#i made the mood board before christmas

[nsharks]

can we have more of fighting n make up w ghost plsss :,)

I love me my angst teehee

your first christmas with simon is by far the worst

very brief death mention

In the beginning, when your relationship is still a hesitant little game, Simon's mood can be hard to follow.

There are days between your visits at this point. He'll call you sometimes at odd hours to ask you over. Sometimes because he likes sipping tea with you. Most of the time because he wants to bury himself inside you and make you whimper.

He likes your company.

So much so that he calls you one evening, this time requesting: "Come play Scrabble with me, pet."

You'd been expecting him to invite you over, but not for this. This enigma of a man left you dumbfounded. "What?" was all you could say.

"You said you like it, right? Played it as a kid?"

You shook your head to yourself, disbelieving of his attention to the many details you'd ranted about over the past six months of knowing him. "Um, yes, I did say that."

But that was just one piece of Simon: inviting you over to play board games, grumpily bantering with you when you'd beaten him three times in a row (You must be hiding letters from me. Bloody hell.), then grabbing you by your ankles and dragging you across the rug so he could get you on his lap. He'd given a reproaching spank to your butt and said you had to ride his cock as an apology for cheating. (M’not cheating, Simon, I swear!) But you had no problem apologizing to him, there on his living room rug.

That was one piece, and then the other piece of him would arrive just a week later. Creep up on you until he wasn't even the same person anymore.

One evening, after inviting yourself over (because he'd oddly dropped off the grid for a few days), you are greeted by someone who smells an awful lot like Sterlings. He lets you in, but he's stiff. Withdrawn. He doesn’t offer much of a greeting. Just lets you tell him about your day. His hands are restrained to the pockets of his hoodie and you feel cold in the absence of their attention.

"Are you going to get a tree?" you ask him, forcing a smile despite the weird tension.

"What?"

"For the holidays," you clarify. "You know... to decorate."

Latent eyes. "Don’t plan to.”

Tongue pressed to your cheek, you decide to excuse yourself shortly after that. You mewl over your confusion that night underneath a hot shower.

Your patience and kindness is what entangled you with him in the first place. It’s also what results in you inviting him over to your flat the next day with a little surprise, hoping to bring back the man who’d played Scrabble with you and showered you with kisses.

He presents himself at your door with black sweats hugging his hips and a long-sleeved shirt. The mask, ever-present.

“I’ve got something for you,” you tell him after he’s inside, not bothering to kick off his boots.

Simon only offers you a quizzical look before waiting there as you grab the plate of cookies you’d made. But when you show him your attempt at frosted snowmen and Christmas trees, you suddenly start to feel a bit silly.

“I’ve never made these kind before,” you mutter sheepishly when he says nothing. Just stares at the cookies with a hard look. “Look, I promise they taste good. I also got you a little something.”

And then you’re pointing to a gift under your tree—

—small, humbly wrapped.

“It’s nothing much,” you shrug, chewing your lip. “It’s just something I picked up today. I thought you might need help to get you in the holiday-“

But the shift in his mood is not what you’d hoped for.

It’s strange. Like he hates everything he’s hearing.

The tension in Simon’s shoulders only seems to have woven deeper into the very fibers of him, and he’s suddenly staring between you and the cookies and the Christmas tree.

“What made you think I would wan’ any of this?” Simon cuts you off, each word a slow punch.

You must’ve misheard him. “Sorry?”

“Fuckin’ hell. I shouldn’t have come.”

Your faces pales. “I don’t understand—“

“Don’t understand what? That I don’t give a shit about the holidays?” And his low voice seems to have the same effect as barbed wire. The sheer mass of him suddenly becomes starkly apparent, filling up the room. “Can I make it any clearer for you?”

It’s a little thing called hindsight that gnaws at you. Prickles your eyes. Don’t plan to. You realize, in his own way, he’d already told you how he felt about Christmas time.

But the humiliation draws out a soft snap from you, “Is it so hard to just say thank you?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he huffs. He’s truly angry: you can’t begin to understand why. “I don’t want it.”

“A normal person would just accept it,” your fingers press into the plate. “Not be such a dick.”

“A dick, yeah?" A bitter taunt. "Can be a real dick if you want me to.”

“Jesus, Simon! No, I don’t want—“

“You sure, pet?” He gestures to the plate in your hands and the tree. “Maybe if you see just how much of a dick I can be, you’ll give this shit up.”

His eyes, typically dull and unreadable, shoot you a scrutinizing look that doesn’t even seem to resemble him. But those eyes open up to you, just for a moment. A vulnerable flame doused in what your own perception detects as guilt. Deeply buried guilt that he doesn’t know where to put right now except onto you.

“You know what—“ you’re turning from him with curled lips. Hurt. Embarrassed. There’s a splintering sound when the plate of cookies, ceramic and all, is shoved into the bin.

“However bad of a person you think you are, Simon… I promise, you are even worse than that.”

The words blister your mouth on the way out.

You don't look at him. Just listen, with your hands pressed to your temples, as you hear the thunder of his boots on his way out the door. A slam reverberates through the walls, through your trembling hands. The tears finally seep out once he’s gone. The choking kind. Leaves you a bit numb and empty by the time you’ve ghosted your way into bed.

And at this point in your relationship, there’s no Simon knocking at your door that night. No verbal apology— because Ghost never has to do that. Why would he? You're not even officially his girlfriend yet, just someone he can't seem to shake off. Someone who he thinks about a lot and someone who thinks about him. Someone who'd try, with gentle hands and patient ears, to show him that it's not so bad to be cared for.

You don’t hear from him for days. Empty days that ridicule you. A gift under the tree that snickers at you.

But did you really think he’d let you in?

There was a stony wall he’d put up long before you. Here and there, you’d manage to poke some of the bricks out, peek your gaze through. It was becoming apparent that you’d never truly find a way over it, though.

Until a little box shows up at your door—

—filled with cookies.

It’s a silent offering; you know it once you see the silhouettes of their Christmas shapes. You cry instantly. There’s no name, no message, but you know it’s from him.

That’s all there is, though. And although the box of cookies finds home on your kitchen table, you urge yourself not to give in no matter how strong the itch. You just find his name on your phone and blearily stare at it that night.

A few more days.

Finally, one evening, a dubious knock—

—you can’t stop the hope that carries you to the door.

Simon stands, looking at his feet, anger subdued, and his eyes carefully lifting up. Any scrutiny that’d once been there, storming in his pupils, has long settled. Baring its true skin of sadness.

He’s got something in his grip that you don’t notice until he’s walking in on his own accord.

His name leaves your breath but he must not hear it. Just sits down on your couch and looks at you expectantly. You join him, but leave a purposeful gap, because that scent, that warmth, would diffuse your efforts.

In his hands, a bear. Dwarfed by his palms.

“This was my nephew’s,” he tells you gruffly. Clearing his throat, he hands it to you and gives a little nod, as if to say have it. Within just days, Simon managed to give you the only two gifts he’d ever offered in your relationship. Perhaps, it’s how he thought apologies worked.

You take the bear with gentle hands and feel the aged softness, the worn love. Embedded in it: was, was, was.

Things start to click. You recall his guilt, his hate for the holidays: the distance and anger you’d witnessed in him had really been grief.

“Simon, I can’t take this from you.”

“It just sits in my closet,” he mumbles. Then, a low beg, “Take it… Please.”

You nod.

And then, Simon’s fingertips reach over the gap to touch your collarbone, a tentative request for permission that you give by saying: “It’s okay.”

It’s all he needs to hear before resting his head atop your shoulder. That skin between his brows pressed to the firm bone of you, and you feel it twist tightly to indicate that he closing his eyes, hard. Not crying, no. He didn’t have that in him. But you think, in this moment, that his offering of tender vulnerability is more than enough.

He has poked out one of the bricks in that wall for you.

“Was a proper dick,” he admits in a grumble. Mask lifted to allow a solemn kiss to you neck.

“You were,” you whisper. “But… I didn’t mean what I said.” About you being a bad person.

“Okay if you did.”

But you tell him again, shaking your head and touching his back: I didn’t mean it. And you repeat it a few more times for him until he truly hears you.

And maybe Simon won't spend Christmas day with you. No, he's not ready to let you see that much of his grief. But for tonight, he'll share those cookies with you and open that little gift you got him and tell you a few things about his nephew. Mumbling softly, "you would've liked him, I think."

[violetsiren90]

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut (eventual fluff 😂); BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom; MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace lol; Hobi in the studio 👀 (The full oneshot will come with more specific warnings - a looooong list lol)

Mood board here! ⛓🖤

Release date: Christmas? 🎄

Author's note: Hey, y'all! I am catapulting out of my comfort zone with this one and, honestly, having the time of my life. I've been in my Hobi era lately and when the concept of dom!Hobi possessed my mind I knew I'd have to write it out or else. 😅😂 I hope to pop this under your trees around Christmas! Hope you enjoy the teaser, and as always, if no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Also, a big thank you to @orchidyoonkook for beta reading this - you are the real MVP! 💕

If you want to be alerted via the tag list for this when it drops, let me know!

_______________________________________________

  "What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

    You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

    "Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

    The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair. 

    "Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes. 

    You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

    Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

    You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

    "Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

    He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

    "He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me." 

    At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech. Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening. You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath. 

    Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down. It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

    "Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

    "I told him...I said..."

    "What?"

    "Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

    You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come. You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried. Did you just fuck things irrevocably up? That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit. Shit.

    "Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

    He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

    "Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

    You don't answer him. You can't. Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his grey sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

    "Is it?"

    You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him -  standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

    "Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

    He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bare.

    "You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

    He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

    "...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

    "Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

    You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

    "Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?" 

    "When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

    But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom - 

    "When you're a filthy pathetic little slut."

    A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together (to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure), and that's when he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes fluttering frantically open. 

    "Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?" Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long, something that longs to feed.

    You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

    "I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins. His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want - your friend. Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

    "Yes - yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

    So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body. You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.  

    "A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his words.

    You blink, your mind running up against the sudden saccharine pet name (which he has admittedly called you before) as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous.     Something simple maybe...a flower...?

    "Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

    "Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever - okay? You say that. Foxglove." 

    You nod.

    "Say it for me," he whispers, you shiver again. Fuck.

    "Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

    "Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

    You scramble to find your voice.

    "Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

    He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

    "I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

    He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

    "See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

     He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

    "Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

    "No, Hobi," you whisper. And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

    "That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

    You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and completely exhilarating. When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want. You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

    "You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

    "Make me."

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 14

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

Enjoy and thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼❤️

Part 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded and gazed at it.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a new change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes Miguel smile even more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He yearned for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you came along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are.”

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

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

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

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

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

“There might be some left.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready.”

“Let’s go then.”

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

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

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

“Here, I’ll refill our mugs then.”

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

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

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

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

“About what?” he asks, curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel turns to look at you when you say that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If not more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time has definitely gone by.

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

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

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

You have each other now.

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” Miguel asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems like the little one agrees.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

You freeze.

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

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

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

—☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel, your best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did? When?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry turns to Mayday.

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

“I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said yes,” he repeats, nodding.

“I did…” you reply, trailing off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey guys, I’m back,” someone says.

The three of you turn at the voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ready for that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow.

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

“Where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

“A secret window?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

This universe is a home to you now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel nods and thinks about that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, that would look bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wish me luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s pouting?”

“You were just now.”

“Do you have nothing else to do?”

“I always have things to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I leave all the time.”

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

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

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

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

Hobie, Pav, and Miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad you like it.”

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

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

__☆

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

“… Yes,” Pav replies.

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

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

“Why?” Miguel asks.

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

“Or, me,” Miles adds and Pav nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, I guess we wait,” Miles says.

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

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

“Did you have lunch?” Pav asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very thoughtful,” Pav says smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” you ask, your face softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is guilty?” Peter B. asks.

“And for what crime?” Jess asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miggle,” Mayday says looking over at Miguel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thankfully,” he replies relaxing.

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

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

“What?” you ask, shrugging innocently.

“You said the m-word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be down for that,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You both loved each other. So much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At least we still have-” you start.

“Power,” Miguel finishes your sentence, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassette tapes.

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

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

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

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

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

“It worked,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired of reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

You grin and prepare yourself to stand up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to lie down?”

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

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

“It’s your living room.”

“And? It’s your living room, too.”

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

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

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now. You’re living here for now.

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Alondra

taglist: (text block limit sucks) @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

@rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii

[fanaticsnail]

Something Like That

Masterlist here, Request link and mood board here.

Word Count: 4,048

Hi everyone! This is the last x-mas fic I can push out before my time away over the holiday period interstate. I hope you enjoy reading for our boy Zoro. Thank you @sordidmusings for keeping me motivated! Merry Christmas, Anon! Just in case it peaks your interest @gingernut1314

Warnings: Fluff, Christmas, talks of battle scars, kissing, dancing

Just like all of the times you had ventured to Baratie, this time had every intention of being no more than passing time with delicious food. The floating restaurant atop a mighty ship was your favorite stop-off on your way home to Lougetown to visit with your extended family; the food’s glowing reputation almost did justice to the divine quality and the accompanying drinks were what dreams were made of. The fact that the staff was comprised of reformed pirates also held an appeal, considering your ties to that lifestyle as a skilled archer.

Bidding farewell to the vessel you had bartered onto for voyage, you heard a strange amount of merriment floating melodically from the wide fish-mouth at the bar lounge of the grand restaurant. You furrowed your brows, arching one up as curiosity held you captivated by the songs seeping to the surface with a wide array of demonstrated skill. Some vocals were sung blissfully, others shouted with no skill depicted within their throats. 

Taking deliberate steps with your bow in hand, quiver strapped firmly against your waistbelt and traveling satchel thrown over your shoulder, you sauntered to the grand doors and lobby of the restaurant to meet the matradee. He welcomed you with a broad smile, which rose to sit comfortably and warmly, peaking at the apples of his cheeks. His regular white formal garb was replaced with a deep emerald green dinner jacket, a small bushel of pointed leaves with red shimmery berries strung together by twine.

“Welcome back to Baratie!” He exclaimed with glee, “I have your usual table awaiting you.” He gestured a guiding hand to the right and indicated for you to follow his direction to the bottom of the twirled staircase.

Your confusion seemed to set in further as you took in your surroundings. The usual bare bars of the railing were ornately decorated with vines of sharpened, needle-like sprigs and small warm lights shining amongst the shrubbery akin to starlight. Your gaze was drawn upwards, noticing a small and sporadic assortment of floral clusters clinging to the roof and down the pillars of the supporting canopy. The bunches were of pale sage green, floating romantically down and arching their spindles out to grasp the pearled white flowers amongst the greenery.

As your gaze fell to rest upon the circular room, you noticed individuals joining against each other in embraces of romantic twirling and swaying. Their voices would raise to join with the tune regardless of how skilled they were to carry the tune, prompting you to raise an apprehensive smile to your lips.

“What is going on, sir?” you asked the fishman matradee as he chaperoned you to your regular table, “this all seems rather strange and unusual for a Monday afternoon, don’t you think?” Your tone of playful jest prompted him to chuckle in response, pulling out your chair for you to sit within your corner booth. Wordlessly, he took your bow and satchel while you unstrapped your quiver to disarm yourself to place your valuable items to be placed in the cloakroom.

“One of our kitchen-hands has returned to us, settling his dining debt from his time with us,” the matradee informed you, a playful twinkle drawn up to his eye, “and in celebration, we’re attempting to showcase a custom he had picked up on his travels.”

You hummed in response with a polite nod, brows raising with interest as you pulled your gaze over to view the diners amongst the crowd. Noticing jovial laughter and an uproar of cheers, you pulled your gaze to seek out its source. A young man with a straw hat atop dark loose curls immediately captured your attention, his eyes upturned and jaw hanging wide as he allowed another heartily laugh escape from his chest. His arms were hooked around the necks of two of his companions, drawing them in closer to his chest; a woman with short orange hair clutched within his right arm, while a bandana-clad man with a similar cheery expression lay gathered within his left.

Scanning over the remainder of the party members surrounding him, your eyes first drew to examine the tall, blonde companion. His hair skewed the view of his left eye, but what you could make of his right; he was a delight to look at. After holding your eyes against the blonde for longer than you truly thought appropriate, your eyes met with the final stranger of the party. His dark hazelnut orbs immediately locked on your probing gaze, bearing a protective intensity, his moss-coloured locks raised without much care as to which direction the strands fell.

As his eyes continued to hold your attention, you stared him down to reciprocate his wordless challenge. His brows furrowed briefly before a wolf-like grin rose to his lips, smirking up to the right-hand side of his face with an air of arrogance. Training as a skilled archer had drilled the practice of continual focus on a multitude of targets. This small challenge set your heart alight with a similar thrill to hunting a foe, the green-haired man not shying away from your attention and focus.

He was captivating. His air of protection and loyalty to his companions transferred without question of translation. You watched as he drew his dominant hand to fall to rest against a white blade hilt at his side, his wrist hanging limply against the handle atop the scabbard. He arched his left brow up at you and gestured with his chin, indicating to you that he would not shy away from a fight if one was to be offered to him. You arched up your brow with your own smirk, gesturing lightly with your hands over your torso and falling down to your waist; indicating you were currently unarmed.

Without breaking your gaze from his challenge, you reached your hand below the white tablecloth, shielding your hand from retrieving an item from your handbag beside you. You let out an audible laugh as you watched him fix his posture more upright, his smirk falling from his lips as his frown deepened in partial alarm. After feeling the hard object you were searching for, you raised it to no longer be obscured from view and rotated it within your hands to demonstrate how non-threatening the item was.

His face immediately dropped at his idiocy as his eyes took in the novel you were holding within your hands, closing his eyes and having a small smile rise to his lips. As soon as his eyes closed and soft chuckle fell from his lips, you relished in the knowledge that he was the first to back away from the intense wordless challenge he initiated with his eyes, indicating that you had won the small victory. 

While his eyes were closed, you fully examined his face. Eyes first shamelessly raking over his hair, trailing down and over his closed eyes and settling on his parted lips. His coy smile now completely risen against his lips held a foreign beauty, the creases of his cheeks indicating such softness was not a common occurrence. He was intriguing, someone you would have considered pursuing should you have had more time between your usual meal at Baratie and the upcoming ferry you had booked to shepherd the remainder of your journey. 

You shook your head, uncaring whether he would meet his intense gaze against yours again as you opened the pages of the novel you had begun reading on your journey out to sea, picking up where you last left off. The words whittled within the pages were of a variety of archery techniques and forms, a gift bestowed upon you by your favorite uncle - the one you held the most joy in rejoining with in Lougetown. 

A gentle cough interrupts the passage you were skimming, drawing your attention up to the waiter beside you. He placed down in front of you a seasonal beverage, the steam rising from the rim wafting towards your nose to envelop your senses with its rich, velvety and creamy scent. You thanked the waiter as he placed an accompanying biscotti beside the treat, the crumbled texture littering the small side dish with pebbles of its buttery substance. 

Reaching towards the handle, you raised the drink to your face, gently parting your lips and circling them to blow on the scorching liquid. After relinquishing your gentle blows to your particular satisfaction, you drew up the mug and took a quick sip of the contents. Immediately flooded by the indulgent flavor of the caramelized chocolate mixing with the creamy and decadent texture of the frothed milk. You sighed, breathing out your pleasure at being once again welcomed by the perfect combination of flavors offered to you at Baratie. Placing down again onto the circular, ceramic dish, you lifted your novel to continue reading from the last page you left of; blissfully ignorant or willfully ignoring the intense pair of eyes continuing to hold firm their locked gaze upon you.

“Something the matter, Zoro?” the Straw-Hat captain asked from beside the swordsman, clutching the bone of a perfectly prepared tomahawk steak within his right hand while chewing on the sinew, “you’ve been staring at that table for a long time now.” The swordsman remained quiet, not truly hearing the words spoken to him.

“”M’fine, Captain,” He mumbled. It was true, he had become entranced by the person he was currently inspecting. His bewitchment had only intensified as he witnessed your knowing and examining gaze falling to seek out the loud and joyous laughter falling in the air of the surroundings. You had to be a hunter, by the looks of you: whether it be seeking bounties, hunting animals or contesting mark-matching with the bow you allowed the fishman to leave with. 

“You sure there, Moss-Head?” Sanji taunted him, his signature smirk ruffling the temperament of the swordsman further, “you seem awfully focussed on the-... -Oh. Oh, they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” Zoro snapped his gaze up to focus on the chef whose head was now shamelessly pointed directly at you, eyes searching your body and examining him the way Zoro was trying hard not to. 

“What of it, waiter?” he growled in a disinterested snarl. Sanji slowly dragged his gaze from your body over to face the swordsman once more, eyes darkening with a challenging intensity. 

“I think they’re very pretty, indeed,” Sanji’s exposed brow twitched in an upturned flirtatious suggestion. Usopp smirked, leaning in on his elbows to get a better view of the show Sanji was absolutely going to engage against the swordsman while Nami shook her head. Rolling her eyes, she sat back to rest her shoulders against the plush booth, tilting her head down to shield her smirk to remain hidden in her expression of amusement at their rivalry. 

“I think they’re so pretty, in fact,” Sanji snuck another glance at you, watching as you pursed your lips while turning another page of your novel, “I think I’m going to ask them to dance the next round.”

“What’d you say, waiter?” Zoro tilted his head, attempting to hold his composure and feign disinterest at the challenge. The subtle gruff anchor of his voice gave him away, Zoro winced at his own vocal tone. Sanji chuckled at the failed attempt, choosing to draw his elbows against the table and cradle his chin to rest atop his laced fingertips. 

“It’s not like you’re man enough to ask her to dance, anyway,” Sanji’s smirk rose into a broader grin, relishing in Zoro’s physical reaction of sharpening his posture to rise against the jab. The blonde chef chuckled darkly, drawing his lips to press against his fingertips before suggesting with another jab: “Someone like that looks like they’d prefer to be held in the arms of a real man, not something like you, Demon.”

“I’ll let the two of you know when I see one,” the orange-haired navigator murmured in a low tone, her voice immediately capturing the attention of the two bickering crewmates. Usopp feigned pain, clutching at his heart briefly before nodding in confirmation of her comments: both flinging their heads back in unbridled laughter at the motion. Luffy continued to remain blissfully ignorant, finally sucking at the large bone to rid the object from all edible elements of the dish while offering a small laugh of his own. Although he truly had no idea why they were laughing at that moment, he was happy his crew was getting along - to the best of his knowledge, anyway.

That was the occasion after all: merriment and joyfulness being the central point of the entire reason for this celebration. Sanji and Zoro turned back to face each other again, eyes bearing an electric intensity as they met their rival’s challenge. 

“No,” Zoro gruffly growled, his lips curling in a small snarl. Sanji arched his head to stretch out his neck, eyes closing as he felt a gentle ‘pop’ and sighing in reaction. 

“You gonna actually approach them and ask them to dance?” Sanji lazily taunted him, his smirk returning, “or am I going to get there first?”

At that final nudge, Zoro was away from the table and almost stomping his heavy boots against the polished floorboards like a chastised toddler. Sanji chuckled at the response, reaching forward to claim a portion of the confit potatoes to place on his plate. 

“I gotta know, man,” Usopp leant in towards Sanji, his broad smile rising to his cheeks, “were you that interested in them, or just wanted to get a rise from Zoro? I can never tell with you.”

“That’s my secret, Great Captain Usopp,” Sanji’s left corner of his lip curled up in a smirk with a playful glimmer in his eye returning, “I’m always interested in getting a rise out of him. Beautiful strangers are always a bonus. My favorite is when those two things are not mutually exclusive,” he chuckled, collecting an assortment of ingredients on his fork and raising the utensil up to his lips, “two birds with one stone, and all that.”

The thud of heavy boots alerted you to a figure closing the distance between themselves and your body. The thumps of the hard boots against the polished floor reverberated with a sense of danger. Patiently, with a sigh exiting your parted lips, you placed a small piece of parchment back into your novel to tab the chapter and slowly turned to look at the approaching figure. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, a bored tone with a subtle air of cautious warning befalling your cadence. As you drew your eyes up, you noticed the same intense gaze from earlier falling to meet your sat position on the table. His eyebrow seemed to twitch, indicating slight agitation as his jaw was clenched tightly shut. Cocking your head to the side, you allowed a partial softness to grace your features as you danced your eyes between focussing on each of his hazelnut orbs.

“I-, uh-,” the man was stumbling over his words, unable to string a sentence of cohesion together. He raised his hand to the scruff of his neck, pinching the flesh with his calloused hands and grimacing at his expression. 

“You?” you cooed up at him, a smirk rising once more to your lips. You shook your head, hair dancing at the small sway of movement. Your attention was once again captivated by him; the arrogant energy you had initially met your gaze with was dismantled under his apprehensive aura. 

Zoro had every intention of proving how much of a ‘real man’ he was to his crew, although not so much of a display in masculinity; but more of a need to not allow Sanji the pleasure or satisfaction of flirting with someone so enchanting as you. He was going to simply offer his hand to you, smirk in a gesture to ask you to join him on the dance floor and parade you in front of his crew. But alas, as soon as his eyes met with yours once again; he felt helpless and small under your huntress eyes.

“Well, are you going to stand there all rigid, swordsman?” you taunted, reclining in your seat and resting your elbow atop the backrest, “Or are you going to take a seat?”

Again, Zoro found himself taken aback by your direct approach. He followed your index and middle finger as you gestured to the empty seat in front of you. He shook his head a little to rid him of his prior bewilderment and then apprehensively moved to withdraw the chair to take a seat. You took him in, watching his deliberate movements in the way he sat atop the chair: every action intentional. As he sat, he offered no conversation other than broody silence. His eyes would flitter over to check-in on his prior dining companions and grimacing as his gaze was met with taunting gestures from his crew.

“Friends of yours?” you asked him, brow arched and reaching for the handle of your mug. 

“Something like that,” he uttered in a gruff tone, arms folding abrasively over his chest. You chuckled at his tone, taking a small sip from your mug and eyeing him deliberately. 

“Care to share further, or would you prefer having another wordless exchange?” you placed the empty cup back down on the dish and offered another challenging smile. He snapped his eyes back to yours and his smirk rose again to his lips. 

“They’re my crew,” his rumbly chuckle was withheld in his chest beneath his smirk, “I like half of them, but respect the lot of them.”

You hummed in response, index finger dancing atop the rim of your relinquished mug of hot chocolate. “Would you like to tell me more? I’m all ears about the ones you like and the ones you’re less fond of.”

Over the course of the next few hours, the swordsman and you would swap tales of travels throughout the East Blue and the Grand Line. Foes bested, beasts conquered and sorrows overcome: the tales of injuries you had both granted to opponents and received at the hands of them. He leant back against the back of his chair and slowly unbuttoned his shirt and hooked his fingers within the collar and hemline of his shirt to draw it back to showcase proudly to you. You felt your breath hitching in your throat at not only the physique of the swordsman, but in awe at the large healed mark slashed across his torso. You felt utterly ill-seasoned with your smaller indents of arrows and thrown dagger marks littering your shoulders. As you hooked your middle finger in your left shoulder strap and coyly revealed the small silver, healed markings, Zoro was held captivated by the marks to showcase your tales of battle. 

Enamored, awestruck and enchanted; you both held a small lilt of encaptured silence, leaning in on your forearms against the white tablecloth and gazing into the eyes of one another. Respecting your mutual combatant skill, both you and Zoro’s eyes fell half-lidded in adoration as you held each other’s undivided attention. 

The music and merriment fell into a slow tune, reflective of the seasonal tradition Baratie was attempting to celebrate with succession. Zoro was the first to break the silence between you, placing his left hand on the table with his palm up.

“Would you wanna dance?” he asked, his drawl gruff but attempting to remain polite in his request. You smiled, reaching your right hand to fall within his own, his hand immediately circling around your fingers firmly. His thumb circled over your four fingers, caressing his calloused and experienced hands over your skin.

“You don’t seem like much of a dancer, Zoro,” you commented, both rising to your feet. He drew you in close. Keeping his left hand extended upwards, and raking his right over the mid of your back to draw your torso flush with his, he uttered: “I’m not, but it seemed appropriate. Considering the holiday, and all.”

“Ah, yes. We never did quite get to discussing what all this,” you gestured with your chin, smiling at the decorations surrounding the room, “was all about.”

“I’m not really sure on the minor details,” he shrugged, awkwardly swaying you to the music, “Cap’n just said something about different traditions needing to be incorporated. Something about food, music, dancing, and decoration-...-oh. Oh, no-.”

You furrowed your brows, looking up at the roof to follow after his risen gaze. A small sprig of white, pearled flowers hung over your heads, accompanied by sage-coloured oblong leaves wrapped in ribbons of satin and twine. You cocked your head, left brow raising in curiosity at the flowers and their significance. Drawing your gaze back to the swordsman in front of you, you noticed he was stooping himself all the more closer to you.

“What are you doing, swordsman?” you questioned, halting him in his descention towards you. 

“This is one of those traditions,” he said, unlacing your right hand from his left and wordlessly asking with his eyes for permission to cradle your cheek within his palm. You looked at the hand first, then drew your eyes back up to meet his intense gaze. Smiling, you placed your cheek into his awaiting palm while holding his gaze firmly against your own. 

“Touching a stranger’s face beneath strange flowers is a strange tradition,” you furrowed your brows at him once more in curiosity.

“Kissing them beneath strange flowers,” he corrected you, leaning to join his lips immediately against your own. A small squeak fled from your lips, eyes widening as you felt the intensity falling from his chapped lips onto your own.

This was not how you pictured your return to Baratie to go at all. Sure, you had dreamed of meeting a handsome stranger and sharing an embrace with them. The stars just never aligned for you in any way that drew you close enough to share a kiss with them, only ever moments of story swapping or sharing a meal or two with many travelers accompanying you. 

You allowed yourself to become relaxed into the embrace, reaching your hands up to circle his neck below the assortment of flowers. His brows furrowed in concentration as he inhaled sharply through his nose in reaction to your reciprocation. You smiled, closing your eyes and tickling the scruff of his neck beneath your fingertips; lacing his untamed sea-sprayed locks within them. He expertly opened your mouth to taste more of your lips by angling his chin upwards against your own. A small groan rumbled within his chest, passing from his mouth to fall against your own as he continued to cradle you against himself.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace with your eyes remaining closed. You felt a small pause falling with his next actions, before you felt a warm forehead press against your own. You reopened your eyes, your half-lidded and lazy smile mirrored against the face of the swordsman you just shared a kiss with. 

Interrupting your embrace, an announcement was called over the speakers. The crackle of cables and wires sprung to life within the metal relay, alerting you with a vocal command: “The next vessel to Lougetown has arrived. All those traveling to Lougetown, report to the peer with your documents. Next vessel to Lougetown will depart in twenty minutes.”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” you sighed, eyes remaining closed but lips drawn up in a wide smile. 

“Business in Lougetown?” Zoro’s whisper rumbled within his chest. 

“Something like that,” you withdrew your forehead from its place resting against his own, “much akin to your crew, although I’m held attached by biological relation.”

“Anyone I’d know?” Zoro smirked, eyes remaining partly glazed over enamored by your small daliance. 

“I never ‘name drop’, swordsman,” you cooed up at him while unlacing your arms from his embrace, “but if you’re in the general area,” you retrieved your belongings from your table and laced your handbag and novel over your shoulder, “I’ll be at the G-5 Marine Base with my uncle for the next month for training.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he smirked, eyes upturning to indicate his joy at the thought of meeting with you once again.

[theweightofakiteofdreamsingold]

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI: Smut!! Bondage, some cockwarming??, some light smacking, fingering, p n v intercourse, think that's all? Let me know if I've missed any.

A/N: I went and got all fancy and made a fucking mood board for my first fic back. Since I slacked hard on the Josh Halloween spectacular, I had to do it up right for you guys with a slutty, smutty Christmas with Jake. It's so good to be back, I've missed you all. My sweet girl Han is back, and all is right in the world. Enjoy, ya filthy animals. (LOL @ me posting this on Christmas night. 🤣 I tried my best to get this done early.)

Baja ✨️blast✨️

-Ken

"Jacob!" You called from the living room. You stood on your tiptoes on the small step stool, trying to put the star on the top of the impossibly tall tree Jake insisted on.

You huffed as you lowered back onto your heels, your hands resting on your hips as you eyed the top of the tree with furrowed brows. You felt hands slip around your waist and a weight on your shoulder.

"What's wrong, baby?" Jake kissed your neck softly before looking up at you with gentle eyes.

You turned your head, jutting out your bottom lip a little as you handed him the star. "This damn tree is too tall. I can't get the star on."

He smiled as he took the star from you, smacking your ass gently with his free hand. He jerked his head to the side, signaling you to move off the step stool. "Let me give it a go."

You stepped down and sat on the arm of the couch, watching as he got into position. His arm stretched above his head as his heels lifted from the stool, the hem of his black button down lifting just enough for you to see a strip of his tanned lower back. Your eyes traced along his exposed skin to his hips, his jeans resting loosely on them. You took a sip from your wine glass that was waiting for you on the coffee table and sighed.

"You and those slutty hips." You bit your lip and tried to stiffle a giggle as he wobbled on the stool.

He looked at you from over his shoulder, his arm still stretched out to the top of the tree, his cheeks flushed a baby pink.

"S'cuse me?" He asked with an arched brow and a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You let your eyes scan his face and down to his ass. You lingered there for a moment before looking up at him though your lashes. "You heard me."

His eyes darkened as he stepped down from the stool and placed the star on the coffee table before stepping up to you, slipping his hands around your waist, and squeezing your sides. He gently brushed his lips over your jaw, up your cheek and stopped at the shell of your ear. A shiver ran down your spine as his breath tickled you.

"You like my hips, sweetheart?" He pressed his chest against yours. His tongue snaked around your lobe, pulling it between his teeth.

You closed your eyes and nodded slowly. Your hands trailed over his sides and down the small of his back until you had two handfuls of his soft ass and squeezed. He let out a low chuckle before mirroring your action, grabbing and squeezing your ass.

"Someone's a little handsy tonight. Might have to fix that." He smirked as he pulled away from you and turned to the tote sitting on the floor next to the tree.

You watched with interest as he dug through the tote in silence. After finding what he was searching for, he turned back to you with a devilish grin. A string of white Christmas lights dangled in his hand. You felt your cheeks warm as you raised an eyebrow.

"And what do you plan to do with those?" You had a good idea what his intentions were, but you wanted to hear him say it.

"Well." He stepped to you, slipping the lights behind your back and yanked, pulling you flush to his chest again. "You did such a lovely job decorating today, I want to try my hand at it."

Your breath quickened as he leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. The cord of the lights digging into your back just enough to make you clench your thighs.

"And what do you plan on decorating, Jacob?" Your eyes met his, blown out and twinkling with mischief.

His lips ghosted over yours, his breath washing over you as he whispered, "You."

You sighed as you leaned in to kiss him, but he pulled away before you could connect. He yanked on the cord around your waist, pulling you towards the bedroom with a smirk.

Once he had your trapped between the bed and him, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up slightly. He kissed you hard, licking into your mouth. Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling gently at his roots. He bit your bottom lip, tugging slightly before letting go and stepping back.

"Take your shirt and bra off, then lay back." He demanded as he collected the lights from behind you and heading to the side of the bed.

You slipped your fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, yanking it over your head and discarding it on the floor. Your bra followed behind shortly after. You crawled onto the bed and laid back on the pillows, watching him untangle the lights and crawl to your side. He bent down to pepper kisses across your chest before biting into the soft swell of your breast beside your nipple. You moaned softly as you arched into his touch.

He smiled and sat back on his heels. "Okay, arms up darling."

You eagerly lifted your arms above your head, and he went to work wrapping the festive cord around your wrists. Once he was confident with the restraint, he ran his fingertips down your arms and sides before scooting down to straddle your thighs. He slid his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants, pulling them down just slightly. He leaned down, his tongue tracing small circles over the soft skin of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath and licked your lips as you watched him pull your pants down to the tops of your thighs, exposing your already dripping pussy.

He looked up at you though his lashes as he dipped his tongue between your folds and flicked your clit once. You whined in protest when he stopped and sat up.

"Jake...please." You looked up at him with pleading eyes.

He slid your pants down the rest of the way, tossing them to the floor before smacking the outside of your thigh. "I'm not finished trimming my tree, sweetheart. Be patient."

He grabbed the remaining length of lights and wrapped them around your left calf, your ankles, then finishing on your other calf. He admired his handy work before climbing off the bed and padding to the bedroom light switch. Darkness fell over you as he made his way back to the bedside.

"Are you ready to shine for me, baby?" His voice was thick with anticipation and excitement.

You tugged on your restraints, your core throbbing with how deliciously tight they were. "Yes." You whispered in his direction.

You heard him fumbling with the plug in the dark before a soft white glow filled the room. He was quiet before he exhaled deeply. "Wow. You look...gorgeous, sweetheart."

You squirmed under his gaze, smiling shyly. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide off his arms, revealing his soft, firm chest and stomach. You clenched around nothing at the sight of him. His body was so beautiful, you wanted nothing more than to pin him to the bed and ravish him until he begged you for release. He moved down to undo his belt, slipping it from the loops with agonizing slowness. Once he had it off, he put the two ends together creating a loop of soft leather.

He snapped it once before sliding it down your sternum, stopping at your belly button. You shivered at the sensation, looking up at him and biting your lip.

"I need you to be a good girl for me, sweetheart. Think you can do that?" He asked as he trailed the belt up your side until he rested it on your nipple.

You felt your pebbled flesh harden under it, sighing with pleasure. You nodded, squeezing your thighs together, desperate for any friction between your legs. He tapped your nipple softly with the belt, his voice deep and husky. "Words."

You closed your eyes and cleared your throat before speaking. "Yes. I'll be good for you."

He sighed softly as he straddled your bound legs. His fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your already swollen clit. He groaned softly. "God, you're so wet for me, baby."

You arched into his touch as his warm fingers swirled around your clit. His dark eyes looking black behind the shadows the lights cast on his face. You could see a devious smirk plastered on his mouth as he worked on you.

"Jake....please....more..." You whimpered, yearning for him to fill you. You didn't care with what, you just needed him to stuff you full.

He hummed as his fingers glided down to your entrance, circling your warm hole as he leaned into you, his lips grazing your ear. "Tell me what you need more of, darling."

You shook under him as your wrists pulled at the lights, the cord digging into your skin. "You. Please. More of you."

He chuckled, slithering down your body, leaving wet, sloppy kisses as he desended. Your body jerked, and a loud moan escaped you as he plunged his ring and middle finger into you without warning. He pushed in as far as he could and curled his fingers into the squishy, sensitive part of your insides.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he continued to rub and baby your sweet spot. You felt a stream of saliva escape the corner of your mouth as you clenched around his fingers.

"That's right, baby. Just like that." He praised as he watched the pleasure wash over you. "Does my girl like that? You like when I take care of you, babydoll?"

All you could manage to do was nod as you felt yourself getting incredibly close to your climax. He pumped in and out of you a few times before you were squeezing your eyes shut and screaming his name.

"Oh fuck," he whispered as he fucked you through your first orgasm, your cum coating his fingers.

Your breathing steadied as you came back down to him, and he slowly removed his fingers. He crawled back up to you, his lips crashing into yours as he ground his hips into yours, whimpering into your mouth. He pulled away and sat up, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans.

"I need you so bad, baby. My cock is so hard for you."

You moaned and watched him work with hungry eyes. You spread your legs for him as much as you could against the cords, and nodded. He smiled sweetly before grabbing the cord around your wrists and yanking you until you were sitting up.

"I want you on your knees for me." He grumbled before turning you around and helping you get in position.

He pushed your head into the pillows, your ass up in the air, the lights around your ankles illuminating the sight for him. He groaned and smacked a hand across your ass, rubbing out the sting after.

"You look so fucking delicious, I can't stand it."

He pushed into you without warning, making you yelp and jolt forward. He stilled inside of you, letting you adjust to him. His cock was incredibly hard and throbbing. You could have came just from that feeling alone.

He began pumping in and out of you, the obscene noises coming from your sopping wet pussy made twitch inside of you. You whined and cried as he fucked into you, filling you up like only he could.

"You look like a fucking angel. Lit up so pretty for me, honey." He spoke through gritted teeth.

His hips smacked against your ass as he quickened his pace. Your legs started to shake as you felt your second mind-numbing orgasm creep up.

"Jake....I'm...cum," was all you could stutter out. Words leaving you completely as he relentlessly pounded into you, his fingers digging into your hips, pulling you to him hard on every in stroke.

"That's it, baby. Come on my cock. You're such a good girl for me." He cooed as he slipped a hand between your legs to swirl around your swollen clit.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth fell open, a string of curses peppered with his name flowed out of it as you clenched around his cock, cumming hard for him.

His moans turned to whimpers as he came right behind you, your cunt milking him. He panted and rested his head on your back, holding you up with an arm wrapped around your stomach.

You sighed, still catching your breath as he laid you gently on your back. You could feel the ache in your wrists and ankles while he removed the lights. Once removed, he unplugged them and tossed them on the arm chair in the corner of the room before pulling the sheets back and tucking you both under them. He scooped you into his embrace and took a deep breath.

"I love you immensely, sweetheart. You're so incredible," he whispered and kissed the top of your head.

You snuggled deeper into him, your ear pressed to his chest, listing to the steady beat of his heart.

"I love you, Jake. More than anything."

"I know, baby." You could hear the smile in his voice. "You make such a beautiful tree. Even more beautiful than the Rockefeller." He stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You giggled and breathed him in. You fell into a dreamless, restful sleep. The beat of his heart, your lullaby.

[doomed-syko]

Right Back Where We Started From | Robert Keating x Fem!reader

summary: Flying home for Christmas seemed like a great idea until you’re snowed in and stuck on an icy runway… for the foreseeable future. Even worse? The person in the seat next to you is the guy who broke your heart a year ago

word count: 3.5k

warnings: angsty, exes to lovers (kinda), fluff, swearing, mention of alcohol, my bad writing as always, the usual really

author’s note: i have returned to my roots and am back with a robert christmas fic, everyone rejoice. this time a bit different. as you can tell, i’ve rewatched normal people while writing this – to all my robert keating and paul mescal enjoyers, this one is for you x

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”        

You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but your already bad day had just gotten worse somehow, which was kind of an achievement in itself.

It was bad enough that you had slept through your alarm this morning and had rushed into work over an hour late (the sudden onset of winter and heavy snowfall delaying your arrival even longer), which was followed by your suitcase breaking as you were about to leave your flat for Heathrow and you had to quickly find something to repair the broken zipper with. The bad luck didn't end there of course. When you did finally make it to the airport - ten minutes before check-in for your flight closed - you almost got run over by some busy businessman who didn't look where he was going and, in the process, rammed his metal suitcase against your knee, which had been pulsating and in pain ever since. Your flight being delayed by an hour and twenty minutes was truly only the cherry on top.

But even then, none of those things could compare to the mixture of feelings you felt bubbling up inside you when you realized who had just sat down in the seat right next to you and who was about to sit right next to you for the next hour and a half or so.

None other than your bassist ex-boyfriend whose band was almost everywhere these days. Of course, it had to be Robert Keating.

For a few seconds, you thought about the best way to approach this whole thing. Ignore him and pretend he wasn’t there? Put on a happy face and try to be nice to him? Even though the mere thought of your breakup still made your heart ache and sting every time you thought about it, thought about him. None of those seemed like good ideas.

Before either of you could decide how to approach this awkwardness, a decision was made for you. In the form of the voice of a flight attendant over the intercom system.

“Welcome on board British Airways flight BA 838 to Dublin Airport, due to the heavy snowfall and an icy runway, our start is delayed by at least thirty minutes,” a murmur went through the crowd. “Our cabin crew will be coming around, handing out free drinks and snacks, we apologize profusely for the delay!”

You must’ve really pissed off someone in your last life because there was no way this was real life. How could literally everything possibly go wrong in one single day?

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Robert echoed your words from earlier, the absurdity of it all was the last straw for you and you started uncontrollably giggling to yourself.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” Rob sighed and you knew without looking at him that his face was pulled into a grimace. It was safe to say that he was not having fun right now.

“Oh, believe me,” you stopped chuckling and turned your attention to your former lover, who did indeed look like he wanted to be anywhere but stuck on an icy tarmac right about now. “I’ve actually had one of the worst days of my life today.” You shrugged your shoulders. “At this point, I’ve just stopped trying to make any sense of it.”

Before you knew it you told him about everything that had gone wrong for you up until that point. Broke suitcase and all.

You even showed him your knee that had been massacred by that man and his heavy suitcase and realised that it actually had started bleeding. No wonder it kept pulsating with pain.

Those damn businessmen and their way too expensive, way too heavy metal suitcases

“I feel like I've been talking your ear off for way too long now,” you smiled awkwardly. Seems like 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was the plan you had chosen. “Now tell me, why are you in London on the 22nd? Shouldn’t you be already home with the family?”

You hated that you still knew what he and his family did every Christmas. You hated that you still knew a lot about him actually.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rob replied. And just like that, operation 'put on a happy face and try to be nice' was fucked. “We had a label meeting a few days ago, with the big boss,” He joked. Looked like you didn’t mess up your chances of keeping this civil after all. “The lads all flew home on Wednesday, but I needed a day just for myself, to decompress or something like that… It has been a long year you know? So much has happened in the last twelve months, and I’ve had almost no days for just myself.”

“Yeah, busy year,” you acknowledged. You couldn’t escape the band anymore; they were everywhere these days. And as much as it hurt to see or hear about him everywhere you went; it made you happy to see them doing so well.

You were about to say something when the voice of the flight attendant from earlier came over the intercom again, this time informing you that due to the weather, your delay would continue but that you had to stay on the plane for safety reasons. At this point, you wondered if you would even make it to Dublin before Christmas… maybe you just had to spend Christmas in London alone, so the bad luck that seemed to follow you around could not rub off on anyone else.

At least the cabin crew would – once again – make their rounds and hand out free drinks, food, and some blankets.

Realizing that you hadn’t registered how cold it actually was on the plane, you made sure to profusely thank the brunette flight attendant, who handed you one of the British Airways branded blue fleece blankets, wrapping it around your upper body and legs you had pulled up on the seat after taking your shoes off. There was no way you were going to be (physically) uncomfortable today.

You turned your attention back to Rob, only to see him already looking at you. Actually looking at you and not the 'barely holding eye contact' thing he had done earlier, now he was staring at you, his eyes rapidly moving like he had forgotten what you looked like and was now trying to commit every part of you to his memory.

It made that mixture of feelings you had felt bubbling up inside you when you had first seen him earlier, return. Just this time, the feelings of butterflies in your stomach, that you always used to get whenever you had looked at him, were more prominent than any other feeling.

Fuck… great work! Thirty-five minutes spent next to your ex and boom… you were right back to feeling head over heels for him.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you knowing what to say now, because what do you talk about with your ex-partner when you didn’t plan to see them never mind being stuck in an airplane that could not take off due to the sudden onset of winter. No one had ever written a handbook of how to act if you were ever stuck in a situation like this. No one. Especially not on how to act when you are actually still very much in love with said former partner, making the doubts you had always had about you going your separate ways, appear even greater.

The breakup had been mutual. You both barely had time for each other anymore and at that point in time it had seemed like the only reasonable decision to make. You had finished university that summer, he was practically always on tour or in the studio and when you had gotten that job offer for your current job in London you realized that things would only get harder from there on out. So, you moved to London, Robert stayed in Dublin – when he was not on tour – and then you broke up.

Of course, you had promised to stay in touch, to stay friends but you both knew that that was not happening. You couldn’t stay friends with him, not when you were still head over heels in love with him.

That’s why the breakup still hurt, even though you had not been with him in well over a year. You had tried to move on, had hooked up with a few people here and there, had gone out on the dates your new friends had set you up on but no one made you feel the way he did, so you gave up trying and slowly came to terms with the fact that you would maybe never be as in love again as you had been when you were twenty.

You sighed, trying to shake your thoughts as you fished your phone out of your jeans pocket.

20:21

Even with the initial hour and twenty minutes delay of the flight, you should’ve been long in the air by now, scratch that you should be more than halfway to Dublin by now. You sighed again, before typing out a message to your mother, telling her that you were still in Heathrow and didn’t know when you'd be home. Her answer came quickly, reassuring you that she would be there to pick you up from the airport when you landed, whenever that may be.

Putting your phone away you turned your attention back on Rob, who seemed to be so deep in his own thoughts, that even though he was looking at you, he was more looking through you.

“Are you alright?” You sounded more concerned than you were.

“Yeah yeah, I’m all right. Just a bit tired,” He smiled at you. “It's just– you know… I have missed you. A lot.”

Oh.

“I’ve been for a while actually,” He chuckled awkwardly. “The last year has been one of the strangest of my life. The juxtaposition of all the success with the lads, all the sold-out shows, festivals… all the fun and good stuff that has happened and then missing you all the time, missing us. It is a lot.”

Robert’s admission hit you like a ton of bricks. Holy fucking shit.

“Don’t say that.” Your voice was breaking. Why was your voice breaking?

“No, I mean it,” Rob's voice wasn’t steady, but he continued, reaching for your hands, and giving them a gentle squeeze. It was the first time he touched you that evening, leaving your skin feeling like it was on fire everywhere his met yours.

“No, you don’t get to say that shit after I spent over a year being heartbroken.” Your emotions were running wild now. “Not after I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never love anyone like I love you.”

There it was. Your confession. Out in the open.

“We both decided it was for the better to call things off,” Robert cringed at the words. But he was right, it had been a mutual decision. “You can’t put all the blame on me… if I had known how difficult this would be I would’ve never done it.” You could tell he was getting worked up over this, but you could not blame him for that. You weren’t doing any better really. “I would’ve moved to this damn city for you!”

“Don’t say that.” There it was again. “Robert, you would have hated it here. You would have been away from the lads, you would have had to commute between London and Dublin all the fucking time,” you tried to keep your voice as low as possible, which proved to be difficult the longer this went on. “That’s no way to live, baby. We would have been miserable.”

He was silent for a while, his hands still holding onto yours as if you were the anchor keeping him grounded but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Now you squeezed his hands.

“Bobby there is no use in pretending you wouldn’t have been absolutely fucking miserable here,” You sniffled trying not to cry. “I would not have had time for you, and you would not have had time for me. We would have lived two separate times, believe me, we would have resented each other after a few months.”

“Still,” he tried to argue. “I’ve been pretty fucking miserable this year without you too.” He was finally looking at you again, his eyes slightly glassed over.

You didn’t know what to say to that and before you could think of something, the intercom turned on again.

“Good evening, my name is Richard Jones, I’ll be your Captain tonight and I am happy to report that we’ve finally got cleared to take off.” Finally. “We will be making our way onto the tarmac in about ten minutes. Since we are obviously not the only plane waiting to take off, we will have to wait for a little bit longer, but we should be in the air in the next thirty minutes or so. We, again, apologise for the delay, if you have any more questions our cabin crew will be happy to answer them. We thank you for your patience!”

You felt like a weight was finally being taken off your shoulders. A weight you had carried around with yourself for almost a year now.

You got your phone out again, sending another text to your Mum telling her that you were finally about to take off and actually get home for Christmas. And then… then you took a deep breath turning your attention back to Robert.

Okay, here goes nothing.

“Well since we are sharing,” you smiled at him, still holding his hands. “I’ve missed you too. A lot!”

Before he could answer you, you got interrupted once again.

“Is there anything I can get either of you?” The brunette flight attendant from earlier smiled at you. “Any drinks? Food?”

“Yeah actually,” you turned your attention from Rob to the brunette woman. “Could we get two red wines and a pack of salt crisps? Thank you so much!”

You took the two wines and crisps, setting one of the wines down in front of Robert.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” You grinned at him, who would have thought this day would end like this? You certainly didn’t. “Cheers!”

The both of you talked a lot. About everything that had happened since your breakup, about how much you missed each other, about your job and the band.

You told him how proud you were of him and the lads, that even though it had hurt to see them everywhere, your happiness for their success outweighed the heartbreak of – at the time – knowing that you would probably never get to tell them that in the way you had done for years before. That you missed your friends in Dublin but that your new job and friends in London were great. How much you had fallen in love with this city. And how much you hated not at least trying to stay in contact with Eli or Josh.

In turn, he told you about how much he loved touring, how he and the lads had grown even closer, how crazy eventful this year had been and how glad he was that they were taking a little break. Taking things slow but already working on album number three.

You talked about your confessions from earlier. That you both were obviously miserable without each other, that you still loved each other greatly and what it meant for you going forward.

With your head on his shoulder, you talked for the whole flight, in hushed whispers, laughing every now and again.

And if the confessions had taken a heavy weight off your shoulder earlier, this – the hushed talking, the little giggles, and the handholding – made you feel weightless. Made you feel like you were on top of the world again. All because the man you loved was still in love with you.

You were holding hands when you finally walked out of the airplane at 22:25. Finally back home in Dublin you thought. And you continued to do so when you waited to pick up your baggage, which of course took another fifteen minutes but at this point, what were those extra fifteen minutes? If anything, it was more time with Robert which you gladly accepted.

“Is anyone here to pick you up?” You looked up at Rob, while you were still waiting for your broken suitcase, to arrive on the baggage conveyor belt.

“Sent a message to my Ma while we were getting ready to land,” He answered. “Is that your bag?” He asked pointing to the black suitcase, which was indeed yours. “She should be here by now and if not, I’ll just have to wait a few minutes,” he grabbed your suitcase, grabbing your hand again and interlocking your fingers. “Your Mum is picking you up, right?”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you walked through the automatic doors. “There she is actually.” Your pace got faster after you spotted her in between the dozens of other people who were waiting for their loved ones to finally arrive. “C’mon.”

You felt your fingers slip out of Robert's hand a few meters before you reached your mother, practically running into her open arms. Only once you were back in your mother’s arms did you realize how tired you actually were.

“Oh my god I’ve missed you so much,” you sighed. “I don’t think I have ever been this happy to be back home.

“Oh, it is so good to have you back, sweetheart!” Your mother replied kissing your cheek before spotting Rob who had given your little reunion some space. “Robert it's good to see you again darling.”

She pulled him into her arms, just like she had done with you earlier but not before side-eying you. This was going to be fun to explain later.

“Okay let’s get you home,” your mother sighed, grabbing your suitcase. “Is there anyone to pick you up, Robert?”

“Yeah, my Mums on her way,” he smiled down at her. “I’ll wait outside for her; don’t worry she'll be here in a few minutes.”

The three of you walked through the airport, towards the car park, your mother in the front with your suitcase, Robert, and you behind her with the rest of your baggage.

“I’ll get the car,” Your mother said when you stepped outside, the cool air blowing through your hair. “You wait here I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Before you could answer her, she was already gone, leaving you and Robert alone. Smart woman, you thought to yourself.

You turned your attention back to Robert, smiling brightly, before resting your head against his chest. You stood in silence, the chilly wind still blowing through your hair. You did not feel the need to say something. Everything you needed to get off your chest you had talked about with Robert. You would rather just stay where you were right now, in his arms and pressed against his chest just like you had done a hundred times before.

“I’ll see you in January,” he smiled, carefully grabbing your face, and pulling it from his chest to look at you. “Right?”

“Yeah,” you hummed, hearing the honking of a car, and turning around to see your mother waiting for you. “I’ll keep my bed warm for you!” You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

“I’ll know you will love,” Robert grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” another kiss. This time his lips landed on your right temple, right next to your eye. “I love you!”

The last kiss he pressed to the tip of your nose. Just like he had done on your first date, years ago.

“I love you.” You replied, kissing the skin right below his chin, before nuzzling your nose into his neck. It was crazy how fast you fell into old patterns.

Your mother honked again, which you took as your sign to let go of Robert and get into the car. Before leaving his warm embrace, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his skin still feeling warm beneath your lips.

You walked to the car, put your backpack on the backseat and before she could even ask you answered the question you knew she was dying to ask you.

“It’s a long story.”

note: if you liked this imagine, don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog, that’d be greatly appreciated! xx

taglist: (if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!) @tractorbeamofwoe @1twontalwaysbelikethiss @vanmccannsfridge

[taetaespeaches]

“Begging already?” 

taehyung x reader/oc genre: fluff word count: 1.7K 

a/n: Hi lovelies! Long time no see :) I got a nightmare before christmas version of the game operation and this idea came to mind... I wrote the majority of it back in august and am now randomly deciding to post. If anyone even cares!!! I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading :))

Thunder rumbled quietly outside as the candlelight illuminated the kitchen, and while the power outage may have helped Taehyung set the mood, you determined he had a charming ability to make any scenario feel romantic. The room was bathed in warm, flickering, golden hues, the low lighting casting shadows across Taehyung’s handsome face, revealing his features only in small glimpses as he shifted around the childrens game positioned in front of you both. Your boyfriend would have been a 19th century romantic writer’s dream, his bone structure providing an air of austerity while his sweet heart doled out love onto every living thing in his vicinity. The ultimate muse. 

His freshly dyed blonde hair was too enticing for you to resist reaching out and brushing your fingers through the soft strands. He leaned into the touch, despite the tweezers reaching in for a plastic spider within Oogie Boogie’s burlap body. While out and about a couple weeks ago, you and Taehyung came across a Nightmare Before Christmas edition of the classic Operation game. Instead of collecting various bones from the man’s body, you were tasked with digging bugs and other creepy items out of the movie villain’s burlap form. 

“You’re gonna make me mess up,” Taehyung complained halfheartedly, looking up at you from underneath the gold metal rim of his glasses.Truly swoonworthy. You were seated cross-legged on top of the counter, admiring the way Taehyung’s forearms rested against the granite as he leaned over the game board. Flashing him a smile, you watched as his own lips curved upward before turning his attention back to the game. 

You were supposed to be on a date tonight, the dinner reservations made last week. When the storm, followed by the power outage, struck, Taehyung quickly adjusted. He pulled together every candle within the apartment and put them all in the kitchen, stating that “the kitchen is the most romantic room in the house”. Whether you believed that prior to his comment or not, you were now convinced. Who were you to argue with an expert in romance? People wrote great romantic novels about him, after all. 

It had been at least fifteen years since either of you had played Operation, and memory had led you both to believe the game was much more challenging than it really was. Taehyung successfully removed the spider and placed it to the side of the board, restarting his collection after two rounds of play already. Neither of you had failed an operation yet, causing for a very un-suspenseful game. 

“I remember this being a lot more difficult when I was six,” you smiled, Taehyung chuckling as he transferred the removal tool to you. Placing his palm on your knee cap, he squeezed gently before swiping his thumb along your thigh. 

His tongue poked out before grazing over his bottom lip, lingering for a moment until his mouth spread into a stunning smile. “We could make it more exciting,” he suggested flirtatiously. Pulling your eyebrows together, you watched as mischief flashed across his pretty eyes. “Every time one of us misses, we take something off.” 

“What, like strip Operation?” You snorted, massaging the roots of his hair. Taehyung wore an expression of pure excitement, eyes wide, beam wider. It was cruel, and enchanting, how he could use that innocent charm in sinful ways. “Fine,” you agreed with a smirk, pulling your hand from his hair and turning your attention to the board. Easily, you removed the bat and placed it on top of the counter, defiant in your refusal to give him what he wanted. 

Meeting Taehyung’s eyes, you found his features positioned into a disappointed pout. “Looks like your plan has been foiled,” you smiled in amusement, Taehyung taking the tweezers from you. “We literally haven’t missed—” 

You were cut off by the sound of Oogie Boogie yelling about people fishing around in his body, startling you as your eyes darted to the board to see it lit up with failure. 

“Oh, shoot,” Taehyung said teasingly, tsking at himself. In the next moment, with a smirk planted on his annoyingly pretty face, he reached for the shirt at the nape of his neck and tugged it over his head, leaving him beautifully topless. “Your turn,” he smirked teasingly, and for a moment you damn near tugged your own shirt off before you remembered there was a game in play. It wasn’t Operation that you were suddenly determined to win, but rather the game of desire versus desire that you did not want to lose. Taehyung had always been the king of self control and making him lose his composure was always the sweetest victory. It was magical, the moment he’d snap, witnessing him beg. 

Biting back your amusement, you leaned into the board and began your attempt to remove the snake that Taehyung failed to. With his eyes on your task, you snuck a glance at his shoulders just barely highlighted in the candle’s flickering. He was sturdy and broad, but somehow still delicate, and the orange flame enhanced the tan he had gotten on his recent work trips, the Spanish beaches suiting him well. His eyes lifted to meet yours, snapping you back to the game as you concealed a knowing smile at being caught staring. 

Shifting focus, you ignored his cocky chuckle. “This is one of the easiest pieces, you loser,” you teased, feigning obliviousness to his strategic loss. As you slowly pulled the piece out of the game board, Taehyung suddenly squeezed your thigh with a loud shout that purposefully made you jump in start. The tweezers hit the metal siding, sending Oogie Boogie into a fit, alerting you that you had failed the operation. 

Clutching at your chest, you huffed. “Foul play!” You complained to Taeyung as he smiled impishly at you, his tongue tucked slightly between his teeth as he celebrated his small win. Biting back your own amusement, you picked up the sheet of paper with the game rules and started studying them with fake seriousness. 

“What are you looking at?” He craned his neck, attempting to peek over at the rules. 

Pulling it out of his view, your lips lifted into a smirk. “I’m looking for what it says about your supposed lover cheating to get you naked,” you informed him, noting the scoff that escaped his lips. “Surely I get a redo or something.” 

An adorable chuckle fell from Taehyung’s soft lips, your heart squeezing at the sound. “No, I’m pretty sure a fail is a fail,” he defended his conniving ways. Shooting him a glare, he giggled a little more. “What’s it say?” He nodded at the rule sheet with a charming lift of his eyebrow. 

“Turns out strip Operation isn’t a real game,” you forced a frown. 

“I’m shocked,” he played along, his eyes widening to emphasize his acting. 

“Yeah, it says that taking your clothes off during play is an inappropriate way to enjoy this board game made for six year olds,” you cocked your head to the side, Taehyung smiling brightly at you, lifting his eyebrows playfully. 

“Really?” He smirked, his gaze glancing down your body, eyeing the oversized sweatshirt that pooled slightly at the tops of your thighs. “I think getting you out of that top is perfectly appropriate.” 

On second thought, the great romance writers of the 1800s wouldn’t have known what to do with Taehyung. You’d like to see Anne Elliot try to resist the man standing in front of you. 

“The game makers disagree,” you told him, though your hands traveled to the hem of the shirt, your fingers toying with the material. “This top?” His eyes lingered on your fingertips, anticipating your next move. His silence, the lack of a comeback, is what gave away how he barely held onto his restraint. The wick of one of the candles popped, the flame flickering across Taehyung’s face to reveal the way hunger had etched its way into his features. These moments, where you held him in the palm of your hand, made the desire to tease him burn inside your abdomen, feeling very much like need. 

Sitting up straighter, you finally lifted the fabric up your body, exposing your stomach, your chest, the flimsy lounge bra hardly concealing anything from his feasting eyes. Pulling the top over your head and setting it down on the counter beside you, your eyes found Taehyung’s as they greedily took in the newly exposed flesh. His hands quickly found purchase on your hips, his fingers cool but not cold as they settled on your sides. 

“Please tell me you’re not gonna make us go through more turns to get the rest of this off,” he pleaded, his thumbs dipping under the material of your cotton shorts. Giggling, you cocked your head in feigned thought as you rested back on your arms, your open palms supporting you against the counter. 

“Begging already?” 

Chuckling at you in disbelief, Taehyung dropped his head against your lap before turning his face to look up at you. “Peaches,” he whined, and it was the smile he wore that told you he believed himself to be a winner, whether he was the first to give in or not. His expression was desperate but knowing, aware he was about to get what he had been deprived of for longer than he would have preferred. 

“You know I’m not too proud to beg,” he whispered, the low timber of his voice making your resolve crumble to his desires. 

Smiling softly at him, Taehyung hugged his arms around your hips before placing a kiss to your thigh, tingles erupting at the spot. “In fact,” he started, only pausing to place another kiss higher up your leg, leaving a trail of anticipation in your nerve endings. “I’ll get on my knees right now.” He was cocky and teasing, but all too serious for your breath not to hitch slightly in your throat. An eager smile spread across his mouth, and you knew that this version of Taehyung, naughty and confident and divinely devoted to you, would certainly have been far too much for the 19th century authors. Eat your heart out, Mr. Darcy.

[chans-room]

Winter Things

❄️ Stray Kids (Bang Chan, Changbin, Han Jisung, and Hyunjin) x reader and Ateez (Yunho and Hongjoong) x reader

❄️ Word count: 3.7k

❄️ Happy holidays babes! I decided to make a few gifts for my friends based on their favorite winter activities but everyone can enjoy, so merry ficmas 🖤🎁 Each has a mood board, fluffy date, and the spicy ending! All soft, fluffy winter vibes here folks, nothing too wild. All contain smut so minors DNI!

Hongjoong + baking cookies for @kiestrokes

Hongjoong comes over after you tell him you’re planning on spending the day baking Christmas cookies. You figure he needs a change of scenery to keep working and you, as a friend, provide a low stress environment and tasty treats. But when he shows up in his sweats and hoodie, no laptop in sight, your heart melts a little. He really just wanted to be with you. You had worried that becoming friends with benefits would ruin your friendship, but it actually only made you both closer. There was no awkwardness, no secrets, just complete trust and honesty. He sits at your counter and watches you as you work, helping here and there when you ask for it. You discuss everything that’s happened since the last time you saw each other. It’s only been a few days, but you both love knowing even the smallest detail. But when it comes time to decorate, Hongjoong is ready to show off his skills. He’s deadset on getting every single one absolutely perfect, and once you’re done — and after he attacks you with the leftover icing — he’s pushing you toward the bathroom, promising to clean up the kitchen as you clean up yourself. After your shower, all comfy and bundled in your pajamas, he’s pulling you under the blanket on the couch and into his arms. You let yourself relax with your back against his chest — you feel undeniably safe with him.

His voice in your ear nearly lulls you to sleep when you feel his hands under your shirt, skimming up your ribs, one hand cupping your breasts while the other traces a finger down your stomach. You can’t make out any of the words he’s saying, sleep clouding your brain, but you don’t care. It feels good and you’re perfectly willing to bask in his casual affection. His featherlight touches pull back to reality, but his cold fingertips slipping just below the waistband of your pants jolts you awake. You barely whisper a plea as the thought of his fingers inside you make you squirm with anticipation. He chuckles at your excitement and in no time, he has you naked, his pants abandoned by the armrest as well, your back still pressed against his chest. He whispers all of his most lewd fantasies, praises, and appreciation in your ear as his fingers work inside you. He makes you cum like that, writhing against his hold, twice before he relents and pushes into you. It’s not long before he’s gasping your name into your ear and moaning as the tight circles he makes around your clit quicken, pushing you over the edge with him. You spend the rest of the day under the blanket with him, relishing in the uninterrupted time you two have together. 

Changbin + looking at the Christmas lights for @eureka-its-zico

Your husband calls you on his way home from work, saying he’s on his way, and tells you to put on something comfortable. When you get in Changbin’s car he hands you both a coffee cup, your usual order, and his sweatshirt. He refuses to tell you where you’re going, but you don’t mind. You trust Changbin with your life, and sitting in the passenger seat with his hand in yours, your favorite playlist filtering through the speakers is exactly what you needed after the week you’d had. You can always count on him to brighten your day; he would never let you wallow in your bad week. He’s always coming home with flowers, a milkshake, or a new book to brighten your worst days. You let yourself relax as you watch the sun set and the street lights turn on, when he pulls into a neighborhood that’s teeming with lights and decorations. His giggle echoes in the car as your face lights up, gasping and cooing at every house. Changbin tells you to get comfortable — because he’s not stopping the car until you’ve seen every decorated house in the city. You both pick favorites in every neighborhood, picking the best ones and reminding yourselves to go back next year to see if they do anything different. You drive around until you start yawning. Changbin stops the car, pulling off to the side of the road. He turns the car off, running out into the cold to your door before pulling it open and hauling you into his arms. You scream and laugh as he spins you around before coming to a stop, showing you the city laid out in front of you. You can’t help but kiss him — your Binnie is the best husband you could ever ask for.

After a few lighthearted complaints, you force him back into the car, but you pull him into the back seat with you. It may be freezing outside but he’s warm and broad and lights a fire in you that burns so hot you have to strip down to nearly nothing. He folds you into positions you weren’t sure were possible, mumbling about how the backseat isn’t big enough for how he wants to ravish you, but his selfish wife can’t keep her hands to herself. He promises to make it up to you when you get home but for now, he needs you too bad. Despite being with him for as long as you’ve been, you still need him to prep you before he can fuck you the way you want him to. Your knees are pressed to your chest as he scissors his fingers into you, mouthing at your neck and chest. The fleeting thought of his leather seats passes through you before his cock bullies its way into your cunt — the stretch tearing all the coherent thoughts from your brain. You’re a brainless mess as he fucks you, digging your nails into his biceps until his hips start faltering. His name tumbles out of you in a gasp as you shatter, dragging him with you into the abyss. You both lay there, catching your breath before you both start giggling, feeling like a couple of teenagers again. He kisses your forehead once before climbing back into the front seat, starting the long drive home. He tells you he doesn’t mind if you fall asleep — he’ll get you both home safe.

Hyunjin + Decorating the Tree for @slashersteve

You were in the middle of a holiday puzzle when your phone started ringing, interrupting the carefully curated playlist you’d set up. Of course, it was your best friend Hyunjin with the dramatics, complaining about how he desperately needs your help with his final project for his photography class; nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he needed you more than ever. You sighed and grabbed your box of Christmas decorations you’d been procrastinating setting out before bustling out of your apartment. You decided it wouldn’t hurt to stop by a few shops on the way — you knew what he was planning and exactly why it wasn’t working the way he’d wanted it to. He’d spent the last three weeks telling you endlessly about how his final project was going to be about Christmas Traditions, but he had only picked out high end, avant garde decorations. He lacked the warmth and comfort of home, which you were more than happy to provide to your best friend. You didn’t bother knocking as you got to his apartment; you let yourself in the unlocked door and found Hyunjin laying on the floor of his living room, surrounded by an army of expensive miniature nutcrackers. You ignored him as he began lamenting about his failure, deciding instead to set up all your decorations. They were things you’d had since childhood along with things you’d begun collecting throughout your life, or things that looked like what you’d find in your mother’s Christmas collection. Eventually, his complaints faded into silence, which was only occasionally broken by the click of a shutter. You forced him to set the camera down to help you decorate the tree he’d set up. Your heart clenched in your chest when you thought about how desperately you wished you could do this with him for real. Your family already loved him, and his loved you, so the transition would be seamless. But he didn’t feel the same way about you — you’d packed up that hope years ago. You had accepted that Hyunjin would always just be your friend, your best friend. But in moments like this, you couldn’t help but long for more. You finished decorating in amicable silence and you both stood back from the tree, appreciating how beautiful it was. Hyunjin handed you the tree topper you’d brought with you, a Tinkerbell you used every year, and bid you to place it on the tree. As you stretched up onto your toes, you heard the distinct click of the camera firing behind you. You rolled your eyes and straightened her out before dropping back onto your heels, glaring at him. But you were surprised by his face so close to yours, a look you’d never seen in his eyes. You didn’t have time to decipher what it was before his lips were descending on yours.

It was a rush — both of you pulling at each other's clothes with no regard, desperate and frenzied. You didn’t want to waste any time, unsure if you’d ever have the opportunity to be with Hyunjin again. You tried to convince yourself that one time would be enough, you could live with once if it was all you could get from him, so you were going to make it worth it. You marveled at his naked body, nearly wept when he pressed his sinfully long fingers into your entrance, screamed his name as he made you cum with his mouth, and felt the world come to a stop when he finally had his cock inside you. The idea that you could ever move on was laughable — not only was he your best friend but he somehow knew exactly what to do and when, and exactly what to say to tear you apart at your seams. You were catching your breath when he finally spoke, expecting him to tell you that it had been a mistake. But instead he tearfully confessed his years long held affection for you and begged you not to break his heart, at least not until after Christmas. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics, and instead tackled him backwards onto the couch, kissing him again before informing your now boyfriend he didn’t have to worry about being heartbroken, before Christmas or after.

Yunho + cozy nights in for @j-a-nuary

As soon as the snow starts coming down, you cancel your minimal plans for the day. Yunho is one of your first calls — you were supposed to go out for lunch to a new restaurant you’ve been wanting to try, but now all you wanna do is curl up on the couch and watch some comfort shows. You apologize for calling off your plans with your boyfriend, but trekking out into the snow sounds horrible to you. He laughs and tells you he understands, leaving you to your couch and your shows. An episode and a half later there’s a knock on your door; it’s Yunho with a bag of food from your canceled reservation, and another bag of snacks. He spreads your lunch out on the table and hands you a plate. You both eat in silence, focused on the TV, but his body is pressed against yours comfortingly. He presses his lips to your head every so often, and when you finish, he takes the dishes to the kitchen and refuses your help when he starts to wash. He tells you that you can repay him in cuddles when he’s done.

You don’t wait when he comes back to the couch — as soon as he sits down you crawl into his lap, fingers threading into his hair to tip it back to give you the room you require to show your appreciation for him. You take your time trailing your lips across his jaw, relishing in his subtle shivers and the way his hands twitch where they sit on your waist. You know he’s struggling to not flip you onto your back and take over, a move you’re intimately familiar with, but you have other plans. He lets you strip off his flannel and the shirt underneath, nails trailing over his muscles as your lips and tongue and teeth trail across his broad chest and over his sensitive neck. It’s when you suck a small mark into the thin skin at the hollow of his throat his hands finally tighten on your waist, and you know you’ve won. The broken moan falling out of his mouth tastes like victory, his body relaxing against the back of the couch. You waste no time ridding both of you of the rest of your clothes before positioning yourself over his cock, sinking down onto it with a satisfied hum. Yunho’s hands on your hips keep you from setting the pace you had wanted, but you’re willing to give him this minuscule amount of control. He keeps your pace slow, forcing you to grind down onto him when he seats you fully in his lap, and you nip at his ear in retaliation before he lets you move. The pleasure and arousal builds in you quickly, and you know he’s purposefully keeping it slow so you won’t cum, but the way he’s looking at you and the subtle shift of his hips when you grind down sends you reeling. Yunho just smiles and watches you shiver as you give into the orgasm. Once you catch your breath, the desire to wipe the smug look off his face takes over. Before he can stop you, you’re pushing yourself out of his lap and falling onto your knees, taking him into your throat without warning. He shouts, throwing his head back and digging his long fingers into the cushion of the couch, not wanting to stop whatever you have planned. You watch his eyes flutter as you slowly push yourself to take the rest of him, only coming to a stop when your nose is pressed against his skin. Your eyes open to meet his and as soon as they do, he comes with a shout of your name. As the snow piles up outside your door, you both sink further into the cocoon of intimacy your apartment provides.

Bang Chan + sledding for @minisugakoobies

Chan wakes you up with a wide smile and a cup of coffee, a shocking turn of events considering you’re usually the one to wake him up. But you can’t complain when his excited face mere inches from yours is the first thing you see. He’s speaking so quickly as soon as your eyes open that you can’t understand him; you only catch the words snow, sled, and melting. And they’re enough to get you out of bed immediately. You both pull on your thickest winter clothes as he rambles at you again, telling you about how it snowed the night before and how he wants to make sure you get enough time to sled before it melts or gets too yucky. You spend the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon outside, sledding and laughing with each other. He makes you feel like a kid with a crush again, and you can’t believe he’s yours. Chan helps you pull your sled back up every hill, and always checks on you when you fall off your sled, kissing your palms and your snow covered knees. It makes you want to cry, you're so happy. It’s only when the cold has sufficiently numbed your fingers, toes, and nose that you even consider going inside, you and Chan giggling the whole walk back, recounting your favorite moments of the morning as you kick off your shoes. He pulls you to a stop before you go inside, pointing at the mistletoe above the door with a shy smile. You can’t resist. You throw your gloves on the floor and jump into his arms, kissing over every inch of his face before planting a soft kiss to his plush lips.

Chan walks you back into your house, kicking the door closed behind him as he stumbles into the kitchen, setting you on the counter for just long enough to pull off your jacket and his before he’s got you back in his arms and shuffling down the hall. His hands knead into your thighs as he hums into your mouth how much he loves you. He finally sets you down in your shared bathroom, disappearing for a second to turn on the shower before he’s closing the space between you again, keeping you trapped against the sink when he sneaks his frigid fingers under your shirt. You scream and scold him, but he just laughs as he peels the layers off you until you’re bare. You return the favor, pressing your chilly palm to his lower back, earning a yelp of surprise, before you strip him of his many layers and pull him into the steamy shower. He wastes no time lifting you into his arms again and pressing you against the shower wall, plush lips on yours as you reach down to line him up with your entrance. He pushes into you, a ragged sigh following as he stills for a moment, forehead pressed against yours. You kiss him and thank him for giving you such a memorable day, and being the wonderful man he is. His knees nearly buckle at your words before he pins you to the wall, hips slamming into yours. You know you’ll have a bruise tomorrow, but you don’t care. He doesn’t last long, panting as he professes his love for you as he finishes, letting you stand on your own two feet again. You cling to him as he regains his balance, forehead pressed into the junction of your neck. It takes him a minute to set you down, mumbling about how he’s going to fuck you so well later you won’t be able to walk. You giggle and nod as you pull him under the warm water and uncap his shampoo, lathering it into his scalp as he sags against you, humming appreciatively into your skin. After the water is turned off, you remind him of his earlier promise with a wink over your shoulder; his smirk tells you that he would never dream of breaking that promise.

Han Jisung + watching the snow fall by the fire for @minttangerines

You could not be more annoyed that you have to spend what would have been a perfect day with him. Han Jisung is quite possibly the most annoying person you’ve ever met, and yet he seems to have absolutely everyone wrapped around his finger; most of all your professor who paired you with him on an important project that’s due in a few days. He has bailed or ghosted you on every meeting you’ve set up beforehand, claiming something arose or that he simply forgot the time, which lead you to infuriatingly inviting him over to your house in the hopes you can get the assignment over with. You outright refused to go to campus again just for him to bail on you, so you demanded to host. Of course that was before the forecast had predicted snow. Now all you wanted to do was curl up on your couch in front of the fire, but instead you have to host your enemy and try not to strangle him. He shows up early, beaming at you with a package of hot chocolate under one arm and laptop under the other. You manage to get through most of the project in amiable silence, accompanied only by the sounds of your respective keyboards and the crackling of your fireplace. It’s only after you finish, praises falling from Jisung’s pretty mouth that you realize the snow hadn’t stopped as previously forecasted. In fact, it began to snow much harder; and you weren’t sure he could make it home anymore. You sigh and offer him to crash on your couch till morning. You spend the night chatting by the fire, watching the snow drifts build, and forgetting why you hated Han Jisung to begin with.

By the 2nd cup of hot chocolate your rivalry with Jisung is forgotten; all you can think of is his adorably squishy cheeks, his sparkly doe eyes, and his pretty pink mouth. You aren’t really paying attention to what he’s saying until he chokes on his words and turns away from you, looking embarrassed and a little flushed. Then your brain catches up; Han Jisung has a crush on you. Without thinking, you lean across the coffee table and plant your lips on his. Before you know it, he’s stripped you of your pants and has you gasping as his shoulders settle between your thighs. He can’t stop giggling to himself, mumbling about how he never thought this could happen, how hot he thinks you are, and how lucky he is to have gotten paired with you. His rambling makes you tremble with anticipation as your arousal grows and makes you heart flutter, making you grab his hair to guide his mouth to where you want him. He’s messy and vocal and all it does is turn you on more until you’re moaning his name and falling apart. After a few minutes he’s crawling back up to lay at your side. You tell him to give you a minute before you can continue, but he admits sheepishly that hearing you call out his name made him cum in his pants. You can’t help but laugh as you wonder aloud why you ever hated him. He gasps in outrage, claiming he thought your behavior towards him was your way of flirting; he never suspected you actually didn’t like him. You can’t help but laugh; Jisung would think your outright dismissal of him was a flirting tactic. You pull him in for another kiss and offer your washing machine as an apology — he won’t need his clothes until tomorrow morning anyway.

[thecrystalquill]

A/N: Chapter Fourteen! How exciting! What do you think to the mood board? More Addams shenanigans in upcoming parts!!!

Don’t forget to like when you’re done!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter

Chapter Fourteen ~ The Book

The carriages were lined up in their dozens, loaded with passengers and their luggage. Some had already started their route down the snowy road that lead from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade Station, walking themselves effortlessly down the hill.

(Y/N) had spent the morning watching her roommates pack whatever they intended to bring home for the holidays, and occasionally pointing out a missing object. Millicent had spent the last twenty minutes trying to wrestle Mouse into her carrier, with Saoirse’s help they managed it on the fifth attempt.

“Are you sure about staying?” Bridgit asked as she checked the buckles on her trunk, where it sat securely on the back of the carriage.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m perfectly fine here.” (Y/N) replied with a blank stare as she rubbed away a rogue snowflake that dared touch her nose. “My parents will be staying at the Hog’s Head tomorrow, anyway.”

A few more carriages rolled away as the girls began to step into their own, eager to shut in some warmth but wanting to talk with her for a while longer. The grounds keeper was making his rounds somewhere a short distance away, making sure everyone was ready and hurrying them along to the station; it wasn’t long before the train was due to leave.

“Won’t you be lonely?” Millicent asked from under her two scarves. “You’ll be here all alone.”

Controlling the subconscious act of rolling one’s eyes was quite the challenge, but (Y/N) managed a slow blink instead. Why would these girls even care about any of that? “I’m not alone, I’m by myself. Which is how I enjoy it - I’ll finally have some complete solitude.”

The last of the carriages were beginning to leave and the half-giant was calling for them to say their goodbyes, when (before (Y/N) could do anything about it) Saoirse launched herself at the startled young Addams, wrapping her arms around her neck in an embrace that was stiffly received. “Have a nice Christmas, (Y/N), I left Jinx a lolly for the big day.” She said, then pulled back and got into the carriage before there was room to complain. “See ya next year!” Saoirse exclaimed with a grin, which only doubled when (Y/N) finally rolled her eyes (with tenfold the usual amount of exasperation).

(Y/N) observed as the cart pulled away with her roommates waving through the window, watching as they joined the others that walked the path to Hogsmeade, an ant trail of black dots marching in the white snow.

Grey clouds had formed over Hogwarts that morning, promising more snow to come than the few that flitted down at the moment, and (Y/N) decided to re-enter the castle for a late breakfast before a storm decided to slow her down.

When she seated herself at the Slytherin table, along with a handful of older students, (Y/N) played a couple of crumpets smothered in butter and let her eyes wander as she ate. For the first time in quite a while, (Y/N) was sitting alone in the Great Hall. Let’s not go as far as to say that she missed having company at all (because wouldn’t that be just ridiculous?), but there were no conversations to be listening to, no opinions to be shared, and not even anything to roll her eyes at. But for the next meal, she made note to perhaps bring a book with her.

There were a few faces around the hall that she vaguely recognised, and many more that she didn’t; what she did notice is that most of them seemed to be perfectly solemn. And with that, it was hard to miss the joyful faces sitting at the Gryffindor table. (Y/N) wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Harry smile quite so much, but he certainly seemed far from as miserable as everyone else staying at school for the holidays. Ron was sat beside him, talking away with expressive hands, one holding a buttery bacon sandwich. She had decided a while ago that she ought not be bitter about those boys any longer, that she needed to let go of that months-old hurt; it was only then that she felt that she truly had. (Y/N) had new friends - better friends - who accepted her as she was and didn’t judge her for her differences l. She was glad, and glad for them too. All that mattered now was that she would see her family tomorrow, and find whatever she was asked to uncover, and everything would go back to how it should be.

It was three in the afternoon when (Y/N) finally made it to the library; dinner would be served at half-past five, and curfew was at nine; that left her an estimated five hours to find what she had been looking for.

Madame Pince was nowhere in sight as (Y/N) walked straight to her usual spot near the back of the library, counting the rows in the Divination section. When she reached the fifth row of shelves, she dropped her bag on the floor to begin her search with newfound determination. During her last visit she had made it to the first row of M’s, so now she only had one letter left. The only problem was yet again just how many there were.

The library shelves were enormous, each one as long as the giant squid and as tall as nearly the height of the room. Checking the name and title of every book starting from two thirds up the ladder took her over two hours, and by the time the M’s finished, the last shelf had ran out and (Y/N) had to cope with the fact that she’d wasted so much time climbing up the wrong side of the shelves.

When she finally ascended the ladder (on the right row, this time), (Y/N) had to squint her eyes slightly to read the titles. It was so dark and shadowed in the Divination section already, but now she was in a high corner at the back of the room and there was hardly a stream of light to make the books visible. Winter clouds had darkened the sky and snow blocked out any early-evening sun, and the candles and torches that usually lit the library simply didn’t reach her. It was all terribly inconvenient.

Again, for much longer than she would have liked, (Y/N) scanned the titles on the shelf; Basics of Narcomancy by Natalia Manteia, The Divine Nature of Dreams by Horus Duermus, Secrets of the Subconscious by Selestia Soothe; but they weren’t what she was looking for. “Necromancy, come on… it must be somewhere…” she muttered to herself, feeling almost frenzied with frustration and desperation, but she simply couldn’t give up when she felt so close.

Forget Narcomancy - where the Styx was Necromancy?

Using her hands to pull her body along, she rolled the ladder further to the right, brushing aside cobwebs and blowing away dust. She thought the library was always so clean and taken care of, but Merlin did Pince not care to dust this high up. But who could blame her, really? Who ever came to collect from all the way up the highest shelves, in the Divination section no less?

Nyphomancy, Necyomancy, but still no Necromancy. Again, she pulled herself along further to the right, and took a deep breath through the nose to collect herself. “This is all so stupid…” she mumbled in her frustration, feeling a tingle in her nose. She wiped away more cobwebs to read another title, disturbing the long-settled dust into the air and her nose tingled again.

Oh no.

Oh dear.

Holding her nose, (Y/N) quickly rolled further along with the ladder in hopes of breathing some clearer air, but only seemed to make things worse as more dust was blown about her. It was too late - there was nothing more she could do.

The tingle grew and (Y/N) pulled her arm up to muffle the noise as her head jolted backwards with the sneeze, not realising her fatal mistake as her balance was thrown off. She reached both arms forward quickly, grabbing onto the stable wood of the shelf tightly, until she was sure she wouldn’t fall.

By now, she was almost completely in the corner, just a couple of feet away from the wall. She read the titles in front of her. Natimancy, Nephomancy, Necromancy!

There, just slightly to her right, was exactly the book she needed. (Y/N) grabbed at it with a sense of pride, brushing off cobwebs and leaving a clearing in the dust in front of it. Finally, in her hands, was a little hope.

The book was a good size, a heavy hardback with a black cover and simple silver lettering. Necromancy - printed in bold just higher than the centre, by Morbius E. Shelly.

(Y/N) had never climbed down a ladder so quickly. The second her feet touched the floor she was sitting with her back to the ridiculously tall shelves, not soaring a single thought to the cold of the hardwood floor on her behind. With bated breath, she sat the book on her knees and turned back over.

“Miss Addams, is that you?”

(Y/N) almost leapt out of her skin at the skins of the librarian’s voice from the other end of the row - and that was really quite the feat, for I wasn’t often that someone could sneak up on her.

Thinking fast, (Y/N) removed her coat and hid the book in its thick black fabric, not wishing to be caught reading about such an unsavoury topic in a dark part of the library. Hades knows that’s all her reputation needed.

She stood with it hidden well in her arms, still half-saved by the shadows as the librarian and she added her scarf to the pile in her arms. “Yes, Madam Pince, it’s me.” She answered with a stiffness that almost would have given her away.

“Lunch is starting, go and join the others,” Pince said with a gesture of her arms, “off you go. Do you have a book to check out?”

(Y/N) decided to taker her chance while the shadows were working in her favour, to slide past with her things pulled to her side. “N, not today, thank you.” She answered politely, then hurried to fetch her bag and take her leave before Pince could get a good look in the light.

Sitting through lunch with her bag at her side was absolute torture. The food was as good as usual, Dumbkrdore made a little speech before they ate, and there was chatter all about; but (Y/N) could only think about how long she would have to wait before she could go back to her dorm and open the book that felt like the key to solving her problems.

She picked at her food distractedly as the presence of the book looked over her like a thrillingly life-draining dark energy; it was ever so difficult to act as if she had nothing better to be doing. Snow fell from the enchanted ceiling, mirroring the storm that grew outside, and giving the warm room a sense of cold winter, and (Y/N) decided to direct her focus to that. If only she had time for a stroll.

When she had finished her meal and a few people began to leave, (Y/N) snatched up her satchel and made her way through the castle towards her common room. She passed maybe a handful of students on her way to the frosty Dungeons, nodding to a couple of nosy portraits as she went, before she finally came to the entrance and recited the password. “Dulce Venenum.”

The Slytherin common room was entirely empty, and as far as she was aware, she was the only occupant - much to her appreciation. The fire was burning hot enough to ward off the comforting chill, and she wondered if she could ask Snape if there was something that could be done about that - and if he didn’t prove to be of any use, the. She’d have to ask someone with a little more competence, like McGonnagal.

The dark leather sofas were finally free, and it was her first opportunity to sit in them; they were springier than she’d imagined. With the book placed cautiously on the table, as if it would explode with some terrible curse if it was mistreated at all, (Y/N) gathered herself up to open it. She had built up this moment in her head so much, that she felt it needed the right respect to savour it.

She studied its sleek appearance as it stared back up at her, tapping the heap of her black Mary-Jane and fiddling with the black lace on the hem of her sleeves as she prepared herself. With great care, (Y/N) reached out and lifted the heavy cover.

A note from Morbius E. Shelly ~

The topics presented in this book are of a restricted nature, therefore, the information pertaining to these practices are intended for strictly educational purposes only. The British Ministry of Magic has approved any and all information disclosed. Readers are warned that the majority of these rituals and practices are considered taboo at the very least, and crimes of immoral nature at most. It is advised that these are not to be performed unless by professionals with express permission from the Ministry of Magic. The author takes no responsibility beyond this point. Read with care.

Well, things were certainly off to an interesting start.

An hour had passed before she knew it and the grand clock above the fireplace rang out to inform her that it was already ten o’clock, and that she ought to be in bed if she wanted to make it to Hogsmeade in time. She looked at the wriggling silver snakes pointing their heads to the time for only a moment, before she dove right back into the book. If she hadn’t felt there was a clue to her Message hidden in these pages, (Y/N) could still have certainly been reading it with just as much interest.

She was also fairly sure that this book had originally belonged to the Restricted Section.

Though her ambitions were strong, her eyes were heavy, and (Y/N) was disappointed to have to admit defeat for the night. Sinking back against the plump sofa, she let her eyes rest from hours of focus, drifting off into thoughts of the next day. What presents did her parents get her? Did Grandmama bring any home-bakes? Would Wednesday make time for a good duel?

Before she could fall asleep, (Y/N) yawned and stretched, and stood up to head to bed. A draft blew through the room and rustled the pages as she went to collect the book. How much more did she have to read through? Finding her place again, she flicked through the chapters to see what topics awaited her; dead-raising; scrying; possessions; crystal balls. Chapter Twenty-Two caught her eye: Séances. A practical yet unpredictable ritual of dead-communication, simple and versatile. The chapter began with a beautiful line-sketch of a tastefully nude coven performing the ritual and calling forth a ghastly spirit from a supernatural smoke at the centre - and if that hadn’t caught her eye, then the folded browning piece of parchment tucked into the pages certainly had.

In that moment, (Y/N) was aware of nothing but the note - taking it in her hands, not daring ti open it so quickly; if she opened it to find nothing there, there would be no words in her vocabulary ti express her frustration and disappointment.

It was old - flat and faded enough for her ti be sure that it had been hidden in that book for a very long time. Delicately, (Y/N) unfolded it and unfolded it again, until she was revealed to the brown ink of handwriting not exposed to the world in a very long time - longer, surely, than she had been alive. It was not neat, but a strange swirling italic - the handwriting of someone who had to try very hard to make their writing look tidy and legible, with little wobbles when their fingers shook. She’d expected it ti contain a message that would rid her of her burden and set everything into place, but was only let down once more, and left with no more than frustration and confusion.

It is hidden where you may not venture.

(Y/N) may have assumed that she’d gotten it all wrong - that this was an elaborate prank to play on the Addams-girl, or that this was left for someone else - if it weren’t for the obvious age if the parchment, and the Addams crest stamped at the bottom, waiting only for her to recognise it.

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[satureja13]

The friendship between: Saiwa and Jack

It's the oldest in The Boys friendships.

Saiwa and Jack met in the Lab when they both had been kidnapped and abused for these Cowplant Experiments. And they hated each other when they first met ^^' Jack was 16 then and Saiwa 17 (as I write this, they are 19 and 20). That was also when Saiwa became their (reluctant) leader and Jack lit the mood with his Super Power: the Puppy Strategy.

Jack is the youngest of them and up for all kind of nonsense (and he can't keep his big snout shut). Which drives Saiwa crazy because he (as the oldest of them and their leader) is responsible for all their deeds. But even though they banter a lot, they never have a serious fight. The experience in the Lab welded them together and they are like brothers. (Romance level: below zero) Saiwa wasn't even mad at Jack when Jeb fell in love with him after Vlad's death and Jeb and Sai broke up.

They are both jealous of Jeb and Kiyoshi.

They often share a room/apartment since Jack can't sleep alone due to his disorders.

They are very different in character but Jack knows how much Saiwa loves him and he can rely on him. Saiwa is the most important creature in Jack's life.

But Jack is like a puppy and nothing can keep him from his nonsense. And Saiwa is his main target because he's an easy one ^^' The others just laugh with Jack about his antics and don't get upset.

Once Sai found these photos with a note from Jack: 'Looks exactly like you! AWWW' (He has a point, though ;)

And Jack is the only one Saiwa can let off steam with. Jack knows that it's nothing personally. And when Sai says 'run' he just runs. Even though it's not his fault. At least sometimes ^^' (sometimes I think Jack pranks Sai on purpose to help him let off steam before he explodes from all the worries and sorrows he keeps locked inside.)

Even though they are so different they both love games. Not only video games, also board games.

They'd been Team Fangs (Home Economics and Sports) in the School Project/Last Christmas chapter, which was quite a challence since none of them could cook at this time nor was any good at sports ^^'

Adult Jack and Saiwa are still friends. Here they are in our 'Love Hurts' story where Jack's son Logan fell in love with Giga/Saiwa. (That was June 2018! My english was even worse then hahaha)

And here in 'The Family Business' June 2022. Adult Jack, 3 of his 4 kids and Lucy, the Au Pair (Dtui's Granddaughter),Guidry and Adult Giga/Saiwa. It was/is so amazing for me to learn how they became friends in the current story. I'm so glad I made them teenagers to follow them on their adventures.

In chronological order: 🫛 Saiwa and Jack 🫛 Vlad and Jack 🫛 Saiwa and Vlad 🫛 Kiyoshi and Jeb 🫛 Saiwa and Ji Ho 🫛 Ji Ho and Jack 🫛 Ji Ho and Jeb 🫛 Ji Ho and Kiyoshi 🫛 Vlad and Kiyoshi 🫛 Vlad and Jeb 🫛 Saiwa and Kiyoshi 🫛 Jack and Jeb

❤️‍🔥 Ji Ho and Vlad (and Luci) ❤️‍🔥 Saiwa and Jeb ❤️‍🔥 Jack and Kiyoshi ❤️‍🔥 Noxee and Greg ❤️‍🔥 Leander and Wesley (and Vlad) ❤️‍🔥 Francine Spencer (Jeb's Grandmother) and Jules Rico

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part IX

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Bobby and Peach’s story continues! Hope you all enjoy this latest installment!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter comes from the popular song of the same name. Click here to listen to the first ever recording of the song from 1931!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, allusions to the physical and emotional cost of war, lots of sweet fluff.

April 28, 1943

Dearest Peach (or is it Cookie now?),

I have to tell you, this game of tag might just be the best version of the game I’ve ever played. I sure was surprised—and pleased, believe me—when I opened your last letter to find another photograph inside. The other fellas on the carrier are starting to grumble about how they hardly ever get photos from their girls back home, so you’ve managed to make me quite a big shot around here. Tommy Boy told me just the other day that word’s spreading about how “Floyd’s always getting these pictures from a pretty girl back stateside.” In all honesty, I think they’re just shocked that a gal as pretty as you would be writing to a boring guy from the sticks like me.

Now I don’t want you to think I’m gloating or anything when you send me photos, Peach—although your pretty face DOES deserve to be on billboards, in my humble opinion. It’s just that carriers are smaller than you’d think, in terms of news spreading around, It doesn’t help matters that Benny is always looking over my shoulder during Mail Call, and that when I opened your most recent letter, he stood up on our bench and shouted “Bobby Boy’s got another picture, fellas!” Don’t you worry, though. I tucked your photo into my pocket, right over my heart, and wouldn’t let any of the others see it, no matter how much they begged. Serves them right for being so nosy.

All that to say, it’s a wonderful picture and it brought a big old smile to my face to see how happy you all looked at Christmastime. Please send my highest compliments to Dottie. You and your sister look so much alike, you could both be Hollywood starlets. I especially love your matching smiles—prettier than the angel on top of the Christmas tree. And Frankie is the spitting image of Paddy, my goodness! It’s funny, Paul, Jr. looks just like Paul, too. Maybe the boys will both grow up and go to Annapolis together. You know, following in their fathers’ footsteps and all that. Wouldn’t that be something if they both joined the Navy one day?

Speaking of us “squids,” as our Marine brothers are so wont to call us, I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed the photos that I sent with my last letter. Tommy Boy and Benny have been bragging to anyone who will listen that you have our pictures displayed on your desk. I made the mistake of letting them know that you think they’re very handsome, but don’t worry, I kept it just between us that you think I’m the most handsome. They’re good guys and I wouldn’t want to go bruising their egos or anything like that.

Mike is the name of the fella on board who has the camera and took the pictures for us. He’s hoping he can get his hands on some more film soon so that he can take some more photographs while we’re over here. He likes to send them back home to his fiancee in Arkansas. He’s a solid guy, Mike is. He even told me he’d be happy to take some more pictures for me to send to you when he’s able to—if you’d like that, that is.

I’m glad to know that you don’t mind me writing a little bit about you to my family. I received a letter from my mother the same day I received your letter, and she said you sound like the loveliest girl and that you’re more than welcome on the Floyd farm anytime you happen to find yourself in Linn County, Iowa. When I was writing back to her, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that nobody just so happens to find themselves in Linn County, Iowa. But the offer still stands! My mama would be more than happy to bake you all the pumpkin pies your heart desires. And she’d be more than happy to hear about that peach cobbler recipe, too!

Paul wanted me to tell you that you have no reason to be embarrassed about the punch spill, and that, in fact, you should put it out of your mind completely. He’s sitting across me from right now as I write this, writing his own letter back home to Natasha and the kids. Clara’s just learning to recognize her letters and read some basic words, and Paul, Jr. can’t read at all yet of course, so Paul includes little drawings for them when he writes. Natasha says they love them, and that Clara always carries his letters around when they’re running errands to show off to all the neighbors. “Look at Daddy’s pictures!” she tells them. He really is a good artist, you know. One of these days, I’m going to have him draw something for you. Anything in particular you’d like to see?

Oh, please don’t be embarrassed about my overhearing that conversation! That’s the last thing I want you to feel. You have no reason to be embarrassed, Peach. If anything, it’s that Eddie guy who should feel embarrassed for doing that to a lady. But like you—and Dottie—said, everything happens for a reason. I believe that, too. And I believe that good things can come out of even the worst circumstances. Take this war, for example. It’s awful. There’s no sugarcoating it or making it sound better than it is. It’s just plain awful. In the time I’ve been over here, I’ve seen and heard things that I’ll never be able to forget, things that make you question how human beings can do such things to one another. But I’ve also seen instances of such heroism and bravery, of people doing all they can to stick their necks out for each other and see each other home safely, and I think that that’s got to count for something, too. Don’t you think so, Peach? I know you’re all doing your part back home, too, and that means the world to us over here. We can feel it, and we appreciate it more than you can know. So you see? Good things can still come out of the hard times.

Like you and me meeting, for another thing. I can’t say that I’m grateful for this war, but I am thankful that it brought us together and allowed our paths to cross that night in Charleston. I’ll always be thankful for that, Peach. Not a day goes by that I don’t count my lucky stars that Paul finally convinced me to go to that dance that night. It was the last place in the world I wanted to be, but it turned out to be just the place I needed to be. Everything happens for a reason, right?

Speaking of that night at the dance, I had a dream the other night about dancing with you, Peach. We were at the USO dance at first, but then we were suddenly on the beach. As a farm boy from Iowa, you can imagine that I haven’t spent much time on the beach in my lifetime. But I suppose my subconscious remembers all the beaches I saw in Charleston, because there we were, dancing in the sand while the waves were crashing in. Do you like going to the beach? Like I said, there’s none in landlocked Iowa, but I’d be more than happy to let you be my tour guide when it comes to the best beaches South Carolina and Georgia have to offer.

It’s funny, I don’t usually remember my dreams, but I remember that one quite vividly. I woke up thinking I could still taste saltwater on my tongue and feel you in my arms. Maybe that sounds a little silly, but it’s true. It was the best dream I’ve ever had, I’m sure of it.

It does sound like little Frankie is quite the mischief-maker! Hiding keys already? Something tells me he’s going to give Dottie and Paddy a run for their money when he gets older! From everything you’ve told me, I really do think he and Paul, Jr. would make the best of friends. I imagine the two of them would get into even more mischief than Paul and I did when we were growing up!

Gosh, I wish more than anything that I could be there dancing with you, Peach. But I’m holding the thought of you dancing to “We’ll Meet Again” real close to my heart until we really can meet again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear that song without thinking of you now.

Please do keep me updated on your Victory Garden efforts! I’m looking forward to hearing all about it. Believe me, no one could have a browner thumb than me—just ask Paul, Natasha, and pretty much my entire family—so I’m sure you and Dottie will do a wonderful job!

And Happy Belated Easter, Peach! I hope you had a lovely day with your family. We actually had a bit of exciting news that reached us on Easter Sunday. The Royal Navy sent word that they managed to sink a German U-boat off the coast of [REDACTED], which is hopefully a good sign for all the rest of us. I hope this war comes to an end soon. It feels like we’ve been fighting forever.

I hope that the South Carolina sunshine is treating you right, and that you’re safe and well. I can’t wait until your next letter arrives (I’ll try to keep Benny from looking over my shoulder next time).

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

May 24, 1943

My Dear Bobby,

Don’t worry, it’s still Peach to you, and it always will be. Frankie is learning so many new words every day that I’m sure I’ll only be Aunt Cookie for a little while longer. But I’d like to stay Peach for a good long while, if that’s alright with you.

I’m sorry to disappoint all the fellas on the carrier—particularly Benny—by not including any new photographs with this letter. I’ll try to amend that next time. But I absolutely do not believe that it should come as any kind of shock to anyone that you and I write to one another, Bobby. Boring? Who would dare call you boring? I’ll not have you talking about yourself like that, Robert Floyd, do you hear me? I could just as easily say that the people back in Charleston would be shocked to learn that a handsome naval aviator is writing to a girl as shy and mousey as me, but I know you wouldn’t like that. Just like I don’t like hearing you talk badly about yourself. So let’s promise one another we won’t do that anymore, hm?

Dottie sends profuse thanks for your sweet words about the Christmas photo—she actually blushed when I told her what you’d written! And I could tell that Paddy was all puffed up with pride when I told him that you thought Frankie looked just like him. Dottie agrees with you wholeheartedly, by the way. “Both my boys are so handsome!” she declared. I think Paddy blushed a little bit at that, though he’d never admit it.

My goodness, imagine Frankie and Paul, Jr. both joining the Navy when they’re older? I think you’re quite right that they’d make excellent friends—but heaven help the Navy with the double trouble those two would bring with all their mischief-making!

By the way, I asked Paddy about that nickname you said the Marines like to use—squids? I’ve never seen my brother-in-law turn so red so fast! “Oh, what do they know?” he demanded, waving his hands in the air. “They’re just a bunch of jarheads!” Squids? Jarheads? I never realized there was such a rivalry between you! No wonder the sailors and the Marines seem to stay on opposite sides of the room whenever the USO hosts an event! I hope you know that I don’t think you’re a squid, Bobby. But if you were, you’d be the cutest squid in the seven seas.

You’re very considerate not to bruise Tommy Boy’s and Benny’s egos, so thank you very much for keeping our little secret. Emily came over the other day—she’s still so excited about the wedding and she wanted me to help her go over some details—and she saw the pictures of you and the boys on my desk. She remembered Paul from the night of the dance, and she thought the rest of you looked familiar, too. She said to pass along her best wishes, and I passed along your congratulations on her and Eddie’s engagement. I hope you don’t mind.

That’s very sweet of your friend, Mike to offer to take more photos for you! Of course I’d love for you to send more, if you’re able to! Being able to see that you’re okay, even with all the miles and a war between us, makes me so happy.

Your mama is most generous and kind to extend that invitation! While I can’t say that I have any reason to be in Linn County, Iowa at the moment, I will be certain to look up the Floyd family farm if ever I should happen to be in town. And please let your mama—and all of your family—know that, should they ever find themselves in Charleston, South Carolina, the Sheridan residence is always open to them. Your mama and I can swap recipes. I know Dottie would love that.

I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear when I read the part of your letter where you talked about Paul’s drawings for Clara and Paul, Jr.! What a wonderful father he is! And an artist, too? I’m very impressed! Not to mention thankful to him for his unending kindness. I can see why the two of you are the best of friends—you both have the same good hearts. Hmm, now as for what kind of drawing I would like, I suppose that would depend on what Paul specializes in. Does he do portraits? In that case, I’d like to see him draw one of you. Does he draw cartoons? I can only imagine how he’d portray a conversation between Tommy Boy and Benny. If neither of those, then perhaps Paul can draw me some peaches—I always think of you now, Bobby, whenever I eat them.

Oh, Bobby. Yes, I do believe it counts for something when people try to hold onto their goodness in the midst of so much evil and bad. We know so little of what you’re facing over there beyond the small bits that we read in the newspaper or hear on the radio. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be living in it every day. I wish that I could hold you tight and make all the bad memories go away. But since I can’t, I’m glad to know that you’re able to find the glimpses of good where you can.

Without a doubt, everything happens for a reason, and I believe there’s a reason that you and I met that night, Bobby. Maybe a reason that’s bigger than you and I can ever understand. I’m grateful that our paths crossed, too. So, so grateful. I know this might sound silly considering we’ve only actually been together in person for a few hours, but you’ve helped me come out of my shell more than you can know. I’ve always been so shy, Bobby. Painfully so. It’s not easy for me to talk to new people, or people that I don’t know very well. It’s especially not easy for me to talk to handsome boys like you. But that night at the dance and during our walk on King Street—you made me feel seen, Bobby. And heard. Hardly anyone outside my family has ever made me feel that way. And then we started writing letters to each other and you’ve just been so easy to talk to, so easy to share my heart with. Thank you for that, Bobby. It means more to me than you can possibly imagine. So yes, I thank my lucky stars for that night, too.

Did you really have a dream about me? I’m blushing to think so, but now I don’t feel so shy to tell you that I’ve dreamed about you, too. In my dream, we were back at the ice cream parlor on King Street, sharing an ice cream sundae with lots of whipped cream and cherries on top. When you come home, we’ll have to take a drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier. I’ll be counting down the days until it happens!

Now speaking of our Victory Garden, Dottie and I are quite proud of the effort we put in this year! You’d think the two of us were a couple of regular old farm girls. We spent about a week or so clearing out the beds from last year and resoiling them. One of our neighbors, Mrs. Patterson had a beautiful garden last year, so she gave us a lot of helpful advice. We ended up planting beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. It’s still a little too early to tell how they’ll end up, but they look promising so far! I think you’d be proud of us!

Things here on the homefront have been a little tricky as of late. I’m not sure if word has gotten over to you boys across the Atlantic, but some of the coal miners went on strike last month. It caused a bit of a crisis with regard to production and manufacturing. President Roosevelt delivered a fireside chat discussing the crisis earlier this month. He tried to remind all of us that it’s our patriotic duty to continue working and to do what we can for the war effort. I think Paddy was a bit worried about it, but the government has since taken control of the coal mines, and so we haven’t heard much more about it.

I want so badly to do my part for the war effort, Bobby. I think of you and Paul and Tommy Boy and Benny and all the others, risking your lives across the ocean to defend all of us back home. I want to do something, no matter how small, that can contribute and make a difference. There have been lots of women going to work in the factories ever since we entered the war. Some of them are filling their husbands’ and brothers’ positions while they’re off fighting. Paddy mentioned that they’re actually looking to fill civilian positions at Naval Air Station Charleston. It’s harder because of the background checks required, but I’d have a leg up, being Paddy’s sister-in-law. I’ve been thinking about asking Paddy to help me apply for a position. Do you think I should, Bobby? If it could be of any help to you and all the other men, I’d really like to give it a try. What do you think?

That’s wonderful news about the Royal Navy! Every time I hear about the Allies pushing further into Europe, or defeating our enemies in some way, it gives me a thrill of hope that maybe this all really will be over soon. I hope so, Bobby. I really hope so.

Even though there’s a few thousand miles between us, I hope you can feel all the good thoughts I’m sending your way. I can’t wait until I get your next letter. I always look forward to them.

Until next time, Bobby!

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @toobouquet @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos

[thislovintime]

The Monkees with CFUN DJ's Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner in Vancouver, April 1, 1967.

“Regina: CKCK’s Terry David Mulligan claims to be the first Canadian air personality with an interview with the Monkees and he has a tape to prove it. Anyone wishing a copy can take Mulligan up on his boast by sending him a blank tape and he will return a dub to sender. Terry also did a 30 minute Christmas show with Peter Tork, his sister and brother. They sang cuts from the Monkees new LP (Mulligan sings too)[,] sang a few carols and just chit-chatted in a relaxing mood.” - RPM Canada, January 28, 1967 (this Christmas 1966 anecdote was previously posted here and more about Christmas 1967 here)

“History records that The Monkees played their first Canadian concert in Winnipeg on April 1/1967. What never gets mentioned is that the first time all four Monkees set foot on Canuck soil was many hours earlier, in Vancouver, while en route to Manitoba’s capital city. Top 50 radio station CFUN assigned two deejays—Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner—to meet Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork at Vancouver International Airport. A photo op ensued in a private waiting area as the lads waited, shortly after sunrise, to board a connecting flight. 'If you study that picture, you could tell two of the guys (Davy and Peter) were really into it and the other two (Micky and Mike) didn’t really want to be there,' recalls Mulligan (second from right in photo). 'They weren’t pissed off at us. They were just tired and weren’t particularly into having their picture taken that early in the morning.' Nevertheless, all six exchanged pleasantries. Despite the early hour, Davy Jones seemed friendly and 'Mike Nesmith was so whip smart, while Micky Dolenz had this interesting Hollywood vibe about him,' remembers Mulligan. Terry and Peter got the opportunity to renew acquaintances. The previous year, when Mulligan was spinning discs at CJME Regina, 'who should walk in but Peter Tork. Of course, I asked: "What are YOU doing here?" And Peter answered: "My dad (Halsten John Thorkelson) teaches at the University of Saskatchewan and I dig your radio program."' Peter would take a couple of additional breaks from Monkees commitments to visit his family. Each time, he’d visit Mulligan at CJME. 'We’d always have really good off-air chats, in between as I was playing records.' For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner (second from left in photo) boarded the plane bound for Winnipeg with The Monkees. 'I remember being at the tail of the plane while The Monkees and their entourage were much further forward. I walked up there at one point and noticed some of them were sleeping. So I went back to my seat as I didn’t want to bother anyone.' Prior to the late afternoon Monkees concert at the Winnipeg Arena, Tanner said he killed some time walking 'what seemed to be the coldest streets in Winnipeg.' Indeed, band insider David Price would mention the frigid 17 degrees Fahrenheit daytime temperature when he subsequently wrote a four-page article titled My Life With The Monkees—That Wild Canadian Weekend for 16 magazine that detailed the April 1 concert in Winnipeg and the ensuing show in Toronto on April 2. Price, who also served as a decoy for Davy Jones (in addition to other band duties), claimed The Monkees came to Canada aware of rumours that attempts might be made on their lives during the two concerts. In the 16 magazine piece, Price wrote: 'Mike asked me and his friend Charlie Rockett and Mike’s wife Phyllis’s brother Bruce Barbour to make sure that any packages that landed onstage were thrown off again, because one of them might contain a bomb.' In the end, the only ‘bomb’ at the Winnipeg show was a water bomb hurled at Micky Dolenz atop the seven-foot high stage just before opening song Last Train To Clarksville. Seconds before, the four Monkees burst out of phoney amplifiers on either side of the stage, with the boys having hidden themselves within when the house lights were momentarily turned off. Likely backing up The Monkees onstage was Candy Store Prophets. If so, that band’s members—including guitarist Tommy Boyce and keyboardist Bobby Hart—had played on many early Monkees studio tracks that Boyce and Hart produced. Winnipeg-based Electric Jug & Blues band opened the show. Press reports later revealed that before the concert, rambunctious fans charged past about 30 police officers as the band left the Hotel Fort Garry for the arena. Monkees publicist Don Berrigan described the incident as a 'near riot' adding 'Mike and Davy were knocked down. It was really nasty.' There were apparently well over 400 police and security inside the arena. Perhaps it was the security concerns that resulted in Winnipeg and Toronto fans receiving slightly shorter concerts than about a dozen previous American shows in late 1966 and early ‘67—13-song setlists, three less than south of the border. The Winnipeg concert marked the first time Peter Tork-sung Your Auntie Grizelda, was played publicly. 'He really dug it, and so did the audience,' wrote Price. [...] Back in Winnipeg, after final song I’m A Believer, the band rushed to limos to return to the hotel, before taking an evening flight to Toronto. A subsequent Canadian Press article noted that one policeman was taken to hospital after a wire retaining fence collapsed on him when 'thousands of fans surged towards the rear exits in an unsuccessful bid to catch a glimpse of their departing idols.' The officer was treated for cuts and abrasions and released. The official capacity of Winnipeg Arena was 11,800. But Price claimed that several hundred additional tickets were sold just before showtime, resulting in an attendance closer to 12,500. Later that Saturday night, The Monkees checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport in what Price described as near-blizzard conditions. For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner got a kick out of the 'wild and crazy' show he had just witnessed. 'It was kind of a thrill being there.' The photo taken back in Vancouver earlier that day would be published in the April 8 copy of the C-FUNTASTIC FIFTY survey given away at Greater Vancouver record stores. Part of the photo ID read 'They said it couldn’t be done' — likely a veiled reference to doubts that The Monkees would trek north for concerts so soon into their existence.” - Richard Skelly, Facebook, April 1, 2022 [x]

[late-to-the-party-81]

Stockings hanging by the fire

AN: Ho ho ho - Merry Christmas in July! I was supposed to post this in March as a late Christmas present for my darling Tonje, but i forgot! Sorry @doasyoudesireandlive . Let’s also ignore the fact that Bucky didn’t ship out in December……

Beta’d by @yarnforbrains

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and Mood board by me

Masterlist

Summary: Decorating your rooms for Christmas wasn't going as well as planned. Luckily a dashing young soldier offers to help you out, and you aren't going to turn one of our brave boys away...

Relationship: 40’s Bucky x Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

CW: Fluff and Flirting, Implied off-screen spicy time. 40’s Bucky in dress uniform cos he’s definitely a warning!

This was not going the way you’d anticipated. How hard was it to actually get a Christmas tree up the few brownstone steps and into your apartment? Apparently, very. You hefted it again, but to no avail. And to make matters worse, the small flurry of snow that had been swirling around when you’d set out was getting heavier, and the air getting sharper. Even the children who’d been making snowmen had abandoned them.

You let out another loud sigh, as opposed to the curse you wanted to. Mrs. Sweeny who lived upstairs (and was this minute looking out through her curtains at you while you struggled) already thought you were a good time girl, likely to end up in trouble, so you were trying to present a more demure and ladylike facade. But it was hard when you realised you were sweating like a preacher in a whore-house, and that the needles on the tree had scuffed up your favourite leather gloves. You’d give up, but that would mean that even apart from the fact it would mean abandoning your not so insignificant purchase where it currently lay, it would just present you with a different problem.

The tree was stuck. No going up and no going down. You loosened your grip and pinched the bridge of your nose, a litany of profanities circulating around your brain.

“Excuse me, doll… but you appear to be in need of assistance.”

A warm, syrupy voice made its way to your ears, and you looked up to find the source.

Well! Hello, Soldier!

He was obviously newly minted and fresh out of the box. His dress greens were wrinkle free, his hat perched jauntily on his head atop his Bryll-creamed chestnut hair. His eyes were light blue, sparkling with amusement, an expression matched by the lilt of his full pink lips.

Now, contrary to what Mrs Sweeny thought, you were no good-time girl. However, neither were you a missish maid. When you got an itch, you scratched it, but you were careful about it too. You had a good job as a receptionist, and you didn’t want to lose that just because you couldn’t keep your underthings in place. But looking at this nice looking Sergeant, you could feel that itch making itself known, and he looked like he’d know how to scratch it real good.

“You noticed, huh?” You leaned your hip against the railing, tipped your head to the side slightly and flashed him your most winning smile. “I think I bit off more than I could chew.”

“Well, I could always help you out. You know, if you want?” He’d stepped closer, but you were still slightly taller, being part way up the steps.

“Have a dashing young soldier assist me in my time of need? How is a girl supposed to say no to that?”

He flashed you a grin then, and how you didn’t swoon, you didn’t know.

“Don’t say no then, doll.” 

He bent down then, and you were momentarily confused, until he hooked his arms under your nemesis the tree and hoisted it up onto his shoulder.

Wow!

“Lead on, sweetheart.”

You practically skipped up the last few steps, awkwardly pulling your keys out of your purse, before opening the front door to the building. 

“Afraid I’m on the second floor, Sergeant….?” You trailed off, giving him the opportunity to give you his name.

“Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. But my good friends call me Bucky.” Oh, he was smooth.

“Bucky, it is then.”

You led the way up the stairwell, somewhat in awe of how effortlessly Bucky was carrying your tree. When you reached your own door, you repeated your awkwardness with the keys, and gave the door - which had a tendency to stick - a sharp nudge with your shoulder. Removing your gloves and wondering how you were going to put right the damage done to them by the pine sap, you gestured to the tree stand you already had set up ready in front of your main window.

“Could you place it in that for me? I didn’t expect getting a tree to be this difficult.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

You took your coat off, hung it on the peg, along with your purse, took off your hat and quickly checked your hair and lipstick in the small vanity mirror by the door, while Bucky’s back was turned.

“So, is this your first Christmas on your own then?”

He threw the question over his shoulder as he tightened the screws on the tree stand around the rough trunk of the pine. You turned back around and leant your weight on your sideboard.

“Yup. Moved outta Ma and Pa’s three months back. Got this place for a steal and a job down at Montgomery’s as the receptionist. It’s a good gig. And you? Getting ready to ship out?”

Bucky stood, clapping his hands together and brushing off the lingering pieces of bark and needles on his green woollen pants.

“Sure am. Completed basic training. Got bumped up to Sergeant on account of my sharp-shooter skills. Catching the boat to England in two days.” He lifted his right hand up to his temple and gave you a salute. “Ready to serve, miss.”

There was an awkward silence then. He’d completed his chivalrous task, but it was clear from the tension in the air between you that neither of you were wanting this interaction to end, at least not yet. You moved away from the sideboard, walking closer to him. He stayed put, right where he was, not widening the gap between you but not closing it either. Open, but not pushy.

“Well thank you very much for your help, Sergeant. But I wondered, on account of how cold and snowy it is outside, whether I could offer you some hospitality in thanks. I could fix you a drink, and if you wanted, you could help me with the decorating. Ornaments and stockings and the such-like? I want to make this room my own personal winter wonderland.”

“A drink would be much appreciated, and spending even more time with a beautiful dame is not gonna be anything I’d turn down.”

“Least I can offer for one of our country’s brave boys.” You walked your fingers up the front of his buttoned jacket and made a display of straightening his tie, before turning and sauntering towards your little kitchenette. You pulled two glass tumblers out of your cupboard, and then moving to a second, retrieved your bottle of whisky. You saw Bucky’s eyebrow rise as you placed a healthy measure in each glass. You took a sip from yours, silently letting him know that you were no stranger to strong liquor, and then returned to his side, hips swinging.

He took the other glass from your hand, and you clinked them together. 

“To festive cheer and new friends.”

“I can definitely drink to that, doll.”

Silence fell again as you both sipped your drinks, but it was less awkward and more electric, the previous tension now stronger and thrumming through your veins. You placed your near empty glass down on your coffee table.

“I hate to ask you for another favour, Bucky, but I wondered if you could light the fire for me. I’m just going to pop in the other room and get the things I need for decorating and what not…”

“Not a problem at all.” He placed his glass next to yours and walked round to your fireplace.

“The matches are on the mantle. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be right here waiting, beautiful.”

Somehow you controlled yourself walking into your room, not giving away how excited you were. God, you hoped you were reading this right. Quickly you slipped out of your skirt and blouse, and gave yourself a quick wash under the arms from the jug of water you kept on your dresser. A spritz of perfume, a slick of lipstick and another primp of your hair and you were as ready as you were going to be. You took a deep breath and walked back out into your living room.

Bucky was kneeling in front of your fireplace, prodding at the big log he’d just put on to the burning kindling, trying to get it to catch. He’d removed his jacket and hat, the latter perching on top of the former that was folded over the arm of your slightly ratty sofa. You could see the play of the muscles of his back under his dress shirt, and imagined how they’d feel under your hands.

You walked closer until you stood right next to him. He turned his head and looked up at you, eyes wide as he took in your stocking covered legs, your satin french knickers and matching camisole.

“Are you still okay to help me with my stockings?” You lifted one foot and placed it on his knee. His hand gently captured your ankle and then slid up slowly, but surely up your thigh towards the fasteners.

“Those weren't the stockings I had in mind, doll, but I’m not gonna complain.”

And neither did you.

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi

[j4m3s-b4k3r]

MONKEYBONE

Here are some pre-production drawings done for MONKEYBONE, a film directed by Henry Selick. I worked on the film very briefly, perhaps only a week or two, helping with story beat boards. It was a fun gig, in part due to the location in The Presidio.

Nowadays The Presidio is one of the jewels of San Francisco - a truly beautiful parkland for residents to play in - but when I first arrived in San Francisco, it was still a functioning military base. It was already known that it would soon close, however. So discussion about what was next for the site bubbled for the first few years that I lived here. Would it become low income housing? Or yet another swanky property development, as seemed likely. Who else but big money could pay for the cleanup required after the military had left so many toxic cooties (asbestos etc) behind? 

Anyway, while such things were being decided, some of the abandoned buildings would be rented out for short term projects, one being an animated/live action comedy, that was in pre-production circa 1998 (adapted from a graphic novel - DARKTOWN  by Kaja Blackley & Vanessa Chong). I worked on MONKEYBONE in the early, eager, happy, anything-is-possible phase. It may have been so early that our work was merely a proposal, before a ‘green light’. 

Henry himself was in a great spirits, now that he was out of the shadow of Tim Burton, and Chris Columbus was his exec producer. Many of the crew were Henry’s old cronies from Nightmare Before Christmas, such as production designer Bill Boes. He’d already built models of some of the sets & locations, and these were great reference. With a tiny lipstick camera we could shoot the models from all kinds of angles, and this was enormously helpful, allowing myself & Lawrence Marvitt to bang out panels relatively quickly, under the guidance of Mike Cachuela.

Many things had not yet been decided on, such as casting. The protagonist in my sketches here was based on Nicolas Cage, but of course Brendan Fraser got the role of of Stu. Other roles were played by Rose McGowan, Dave Foley, Bob Odenkirk, John Turturro, Whoopi Goldberg, Chris Kattan and even Breaking Bad’s Giancarlo Esposito. The final film really had an amazing cast.

The Presidio was not yet full of dining options, but our workspace wasn’t far from the Presidio gates, where we’d have lunch at Liverpool Lil’s, a great little pub (that has recently burned down, sadly). I also remember a really fun swanky dinner (I forget now where) with the entire tiny pre-pro crew, where Henry was in a jovial mood and writer Sam Hamm was too. Both hilariously regaling us with their Hollywood horror stories (and comparing their scars inflicted by Tim Burton). Best of all, someone else picked up the exorbitant check! (I think it was Sam Hamm?)

Years after my brief stint on MONKEYBONE I got an invite to a preview screening in early 2001. The film was madcap, weird, & even disturbing at times. Much of what I’d thought would be animated was actually handled with costumed humans in the final film, surprisingly. But it was exciting to have worked on a feature film that actually got made. This was a period where I worked on many great projects that collapsed before making it to the screen. I remember enjoying it until the very end, when I saw that I hadn't got a credit (I hadn't worked on it long enough apparently). In the lobby after the screening, there were a lot of concerned/worried/disappointed faces. Whereas I was bummed that my name was was not in the credits, many people seemed unhappy that their names were.

Ha ha!

Sure enough, the film was a financial & critical flop and has low score to this very day (despite a tiny subset of viewers who still love it, and look back on it fondly). I learned that there had been much tussling along the way to the screen. Perhaps the guy who'd done Home Alone was not the right choice to ‘mentor’ Henry? Did things go sideways after Rupert Murdoch fired Bill Mechanic? Or was it merely typical studio meddling? My guess is it was another case of AOTA: all of the above.

Henry himself sums up MONKEYBONE this way:

"I have two thoughts: it never would have been a big hit. It certainly would have done better if they advertised it a little... I would still like to do a Director's Cut because there's a lot of cool stuff that was removed... my main lesson learned is, I don't really do well in the live-action universe... I love my world of stop-motion... I went down a slippery slope to make Monkeybone, but the film that came out it's not my vision of what the film could've been, and I just don't thrive in that.”

Not long after I worked there, the fate of The Presidio was finally decided when George Lucas’ proposal to develop The Letterman hospital into a media centre was accepted in 1999. And it became the mixed-use space SF residents play in today.

----

Just last weekend, we spent a day in The Presidio, enjoying its restaurants & bars and exploring the new Tunnel Tops park. As we strolled around, I tried to figure out which of The Presidio's many buildings we worked in in 1998, but couldn't pin it down (of course, the Letterman hospital complex was levelled to build what became ILM/Lucasfilm, so perhaps the buildings we worked in are gone).

[bingoboingobongo]

task force 141 holiday headcanons

A/N: no bc like how fun would it be to spend christmas with the 141 like bffr rn. also feel free to send in requests for future posts ;)

soap

tbh i think soap would be the most hyped for it, he's the kind of mf who starts celebrating in november (besides it's not like he celebrates thanksgiving). like as soon as the weather starts getting chilly he's humming "last christmas" by wham! under his breath on missions and planning out christmas gifts for each team member. soap also wears santa hats whenever he can, and he tries to get the others to wear them too. he can usually get you, price, and gaz on board, but he's never gotten ghost. it's soap's life mission to see ghost in a santa hat though.

gaz

gaz seems like he'd be excited for christmas too, but not as excited as soap (at least he doesn't show it as much as soap). gaz is the kind of guy who looks forward to relaxing and doing nothing during christmas whereas soap looks forward to all the traditional christmas activities, setting up the tree, making a gingerbread house, buying presents, the whole shebang. on another note, i am officially announcing that gaz is stupid good at making gingerbread houses. like it's not fair how good he is. apparently it's because he's been making them with his family ever since he was a kid, but still. it's like scary impressive how good he is. like he will casually suggest building a multistory house with functional utilities, a garage with a working door, and a gingerbread remote controlled car.

price

price is a big softie for christmas. lord knows he can't go a single year without telling the task force about the christmas truce of world war one. and im serious about that, like sometime before christmas he will call everyone to the dining hall before dinner is served and make them listen to his speech about how the christmas truce should be a reminder that humanity still exists and it's important to treat fellow soldiers with respect and dignity. obviously super important stuff but it's sorta like the bullying presentations they show you in elementary school, in that you've heard it so many times you're just over it. besides that tho, price is pretty gung ho about christmas. again he doesn't get as festive as soap does (bc nobody can get as festive as soap does) but he's definitely in a happier mood because he let's the team get away with a lot more shenanigans during the winter season. on another note, he's also a big fan of eggnog, but he says the eggnog that soap makes is too sweet, even when soap doesn't even add any sugar. he always drinks it though, and sometimes he tells soap to make a batch just for him.

alejandro

alejandro and rudy both flew up from mexico to spend christmas with y'all and they are living their best life fr. idk why but im in love with the idea of alejandro drinking soaps eggnog but also sneaking a bit of bourbon into it. according to him it's because soap's eggnog tastes like shit and he needs to make it better, but you're pretty sure he's just ready to get drunk. he's definitely more chill about christmas than rudy, but he always gets involved in the festivities. one time he tried to decorate a gingerbread cookie, but when it turned out bad he made a show out of giving up and went to go talk and drink with price. he also is a big fan of mistletoe, not necessarily the kissing part just the concept. plus he thinks the plant is pretty.

rudy

rudy won't stop talking about the weather and how excited he is to have a white christmas (he's never experienced one before) and he's also completely in awe of the gingerbread houses gaz makes. rudy's actually a really good artist though, and so he makes the cutest little gingerbread cookies you've ever seen. he's also a firm believer in eating the head first to take the gingerbread man out of it's misery. rudy also really really likes buying stocking stuffers, and he'll drag you along to go shopping with him for like an entire day just shopping for candies and snacks and stupid knick knacks. if there's a competition for holiday spirit, it's definitely a toss up between rudy and soap.

ghost

and now for y'all's favorite: ghost. ghost tells people that he's ambivalent about christmas but it's clear he enjoys it. he doesn't sing carols or decorate gingerbread cookies with the rest of the team, but he'll sit on the side and watch everyone else, a cup of soap's eggnog in his hands. one thing he does partake in is decorating the tree, but that's mostly because soap always asks him to decorate the top of the tree. he also worries a lot about gifts, not because he's scared he's gonna get bad ones, but he's scared he's gonna get good ones. ghost's very conscious of the persona he puts on, and he feels like it would be contradictory if he got a super heartfelt gift for the team even though he knows they would love it. in the end though, he still gets them it anyways but tries to counteract it by not wrapping it and just slapping on a bow and trying to act nonchalant about it. he always takes careful note of how they respond though.

[um-jammer-rammy]

i have seen people making headcanon lists so i wanted to make one too starting by rammy because like she's one of the most irrelevant characters lore wise (appears twice on um jammer lammy, only real context given on website bios is that she's skillful at the guitar but never can be in a band because she gets fired instantly)

anyways i made some headcanons about her before but those are outdated so have these instead

rammy headcanons

* real name is ramona, rammy is only a nickname unlike lammy's name being genuinely lammy.

* 18 years old

* australian/chilean (speaks english and spanish)

* bipolar

* trans girl and bisexual, as in the opposite of lammy she's more into guys than girls

* orphan

* actually a ram, not a lamb, unlike lammy. you can't really tell since they both cut their horns short, but if you let them grow rammy's horns would be bigger.

* favorite genres are goth rock, darkwave, nu-metal, death metal, and black metal. but also enjoys things like shoegaze when in a less energetic mood.

* anything she wears instantly turns grayscale for unknown reasons

* lowkey thinks she's superior for celebrating christmas in summer, halloween in spring, ect.

* doesn't have many friends, the closest to her is colonel noodle who she met through him accidentally summoning her with an ouija board

* huge twilight fangirl, she drags noodle to watch the movies with her in the hell theaters (poor guy)

* usually screams in a guttural metal tone when frustrated about something

* has a monster high doll collection she thinks is embarrassing to show

* absolutely can't cook. she lives off pepsi, coffee, and quick ramen/mac n cheese meals.

* slowly has developed a crush on colonel noodle and flirts with him to call his attention but his dumbass never catches her indirect signals of affection.

next up, we have parappa because he's the 2nd one i have most headcanons of

parappa headcanons

* japanese/south korean

* 18

* cishet ally (has no idea what what lgbt is but tries to be supportive)

* has adhd

* dating sunny funny since 1999

* best friends with colonel noodle (he's fairly short on money so colonel noodle tends to give him many discounts to the point he at times gets free food)

* considers katy to be like a big sister for him, she usually helps him with his music videos and was the one who pushed him forward to get into a musical hobby.

* relationship with pj is eh. they don't actually like eachother much.

* allergic to chocolate (he's a dog, duh)

* favorite genres are nu metal and rap

* favorite artists are snoop dogg, eminem, beastie boys, linkin park, and limp bizkit

* dresses like the nezquik rabbit, according to katy

* bald, since he was playing with pinto as hairdressers and pinto accidentally fucked up his hair so he had to cut it off so that's the real reason he's embarrassed of taking his hat off (as a human i also headcanon he would be deathly pale to the point he easily gets sunburnt as an alternate reason for always wearing the beanie)

* very hot headed and can come off as mean since he takes no shit from others and will fight for people in trouble on his neighborhood but has a heart of gold

* grew up in tokyo in an era where western things like rap/hip hop/rock were considered taboo but was always against it.

* i scream was initially gonna have more serious and vulgar themes but due to his parents' influence he decided to make it more friendly and try to be a good example for his little sister, pinto, as mentioned before those topics weren't well seen in that era. that's why the name is i scream however he rethemed it to ice cream as a coverup.

* huge fan of videogames, specially violent ones like mortal kombat, but he's only allowed to play them while pinto is not around.

* has one of those do not enter signs on his room's door like the average 90s teenage older brother

* hydrohomie. doesn't love anything more than a good glass of water. this freak's favorite way to drink water is a straw.

* chop chop master onion is like a secondary father or even grandfather to him and his biggest inspiration. he actually got his i gotta believe catchphrase from him just like lammy did.

colonel noodle headcanons

* real name is yoshihito omohiyama

* transmasc and a straight ally

* 18

* japanese/german (from osaka)

* polyglot

* autistic

* his hair is actually straight and he feels ashamed of it. his hair without curling is a little longer than shoulder length

* parappa is his best friend, he's however not that close to the rest of the friend group since they are kinda afraid of him after the war, specially tamanegi sensei and takoyama for the way he treated them.

* has kind of a double identity with his glasses (colonel noodle) his glasses have a more tough and violent persona that is destined to help him with his tougher moments in life which usually backfires, like him accidentally killing his dad during a heated argument. only his colonel noodle persona is aware of this incident.

* dislikes girly things with a passion such as teriyaki yoko's music.

* lives off coffee, noodles, and a compliment from a few years ago

* very close to rammy and is unaware of her crush on him

* hates casual clothes such as hoodies and always wears an apron over his clothes. in his colonel noodle persona he dresses in a rather extravagant way. his wardrobe is mostly black.

* refuses to sleep because it's "a waste of time and for the weak". tends to pass out at work in inconvenient moments.

* was a hikikomori for most of his teenage years as he fell into a deep depression.

* not a fan of videogames since they are a waste of time for him but everytime parappa challenges him in the arcade he wins