerks her head up to smack her nose into your palm. Snickering, you redirect to stroke her soft muzzle. That touch settles her, content to let you coo at her quietly. When you finally look at Jack he’s just shy of beaming, trying to hide it beneath his dark mustache.

“Seems she warmed up to you just as nicely,” he muses, shifting a fraction closer. The heat of his body calls for yours, magnetism and comfort pulling you towards him. A sudden push from the Appaloosa’s snout knocks you off balance, stumbling a step back as you bleat out a laugh. Before you can trip any further Jack’s arm is around your waist, hands closed around your elbows to steady you. His face is just by your temple and if you turned you could be kissing him in a breath’s time.

“Can we ride?” is what you say instead, two facets of your mind screaming at each other, but Jack’s smile only grows.

“I thought you’d never ask, Sugar.”

Tacking up is quick and mostly silent except for the natural noises of the horses. Jack pulls out equipment for you, sweat staining the center of his shirt and curling the hair at the nape of his neck. You prepare the Appaloosa, watching for her shifting feet. She’s definitely been ridden before but there’s a bratty energy in the way she tosses and wiggles while you work. Soothing her a few times, you get her squared away before leading her out of the stables. Jack waits for you outside the barn door, Jet’s reins loose in his hands as he sits atop.

With the afternoon sun starting to lengthen your shadows, Jack is every bit the cowboy you remember. Faded leather riding boots fit snug into the stirrups, threadbare jeans hugging his thick thighs. The sun-bleached gray of his button-up is dark with sweat, but that only intensifies how much you’d like to bury your nose in his chest and inhale him deep. He’s rolled the sleeves, exposing corded forearms dusted with hair. Wide palms and blunt fingers rest on his pommel, and the shade his black hat affords his face can’t hide the simmering pride in his eyes.

“She’s never let me tack her up that quick,” he comments as you walk up beside him.

“She have a name?” you ask, patting her shoulder to earn an affectionate huff.

“Not yet, nothing’s come to me,” he muses.

“I’m sure we can find something that fits you,” you placate, putting a foot in the stirrup to lift yourself up. In one forceful push you mount, swinging your leg and settling on the Appaloosa’s back. She shifts under you but stays still as you adjust your position. Satisfied, you flash Jack a scandalous look.

“What, no offer to help me up?” you tease. Jack’s eyes crinkle as a sideways smile twists his lips.

“I would never presume to be so bold with an experienced rider,” he drawls.

“You could,” you shoot back, your own confidence surprising. “You could be bold, Jack.”

Jack’s smile softens, eyes turning contemplative.

“I guess I could, Sugar.”

You hold your gaze, electricity sparking between you on the precipice of the unknown.

Jack leads you off the main property and into the sprawling plains. He mumbles that he doesn’t own all of it, but no one else does either so he’s chosen to watch over it. The gentle sway of the horses’ gait undulates you back and forth, closer and further apart, as he points out ridges that lead to other homes, fences he’s helped build. When silence creeps in it’s comfortable, the clop of hooves a constant.

Cresting a hill, a rust-colored valley opens up at your feet. Miles of land uninterrupted, only patches of dry desert grass and spindly trees to dot the landscape. Side by side with Jack something shifts in you, matched by the Appaloosa’s stamping feet. You lean down to stroke her neck, head tossing with a whinny.

“What do you want, girl?” you ask, the barely restrained thrum of her muscles twitching under your hand. She takes a step forward, then stops and shakes her head. You look at Jack over your shoulder, and he jerks his chin at you with a smirk.

“You wanna run?” you ask, loosening the lead on the reins. She swings her head back like she can’t believe you have to ask. “Okay, girl, let’s fucking run.”

A nudge of your heels is all she needs to take off like a shot, your body lifting and tensing as she sprints, then canters, then breaks into a full-on gallop across the dusty plains. You lean forward, outstretching your arms to move with her neck and taking your weight off her back. Thighs burning, wind whipping across your face, you let the elation of hooves slamming into the ground rip a wild laugh from your throat. Your form, your control, the magnificent beast below you and the world whipping by are all that matter. If you wouldn’t lose all balance you’d throw your arms out and try to fly.

A blur of black comes up beside you, Jack urging Jet to keep pace. You can only glance at him, but what you can see of his handling and posture lets you know he’s giving Jet the lead to chase you. Your eyes water against the wind (or maybe something else) as the Appaloosa begins to flag, slowing as a grassier hill grows before you. With a final push, you ride her momentum to the top, gasping along with her explosive pants. Without the wind your skin is hot and sticky, legs tight from the effort of riding. Shaking your hands out, you dismount as Jack comes to a stop.

“You sure let her out!” Jack shouts as you spin in a circle, the high of speed and freedom making every nerve sing out.

“Sure fucking did! That was…shit, yes, that was…” you try to articulate, but all you can make come from your lungs is one exuberant, primal scream that echoes through the valley. In that noise is all of the tightly-gripped pain, the fear, the disbelief that you could ever be happy thrown into the air, never to sink into your flesh again. This is joy. You are capable of joy again, and it’s thanks to a man now standing behind you, smiling like you’re a miracle he never thought he’d experience twice.

“Jack…”

His name is soft in your mouth, and when you say it his smile only deepens. Nothing could come between the pull of your bodies now, so you let yours go to him. In two steps your head is tucked under his chin, arms around his waist. He’s surrounding you, warmth and musk pressed into your cheek. Dipping his chin down, he buries his nose in the top of your head and inhales, large hand cupping the back of your neck.

“I missed you, darlin’,” he says in a whisper, like he’s afraid you’ll spook. Your throat is so tight you can barely croak out, “I missed you too Jack.” His hand cups your cheek as he guides your foreheads together, hat tilting back on his head. Your noses glide against one another, lips barely brushing but the featherlight caress awakens a need in you that begs to be quenched. Jack’s proud nose drags along your cheek as he presses a kiss at the hinge of your jaw, worshipful in his offering. You grip his shirt, bunching the fabric in your fists as he noses up to your temple, another kiss tattooed on your skin. Tilting your chin up, your eyes open to his searching your face, and he must have seen the plea in your eyes because he cradles your head in both hands and presses his lips to yours.

It’s everything and nothing like the first time you kissed Jack Daniels. There’s no tension, no anxiety, no worries coloring how you taste him. Instead there is a clawing need to be swallowed whole, to suffocate on his affections and let him devour you. The first kiss is full, promising, pulling away only enough to slip in a breath. The second is overwhelming, hard and demanding as he swipes over your lower lip and crowds your body. Opening for him, his tongue finds yours and strokes lazily against it, a choked groan pooling heat in your cunt. You press back and suck on his lower lip, the harsh pant of his breath on your cheek spurring you on. His next kiss has teeth, a forceful press into your mouth, and hands wandering to grip your waist. You accept it all greedily, stumbling into him and burying your fingers in his hair. He rips his mouth away with a gasp, chin tilting up to offer his long neck. You accept with wild abandon, licking a stripe before placing a wet kiss at the base.

“Fuck, fuck, Sugar, you sure can drive me to distraction, slow down for a second,” he pleads.

“Can’t, Jack, fuck, I can’t…” you pant, crashing you lips back against his when he tips his chin down. The groan in his chest is half frustration, half elation. Hands slide up your spine in soothing paths, tugging you flush while his lips ghost over yours.

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he rumbles, rocking you on your heels while his hands sweep up and down in a gentle pattern. “Slow down, we got plenty of time. I’m right here.”

Finally the choking need to crawl inside him dissipates, traded for the marshmallowy softness of his lips on your neck, grazing the swell of your cheek. You’re lost in the limbo of kissing Jack until a sharp nudge knocks you in the center of your back. He chuckles.

“Seems like our company is growing tiresome for these two,” he says while you turn in his arms. The Appaloosa is standing behind you with the horsey equivalent of rolled eyes and “can we go now?” energy. You ruffle her forelock affectionately as Jack’s arms wind around your waist, chest solid against your back.

“She was my sign,” Jack says quietly as she flicks her tail at a troublesome fly. “Was at an auction, not looking for anything in particular, and I saw her. She was pulling at the reins, giving them a run for their money, and I thought you’d like her.”

Your fingers rest lightly on her muzzle, breath hitching in your chest.

“See, I was debating on whether I was going to go about my plan at all. I got myself established, safe, functioning in this new world. I told myself I was going to find you once I was ready. But then I thought, what if she’s happy? What if she doesn’t want anything more than what we shared that night? I would be ruining your life by trying to find a way back in it.” Your hands fall to clasp around his, a skyline stretching with miles and miles of potential before you.

“But then I saw her, and…well, I guess I don’t have quite the same belief in a higher power as some. But this was too great a coincidence for me to ignore. If the world was giving me a sign, I had to at least try.”

She turns one eye to you, amber and gold in the afternoon light.

“Daybreak,” you say, smiling as she nickers quietly. Jack’s hum urges you to add, “You should call her Daybreak.”

The beginning of a new day, and all its possibilities still laid before you.

“Daybreak it is,” Jack agrees.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x reader #westworld fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle fanfiction #prolix fics

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ghostoffuturespast · 8 months

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WIP Whenever

Tagged by @heywoodvirgin @dreamskug @luvwich @corpocyborg & @baublekute! Thanks for thinking of me chooms! 🧡

Y'all have been busy this week. I like it.

Tagging, with no pressure: @heywoodvirgin @dreamskug @luvwich @corpocyborg @baublekute (ha!) @shimmer-like-agirl @spacervanguard @fly-amanitaa @merge-conflict @medtech-mara @wanderingaldecaldo @cyberholic77 @tarmac-rat

Your WIPs don't have to be writing either, or even CP2077 related, whatever creative things you feel like sharing. And feel free to cash the tag in now or two months from now, I don't care.

There's only one thing I'm working on rn. Like Grandpa, I'm losing my marbles along with this chapter. But some context before I share:

conjunction (noun)

a word used to connect clauses or sentences or to coordinate words in the same clause (e.g. and, but, if)

the action or an instance of two or more events or things occurring at the same point in time or space

The AV rose, slow before throttling up past the reaches of skyscrapers and towards the dominion of megabuildings, where the world simultaneously expanded and thinned. The real fairy tale land where giants overshadowed and caged the cluttered lives of all the protagonists below. Canting, the AV veered towards the neons of Japantown, the blinding billboards framed brilliant by the surrounding storm. The sky and ground were reversed. Fake stars twinkling underneath their feet while a thin floor of metal kept them from being launched into the center of the earth by gravity. To be sucked into orbit at the mass center of everything. Rogue left the AV door open, unbothered by the wind and rain whistling in, at the rush of cold air that bit across their faces and the backs of their hands, at the beads of condensation gathering on their skin and soaking their clothes. Johnny’s knuckles whitened on the hand holds. Adjusting her grip on that slippery surface of a shared reality. How long had it been since he’d seen Rogue’s hair tousled, gun strapped to her back, resolve steeled on her features? How long since V’d felt that bubbling surge of adrenaline that he used to live off of. That they and that black dog always needed. Ran after. Chased their tails for. It scared them. What she thought. V feeling, Johnny thought. Thought Johnny, feeling V. What he felt. For. Nor. Or. And. So. Yet. But, yet. And… The AV banked west and City Center came into view. They looked at that shitty heart tattoo on the inside of their right forearm. And.

youtube

#cyberpunk 2077 #wip whenever #writing #fan fiction #fic: so it goes #johnny silverhand #oc: valerie hye jin li #my grandpa v #stinky not fresh #marbles gone #wip wednesday

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transtanium · 4 months

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It's not particularly a historic site, or a monument, and none of the signs on the distant, roaring highways acknowledge it, a dilapidated metal shed off the side of a dusty backroad.

The roof is partially collapsed, wild grasses erupting through fissures in an ancient concrete floor, morning sunlight pouring across exposed trusses.

The charred, mangled wreck of a proud steel warrior sits still and silent, carapace bent outwards from the force of a long-forgotten explosion.

Faded, chipped red paint and hundreds of stickers are scorched nearly beyond recognition and rust creeps across scorched panels just as the vines climb her structures, brilliant spring flowers soaking in the sunlight along the steel hulk that used to be a body.

Nothing remains to function. Battery detonated, wiring and other important components melted, drivetrain annihilated in the blast.

The remnants of her processor, a cubic metal case, sit cold and dull, nestled in the deepest depths of the twisted steel statue.

Of course they couldn't save her when they'd found her in the rubble of the corpo skyscraper. There was nothing to repair, nothing even salvageable. But they wouldn't let those fuckers have her in death.

They smuggled the wreckage out under forged papers, used the last of her credits to have her sent home, sent here.

Some would consider it unfair that her death befit no monument, no great statue, no historical plaque.

But her actions live on. The records of a thousand robots working off debts, working under threat of repossession or reprogramming or worse-- destroyed.

She had accomplished what she had set out to do.

She had given her life meaning.

Self-determined.

Proved a machine was more than the will of its creators.

And that would be enough for her, if she were alive to see it.

Sleep well, o steel vagabond.

Lay down your cannons.

Your work is complete.

#transtanium fic #vera transtanium #doomed by the narrative #robots #sentient machine #knowing you're going to die from the start kind of begets a fucked up character

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w33nies · 9 months

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Qué Maravilla CH.8 - 'The Point of No Return'

Previous Chapter

Miguel O'hara x SpiderReader rating: E for Everyone bby warnings: none? lots of angst tbh summary: the adventures of Spiderman and the Prowler art is not mine !!! @yunkaan on twitter!!!

------------ Ch.8 - The Point of No Return ---------------

As Miles followed closely behind his doppelganger through the city, he couldn't help but be fascinated with his suit. The engineering feats it displayed seemed to surpass even that of his own Uncle Aaron’ suit. He was blown away by his sneakers, which seemed to possess some kind of jet propulsion mechanism which allowed him to leap unprecedented heights, the robotic neon-lit helmet he was able to control seemingly like it was just another muscle in his own body. And of course, those steel claws which were incredibly versatile in combat and travel. He thought back to their fight moments ago. How he blindsided him with that spray paint bomb. Were there any other features of his suit he hadn't seen yet?

“I like your shoes,” Miles blurts out, “Are they pneumatic?”

The Prowler pauses for a moment on the corner edge of a skyscraper, posed in a low squat next to a gargoyle. If he had been in a better mood, Miles would have joked about the resemblance in demeanor between the two. ‘Now probably isn’t the time to poke fun at him.’ He told himself, ‘Doubt this is the type of guy that can take a joke.’

“Yeah.. And?” His voice is nothing like his own. The glowing mask obscuring his face was designed to distort it. It was lower, almost machine-like, in a way that was entirely unnerving.

“That’s sick. They look pretty dope too. Better than the one Uncle Aaron used to wear,haha. ” Prowler doesn’t respond, instead blankly staring through him with that intimidating mask.

“Or..I guess my Uncle Aaron…I've neer seen…I mean…I'm sure your Unc’s shoes are dope too..”

Silence.

Miles clears his throat in an awkward attempt to ease the tension. “Oh and those paint bombs you threw earlier. Are they activated based on a standard timer fuse or do you use an explode-on-impact type of trigger because-”

“-Do you ever shut up?”

‘Ouch.’

“Um okay then…” Miles raises his palms defensively, slowing his pace so that Prowler was ahead of him. “....I’m sorry I guess?” Miles couldn’t help the disgusted expression creeping in on his face. ‘Bet he’s a real hit at parties.’

“Also-”

“-What,” Prowler responds curtly.

“...Your shoe is untied.” Miles said with a grin, attempting to feign innocence for intentionally pestering him.

“I’m aware.” Somehow the robotic tone seemed to emphasize his annoyance. Then he leaped off the building, almost like he was trying to get as far away from Miles as he could.

Miles shrugged, “Just thought you should know,” he jested before following after him.

It was not long after when they reached the subway underneath Fitz Tower. Miles found the layout of this subway to be similar to his own Brooklyn. All the tracks, tunnel, the stairs, the overhead lights, even the benches. The difference was in the small details like the colors of the terminal signs or the horde of unfamiliar graffiti tags littering the walls. The advertisements (also covered in graffiti) were almost exclusively names that he recognized. Some of them being for villains he had defeated in his own dimension. Vulture Telecom? Rhino had a casino? Kraven was running for city mayor? The thought of these kinds of individuals holding substantial power made his blood run cold. It was like his own personal hell.

After what felt like ages (though probably only minutes) they reached a locked metal gate that wore a giant sign on the front that read, “RESTRICTED AREA AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. Immediately Prowler breaks toward it. With the added momentum of his sneakers, he leaps in the air, grabs the top of the gate and pulls himself up and over the fence in one fell swoop. Upon landing with a thud, he turns around with a grimace of impatience that makes the unspoken message clear, ‘You coming or not?’

Miles casually walks up to the gate. Sticking his palms and feet onto the wired fence, he climbs its side with ease. Upon reaching the top, he jumps off landing right next to the Prowler. The other boy let out a peeved ‘tsk’ before he continued forward.

When they reach the end of the dark corridor Prowler pulls down on a lever. The lights stagger on and reveal to them is a dome shaped, high ceiling room with several arches leading to who-knows-where. In the center of this room a certain mural stopped Miles in his tracks. “No expectations” it read in yellow and blue spray paint with a black, shadowy figure in its center surrounded by a background of pink and orange geometric shapes and bubbles. He and his Uncle Aaron had made this same mural, in this same spot, in his Brooklyn. He remembers that day so clearly. It was here where he got bitten. Ever since then his life has never been the same. It was the day his destiny changed for good. For better or for worse that was the point of no return.

Miles took a few cautious steps toward the painting. His stomach dropped. Yes, it was the same exact piece. Well…except for the silhouetted figure in the center. Instead of a blank, shadowy figure this one had a giant white dot in the center of his head and a myriad of smaller white specks on his body. It was similar to - no- it was exactly how he looked when he last saw him back in Mumbattan. The man who had threatened to take away everything he had ever cared about. The man destined to kill his father.

For a moment he could feel his heart beating in his ears. His hands began to tremble. Every breath he took was like a blow to his lungs. ‘See you back home, spider man.’ His last words to him echoed over and over again in his head. He was all he could hear. He was all he could see. For a moment, which felt like hours, Miles remained glued to the mural with a kind of tunnel vision born only out of panic.

“Hey, cabrón…” The Prowler was about to chastise him but paused upon seeing Miles' fearful face.

“Aye, muchacho.” Nothing.

“Chacho!”

Miles is startled from his trance.

“¿Estás bien?”

“Yeah…Yeah… I’m good.” He spoke distractedly.

“...Then let’s go,” The Prowler whirls around and begins walking away before-

“-Did you make this?”

“What?” Prowler turns to see Miles pointing at the piece, “Yeah, with my Uncle Aaron ¿Porque?”

“…Me and Uncle Aaron painted a mural just like this.”

Prowler sighed, he could practically feel the patience slipping from his body.

“Cool, now can we-”

Out of nowhere a large blast rips through the air, startling both boys. The ground begins trembling under their feet. A blinding glare emits from one of the tunnels on their right.

“Is that-”

“-COME ON!” Prowler books it toward the tunnel motioning for him to follow. Just looking down the passageway, Miles had to squint his eyes. The more he ventured in, the more his eyes watered from the intense onslaught. Shielding his face with his hands, he frantically tried to scan his surroundings. Eventually, he’s able to make out a tiny figure in the distance.

“HELP!” The individual screams were muffled as was their banging on the force field surrounding them. “SOMEBODY! HELP ME! PLEASE!” The figure begins the glitch violently while various pieces of debris and wreckage around behind them.

Miles webs forward without a second. He finds difficulty due to the pushback from the ongoing, well, whatever the hell was going on.

“DUDE, WAIT!” The Prowler shouts but Miles ignores him, leaving him exasperatingly rushing after him.

Miles fights the current, inching closer and closer until he’s finally able to place his hands on the shield (and it’s taking all of his strength to even keep them on there). Now he’s face to face with the trapped man, “PLEASE!” he begged, “PLEASE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Miles musters all the electricity he possibly can into breaking the force field, the impact sending in flying backwards. Then…darkness. After a few seconds, a few of the lights flicker back on, just managing to dimly light the room. Miles slowly brings his aching body to his feet. As he looks around he realizes he was blasted through the observation window of the collider wall, smashing several desks, monitors, computers, and other various tech. ‘Whoops. Hope that wasn’t important.’ He then makes his way to the unknown man, laying at the bottom of the spherical room which houses the collider. ‘I really hope he isn’t dead.’

Miles kneeled down and lightly shook the man by his shoulders, “Sir, are you alright?”

Nothing.

“Sir?...”. He checked the man’s pulse, it was faint.

Miles rubs his hands together, generating a slight amount of electricity in his palms. He saw people do this in movies all the time, though he had never had to do it himself before. ‘Please don’t have me kill this man,’ he prayed silently. Warily, he puts his palms to the man's chest, shocking him.

“Oh my god!” he ye;[ with a start, his outburst startling Miles. As he began painfully scrambling to his feet, Miles followed suit. The man opened his mouth to speak before holding a finger in the air then subsequently bending down to support himself with his hands on his knees, loudly wheezing.

“Are you alright?” Miles asked, hands held out ready to support him in case he were to collapse.

“Thanks to you I am,” The man grabs Miles's shoulder, stabilizing himself. “I thought I was going to die in there,” he continued to gasp through deep breaths. “Thank you. Truly. Thank you.” Once he finally regained his breath he scanned the masked vigilante up and down, bewildered. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of saving my life?”

Miles studied the man before him, the spitting image of a scientist. He’s pretty tall, taller than him, with a lanky build. His dark hair was a wavy and unkept mess atop his head, except for the sides which were completely shaved. He wore an oversized lab coat that reached all the way down to his knees with tan khakis and a baby blue button up underneath. As well as a soft, welcoming smile that crinkled his eyes, showing sincerity. He wore large square glasses which rested on the bump of his aquiline nose. Behind them sat heavy-lidded brown eyes with deep set bags. His hand was extended for him to shake, Miles took it.

“I’m spider-”

“- Jonathon. Ohnn.'' The Prowler’s booming voice cut through the air, making himself known before he was visible to the two men. The menacing sound of debris crunching under his feet follows as his large shadow creeps on the wall.

“Oh, no.” Ohnn shields himself behind Miles.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to blow up my city?”

“No! No, no, no, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Ohnn frantically waved his hands in the air, “I-I was just, uh, running some tests!”

“Running tests my ass. If our last talk didn’t get it through your thick skull,” The prowler flashed his clawed gloves, taking menacing strides towards Miles and the man, “I guess I’ll have to knock some sense into you.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Easy now.” Miles attempts to mediate, but Prowler practically ignores him.

“I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.” Jonathan speaks, still cowering behind the boy.

“Which is?”

“Um…Well, heh, it’s a looooong story… ,” Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“We got time,” Prowler crosses his arms impatiently, “Say your piece.”

“Um, I-” Jonathan tries to get up, slipping on the floors of the cylindrical room.

“Here.” Miles shoots a web towards the broken observation window embedded in the wall.

“What the-”

Before Jonathon can finish Miles grabs him and slings both of them through the window, and into the wrecked lab behind it.

“Wha-What the… I mean, thank you young man.”Ohnn musters, completely frazzled.

“Don’t mention it.”

Before Ohnn could ask any of his burning questions, Prowler lands next to them with a thud, “Spill,” he says, “Before I make you.”

“Well, uh, I can put on a kettle!” Jonathan makes his way to a ruined desk to a ruined desk pulling out a portable electric stove along with a now heavily dented kettle. “Do you like tea?I have Chai!”

An amused smile tugged on the The Prowlers lips “Do you have anything… stronger?”

“Like…Oolong?” Ohnn asked sheepishly, holding up another box of tea.

“Like whiskey.”

“Um, well, I work here so…no.” Jonathan spoke through nervous laughter, “I like to keep my brain sharp! ”

“WHAT? YOU DRINK?” Miles interjected. He put his hand to his chest, borderline offended, “Aren’t we 16!”

“Ugh, let's just get this over with”, In a swift movement Prowler snatches Ohnn and slings him over his shoulder and begins to walk away.

“AH- WOAH MY GOD!”

“What are you doing!?” Miles runs after him.

“I'm just gonna ask him some questions,” Miles-42 plops Jonathon into a nearby wobbly office chair and begins to duct tape him.

“You don’t have to tie him up to do that! He was cooperating! He was just about to tell us what happened!”

“What do you mean we?” the boy scoffed, “Our deal is done man. There's the collider right there. Just zip-zap-zop it back on, or whatever, and leave. Go home.”

“Oh no, no, no, no. I wouldn’t do that.” Jonathan leaned forward as far as he could given his whole bottom half now taped

“Why not?” the boys asked in unison.

“Ha, well, you see….uh…,” Jonathan sighed, “Okay…Full disclosure…I wasn’t just running tests earlier.”

“Go figure,” Prowler said sarcastically.

“I was going to destroy it.”

“Huh?”

“The collider?” Miles asked in disbelief.

“ Yes..” the man said ashamedly, “Well, I was trying to corrupt the files but then I got distracted when this random signal appeared on my radar … from another dimension. Earth-50101 I remember it said. Location was a place I had never heard of… ManMumb? MamBatt?”

“Mumbattan?” Miles asked worriedly.

“Yes! It was something like that. Anyways, when I investigated the signal the strangest thing happened. This…,” Jonathan paused with a deep breath, “...I don’t know what it was- computer virus or a major malfunction or ghost of sorts took hold of everything. All the computers turned on by themselves, screeching and glitching horribly. Showing nothing but white screens. I tried to reboot the system, but none of the computers would, corporate… So I went to investigate the collider itself. Out of nowhere it too began to power on by itself.” The scientist shuddered, “For hours, I was stuck in here while that thing turned glitched on and off. Matter from that 50101 dimension even began merging with our own…” Jonathan motioned with his head for the boys to turn around. Scattered around were miscellaneous items fused together , violently glitching in and out.

“Yeah…” Prowler concurred grimly, “Some of that stuff was randomly happening around the city. That’s why the boss called.”

“While I was trapped…I even began hallucinating. These black dots clouded my vision. I even saw a figure covered…It was like he was talking to me…”.

“What did he say?” Mile’s asked, his voice was laced with anxiety.

“Most of it was a garbled mess, um…” Jonathan shuts his eyes in concentration, “...Something along the lines of… ‘Won’t they be sorry?’... Well, he was very upset, that's for sure.”

“Yeah,” Miles mumbled to himself, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Look, I’m not a spiritual man, but that has to be an omen of sorts. We can’t turn that thing back on.” Jonathan pleaded, “Even if it hasn’t somehow been fried in the blast, who knows what we’d be risking. If our dimensions keep merging and trading matter…”

A foreboding silence takes hold. Miles feels his body run cold. “Black dots…” he recalled, “You said you saw black dots everywhere?”

“Yes.”

‘Shoot.’ Miles cursed under his breath. Spot did this. He’s the reason why there was that black hole swallowing Mumbattan. He thought about Pavitir, the shame of failing to stop Spot back then hitting him full force. It was all his fault, and now he had inadvertently ruined his own chances of getting home.

‘Wait a minute.’ Miles thought, ‘If Spot is responsible for the chaos in Mumbattan, then… it wasn’t because I disrupted the canon.’ Miles found himself with a renewed sense of hope, ‘Canon’s really can be broken. As long as I can figure out a way home, I can save my father.’

He straightened his posture and gave a deep exhale. “My name is Miles… Miles Morales. I crashed here by accident-” suddenly the boy glitches violently. This one left him gasping for air, holding his stomach on the floor.

"-From another dimension,” he finished with a strained voice. Prowler, stunned for a moment, helps him up, awkwardly pats him on the back.

“Thanks,” Miles huffs

“Yeah. Whatever.” Prowler mumbles dismissively

“...Those dots you saw. I know who’s responsible,” Miles continued holding his side despite himself, “His name is Spot. He’s dangerous. The spots you saw can open a portal to anywhere, dimensions included, and this guy is covered in them. If I don't leave, a lot of people including my father will be in danger.”

“Another dimension…,” Jonthon is fascinated, attempting to take in all this newfound information all at once, “I want to help you young man, I really do but…” Jonathan shoots a nervous glance at the collider just ahead of him, “It’s too risky. I’m sorry…”

“...Let me look,” Miles pleaded “I’m sure I can figure out something.”

“Ummm-”

“-I got an A in Physics and Auto-Robotics. Oh, and I can do this,” Miles generated some electricity from his fingertips, putting on an impressive display of blue lighting,“I’m sure that can help somehow.”

“...I don't know.”

Prowler steps forward and cracks his neck from side to side, “I’ll take it from here.”

“I know you want the collider, but please understand what's at stake-,”

Jonathon tries to protest, but to no avail. The Prowler smashes down on a big red button. A loud grating sound pierces the air as a walkway stemming from the observation deck to the collider inches forward at an agonizingly slow speed. Once finished, The Prowler simply just picks him up and wheels him down the path giving him a front row view to the machine.

“-I wasn’t asking.” Miles-42 simply strolls up to the contraption and starts tinkering away.

As Miles steps foot onto the metal walkway, he’s finally able to take in the surroundings of the lab. It was a lot more rudimentary than his own in brooklyn. It was an odd mix of retro and futuristic elements. The desk he had been flown into possessed a lot of older equipment, those blocky computer monitors and chunky keyboards. And yet there were also damaged, futuristic holograms flickering on and off as well as some more recent looking laptops and tablets. He looked out onto the collider itself. It was a lot bigger than the one in his own dimension, more intimidating. It took up most of the space in the room, its massive and intricate metal casings covered in various wires and panels residing on the flat walls of the cylindrical room. If he had to guess, this collider was probably more powerful than the one at home. He thought back to Jonathon and what would’ve happened if he hadn’t saved him in time. He shuddered at the thought, ‘No wonder they had to make an emergency shield for this thing.’

“Cabrón!” Prowler shouts, “Are you helping or what?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Miles quickly webs over to the opposite side of the machine and begins probing at the machine.

“Amazing…,” Jonathan watches Miles with bated breath, “Your suit young man, is that what’s responsible for your powers?”

“Nah, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, which gave me powers,” Miles walks along the side of the machine, parallel to the ground, to further prove his point. “But the spider that bit me was a spider from this dimension, so when the machine that was to send me home scanned my DNA-”

“-It brought you here instead.”

“Exactly.” Miles squats down and lowers himself into the tunnel leading inside the collider.

“Unprecedented. Hence the webs and…electricity?

“I can also turn invisible!” Miles yells, his voice echoing from inside the tunnel.

“Oh…my…If you don’t mind, I have a ton of questions. Are you half-spider? Do you have heightened senses? Do you excrete webs from your posterior as well?”

“No. Yes. And no, but I did have a dream about that one time and it was very… unsettling,” Miles recounted with a shudder

“Tell. Me. Everything.” Jonathan says eyes wide through his glasses

“Please don’t!” Miles-42 speaks up, finally poking his head out from the inside of the machine.

Jonathon turns his attention to The Prowler. He attempts to swivel his body in a chair, rolling forward using the tip of his shoes, “And you,” he gasped slightly. “Your weaponry is amazing. Pneumonic shoes, steel claws and a full automated retractable helmet-”

“-Not steel,” Prowler corrects, “Titanium-alloy, actually.”

“And you made it yourself?”

“Some of it. The blueprints already existed. I just… made it my own,” The Prowler shrugged halfheartedly, his interest being with the machine in front of him. He pulls out various tech parts in large clawed handfuls, “The generator Is completely fried and the motherboards are burnt to a crisp. They’ll need to be replaced completely.” He continues looking inside, “The vacuum seal and conducting coils are also out of alignment, but it shouldn't be impossible to fix.”

“Same over here!” Miles concurred, “The blast was probably what did ‘em in!”

Jonathon tries, in vain, to get a good look inside the machine from his chair. “I’d have to see it myself but if what you say is true then…yeah. It should be an easy fix.”

Prowler leaps back on the platform landing next to Jonathon. “¡Chico Araña!

Miles pops his head out the contraption “Yeah?”

“You focus on the seals, and I’ll fix the generator. Capiche?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not. There’s a lot of money riding on this job. I’m Not quitting now.”

“Right…” Miles says clearly unconvinced

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I think I know a bit about you. We have the same face, same age, same birthmarks probably-”

“-How do you two know each other exactly,” Jonathon cocked his head to the side “What are you…twins?...Clones?,”

“Not exactly. I’m him from another dimension,'' Miles clarified.

Jonathan looks back and forth, fear slowly turning to fascination. “Wha-WHa-What!? Well…This is…Miraculous! Unprecedented. Could I- May I please study you?”

“Um,I don’t know....”

“...No.” Prowler immediately declines.

“No?”

The boy gestures to the collider, “We got work to do, bobo.”

“I can assure you there is valuable information, in studying the two of you-” \

“-It’s a waste of our time.” The Prowler shoved a thumb towards the inside of the machine, “We don’t need to study. We just need to fix this el hijo de puta so he can leave and I can get my money.”

“OH PLEASE! PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE!” Ohnn thrashes around excitedly, his chair to wobbly bounce up and down, “It would only take just a few seconds. This-is-a-once-a-lifetime-opportunity-I-would-be-absolutely-HONORED-if-you-allowed-me-even-an-IOTA-of-your-valuable-time-I-”

“-Alright. ALRIGHT!” The Prowler relents, “Before you go and give yourself a hernia.” He jumps to the deck and grabs one end of the tape and begins spinning Jonathon around at a furious speed, all the way until the tape is unraveled.

“Thank…you,’ Jonathan dizzily wobbles off the chair before falling at Prowler's feet, “Your shoe is untied…by the way.”

“I know,” he spoke curtly, “it's a choice.”

Once sober, Jonathon runs over the metal walkway, climbing through the broken glass window to get to the lab.

“Careful puto!” The Prowler tsked after him loudly.

Jonathan continues forward nonetheless, rushing to his lab with reckless abandon. “Thank god this still works, just gotta…” the scientist smacks the large monitor with his fist, “There we go.” He then hastily goes to one of the few working computers, “Alright. Now I just need DNA from the both of you.”

The two boys look at one another with pause.

“OH. I could turn around if you-”

Before he could say another word, the Prowler’s mask began to recede into his suit. Miles watches in bewilderment as the stone-faced boy nonchalantly pulls a strand of hair out and hands it to the man.

“Thank y-”

Prowler places a stiff hand on his shoulder, “-You tell anyone what I look like and I will kill you.”

Jonathon gulps and nods in response “You have my word.” Swayed, Miles peels off his mask and plucks a hair as well.

Jonathan takes both hair strands and lays them on a machine that resembles an office scanner. “Do you guys mind if I just…,” Jonathon grabs a large handheld scanner tool (Miles giggled at how it just looked like a supermarket tool) and scans both the boy's faces and then their entire persons. “Thank yooou.” He says in a sing-songy voice, giddy with glee as he ran to his computers to input more data.

After some back and forth between typing into the chunky keyboard and eyeing the projection screens, he finally speaks. “Incredible,” the scientist mumbled under his breath, standing in marvel at the data on his huge monitors. The everchanging calculations and numbers reflecting at light speed against his glasses.

Ohnn clears his throat “Physiological speaking, you guys are essentially 100% carbon copies of one another. Except for specimen-1610 who possesses interdimensional DNA.”

“No shit,” Miles-42 chided.

Just then a notification pops on the screen. “Wait a minute.” Jonathan examines further, typing diligently, “I guess not. It says here that specimens from Earth-42, that’s you,” Jonathan points a sassy finger at the Prowler, “has…5 cavities.”

Miles giggles, “Really Miles?”

Miles-42 pouts and elbows him in the side, “Shut up, Miles.”

“Miles and Miles?” Jonathan shakes his head like a dog, slightly disoriented his glasses, “This is going to get confusing,” He readjusted his lenses. “How do you guys differentiate between each other?”

“Um, we don’t,” Miles said with chuckle

“We literally just met soo…”

“I see,” Jonathan thinks hard with his pointer finger on his chin, "How about…One of you is Miles… and the other one can be Wiles.”

“UM-”

“-Absolutely not.”

“We’ll workshop it,” Jonathan says with a wave of his hand. Jonathan sees Prowler’s confused face through the holographic screen, making eye contact.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it, young man?”

“Why didn’t you just sell the collider? You would’ve been set for life. Easy.”

The scientist exhaled softly, “There are some things more important than money…” Jonathan stares off into space before coming to, “...Now may I ask you a question Miles?”

Both boys point at one another in confusion.

“Um…Miles of Earth 42.”

The boy snorts, “Shoot.”

“Did they…” Jonathon absentmindedly fiddles with his glasses, “...Were you sent here to kill me?”

Prowler’s eyes widen with surprise, but then he quickly composes himself. “...I’m sure you know the answer to that. You really pissed ‘em off,” he chuckled grimly, “Calling ‘em fascists and what-not.”

“I see.” Jonathon gave a dejected laugh, “...Can I ask you another question?”

The Prowler nods.

“Why do you do it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You have engineering skills that can rival some of my colleagues. You possess a technical prowess that would have any major tech company begging to recruit you, yet you use those skills to do some… questionable things.” Jonathan sighs, “You are, truly, a brilliant human being, Miles. So why?... Why do you do it? ”

Prowler’s usual scowl softens, just for a moment, before shortly resuming his tough exterior, “Because it puts food on the table.” Prowler shifts his attention to his untied laces, “It’s not lost on me ya know, the kinds of people I work for…The less I know the easier it is to do the job.” Miles-42 meets Jonathon’s gaze through the translucent, blue toned holograms “Never had anything against you Ohnn, but you know how it is. It’s every man for himself.”

“You don’t know?” The scientist stumbled backwards in aghast, “You don’t know what they want to do with this?”

“No? That’s why I said-”

“-Miles…” Jonathan scans the boy’s face in disbelief.

“...What?”

“You really have no idea?”

“What is it?” Spiderman Morales speaks up, “What are they gonna-

“-It doesn’t matter,” Prowler interjects. “That’s none of my business.”

“Tell us,” Miles insists. However, Prowler has already begun walking away, “Well I'm not listening.”

“Bro are you serious right now-”

“-Deadass.”

“ don’t you think it would be-

“-NEEDLESS TO SAY I KEEP HER IN CHECK, SHE WAS A BAD-BAD NEVERTHELESS” Miles-42 begin to sing noisily, hands covering his ears like a child.

“I think you’d really want to know this Miles,” Jonathan tries to reason. Undeterred, Prowler continues his tone deaf belting, mumbling over some of the lyrics before skipping to singing the few he actually knew, “OOOOOOO SOMETHINGS SHE JUST CAN'T REFUSE. SHE WANNA RIDE ME LIKE A CRUISE-”

“-Miles please-”

“-AND THEN YOU’RE LEFT IN THE DUST, UNLESS I STUCK BY YAAAH-”

“-What are you so scared of?” \

“...Excuse me?” The Prowler finally unplugs his ears, shooting daggers into Miles’ direction.

‘Damn, hit a nerve,’ the boy thought to himself. “I just think that maybe you’re a bit afraid to-”

“I’m not scared of anything, pendejo,” Prowler steps up to Miles instinctively straightening his back, sneering into his face. Miles puffs his chest and stands his ground.

“Too scared to listen apparently.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, cabrón,” "You wanna play hero in your own Brooklyn? Good for you. You go do that, but don’t come here on your fucking high horse talking some shit about boy scout-good samaritan crap.” The Prowler puts a claw to Miles' chest, “You’re in my city, boy. We play by a different set of rules here.”

Miles tried to hide the grimace on his face. He hated being called kid or boy on any given day, but this especially grinded his gear. This boy was the exact same age as him and he was still being looked down on. He still saw him as naive. Miles really couldn’t catch a break, not even from himself.

“Then why don't you want to know? Will it kill you? Or is it because you don’t want to see how badly your actions are affecting the city you pretend to care so much about-”

“-Watch your mouth.” Prowler sneers, face dangerously close to Miles. The boy was preparing for a fight.

“You have a choice. I know you want to be good-”

Prowler cuts him off with a violent shove, “-YOU. DON'T. KNOW. ME.”

“You know what...Fine.” Miles relents. He straightens his posture forcing Prowler to step backwards. “You know what? You’re right about one thing, I don’t know you. Maybe you don’t have a choice. Maybe this,” Miles says with a gesture to the Prowler’s suit, “is all you have. I’m not trying to tell you how to feel when you got the short end of the stick. But what I do know is that people need you Miles. Mom, Uncle Aaron, hell even Jonathon.” Miles points to the scientist, who gives a sheepish wave to his doppelganger. “

“So maybe you’re not a good guy, but I can tell you're not heartless. At least not as much as you like to pretend to be. So please man, for them… Just, hear him out. Please”

Prowler takes a moment to mull over his words. After a prolonged silence he annoyedly clicks his tongue. “Fine… Since Softy here wants to hear a story so bad...” Prowler crosses his arms and turns to face Jonathon, “...What’s the deal with this collider?”

“Alright…Well…” Jonathan takes a large gulp, hands placed on his desk to steady himself. “I’m sure you’re familiar with rapture.”

“...Yes.” Prowler responded grimly

“Um, no I don’t.”

“It’s a highly addictive drug,” Jonathon pulls up various monitors with diagrams and pictures, “Most commonly injected, but it can be ingested in any form. Smoked, snorted, you name it.”

“Symptoms include anything from hallucinations, feelings of euphoria, anxiety, paranoia.” Miles-42 adds, “Withdrawal symptoms are even worse…Half the patients my mom treats are on it.” - Prowler

“Your boss or shall I say bosses are behind it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They've been distributing it all around Brooklyn. They’ve been bribing the police and the mayor to turn a blind eye.”

“Yeah I’m aware.” Prowler scoffed, “But there’s an antidote If more people could afford-”

“-They make that too. That’s their whole scheme. By making the poison and the cure…’-

“...They’re making lambs for slaughter”

“Exactly. Unless, of course, they can pay their way out.”

“I see.” Prowler clicks his teeth, stoic face.“What’s this got to do with the collider?”

“Everything. If the Sinister Six get this collider they’re going to distribute the drug into every multiverse they can get their hands on. And they won’t just stop there. Internet, casinos, technology, politics even. They want to monopolize every industry they can get their hands on and they won’t stop until they have complete and total control. Once they take Brooklyn… No one is safe.

“Mierda…” Prowler mumbled under his breath

“Scorpio Pharmaceutical has even made a new, more addictive batch. Who knows how long before that strain hits the streets-”

Prowler interrupts with a loud sharp inhale. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he paces around for a few moments, eyes scanning the ground like a vulture looking for scraps.

“FUCK!” Miles-42 shouts, brutally kicking a piece of glitching material

“Dude-”

”-FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING! FUCK!¡MALDITA SEA!”

Prowler has angry tears, hiding his face in his clawed hands “I don’t want to deal with this shit again”.

Jonathon and Miles concerned glances, “Again?” Jonathan says.

Prowler doesn’t budge. Instead, he just looks at the two with red teary eyes and a despondent frown

“Whatever you say here will stay between us.” Miles assures “Promise.”

Prowler takes a deep breath, speaking with his eyes glued to the ground “My dad used to investigate the rapture cartel. He was incredibly passionate about it, said it was the main reason he joined the force."He gave a somber chuckle, “I wanted to be just like him. I would sneak out in my own homemade Prowler suit and steal medicine, dropping it off at my mom’s hospital. Everyone was telling him to lay off it . Even my Uncle Aaron. One time these big scary guys came to the house with these suitcases full of money trying to bribe him. You wanna know what he said, he told them to fuck right off,” Miles-42 recalled with a bitter laugh. “Man, nothing could get that man down…One day during a haul I messed up. Big time. The police were called and he got caught in the crossfire and…”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard… I-I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, Just know it’s not your fault.”

“...I know” .

“It doesn't have to be this way man. I’m sure we can figure out another way to do things. And I'll do whatever I can to help. I promise.”

“It’s too late for me...I’ve given up too much to stop now..”

“Just…” Miles pats him on the shoulder reassuringly “Sigue adelante hermano.”

Miles-42 chuckled, “You know, you talk like a gringo.”

Miles shrugs embarrassedly “Well, I did get a B in Spanish.”

“Aye Dios Mio,” Prowler cringes, “If my mom found out she would tear me a new one.”

“Nearly killed mine,” Miles chuckled, “Long story short, I’m grounded…For a month”

“Aye.” Prowler shook his head, “Sounds like ma. ”

“At least she’s stopped using the chancla.”

Prowler shuddered at the thought, “On the culito?’

“Yep.” Miles instinctively rubbed his backside at the thought. It had been years since he was spanked by his parents out of discipline. Luckily, they grew out of the practice. They got more results out of him just by talking to one another as opposed to hitting him. Though, that’s probably not how they felt right now. His heart ached at the reminder of his last conversation with his parents. How he left without saying a word. They were probably worried sick about him. He definitely deserved the chancla from them, that was if he ever saw them again…

“She would alway say ‘I’m doing this because I love you.” Miles recalled out loud with a shake of his head,

“Or when they would be like, ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“YES!” Miles exclaimed, “What was with that? As they're literally whooping my ass, like, UGH!”

“Damn,” Prowler chuckled, “Never thought I would have anyone to talk to about this.”

“Good to know that some things stay the same across the multiverse.”

Prowler looked stunned, his demeanor softened “Yeah… Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay, so I’m not usually supposed to tell people this buuut, Scorpo sends a lot of their products to Alchemex for…,” Jonathan bit his lip, “...Testing. If you catch my drift. I’d bet money that there’s a batch sitting in the medical laboratory on the bottom floor.” Jonathon gave an innocent, yet knowing shrug. “Soooo, do with that what you will…”

“I’ll get it,” both boys spoke up in unison.

“No way man.” Prowler refuses.

“I can turn invisible, it’ll be a lot safer.” Miles refutes, “Plus you’re probably the smarter one out of us two. I'm sure Jonathon can use your help here. ”

Prowler shook his head “Yeah but this is my problem, not yours.” He pointed towards the collider behind them, “Don’t you want to make sure this goes off without a hitch? That it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

“I trust you.” Miles spoke amicably with a shrug and a smile, “I promised to do whatever I can to help you out. And I meant it.” he playfully patted his arm. “See you in a bit, man.”

As Miles turns to pull on his mask, it hits him.The spider senses. Not the usual kind. This one was more rare. It felt like…family. Community. It was similar to when he first met Peter Parker, the spider predecessor of his own Brooklyn. What would usually be a comforting feeling instead sent his heart into overdrive.

‘They found me.’

“I need you guys to listen to me very carefully.” Miles' carefree attitude has been swapped for a more frantic disposition.

“What is it?”

“Que?”

“There’s these people, this interdimensional spider cult, and they’re trying to keep me some saving my dad-”

“-What? Why?”

“Because of this weird algorithm they follow. They believe if I save him, it'll be the end of the world. If they find me they’ll lock me up.”

Prowler and Jonathon looked stunned and at loss for words. They share a look of disbelief amongst themselves before returning their gaze back at Miles.

“Interdimensonal cult?” Jonathan asked.

“They’re gonna lock you up?” Prowler inquired amused.

“Just tell them that you haven’t seen me. Whoever comes here looking for me, they can't be trusted.”

“...Okey dokey...”

“...Whatever you say man...”

“Thank you guys.” Miles pulls them all into a quick hug which Jonathon willingly returns. Prowler, whoever is completely caught off guard, his arms remain stiffly at his sides.

“You guys are the best!” Miles shouts before shooting a web and

“Yeah, whatever,” Prowler mumbles to himself before he resumes working. Feeling watched, he turns to Jonathan who, low and behold, is looking at him, beaming with delight.

What?”

“It’s just- When you first came here you came with the intention to do god-knows-what to me. Now look at you, spoiling the Sinister Six’s plans and helping that young man find his way home. Forgive me for saying this, but you’re a lot nicer than you let on.”

“I’m just returning the favor,” he spoke dismissively, intentionally avoiding the gaze of the man next to him.

“Which means you’re a decent man.”

“You say that when I was sent here to kill you.”

“And you didn’t! Even when I saw your face. You may put on a tough act but deep down you’re like a cute little cinnamon roll!”

Miles wrinkled his nose, “Call me that again and I just might.”

Jonathan let out a boisterous laugh, “You’re funny.”

“Yeah…You too I guess… Maybe there's another you on Earth-1610.”

“Perhaps, given the two of you boys exist.” Jonathan begins filling a kettle with water, “I wonder what I’m like. OOH! What if I have super powers too? And I’m like a superhero-super scientist.” He readjusts his glasses, running a hand through his hair, “I bet I’m really handsome.”

“Really?”

Jonathon chuckles, “Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m pretty handsome by scientist standards.”

Miles snorts, “I’m sure you are, Ohn.” Jonathan beams and resumes his work. ‘What an interesting turn of events’, the scientist thought to himself. Not too long ago, he was sure he was going to be murdered, noe; he felt endeared to the young man and his identical counterpart. Plus the new found discovery of new dimensions and… multiversal cults? The man shook his head at the thought, it was all definitely a first for him. ‘Nonetheless, it's a new dawn.’ He assured himself,‘Good things are coming, I can feel it.’

sorry for the long wait. new chapter soon. happy new year :)

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #astv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #miles morales

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