#then good. they deserve a home somewhere. they deserve just as much comfort as us

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[moonstruckme]

Hello hello!! Was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a fic where r loves to cuddle and play around w Sirius in his animagus form, but perhaps he gets a bit too excited and scratches or shoves her too hard? Thought this could turn out super cute 🤭 thank you!

This was so fun, thanks for requesting lovely! I did it with whimsical reader, hope that's okay <3

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.2k words

When you get home, your dog is waiting for you on the porch. 

“Hi, puppy!” Your delight is obvious in your voice, and he grins at you (can dogs grin? You’re not sure, but this one does) as he bounds down the couple of steps to meet you halfway. 

Your fingers find the spot between his shoulders automatically. His tail starts wagging, snout resting against your forearm almost affectionately. For the past few days, you’ve come home to find this strange dog by your house, seemingly awaiting your arrival, with no collar or caretakers in sight. You’d be worried for him if he didn’t seem so well cared for. His black coat is always shiny and clean, and he doesn’t look underfed like you might expect a stray to be. For only having known each other a few days, you’ve become fast friends. 

“Puppy puppy puppy,” you murmur contentedly, using both hands to scratch behind his ears and all down his back. The dog reacts with a pleased sort of complacence, as though this is the sort of treatment he knows he deserves. It reminds you of something you can’t place. “How was your day? Are you hungry at all?”

Hungry must be a word he knows, because the dog perks up, licking your hand eagerly. 

You beam at him. “Yeah? I have some chicken in the fridge, would you like that?” 

This time, he gives a short bark. 

“Okay, let’s go.” You walk towards the door, patting your thigh for him to follow. “Gosh, you’re just the handsomest boy I’ve ever met. Don’t tell my boyfriend I said that, though. Maybe don’t tell him I’m letting you inside either.” Sirius is a bit odd about having animals in your home; that one time you brought in a snake you found in your garden, his face had gone so white you worried he was going to fall over and hurt himself. 

Your new friend follows you inside and into the kitchen without so much as glancing around, like in your home is somewhere he’s supposed to be. If you get any more attached to him, that might be a case you have to make to Sirius at some point. A dog this lovely just should not be forced to stay outdoors when he’s so comfortable in here. He’s clearly a kindred spirit. 

“All right.” You fish out a skinny piece of chicken from last night’s leftovers, holding it out to him. You plan to lower it close to his mouth, but the dog jumps up, snatching it from your fingers with a click of his teeth. “Oh!” you startle. “Um, good boy.” 

He gives you another one of his signature canine grins, wagging his tail for more. You give him a few more pieces before you cut him off, but the dog seems just as happy being pet, soaking up your praises and rolling over to encourage you to rub his belly. 

“Oh, you’re so sweet, you’re my handsomest boy, aren’t you?” you coo as his back leg kicks excitedly. “Are you the best boy in the whole world, my sweet baby? Okay, fine, one more bite of chicken.” 

You stand up to retrieve it, and the dog rolls over, jumping up to meet you. You squeal as he licks your face, but then his paw slips, short claw marking a harsh line down your collar and chest. He whimpers softly when you flinch, dropping back to the ground remorsefully. 

“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for, but you extend the piece of chicken as a peace offering. 

The dog tucks his tail between his legs. 

“It’s okay.” You crouch in front of him, still holding out the chicken. “It was an accident. It didn’t even hurt.” 

You could swear that was apology in the dog’s big black eyes as he takes a step toward you. He takes the chicken gently between his teeth, munching on that before licking your hand. 

You smile at him, but when you reach for his head to scratch his ears, he turns and trots out of the room. 

“Hey!” You stand up, watching as he goes right out the open front door, disappearing from sight. You give a weak whistle. “Come here, puppy, it’s okay!” 

The dog doesn’t come back. You sigh, confused and a tad hurt, but put the chicken away and close the fridge. You shut the front door, too, but no sooner do you do that than you hear a key in the lock, and then your boyfriend is pushing it back open. 

“Hi!” Your mood is immediately righted, a light sort of contentedness inflating in your chest. 

“Hey, sweetness.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair, oddly ruffled from a wind you must not have noticed outside. He starts for you, but then his eyes drop to your chest. “What happened there?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You wave a hand, but Sirius’ eyes are sad as he comes closer. The scratch is shallow, not even really bleeding, but from the delicate way he touches your shoulder you’d think you’d been stabbed through with a broadsword. “I was playing with a dog—outside, playing with him—and he jumped on me.” 

Your boyfriend’s eyes flicker up to yours at the fib, something that could be amusement or knowing or both in them, but you tell yourself it couldn’t be either. Then it passes, and his mouth purses sorrily. “Oh, no,” he says, thumb sweeping over your shoulder sympathetically. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. It just stings, a little.” 

He pouts. “We should probably clean it so it doesn’t get infected. That dog really got you, huh?” 

“I think he felt bad afterward,” you say, letting him pull you towards the bathroom. “It was an accident, he just got excited.” 

Sirius nods ardently. “Can hardly blame him for that. Who wouldn’t get a little overexcited, with the world’s prettiest girl paying them attention?” 

You smile at him, and he slides a hand along your jaw, kissing you. “Still can’t believe the fucker hurt you, though.” 

“Oh, don’t be mean. He’s really a very good dog.” 

“I’m not doubting that, babe. Even good dogs can slip up sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” You tilt your head at him as he smears ointment on your scratch. “I didn’t think you were a dog person.” 

Sirius gives a sharp bark of laughter that turns into a cough. “No?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“Well, I am.” 

“Hm.” You think on this, pondering how you might convince him to let your new friend stay with you (if that happens, you’ll have to actually give the dog a name) while he stretches a thin bandage over your scratch. In your experience, if you ask really very nicely, Sirius tends to be amenable to most things you want. 

“There.” He presses a gentle kiss over the top edge of the bandage. “Like it never happened.” 

You smile and reach for him, letting a piece of silken hair run through your fingers. “Thanks for patching me up, Siri.” 

He grins. “Course, lovely girl. Anything else you’d like to call me?” 

You tilt your head, feeling your brows furrow bemusedly. “Honey?” 

Sirius frowns. He turns and goes from the room, muttering something that sounds like, “...called me nicer things when I was a dog.” 

“What?” you call after him. 

“Nothing, sweetness!”

[kvrokasaa]

omg i was js thinking abt timeskip kaiser, a renowed pro football player, attending some celebrity event and seeing his mother there SKDJEK 🫨 can you plspls make it a short angsty(?) story w a happy ending pls our boy deserves it :(

take care <3

I tried to make it as angsty as I could, but I probably just made a comfort fic, I'm sorry!

Cw: mention of food, mentions of mother's leaving, kaiser being sad, crying, comfort, angst(?), happy ending, comforting kaiser helps cope with the recent chapter :(, not proofread, 1.5k words

“I seriously don’t know how you do it,” you whisper over to Kaiser, your voice trailing off to a quiet giggle. A smile reaches his face when he hears your giggle, you never fail to brighten his mood. “Do what, meine liebe?” He questions, the pet name rolls off his tongue with such ease, that you’re sure he practices saying it every day.

“I don’t know how you manage to attend these events and functions all the time. It’s my first time and it’s so tiring already,” you hum, grabbing a strawberry covered in chocolate. “At least there’s good food,” you finish. 

Kaiser snorts quietly. That’s what got you to come in the first place. He almost begged you to come with him, but every time he asked he was met with your quick ‘no.’ So, like the man he is, he went to underhanded tactics. He promised to get you good food, and promised that there’ll be really good food there.

You’re thankful that he didn’t lie.

“It’s about keeping up with appearances, meine liebe.” His arm circles around your waist when he sees some nobody looking at you with obvious intentions. “Do you think if I didn’t blow so much money on these stupid things people would still respect me? No. I have to come to these to show people that I’m richer and better than they will ever be.” You almost wanted to roll your eyes. But would it really be Kaiser if he didn’t say something super egotistical?

He chuckles when he sees how close you are to rolling your eyes. Although most of his words were false, some of them were true. If he didn’t come to these and spend so much money, people would not respect him. The world truly is in his hands.

“Okay you goof, I have to use the restroom,” you pressed your hands against his chest as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes. “Make sure to stuff some of that food into my purse when I’m gone.” You joked.

Kaiser followed you with his eyes while you walked to the end of the ridiculously big room for the bathroom. His eyes show everything, especially his love and adoration for you. He laughs a little as he turns his attention back to the speaker. 

But something catches his eye. A slightly tall woman, with blond hair but almost gray now, no. That’s not what makes Kaiser freeze in his spot, that’s not what makes his heart beat ten times faster. It’s the unmistakable red eyeliner. 

Anyone could apply red eyeliner, he tries to reason with himself. Kaiser tries his best to divert his attention back to the speaker, but his eyes cannot seem to leave the woman. His gaze must have alerted the woman because the next second she is looking around for the person.

And when her eyes fall on him, he immediately panics. No way in hell. She can not be here. He must be hallucinating or something. He needs air, fresh air. Why can’t he breathe? 

Kaiser leaves the mansion as quickly as possible, trying to get away from the stuffy crowd. But just his luck, she follows him out. 

“My son, I have been looking for you.”

You leave the bathroom, with your disgust intensified. Why are rich people so weird? Couldn’t that couple have gone home? Who in their right mind would be doing that during a fundraiser? 

A sigh escapes your lips as you make your way to the crowd, ready to tell Kaiser what you just witnessed. 

But when you get back to the table of food, he’s gone. You swear that he wouldn’t just leave you, and he would’ve texted you if he moved somewhere else. Maybe he had gone to the restroom too?

After searching for a little, you end up spotting his blonde and blue hair. But you see a person standing if front of him and he isn’t moving at all. Your brows furrow in a quizzical manner, who is that?

“No.” You hear him say, it was more of a demand than anything. “You’re lying.” The woman in front of him shakes her head, a soft expression on her face. “You may think that, but we both know it’s not true.” She opens her arms, her hands awaiting his shoulders as to pull him into her embrace. 

“It’s me, your mother.” Your eyes widen, why is she here? Why did she decide to come back now of all times?

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” your tone is soft while you look at Michael, a worried expression on your face. “But Michael and I should really be going.” “Who are you?” Her soft expression never falls, almost like she got it implanted onto her face. But you can see the truth, the deception, the root of her lies. She’s only here for the spotlight. She wants to be seen as his mother, as his savior. But you know that she will only ruin him. She will only make him fall deeper into the black hole.

“Oh, I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news,” you start. You look at Michael’s mother, your soft expression immediately faltering. “I’m Michael’s fiancee. It’s very nice to meet you.” You give her a fake soft smile. You don’t want to seem too rude, but you know kindness with a person like this will only lead to your ruin.

“Ah, I thought you were his chafure. You seem awfully-” “Stop.” She turns her attention back to Michael, her faux softness resurfacing. “My dear, you seem tired. Why don’t we-” “No.” He can’t get his head around this whole situation. Why has she come back? Why did she choose now to come back? Does she want money, is that it? Maybe she just wants to be seen with him. Maybe she needs her acting career back and the only way she can get noticed is with Michael.

But he doesn’t want any of that. He tried so hard to look for her, and now she shows up out of nowhere. 

Michael feels like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. 

His mom tries to reach out again, but Michael is too preoccupied to notice. So, you step in, your body in the middle of both of them. Your glare is icy, never relenting when you see his mother’s expression falter. She seems to be caught up in her own little world. Does she not know the damage she created? How dare she walk back into his life like he owes her everything.

No, she owes him everything.

“I don’t know you, but I know of you. I know what kind of person you are and it’s fucking disgusting.” Your tone is sharp as if laced with venom, and it cuts right through her little facade. You can see the second her fake kindness leaves, and you’re left with the disgust and hatred that Kaiser should have. 

“You are not allowed to walk back into Michael’s life when it’s convenient for you. You don’t get to do that. That’s not fair to him at all. 

Do you know how many times he’s tried to find you? You don’t, do you? He’s tried almost his entire life to find you, to find some sort of comfort in his mother. But you left him. You left a child all by himself with someone neither of you could’ve trusted. 

Do you know the first thing he said to me when I first hugged him? He thanked me. He thanked me for being there, for letting him breathe. He has constant thoughts that I’m going to leave him because of your mistakes.

And if you’re a good mother, if you truly missed him, you would’ve reached out in the past and apologized for everything. But you didn’t.

So no. I’m sorry, but not. You do not get to walk back into Michael’s life right now. He can reach out if and when he truly wants to. Please leave.”

Michael’s mother juts her chin up, a little huff leaving her mouth before she walks away. You truly thought that you wedged a block between Kaiser and his mother. You’re scared that if you turn around, you’ll see the hurt and betrayal across his face.

But that’s not it in the slightest. Kaiser is so proud to be called yours at this moment. He’s so very grateful to you. He has never had someone stick up for him in this way before.

Yes, he always acts as if nothing can bother him, even if he shows it on his face a little. But at this moment, he realizes that he wants to be held by you, he wants you to nurture him and to care for him. He wants to turn to you for things he has never received in his life.

Before he knows it, tears gather in his eyes, threatening to spill along his cheeks. His body moves on its own as he makes his way to you.

“Thank you,” his arms looped around your waist, his hold tightening ever so slightly. You thank the Lord that everyone has left or else everyone would see Kaiser crying and you know that he hates showing that to the world. 

You let those thoughts leave your mind, your smile growing back onto your face. “No need to thank me, my love. I meant every word and I will protect you until you’re ready to see her again.”

[love-toxin]

@ eric draven, hes goth and metal And he kills people AND hes a feminist. literally the whole package what else could u want <33

UNNNNNGHHH AND HE'S GOT THE BIG WET PUPPY EYES GRRRAAAAAAAAHHHH

like.....like......imagine after the events of the crow Eric doesn't go back to purgatory or pass through to the afterlife, but rather finds himself staying in the land of the living for some unknown reason. he's got his revenge, he's avenged his beloved Shelley, but what now? what's his purpose?

but the crow won't speak to him any words of either comfort or doom, so he just wanders. wanders away from his city and home until he stops somewhere on the opposite side. spends time thinking and planning and thinking until he drives himself nearly mad and falls asleep. he can't do much else, or at least thinks he can't. when he's found no better place to roam he returns home, but when he steps up the curb to his apartment, he sees lights on upstairs. something dark stirs in him--protectiveness, maybe, he's sensitive to his home being invaded for obvious reasons--but when he leaps up and perches on the ledge of the shattered window he sees somebody he's never met before.

you're just standing in his apartment, sweeping up shards of broken glass like you own the place. humming to yourself. he remembers, briefly, what it was like when there was music in his home. but it used to be Shelley's laughter, and now there's a soft-eyed stranger singing a quiet tune in the lamplight, and he feels the same as he did back then. he sticks to the shadows because he doesn't know what to expect, but you just step lightly around the pile and sweep the glass shards into your dustpan. there's a little electric lantern keeping the place aglow and a few small bags of meager luggage huddled at the front door.

it occurs to him that you might be the new resident as he coldly watches you from a distance. it's obvious that the apartment would be repurposed at some point after his death, but how do you feel knowing that you're taking over the home of a dead man? that you'll lay your head in the same place where a couple were brutally and viciously murdered? where Shelley, his Shelley, was-

you tilt your head. your ears perked at the imperceptible sound and you nearly caught him staring, but he's a lot faster to hide than you are to see.

he leaves soon after that, but he finds himself returning every night. he learns things about you. you're industrious, for one--you work on the apartment whenever you're not working your job, both of which are tough, and you sleep on a hard mattress on the floor. you spend such a long time cleaning but when you find little things left behind of his or Shelley's, you don't throw them out. maybe you feel bad for them. maybe you know exactly what happened, and you don't want to disrespect their memory.

maybe you're a really, really good person that lives for a better world. Eric can't help but think that when he watches you tirelessly slave over renovating his apartment--he can't ever quite see it as something not of his own--taking down what was broken and making it into something beautiful again. he doesn't know you that well, he only hears your voice when you're talking on the phone or singing in the shower, but he grows to like you. you're gentle. you smile at little things and you laugh as sweetly as you cry. even when you feel frustrated or betrayed, when you get violent and punch something out of anger, you just feel it in such a raw way that it entrances him. you're complex. you're gorgeous. you're someone he could very easily fall in love with, but you don't deserve to feel his hurt in the way that he does. you can't shoulder his burdens with him when they're just too great for a mortal life.

so he resorts to watching you and feeling badly about it. he's kind of stalking you at this level, but he goes nowhere beyond following you to work and back and occasionally glancing through your window to make sure you're okay. one time he caught you freshly out of the shower with your towel nowhere in sight--you were out of clean ones and had to go digging--and he felt so bad about it he couldn't be around your place for weeks. but you deserve protection and all the love in the world, and if he can't give you one he can at least give you the other. at this point he would never forgive himself, he would probably burn down the whole city if what happened to him and Shelley happened to you. he would truly lose his mind.

it's only when you catch him that he has to stop and think on what he's doing, because there's no way he can explain himself properly--perching atop the roof of your apartment with the crow grooming its feathers at his side. when you stumble across him he wasn't even paying attention, just keeping an ear out for any screams or cries for help, but you mesmerize him because you're just so....so...

"are you....cold?"

kind. you're so warm he couldn't think of shivering in your presence. from that day on you're aware of his presence but you don't mind it. you welcome it. you don't know who he really is and you probably wouldn't believe him if he told you, but you welcome him in and that's fine because he really, truly is in love with you now. he has to be. because there's no way that his silent heart would start beating again for any other reason, even if it's just a trick of the mind and it's not really true. you touch his hands and feel cold skin and he's definitely still not alive, but he doesn't feel quite as dead as he was, and every day he spends growing closer and closer to you he feels death growing into a curse over a promise. maybe he doesn't really want to go back to sleep after all...not if the world has people like you, and not if a person like you could start feeling something for a restless, morbid soul like him.

[wordbunch]

healer's healer [Elrond x reader]

a/n: WELL! look at that. the people want ROP Elrond and of course I give them Elrond ♡ it's short but bear with me - I haven't done creative writing in ages and I feel very rusty, but he deserves good things. 🥹

I didn't watch the S2 trailer bc I never do that, but I did see screenshots of baby El after some battle 😭😭😭 so this vaguely goes off of that. Enjoy! 💞

Your breath hitched in your throat as you hurried down the spiraling staircase from your chambers, having noticed a familiar (and beloved) figure on the horizon. Though he was approaching uncharacteristically slowly, without mistake it was your spouse in the distance, returning from his latest task along with his companions. As fast as your legs carried you, you ran out to meet them - well, Elrond - and your heart clenched at his disheveled and evidently injured state. Immediately you scurried to the horse he was on, all drawn into himself and with scars etched into his handsome face.

“Meleth nín,” you breathed out, helping him down as gently as you could muster. Elrond clung onto you as soon as you came in contact, as he held one arm protectively over his middle.

“Beloved,” he replied, fatigue dripping from his words. “I have returned to you… as promised.” His attempt at a soft smile turned into a painful grimace as you slowly walked to somewhere he could at least sit down comfortably. You helped lower him onto the nearest settee you could find and began anxiously examining his wounded form.

“I knew you would keep your promise, always,” you whispered to him, cradling his face in your hands with a feathery touch. The way he was looking at you was shaking you to the bone - in his storm-colored eyes you could see an echo of many a thing he had seen, found, and been through, and you could all but hear your heart crack. “Breathe,” you attempted to soothe him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he winced, meeting your eyes once again, shakily reaching for your hand laid across his scarred cheek. It was easy to notice his breaths were heavy and uneven. “I love you,” he added hastily, stopping your thoughts in their tracks, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get many more chances to lavish you in his feelings. “I-I did not know whether… whether I would have another opportunity t-to… tell you that… one more time.”

“My brightest star,” you breathed out, leaning your forehead against his and reveling in his presence after the agonizing weeks of uncertainty. Elrond soaked in your warmth and softly nudged his nose against yours. “We will not speak of such things, ever. You are home now, you are safe, and I am here.  We are going to get you healed, I promise. Neither of us is going anywhere, ever” 

“Until the whole Middle-earth is no more than a distant memory,” he quietly echoed the vows you had exchanged quite a few moons ago. You were hoping you could actually sense, and not that you were just deceiving yourself, that he was beginning to feel more at ease (if not less in pain) only through being in your arms once again.

“Meleth nín,” you inched back only slightly to look at his state, “do you think you could be strong enough to get up with me and walk to our chambers? I will hold you the whole time,” you squeezed his chilly hands in encouragement, eliciting a subtle nod from your spouse. “Then we will make you comfortable, warm, and I will do everything in my power to heal you. From the things you are able to tell me, just as much as from the things you cannot speak of yet.”

Immediately his arm was around your shoulders as he reluctantly rose to his feet. You heard him breathe through his teeth, but you knew he could do it. He was as strong as he was kind, and you were more than willing to bring back his joyous laugh and twinkling eyes.

“How strong have you gotten in these weeks, my dove,” he quipped, doing his best to lighten the somber atmosphere. “I have got a true elven warrior by my side.”

“I have only tried to match you, I admit.”

♡

I should try to somehow revamp my taglist too :/

[thatlittlered]

i want you | logan howlett

warning(s): afab!reader if you really squint, cursing, immense and unbelievable heartbreak, spoilers for Logan (2017)

GIF by anonymous

author's note: I'm back where I came from writing x-men fanfiction and naming chapters after songs, life has truly come full circle. I could sit here and write some smut, talk about how much I want lick Logan (Hugh Jackman in general) from head to toe, OR I could break all of our hearts so guess what I chose :)

This is going to be a series so let me know if you want to be tagged.

-.-.-

It’s embarrassing; shameful, but he needs to have something.

Charles has to know about this little habit, somewhere in his few moments of clarity.

It’s practically morning when he comes back from work, but the water is running. He lingers; he always lingers when he realizes it’s you behind that door. He tells himself it’s typical animal behavior, he’ll guard you like the dog he is.

Today he’s not even good at that. His legs can’t hold him up any longer.

His feet take him to your room.

It’s probably the only part of this godforsaken place that smells nice. Almost feels like a real home in here, with your fresh cotton sheets and plush comforter. He won’t sully them, so he sits on the floor instead – a proper dog.

He should just fucking die already. Just send you off to a better life and die.

It’s what he deserves and long overdue.

You wouldn’t leave him though, and you most definitely wouldn’t leave Charles, or to be exact, what measly bits are left of both of them.

What a fucking waste.

You find him asleep there. Exhaustion took over when he leaned back against your bedframe, yet his body doesn’t seem at rest. Where can peace be found if not in sleep?

You sit next to him, now clad in soft pajamas and he’s already awakened by the smell of your shampoo before you call out to him.

“Logan?”

He blinks once, twice.

Even his eyes are not working properly these days. Always a little out of focus.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

He gives a half-grunt and moves to get up, but a brave hand on his thigh stops him. He surrenders to your insistence and the warmth of your fluffy carpet under him.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Of course, you are. You never sleep.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You can take my bed if the problem is the mattress.”

You watch him pinch his nose. Can’t be sure if he’s annoyed at you or himself.

“It’s not the fucking mattress, sweetheart, alright? I’m rotting from the inside out, no bed on earth can change that.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that.

It’s no secret to any of you that Logan has been struggling as of lately. He won’t speak of it, won’t ask for help. He's Atlas and the world is slipping.

“Did you need something?”

He doesn’t look you in the eye anymore, you notice.

“I was just checking up on you with how much time you spend in the shower. What do you even do in there?”

“I like it. It makes me feel normal.”

Logan merely hums in response. His hand reaches for the flask inside his pocket in a well-practiced motion.

“Is that whiskey?”

Of course it is.

You can make out his little smirk in the dim lighting. The odd little bit of humanity left in him that you always seem to attract. The tenderness they’ve tried time after time to rid him of.

“Can I have some?”

He watches you drink and lick your lips clean; admires your little frown at the taste. Decades alive and you’ll never grow used to it.

Your hands brush as you hand it back—an intentional act on your part—and he jumps. A shiver runs through him when it turns into a caress. Your hands are so much softer, so much gentler. A feather touch on his knuckles where the pus has begun to gather.

He should just fucking die.

“You should cut down on your hours. I can get a job, something part-time.”

His laugh is angry. It’s cruel and unnecessary.

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, but what does it matter?

“No need, bub. No point in it either.”

“You can’t go on like this, you know that.”

He drinks and drinks until the flask is almost empty.

“You should go somewhere else entirely; somewhere they won’t find you easily. Maybe your trouble will be worth something there.”

Maybe you’ll even have a life there.

“Is that what you think? That I’m here out of necessity?”

Logan chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“That’s why we’re all here, doll, but you- it could work. You should leave.”

Leave him. Never look back.

“It won’t. I won’t – I can’t.”

Something invisible tugs at his heart. Your glassy eyes, your loyalty.

Argos waited for Ulysses till death. For which master do you endure?

“For what? For whom, Charles? He’s barely even himself anymore, he doesn’t recognize you half the time. What’s the point?”

“So, he’s right, you’re just waiting for him to die.”

He falls silent again. The words cut deep.

“What about you, Logan?”

“What about me?”

“I should just leave you behind?”

It can’t be the heat, it has to be the alcohol, but the air is getting thicker in here.

He practically tears his suit jacket off. He’s usually nicer than this, always respectful of your efforts. The neat way you iron his shirts. Your ways of taking care of him.

The booze has started to get to him lately, as every other thing. He feels it now as it slurs his mind and speech. A shadow of his former self in every way.

It makes it even harder to look at you.

“I’m dead fucking weight. If you knew what’s right for you, you’d run and never look back at this shithole… you certainly don’t need me either.”

“I don’t stay because I need you, Logan. I stay because I love you.”

It’s hard to breathe. There’s unease in the way he holds your gaze and he almost looks small for a second. It doesn’t last. He’s quickly an animal again, now wounded and hurting. His growl is sign enough.

“Don’t say that.”

“Logan-”

You reach for his hand, but he doesn’t let you. He tries to stand up. His legs don’t listen.

What a pathetic excuse of a man he’s become.

You reach for him again when he lands back on your floor.

His voice is small and quiet, “Shit, sweetheart. You can’t fucking say that to me.”

He’s practically shaking in anger. Or sadness. Whatever this is, it’s overwhelming.

It’s easy to give up and lean into you; face landing on the softness of your middle.

“You can’t-you can’t say that to me.”

He can hear your heartbeat so clearly, it’s almost deafening when he presses his ear to your stomach. Everything hurts.

“I love you.”

You see his eyes close gently.

He wants to lose all his other senses, if only for this moment, if only to focus solely on the softness of your skin. The gentleness of your fingers when they gather in his hair.

“It’s okay, Logan.”

He only looks up when you take his face in your hands. You can feel his breath on you. All you can do is look at each other. His hand comes up to your shirt and lifts it, just enough for his lips to touch there – just this once.

He only needs this one thing and he’ll be good for the rest of his pitiful, miserable life.

“I have things I need to do.”

You only nod.

You offer your hand, but he doesn’t take it, drags himself upwards instead. The moment of weakness has passed.

“I’m going out. You should get some rest, don’t forget to lock the door.”

There is no point in arguing or asking where he’s going. He needs to be away from you.

“I won’t.”

He nods back at you, but avoids your eyes as he leaves. He’ll sleep in the car tonight.

Just this one little thing might be enough.

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 16

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: Miguel and you make visits to the cemetery to talk to your loved ones. Miguel joins the spider gang for a training simulation so you can continue to rest after being sick. You go grocery shopping with him and then cook together! You debate gifting Miguel something for Father's Day. Word Count: 17.5k Warning: some depressing content; minor injury; blood; Miguel cries A/N: Edited this once, so I'm praying it's good since a lot was done at 4am today 🫠 Masterlist Music Inspo (Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Evergreen" - Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners "Home" - Good Neighbours (tyy Laura!!❤️)

Thank you for reading!!

Part 16

You lay fresh flowers on Peter’s resting place. You’ve collected the old ones and placed them with the other ones from your other loved ones’ graves. You always leave Peter’s for last, so you can stay with him the longest. It’s always been like this since he passed away.

A gentle breeze blows on your face as you stare at the gravestone. It’s almost another year since his death, the fifth one.

You sigh and fix the flowers, arranging them in a way that looks pretty. You always take your time with this on every grave, wanting to show love and care to your deceased loved ones even years after their deaths.

You finish fixing the flowers, admiring how colorful and fresh they are. You always opt for bright ones to lighten up Peter’s grave. You like to think that he’s here somewhere, sitting on the ground or leaning against the nearest tree, or even sitting on his own stone listening to you talk about your day. It used to help you in the early days after losing him. Now, it comforts you in a different way. Your heart aches but differently. You’ve healed, even though you once believed you wouldn’t.

You pull back. Usually, you tell Peter everything that happened during the week from the villains you’ve fought to the little moments of your day like simply having a coffee. He always loved that, hearing about your day. You intend to share all of that with him, but there’s something that’s been weighting on your mind especially, and heavily.

Harry.

He left your life in a blink of an eye, and came back just like that.

Nearly five years later, he makes an appearance, asking to reenter your life. You’ve had little time to think about his request with you growing sick the next morning and then having your period. Thankfully, you feel much better today. Your cold is mostly gone and your period’s symptoms have calmed down thanks to the medication that Miguel got you. Your body is still feeling some of the effects, like fatigue, but for the most part, you feel well. Your recovery has been a fast one and you have no doubt in your mind it’s all due to Miguel, who was like your nurse on duty, making rounds every thirty minutes and ensuring you took the medicine as it was prescribed. And then, there’s all the food he cooked and the other kind gestures, like giving you his blanket and sweatshirt, and the ointment on your nose and back.

You chuckle to yourself at the thought and decide to start your weekly moment with Peter at last, even after all these years. You tell him everything from running into Harry to getting sick and how Miguel looked after you to a brief summary of Miguel’s feelings regarding the situation with Harry.

He didn’t say it directly but you have a feeling that he’s not happy with Harry and honestly, even your other friends seemed… on edge about the situation.

His words, along with your friends’ behavior, have made you consider this situation, especially Miguel’s words. He made you realized Harry really did ghost you in a moment when you could’ve used someone’s comfort. Miguel also made you see that maybe, you did deserve a little better, even if you know that you were fully going to try and cut ties with Harry.

Now, you wonder if you would’ve done it had Harry not stepped away for whatever reason he did. Would you had allowed him to stay in your life had he stuck around? You know it’s unproductive to think about this now, so many years later but still.

A part of you is displeased that you have to worry about this now. You had simply accepted that your friendship had ended with Harry. He had his reasons and you had yours, so it felt like a silent mutual decision between you, but now? Harry is back and he wants to be part of your life again.

The question is now whether you let him, or not.

“What do I do, Peter?” you whisper. “I think - I was perfectly okay with the way things were left. Is that bad?” you ask. “I know I have no one in this universe.” Your head dips low once you say this. You truly have no one in this universe. Just you and yourself alone since Peter passed away. Staring at his gravestone, you swallow heavily.

“But I was okay with that for many years. I accepted it because I know I made that choice, to cut ties with everyone. I’ve told you what Miguel said - that I deserved better from our friends - and maybe I did, but it’s too late to think about that now. I accepted it years ago. Just like how I accepted what happened with Harry. We both walked away from each other, so it really felt like a mutual thing, you know? But now… He wants back and I don’t know if… I don’t know if I want him back. Is that a bad thing?” you whisper. “I just don’t know.” You sigh. “I don’t think my friends like the fact that he’s suddenly shown up. You should’ve seen them.” You smile softly, thinking of them. Your little family.

“You would’ve loved them, Peter. I’ve told you that already but I really do believe so. They’re amazing… They took me in and now they’re my family.”

You remain motionless and quiet for several minutes, thinking about the situation. The first thing is, maybe you did deserve better like Miguel said. Do you want that kind of person back in your life? What if Harry just walks out again?

There’s also the fact that you’re Spider-Woman. Having someone back into your life, someone who doesn’t know of your secret, will definitely stir things in your life. You’re not used to that anymore. Like, hiding your suit away in your bedroom, hidden in the closet. You don’t have to explain where little bruises come from, or why you were a bit late to something.

You can get used to that again, you suppose, but you won’t deny that hiding your identity can be exhausting and there’s always the risk of being connected to Spider-Woman. It was always a worry of yours with your parents, Aunt May, and Peter - to have them exposed to villains who made the connection.

You shake your head.

You can’t decide now. Maybe it’s too soon. It’s only been a few days since you met with him. Perhaps you ought to think about it more, give it a few more days.

“I need more time, Peter. I’ll think about it more,” you whisper softly with a sigh. You silently imagine Peter agreeing with your decision for now but your imagination is interrupted by your spider senses.

You glance around quickly, taking in your surroundings. You’ve been so lost with your thoughts you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you. Your eyes find the reason for the warning.

“Harry is coming,” you say, turning to face the grave. “I must go, Peter. I love you,” you whisper, quickly pressing your hand to the gravestone, your physical way of saying bye. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

You pick up your things and slip away, hiding behind a tree before Harry can catch sight of you. You watch from a distance as Harry approaches Peter’s grave, flowers in his hand.

You frown as you watch him get closer, your eyes on the flowers. You came to visit Peter very often after his death, multiple times a week, day and night. Despite coming so often, you only brought flowers once a week since they stayed fresh, and also because you’d always find other sets of flowers. You knew they were likely from friends but as the months went on, your flowers were the only ones that continued to come. Whoever else came to drop off flowers stopped two or three months after Peter’s passing.

Now, you watch as Harry stands in front of Peter’s grave with a solemn look on his face. You wonder if he ever comes to visit Peter, even without flowers. You hope he did because otherwise, it’d mean Harry didn’t visit his best friend’s grave. Not for nearly five years. It’d mean today is the first time.

You watch for a few more seconds, noticing Harry’s valet down the street standing next to the car, waiting for his boss.

With a sigh, you silently bid goodbye to Peter once more before slipping away, leaving the cemetery.

You dispose of the dead flowers somewhere appropriate and walk around your city. You’re not too happy you had to cut your visit short and leaving in a rush but you had to if you wanted to avoid Harry to avoid giving him an answer.

With your thoughts on Harry, you mindlessly walk with no clear direction. You must make a decision, sooner of later. For a moment, you wish you hadn't ran into him that day. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here now, debating this entire ordeal. You're almost certain the stress from the encounter led to you getting sick.

You stop at the end of the street now and wait for traffic while you think about the fact that you got sick and how for the first time in years, someone took care of you.

You bring a hand to your nose, touching the tip, right where Miguel applied the ointment. You smile as you recall the moment, how gentle he was while applying the product while telling you that it was going to help you breathe better. Then, he gave you his sweatshirt and a hot tea.

You fell asleep shortly after while Miguel continued to watch over you. Lyla later told you it was like a man looking after a priceless artifact that could be stolen at any point, something that of course, brought a heat to your cheeks and stirred tenderness in you.

You're not surprised. Miguel is a kind man - a good one. He's caring and tender. He has so much love to give despite all the bad things, all the losses, that's happened to him.

You continue walking, finding yourself on your street. Of course. You'd probably find your way here even with a blindfold on since you've lived here for so long. You approach the construction site, keeping some distance as your eyes take in the progress. It seems like the building will be ready in a few more weeks, and then, it'll be time to move back.

It’ll be nice to be back.

But.

You bite the inside of your cheek. But?

Miguel flashes in your mind.

Him standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner while he talks to you. Then, there’s him sitting on the couch reading, eyebrows knitted lost in deep thought. Miguel, who taps his foot or bops his head slightly when you’re both cleaning the penthouse, the upbeat music winning over his body. There’s also him falling asleep on the couch, snoring softly, which is both endearing and heartwarming, to see that he’s actually resting when he went so long neglecting his body of it.

There’s also Miguel wishing you a good night’s sleep as you both stand in the hallway, him in front of his door wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his, which you believe he does to be a gentleman. It’s so sweet.

And there’s Miguel, who said was going to miss you when you return to your universe, and who you’ll be missing right back.

It seems you’ll both be missing each other. It almost feels as though, maybe… You shake your head gently.

You’ve thought about it a lot, many nights as you’ve laid in bed. The thought seems to pop up more often now that the weeks have dwindle. It doesn’t feel like much time went by since that first day when Miguel stayed at the penthouse to ensure you rested after the early morning you had helping your building’s residents evacuate.

A sheepish smile forms on your face as you remember telling Miguel how you wanted to hug him that day. You were out of it, exhausted both mentally and physically, maybe even emotionally, and the thought slipped out of your mouth. It did lead to him offering a pinky squeeze, an open one, though. Not like before when he could easily play it off as an accident because you were handing something to each other.

You hum softly. So much has changed since that day. Living with Miguel, temporarily, has allowed your friendship to grow, so much Miguel even admitted you’re his best friend.

“Best friend,” you murmur softly to yourself as you continue to stand on the sidewalk.

You miss your little old building and your small cozy apartment. There’s always going to be a coziness, a warmth from it. It’s a special place for sure, at least in your heart. And yet… You find yourself missing the housing arrangement, even though you haven’t left yet.

You’ll miss Miguel.

You sigh and shake your head.

It’ll be okay.

Things will fall into their rightful place.

They always do.

-♡-

Back in Nueva York, Earth-928, Miguel sits on the grass. He looks up at the sky for several minutes, silently. After a few days of rain, the weather has now cleared up. Today is sunny and bright, and there’s even a gentle but nice breeze that rustles Miguel’s hair. After several minutes, he closes his eyes and just - breathes.

Recently, he’s been trying to come more often and stay for a while. In the past, he was unable to. It was too hard, and after Gabriella’s universe collapsed, even more. Despite not coming often back then, Miguel always made sure the gravestones were taken care of, that they weren’t dirty and overgrown with weeds.

Recently, however, Miguel has tried to visit more often. He supposes part of the reason is that it’s easier now. It’s been several years since Gabriel and his mother passed away. Too many. It’s hard to believe that his little brother especially has been gone for so long.

Truth be told, Miguel always assumed he’d be the first to go. It made sense for the oldest sibling to pass away first, right? That’s how he thought it’d be, but life has its twists and turns, unexpected things out of our hands happen, and somehow, Miguel is still here.

Even when there were so many times he wished he wasn’t.

Miguel opens his eyes, moving his gaze to the gravestone.

When Gabriel died, Miguel especially thought about that. Gabriel deserved to live. He was a happy, outgoing young man. He brought a smile to everyone, always lifted people’s spirits.

Miguel has always believed out of the two of them, Gabriel was the better one, something he once voiced to him.

Of course, Gabriel O’Hara denied it and told him he was no better than Miguel.

With a sigh, Miguel leans forward. Losing Gabriel, it was more than losing a brother. He lost two things: his little brother, who always told him he wasn’t “little” anymore, and his best friend.

Losing him, it was the last straw. He focused entirely on his lab, burying his grief and loss with work to try and forget the fact that he had lost his last bit of family with his mother dying a previous year. He was suddenly familyless in his twenties, alone in the world.

Of course, he had Lyla but Gabri… He was gone.

Miguel inhales softly. It hurt. So bad. He never thought he could feel any worse but he was wrong because he then experienced losing Gabriella.

After several minutes of silence, Miguel sighs. “Hola hermano [Hello, brother],” he says, speaking for the first time. He’s been coming more often these days, but usually, Miguel doesn’t speak. He looks up at the sky again. “You would’ve loved this weather.”

His words are received by a bird chirping somewhere.

“Remember when we’d play fútbol [soccer] with all the other kids from the building at this time of year? The weather was warm and nice, not too hot yet. We knew school would be out soon for the summer, and we’d be able to stay up late behind our -” Miguel pauses, looking down at the gravestone. For a moment, a fraction of a second, he almost said the word. Sometimes, despite everything, he still associates the word with the man. He supposes that’s what a whole childhood does to someone. “Behind George’s back. Mama would let us stay up late in our rooms, watching movies about superheroes, wishing we were like them.” Miguel rolls his eyes playfully, a smile tugging at his lips before it falters. “Qué días… No sabía que algún día te perdería tan pronto. Siempre pensé que seria yo el que te dejaría primero. Y yo… te extraño, Gabrielito. Extraño mi hermanito enfadoso. Que daría por verte entrar a mi laboratorio para enfadarme, tal vez con otra persona de la sociedad de la cual te hiciste amigo [What days… I didn’t know one day I’d lose you so soon. I always thought it’d be me who would leave you first. And I… I miss you, Gabrielito. I miss my little annoying brother. What I would give to see you enter my lab to annoy me, maybe with another person from the society, one you became friends with]. Or, maybe… I’d see you walking in with Y/N, telling her something embarrassing about our childhood because you thought it’d be funny.” Miguel shakes his head at that image, smiling.

“I know I haven’t talked the last few times I’ve been here, but I just - I couldn’t. Not yet, but now I am. It’s been almost a year, Gabriel, since I possibly saw you. I’m still not sure if I did, or if it was just a dream - an illusion - but my heart tells me it was real. Y/N thinks so, too. Anyway,” Miguel pauses, clearing his throat. “It’s been almost a year, hermano [brother]. A year - a whole year. I’m sorry, if you’re listening, you’re probably hating that I’m repeating myself so much but, yeah, it’s been a year. Can you believe that?” Miguel asks, pausing. The same bird, probably, chirps. Miguel’s lips purse before he continues.

“A whole lot has changed, Gabriel. A lot. I… I’m a different man than I was a year ago. I can look at myself in the mirror now. I don’t shy away from my own gaze, which is another thing. My eyes. I find myself… Happy with them, along with my fangs and talons. That’s thanks to someone, and you know her very well. Well, at least in my dreams you do. Y/N. You and her get along so well in my dreams. We both wish you were around, physically, so she could’ve met you. You would’ve loved her, I know it,” Miguel says smiling again. “She’s a big part of my life now. I finally told her the other day that she’s my best friend. Oh, and she’s living with me now. Temporarily. I think… Her building will be livable again, very soon. She’ll be returning to her universe.”

Miguel looks away, staring at his lap. He picks away some grass from his bottoms, thinking. That same bird chirps again as if responding to him. He looks up again when he hears the fluttering from somewhere on the trees.

“It’s… difficult, Gabriel. I’ve grown used to her living with me. To her presence being there, both at HQ and now at the penthouse, close by. Our routines, they just merged. Clicked. Is it bad… Is it crazy that I’d like Dulzura [sweetness] - “ Miguel stops as he hears the nickname he gave you. “I’ve given her a nickname, too, Gabri. It just slipped out of my mouth that day. Dulzura [sweetness]. She’s so sweet, so kind to me - kinder than other people would ever be. Something about her, Gabri…” Miguel shakes his head. “As I was saying, I gave her a nickname. Dulzura [sweetness] - because she’s sweet and kind - but what I wanted to ask is, if it’s crazy that I’d like her to stay? For her to continue to live at the penthouse?”

The flapping of wings makes Miguel pause. He looks up, his crimson eyes finding a red bird in mid-flight. It so happens to perch itself on Gabri’s gravestone. He stares at it, watching how the bird spreads its wings before bringing them closer to its small, delicate body. Once settled, it looks around before settling its gaze on Miguel, too, observing him.

With knitted eyebrows, Miguel continues to stare, wondering if speaking will startle the bird. He decides not to for a moment, wanting to observe the bird this close up for longer. For a moment, he wishes you were here so you could see it, too. After several seconds, the bird chirps, taking small steps over Gabriel’s gravestone. Miguel remains quiet and keeps watching before the bird chirps again, stopping and turning to look at him, now on the edge of the gravestone’s top.

“What? Can’t find food?” Miguel asks. “I’m sure there’s plenty around.”

The bird chirps again. Miguel groans softly, now he’s talking to birds. “Estoy loco, verdad, ¿Gabri? [I’m crazy, right, Gabri?] I shouldn’t… but I do. I know it’s not likely. Dulzura [sweetness], she loves her apartment, so much. She’d never consider it, plus… This was only because of what happened at her building, not for any other reason. So there’s that.” Miguel frowns, picking up blades of grass with his fingers. He twirls a piece between his thumb and forefinger. “Aun así… No puedo dejar de pensar en el día que se ira [Even then… I can’t stop thinking about the day she’ll leave]. Thinking about it - it upsets me. I have no right, I know.” He gently lets go of the grass, watching it blow away with the breeze. He turns to the bird, still there. “¿Tu que? ¿Te gusto escuchar el chisme? [What of you? You liked hearing the gossip?]” He tilts his head to the side, wondering if something is wrong with this bird, but it moves just fine, no sign of injury.

He sighs.

“… I’m going to miss her, Gabriel,” Miguel admits out loud, his thoughts still on you and the fact it’s inevitable for you to move back to your apartment. “A lot,” he whispers. “But I can’t possibly ask. I can’t put her in a hard position. So, I guess in a few weeks, I’ll be staying at the penthouse on my own. Again.”

Miguel stares at the bird, wondering what his brother would say. He’d be positive about it. He’d say something like how things will work out the way they’re supposed to. So, Miguel holds on to that thought, even if things have not always turned out great for him.

-♡-

The next day, the Spider Society’s HQ is buzzing with energy since it’s Monday. Miguel and you walk side by side as you both enter the training sector, a floor designed for all forms of training, including simulations. You glance at Miguel, who’s carrying a gym bag on his broad shoulder.

Once or so every week, you join the spider gang to do training simulations but due to the cold and your period, you’re not entirely up for it today. So, you decided to ask Miguel if he’d like to join them in your place. He seem reluctant at first but then you added that you’d be here, and he agreed.

You know Miguel works out frequently, sometimes in the afternoon when everyone is gone from HQ, but ever since you temporarily moved in with him, he’s been opting to work out at home. Apparently owning the penthouse means a private gym, which Miguel told you about a few days after you moved in when he remembered it. Of course, he said you could use it if you wanted to, especially because it’s better since it’s more private than the training sector at HQ, where all the spider people train and work out.

Today, though, it seems he might try to work out a bit with the spider gang, hence his backpack to change into other clothes once the training simulation is over. The two of you walk through the sector, the place filled with many, many gym machines and then some more to accommodate the strength of the spider people, such as big blocks of metal among other things that no regular human will ever be able to lift.

As Miguel and you walk further inside, you finally spot the group, so you both head straight for them. You’re about fifty feet away from them when someone calls your name.

“Y/N.”

Miguel and you both turn, halting. Your gaze finds none other than Ben Reilly, who you know spends a lot of time here at the training sector. You smile softly at him and wave.

“Hi, Ben,” you greet him.

“Hey,” Ben replies, giving you somewhat of a smile. He raises his arm to wave back, flexing his bare biceps as he does so, not wearing his suit but rather work out gear. “Hope you’re - feeling better.”

Tilting your head to the side, you offer yet another smile. You didn’t know that others paid that much attention, though maybe it was the fact that Miguel didn’t show up that alerted them. And maybe someone from the spider gang mentioned it, so it may have reached other members’ ears.

“That’s kind of you, Ben, thank you. I’m doing much better, for sure. I still feel a little fatigue, but the worst has passed.”

“Glad to hear that, and to see you back,” he says, nodding. “See you around.”

“Alright, see you around!”

With that, you continue walking, Miguel following a step behind, his brows knitted.

It’s like he wasn’t even there, standing next to you. He glances back, finding Ben staring in your direction but immediately looking away when he notices Miguel’s gaze. He watches for a few seconds as Reilly starts working out again. Miguel exhales deeply as he turns to face the front again.

Weird, he thinks to himself as you both approach the group.

“Huh, Miguel did show up,” Hobie says, as if he expected Miguel to back out.

“This will be so much fun! Miguel is joining us for the first time!” Pav says cheerfully.

You smile as you notice the overall excitement about Miguel joining the spider gang for training today. Over the last few months, you’ve noticed Miguel trying to be more open with them and you have to admit, this little opportunity might help even more. The fact that he even accepted makes you feel very grateful and excited, even if you’re not participating today, unfortunately. Your hope, however, is that maybe after today, Miguel might be willing to train with the group from now on, including you.

“This should be interesting,” Peter B. says with Mayday hanging out on his shoulder, before everyone starts off to the simulation square, excited and eager.

Jess steps back, taking a seat on the edge of the running track. Sometimes she participates and other times she doesn’t, today being one of those days. You nod to Miguel.

“I’m going to sit with Jess. Good luck,” you tell him softly, offering a smile of encouragement.

Miguel raises an eyebrow, playfully. “Gracias [thank you]. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Miguel watches as you take a seat next to Jess, satisfied that you’re safe and settled down, resting.

He heads to the simulation center where everyone is already waiting for him. The holographic walls engage right away, similar to those barriers used to capture anomalies except these can be broken.

From your spot, you watch as the simulation officially begins. The system selects a random New York from the database along with a random villain from those that have been captured, using the information it has on behavior and skills.

As soon as the villain pops up, the team jumps into action, quickly agreeing on roles and tasks before they split or team up.

As Jess and you watch, Jess breaks the silence.

“So… how is it?”

“How is what?” you ask, giving her a glance.

“Living with Miguel.”

“Oh,” you reply simply. You weren’t exactly expecting that question, so you feel caught off guard for a few seconds before you collect your thoughts. “It’s… great.”

“Just great?”

You chuckle. “I’m sorry, your question caught me off guard.” You sigh, watching how Hobie and Pav launch themselves off a building, swinging easily across the city. “I’ve… It’s amazing,” you start, which makes one of Jess’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s really nice living with someone - living with Miguel. He’s a very respectful, responsible person. So… considerate. Our routines kind of - just clicked.” You pause, watching how Miguel swings after Hobie now, telling him something. Hobie nods before he parts ways with him.

Jess hums, listening.

“I’m thankful he offered his place to stay. I never thought I’d experience a fire at my building.”

“Girl - your building - I don’t mean to be mean but,” she pauses and you laugh softly.

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t say I never expected it. I’ll agree the building is - old.”

“I was thinking ancient but old works, too.”

Jess and you laugh again.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Jess says. “It’s an older building, a fire was probably not out of the question, but I understand why you’re… attached to it.”

“It’s been my home for several years. It was the place where Peter and I started our lives together.” You lean back on your hands. “But I also do find it to be cute, in its own way. Anyway, I guess a fire in the near future was not too out of the question but still, I didn’t think - so soon, I guess. It threw me off, into an unexpected situation, and I’m thankful to Miguel for opening his home to me. To all of you for offering your homes, too.”

Jess hums again. “You know my home is still open to you.”

“I know, thank you again. Hobie and the Morales family have continued to offer, but all of you have families. I didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s life. I still feel like I’m disrupting Miguel’s.”

“You’re not,” Jess says rather quickly. She shakes her head. “You know better than most people that Miguel hardly spent time at his home. It’s only been recent that he started to, at least the nights for some reason,” she says, looking at you as if you have the answers.

You keep a neutral face. You’re close with Jess, with the spider gang, but you’re not going to reveal the reason why Miguel has been going home almost every night for a whole year. You’re not going to reveal that each weekend, you offer Miguel a sweatshirt fresh with your scent nor that his gizmo plays the sound of you sleepy breathing - that both things help him sleep because they bring him comfort, that his nightmares have slowly decreased over time.

Jess hums softly, understanding. “Whatever the reason… He goes home and sleeps, I think. That’s all that matters. And recently, because you’re staying with him, he goes home earlier. Do you know how big that is?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s huge. Before you and him - became close - there were times, very rare, when I’d find him slumped over his monitors, passed out. Most of the time though, he hardly slept. He was always in a mood because of his lack of sleep. And don’t get me started on the lack of food. He’d skip meals, too.” Jess pauses and turns to look at the team, still in the simulation. Her eyes find Miguel, thinking about what a different man he is now. “You’re not disrupting anyone’s life, much less Miguel’s - believe that.” Jess stops at that, though there’s more she’d like to say, like how ever since she met Miguel and especially after losing Gabriella, Miguel was merely existing. He went through the days in a blur, day blending into night, in that dark and lonely lab of his.

Over the last year though?

Miguel O’Hara has been living.

It’s as if he’s found a new reason to try at life.

But he’s not the only one.

Jess hums to herself and turns to look at you, offering one of those smiles that never fails to bring you comfort from your once mentor.

Maybe one day, both Miguel and you will realize what you’ve truly done for each other.

For now, Jess Drew keeps smiling at you. “I’m glad to have you here, you know? This place would be very different without you.”

You smile at Jess, thinking. “Thank you, Jess. For going back to my universe even after I first declined the invitation.”

“Don’t worry about it. You made me ask and ask again, but I’m just glad you accepted at last.”

Humming, you think back to the reason for you joining. Your Peter. Jess brought him up, hoping it’d convince you. At first you wondered how she had known about him but being part of the Spider Society for some time now, you know potential recruits are watched for a few days. Mentors make sure that potential new recruits are not a liability for the society, which means Jess probably spent a few days observing you without your knowledge until she deemed you safe for recruitment. During those days, she quickly put together your life - what your schedule was like, the people that had once being in your life, and the fact that most of your talking was with petty criminals and villains before you went to an empty home.

There’s been times over the course of your time at the Spider Society when you’ve wondered where you’d be right now if you had never joined. Of course, there might never be a way to know for sure but a part of you senses that you’d still be on your own. The mere thought fills you with sadness but even more so when you think about the possibility of never meeting the people around you.

There’s a chance you would’ve never met any of them; no Hobie, Pav, or Miles. No Gwen or Margo. No Peter B. or Jess. No Noir, Penny, or Spider-Ham.

No Miguel.

Staring at the group, who are almost done with the simulation, you give a silent thank you to Peter, your Peter, from wherever he is. He was the reason you joined the society, the one that swayed your decision.

You turn to Jess. “Thank you,” you say again.

“For what?”

“You know, going back to get me to join.”

Jess smirks. “I already told you, not to worry about it - but you’re welcome,” she says, nudging your side.

Chuckling, you nudge her back.

It’s good to be here.

With a sigh of content, you watch as the simulation ends. The spider gang steps out of the holographic walls, some of them heading to the area with machines to use them.

Jess and you continue to sit by the track race, catching up on her life. A few minutes later, you both notice Miles and Pav stick to Miguel’s side as he fixes a machine to his needs before he starts using it. He’s changed into dark sweatpants and a black t-shirt, the clothes he had in his gym bag. You nod at something Jess says, watching for a few seconds as Miguel works on his arms, Pav and Miles still at his side, talking to him.

From somewhere, you hear a man grunt, catching Jess’s and your attention.

Ben Reilly puffs out air as he lifts a barbell that no human could ever lift. His bare arms tense under the weight and he let's out another noise. His arms shake as he lowers it one more time, trying to get one last rep, but even from your spot, you can see he'll struggle to lift it.

“I think Ben has pushed it too far,” Jess remarks.

“I think he might need help putting it back,” you add, frowning. “Be right back.” You stand up and approach him, noticing the shaking even more as you walk closer. You're about six feet away from him when someone brushes past you, in front of you.

It's all so quick it leaves you feeling caught off guard, but the familiar scent immediately reaches your nose before your eyes find the person.

Miguel.

He stands behind Ben and gives you a reassuring nod. “I got it. Here Ben,” he says, offering his hands to help the other Spider-Man. You notice his suit activates even over his gym clothes. It seems he doesn't want accidental physical contact.

You nod back as Ben hands the barbell to him before Miguel places it back. Meanwhile, Ben looks at you with a defeated look.

You give him a small smile. It seems he's upset about not being able to continue his reps. You step back and go back to Jess and Peter B., who’s now sitting next to her. They seemed to be gossiping about something, giggling to themselves.

“-ckblocked!” is all you manage to hear from Peter B., giggling.

Jess laughs. “Shush!”

They both notice you and hold back from their laughter.

“Should I be concerned?” you ask, taking a seat next to Jess.

“No, don't worry about it,” Jess says more seriously.

“It's nothing. You're safe,” Peter B. says.

“Safe?” you ask, confused.

“He's just being a goofball. You know how he gets,” Jess says, discreetly nudging Parker.

You shrug and turn towards Miguel and Ben, finding him talking to Reilly still.

“There's a more efficient way to do it,” Miguel says as he take the barbell, positioning his body correctly. “Look.”

Miguel demonstrates by lifting the barbell, stretching his arms above his head. His gaze is focused, staring right ahead as he brings the barbell to his chest. His suit is back to being disengaged now that Reilly is a few feet away from him, so you can see his arms flex as he moves. Your eyes take in the sight of his sleeves, which become even more taut as his muscles flex.

Miguel continues to demonstrate by holding the barbell for a few seconds before he lifts it up again, his torso’s muscles becoming prominent beneath his t-shirt. His gaze remains focused ahead, but then, it flickers to you, meeting yours.

You hold his gaze, giving him a smile and a nod, encouraging him to go on. He returns the nod, his gaze still on you for a few seconds before Ben says something to him, making Miguel’s gaze turn away from you, almost hesitantly.

You turn away and face Jess and Peter B., who you find wiggling his eyebrows at Mayday. Jess and you laugh, returning to your conversation from earlier.

Half an hour later, you decide to do at least a little bit of walking to stretch your legs, so you begin to walk around the track on your own, leaving Jess and Peter B., along with Mayday, to talk. You see them giggling again, once you’re out of ear shot, which makes you wonder but you decide to not investigate. Probably parent stuff.

A minute or two later, Miguel falls in step with you. “Doing a little walking?” he asks, looking over at you before he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, I figured I’d stretch my legs a little bit, considering I hardly moved the last few days.”

Miguel nods, smiling. “I’m glad to see you’re in better spirits, to see you back on your feet.”

You return the smile. “So am I, which… reminds me.” You hold his gaze as you stop walking. “Thank you for looking after me. I…” you trail off, collecting your thoughts. “It was a while since I had become sick, but all those times, I was on my own. I got used to looking after myself, I guess, so much I forgot what it’s like to have someone worry about and look after me. Thank you, Miguel,” you say softly. “It meant so much to me.”

Miguel hums gently, nodding. You stand in front of each other, meeting each other’s gazes. “Always,” Miguel replies, his voice low, soft. “No matter what - always.”

You almost throw your arms around him. Almost pull him towards you to embrace him and not only “tell” how thankful you are for him, but also show him by giving him the tightest, warmest hug he’s ever received in his whole life.

You almost do it.

Yet, you don’t.

You wish.

Oh, how you wish you could.

You wonder. Maybe there’s a dimension out there, one that hasn’t been discovered yet in the vast multiverse, where you’re in each other’s lives, too, with the difference that that dimension’s Miguel has never shied away from physical contact.

Maybe another version of you gets to freely hug their Miguel, or rather their version of Miguel, not that Miguel is theirs in some way.

The point is, maybe there’s a universe where you don’t hold back from hugging Miguel when you wish to. One in which your version can just hug him.

Like you wish you could right now.

You smile at him, your arms wishing to wrap around him, despite his sweat. “Always,” you whisper.

You both smile at each other, forgetting that you’re in the Spider Society’s training sector with multiple sets of eyes and ears, some curious to catch a glance or a snippet of your moment and friendship.

After a few seconds, you begin to walk together again, soft smiles on your faces.

“I was thinking - how do you feel about homemade pizza for dinner?” Miguel asks, his gaze on you despite the multiple distractions in the space.

“Homemade pizza?” you ask.

“Yes, we can customize - if you’d like to, of course. I was just thinking - I don’t know where the idea came from.”

“Homemade pizza sounds amazing! I’m up for it,” you say looking up at him giddily, which only makes Miguel happy. “We’d need to buy a few ingredients, but we can get them.”

“I was thinking of going to the grocery store. Do you want to go with me?” Miguel asks, tilting his head.

You nod immediately. “Yeah, I’d love to! Just tell me what time, so I can get regular clothes on.”

“I was thinking leaving earlier today,” Miguel says as you both keep walking.

“How early are we talking?”

Miguel grins. “Like… an hour or two.”

You hum softly in response.

“Two hours before my usual departure time,” Miguel decides in the moment, the decision an easy one in your presence.

You grin. “You made your mind up quickly.”

Miguel rolls his eyes playfully. “We can meet up at the penthouse, change, and head to the grocery store.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you answer, looking forward to some homemade pizza and quality time with your best friend.

-♡-

Miguel carries the grocery basket while you both walk down the aisles, gathering the few ingredients that are needed for dinner. Just like Miguel suggested, the two of you left HQ thirty minutes ago, two whole hours earlier than Miguel usually leaves, and went straight to the penthouse to change in to regular clothes, and are now at one of Miguel’s favorite grocery stores in Nueva York.

You’ve seen it before but you’re still in awe as you both shop around, noticing the holograms for screens from which the best deals and newest items are displayed for customers to see. You even catch sight of holographic AIs, much like Lyla, that customers can refer to if they can’t find an item.

Even though it’s just a grocery trip, you find yourself enjoying it because you get to see more of Miguel’s universe, and you’re not the only one. Miguel walks next to you, the grocery basket looking like it’s part of a child’s grocery toy set near him, with great contentment thanks to your wide eyes and “oohs” when you see something exciting. You even end up checking out the sweets aisle, where Miguel added everything that you seemed to stare at for too long to the basket despite your protest once you noticed it.

At last, the two of you head to the check out section. Even though Miguel used the “scan and go” mobile option and paid online, you must show up to this area for an employee to check the purchases. So, you both stand there and wait for your turn to show the receipt. Meanwhile, you take a sip from a coffee Miguel bought you earlier from the attached coffee shop, insisting on you getting something. You declined at first but now that you’ve had it, you’re glad he offered because it’s great. Glancing at the cup, you notice there’s less than three sips left as you both step forward for a woman to scan your receipt from Miguel’s phone.

“How are you doing today? Did you guys find everything you needed?”

You nod with a smile, letting Miguel do the talking. It’s his universe after all.

“We did, thank you,” Miguel says as the lady scans the basket, placing the items in the bags Miguel brought with him.

You finish your drink and look around, noticing garbage bins nearby. “Hey, I’m going to throw this away real quick. It’s so good, I already finished it! Thank you for buying it for me,” you say with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Miguel gives you a small smile and nods before you head off.

The lady, noticing the interaction, smiles. “Aww, how sweet! You bought your girlfriend a coffee. What a gentleman,” she says, making Miguel nearly choke on his own saliva, something the lady seems to miss entirely, too busy talking and scanning the items to make sure everything is as it’s supposed to be. “And based on your groceries, you’re having a homemade pizza date.” She finishes her job and steps back, smiling. “You guys have a wonderful evening together!”

Miguel nods, still coughing quietly behind a small, sheepish smile. His cheeks are red as he approaches you, trying to stop the coughing. He stops a few feet behind you as you read something about the store’s recycling system. Apparently recycling is taken more seriously in Nueva York.

Miguel clears his throat, his chest finally calming down.

Your girlfriend, the lady said too happily, too certain. Like there’s no doubt that you’re Miguel’s girlfriend. He stares at your back as you read, still feeling shocked but he composes himself when you finally turn around to face him with a happy smile.

“This is really cool, I wish we had this in my… you know,” you say, remembering not to say anything about universes. The last thing you want is for people to think you’re talking crazy.

With a short exhale, Miguel nods, finding his voice once again. “The work they do is incredible. They’re trying to implement it to more stores like this one. It’s why I shop here, they’re a far more ethical company than others whose greed leads their decisions, even when it concerns everyone,” he explains softly as you both head to the exit.

“That’s really great, I’m glad you have that here. It’s unfortunate that’s not the case in all universes.”

“I know,” Miguel replies as you both begin to walk down the sidewalk. He doesn’t even realize it, but he walks closest to the street, keeping you away from it as he easily carries the bags in one hand, like it’s nothing.

The two of you continue to chat on the way home. Miguel points out buildings to you and answers questions you ask about certain things from his universe until the two of you eventually reach Miguel’s building. Instead of sneaking in through the windows like you both usually do, you get to the penthouse though the elevator and the main front door where Miguel asks you to open it, using your own fingerprint. He added you to the security system almost a year ago, so when you press your finger, the system immediately identifies you.

Together, you put groceries away before you both head to take a shower, in your respective bathrooms, of course.

Miguel, showered and wearing lounging clothes, makes it downstairs first. He heads to the kitchen to start gathering ingredients onto one of the counters, but he gets distracted though. There, on the counter, lies one of your hair ties. He takes a seat, just for a few seconds to look at it. You must have left it while you were putting items away and simply forgot about it.

Usually, you pick everything up, never leaving your personal items lingering around for too long. Miguel knows it’s because you don’t want to make the penthouse appear “cluttered” with your belongings, which Miguel has told you before that it’s fine. It’s not like small things such as your jewelry and hair accessories is going to make the space cluttered, but it seems you’re too respectful of the place to even leave a hair tie for longer than a few hours.

Due to that, Miguel appreciates the fact that you forgot your hair tie now. The truth is, he enjoys seeing little reminders around the penthouse that you’re here. It’s so comforting to him, to know he’s not alone in this big penthouse.

He gently picks it up now, as if it’s the most delicate of things. He finds himself smiling at the sight. Who knew a simple hair tie could bring such happiness to a man? He lets it slip down his fingers, still admiring it with a smile before he slightly stretches it. He’s very careful with it as he doesn’t want to rip it somehow. He learned from his short time with Gabriella that these things are sensitive.

“Miguel? Have you seen my hair tie?” you ask from the living room, coming to the kitchen.

Startled, Miguel quietly slams it back on the counter. His hand lays flat over it for the most part, minus his talons which came out from being startled since he failed to hear your footsteps, too focused on the hair tie. He turns to the entrance just as you walk in.

“... I have not,” Miguel says and then he moves his hand, his talons withdrawn now. He turns to the counter. “Never mind, it’s here.” He picks it up and holds it out, trying to play it off like he wasn’t holding it in his fingers just seconds ago.

You reach his side and take it, looking at it while your mind wonders. You smile. “Thank you. I forgot it down here.” You slip it onto your wrist for now. “Ready to start cooking?”

Miguel nods, his cheeks dusted with a blush. He’s relieved you didn’t catch him holding your hair tie. That’d be too much, right? “Ready,” he replies, standing up.

As you begin to gather what’s needed, Miguel turns on his record player and chooses upbeat music to go with the mood.

With everything on the counter ready to go, you work on the sauce while Miguel works on the dough. He offered to work on it, saying his hands could cover more ground than your smaller ones.

“Plus, years of making tamales will help,” he says as he finds the appropriate measuring cup.

Once Miguel is done and you have the sauce on the stove, you begin to prepare the toppings side by side on the counter, chatting about what you’re putting on your pizzas. At one point, you finish with your part of the toppings, so you move on to prep the pans for the dough while Miguel dices some vegetables.

While prepping the pans, you glance at the windows, noticing the way the kitchen is illuminated with golden hues, giving Miguel’s place a very cozy vibe. You even notice little rainbows on the ceiling, which you point out to him.

Staring at them, he can’t remember ever noticing them before, until now. He smiles at the sight, finding it cute that you noticed that and shared it with him.

You eventually begin to work with the dough for your pizzas when it’s ready since it needed to do its thing. The mood is a light one as you work side by side on the counter. After the last few days with you being sick and running into Harry, this moment is a relaxing one for both Miguel and you. Time seems to slow down as you both continue to talk, at some point even about the grocery store and how you think it’s, “so cool,” which earns yourself a smile from Miguel.

You add a little bit of flour to your dough before you roll the pin over it, trying to make it into a decent circle. You turn to look at Miguel’s to see how his is doing. You notice it looks great, and also that his fingerprints are all over the dough just like yours are over your own.

“Your dough looks-” you pause when you look at his face. You instantly smile and try not to chuckle. “Great. It’s almost a perfect circle.”

“You think so?” Miguel asks giving you his attention, unaware that he has flour on his cheek and nose.

“Definitely,” you reply, smiling. Deciding not to tell him about it, you turn back to your own to keep working on it.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, feeling pleased with himself. “I’ve never made homemade pizzas before.”

You hum gently. “Me neither. It’s kind of funny, I guess. We cook a lot and we’ve never made any.”

“First time for the two of us then,” he replies with a smile, which makes you smile, too.

Silently, you both feel pleased about this - about the fact that you’re both doing something new, together.

“Hiiii, guys! Making pizza?” Lyla asks, popping out of nowhere. She floats in front of Miguel and you, taking a look down at the counter like a manager inspecting quality. “It’s looking good. You guys are good at this, look at you.” She grins and looks up at you two again.

You thank Lyla before Miguel adds a quiet “thanks” as well.

“Uh - hm,” Lyla starts but stays quiet, noticing the flour on Miguel’s face. “Picture!” Before Miguel and you can react, Lyla takes a picture. “So sweet!”

“Lyla - always the same thing with you,” Miguel says but his tone is not angry or even bothered. In a way, his tone reminds Lyla of a disappointed parent.

She grins knowing that at this point, both of you have accepted that she takes pictures whenever she wants. “It’s not the first one I’ve taken today,” she says shrugging. “I took some before I even popped up.”

You raise an eyebrow but once again, don’t feel surprised. “How many have you taken?” you ask.

“A few. I may show them to you later,” she says. “I’m still deciding.”

“I can always just look for them,” Miguel says as he adds sauce to the dough.

“Good luck with that,” Lyla says, crossing her arms over her chest. “So… are you guys just making pizzas? No movie, no telenovela?”

You turn to look Miguel. You hadn’t thought of that, and it seems neither did Miguel because he turns to look at you with a look that confirms so.

“I… Didn’t think of that,” Miguel says. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You shrug slightly. “If you want to. I’m up for it.”

“I have the best movie rec for you guys,” Lyla says clapping her hands. “It’s about a guy and a girl. They meet up and then become best of friends and -”

“So, you’re going to give us a summary?” Miguel asks.

Lyla sighs. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’ll give you guys another rec.” She taps her chin, thinking. “The guy and girl end up together in the end,” Lyla says quietly to herself with a grin, watching you two. “You guys feel like watching an action movie? Maybe a mystery one? Or a horror movie? Or - maybe a romcom?” Lyla says, laying out the options, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m not picky,” Miguel says as he watches you carefully spread sauce. “What do you want to watch, dulzura [sweetness]?”

Your hand falters for a fraction of a second when you hear the nickname. Just a few days ago Miguel said it for the first time and since then, he’s said it a few more times - dropping the nickname here and there. Every single time has been when you’re both alone, either here at the penthouse or at the lab.

Either way, it’s caught you by surprise each time without failure. You smile softly at him. “I’m not picky either, we can watch anything, really.”

“Well, if I may… I say no horror,” Lyla says. “The sun is still out. The vibes for it are not it, you know?”

“Wait, I kind of want to see how horror movies are made in this universe with all the technology you have,” you say realizing.

Lyla frowns and Miguel smiles.

“You want to? I’m not a big horror fan but there’s a few classic ones.”

“Yeah… I think I’d like that,” you say nodding.

Lyla watches as Miguel shrugs. “We’ll watch that then.”

You both continue to work on the pizzas, adding your toppings now. Lyla stays in place, arms crossed over her chest with a frown. She sighs. “I still think my first rec was better than any horror movie but what do I know? I’m just the silly AI,” she mumbles.

“What is that word the spiderlings were using today?” Miguel says as he thinks back to training earlier today. “When someone just keeps talking?

“You mean, ‘yapping?’”

“Yeah, that one. Lyla is doing that right now,” he says looking at Lyla.

“You did not -” Lyla stops and facepalms.

“Professional yapper,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle next to you.

“Not you guys calling me a profesional yapper,” Lyla says.

“She’s still going,” Miguel comments as he adds more toppings to his pizza, smirking.

“I see why you’re best friends,” Lyla says in disbelief, which makes both Miguel and you chuckle. She shakes her head, not annoyed but amused. It’s good to see the two of you smiling and laughing. She’s slightly temped to say that you’re both “professional yappers” with each other, staying up until 3am in the living room talking about the most random things, but she holds back. “I’ll set up a horror movie for you guys,” she says with a sigh, disappearing.

An hour later, Miguel and you are sitting in the living room. Neither of you planned to watch a movie today, especially not over dinner but because of Lyla’s suggestion, you’re now both sat on the ground over the coffee table. You cleared it earlier to make space for the plates and drinks, and everything else needed. The blinds have been drawn, leaving the living room in complete darkness except for the TV.

The movie starts, so Miguel and you begin to eat, sitting across from each other.

“Wow, this is great,” Miguel murmurs after he finishes eating the first bite. “Wanna try it?”

Seeing you nod, Miguel offers the plate for you to grab a slice from his.

“Try mine,” you say softly, offering your plate, too.

Hums of approval for each other’s pizzas follows. Napkins and crushed red pepper flakes are exchanged, fingers brushing in the darkness.

You watch the movie in peace, exchanging words here and there until you decide to do an intermission halfway to use the bathroom and clean the remainder of the kitchen, not having much left to do since you both tried to clean up as you were cooking to avoid having a huge mess behind. You head upstairs to your bedroom when you’re both done cleaning to grab a sweatshirt since you’ve grown cold downstairs with the AC constantly turning on. You slide it on, fixing the sleeves when you notice your hair tie, the one you were looking for earlier. You forgot you left it on the counter after arriving back from the grocery store and looked for it here in your room, having forgot where you left it.

You tug at it gently, thinking. Miguel may have been able to play it off well, but it was a second too late.

You saw him holding it and though you weren’t able to see his face, his bashful reaction when you entered the room said a lot. You’ve known for some time that Miguel doesn’t mind you leaving your items around. He’s gone on to say you’re not cluttering the space because he knows that’s how you think, and even Lyla has told you that it probably brings some sort of comfort to Miguel. You hum softly to yourself, ready to head downstairs again as you think about the hair tie when your eyes land on the bookcase inside the room. It so happens to land on a photograph of your parents. It’s a photograph you used to have on your wall back at your apartment, so of course, you have it on display here. You walk over to it, staring at your parents.

It’s hard to believe how many years have gone by since they passed away, so many more than Peter. It hurt at the time, to know that you weren’t there to save them. You miss them every day, wished they were here. Sometimes you wonder if you would’ve told them about your secret, about being Spider-Woman if they were still alive.

You don’t know. Maybe not with the dangers that come with it. You smile and place a finger on the photo, thinking about how a few weeks ago it was Mother’s Day, which reminds you of Father’s Day. With a sigh, you tap the photo gently and whisper an “I love you” to your parents’ photograph before you check your gizmo.

Sure enough, Father’s Day is this Sunday, in just a few days. You check the calendar, noticing that it’ll be Father’s Day in other universes, too, including Miguel’s.

You turn to a photo of him and you, also displayed in the bookcase.

It’s one of the photos Lyla took in the past, the day she revealed that she takes photos, to be exact. It was the day you were painting picture frames at your apartment, in the middle of redecorating, when Miguel showed up to invite you for dinner as a thank you for looking after him. You remember it now. You had paint on your face and he didn’t tell you until later on, when he wiped it away.

The memory reminds you of Miguel’s face while you were cooking earlier, his cheek and nose dusted with flour. You grin at the memory and leave your bedroom, still thinking about Father’s Day. You silently debate about it as you walk down the staircase. You’d like to gift Miguel something but you wonder if it’s a good idea at all. You don’t want to upset him, to cause him any more pain than necessary. In the past, you’ve never spent the day with him, so you don’t know what he does, if he even reacts to it. This will be the first year you’ll be in his presence for the day and a part of you feels worried.

You reach the end of the stairs, now in the living room. You hear noise in the kitchen, alerting you that Miguel is there. You turn to the wall of photographs you put together, illuminated softly by a lamp Miguel turned on earlier when you both decided to take a break.

Miguel has changed a lot, this wall is a great sign of that but you still wonder if gifting him something on Father’s Day might upset him.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asks stepping into the living room.

You turn, startled. You’re still amazed sometimes at how he manages to sneak up on you. You’d think that a man of his size would make more noise when walking but no. Sometimes he walks so silently, you don’t know he’s there until he speaks up.

“Yes, I was just - looking,” you reply, glancing back at the wall, at a photo of Gaby. You smile softly at it for a second before giving Miguel your attention. He’s already walked to the coffee table, which has been cleared once more. He places two mugs on the surface, over coasters, and sits down on the floor again.

“What did you make?” you ask but you already have an idea as you make your way over.

“Give it a second,” he says with a soft smirk, knowing that the scent will reach your nose soon enough.

You reach the table, noticing the mugs filled with a dark liquid. Your favorite.

“I’m not even going to ask how you made it so quick,” you say which makes Miguel chuckle.

“I won’t reveal my secrets, then.”

You snort softly and turn your gaze to him, noticing he still has flour on his face. “I’ll be right back.” You head to the kitchen for a napkin, returning to the table in no time. You kneel on your side of the table.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you start as you fold the napkin while Miguel watches you with curiosity, wondering.

“What is it?” he asks softly, his head tilting to the side.

“You have a little something - right,” you lean over the table, carefully, and reach with the napkin. “Here,” you say, wiping his cheek and then dabbing his nose gently. You pull back, not missing the way Miguel blinks in surprise, his brows knitting slightly. He didn’t protest nor pulled back though, he simply accepted it, either willingly or because he was too caught off guard.

You place the napkin down and pick up the mug, taking it in both hands and inhaling the rich scent. “Always smells so good,” you mumble bringing it to your mouth. “Thank you for making it.”

Miguel nods, still blinking. His brain is having a moment, trying to catch up. “Si [yes], you’re we- Always,” he says. stammering. “I hope you like it,” he adds picking up his own and holding it with one hand.

“Should we unpause?”

“Yeah, I - I got it.” Miguel grabs the remote and unpauses as he speaks. “Thank you for, you know, my face,” he says as the movie starts playing again.

“Always,” you say humming, your eyes on the TV once more as you settle down and get comfortable.

You watch the rest of the movie without pauses, drinking your coffees in comfy lounging clothes. Miguel threw on a sweatshirt earlier, too, so you’re both donning sweatshirts now. It’s not until the movie is over that you realize it’s the same one he offered to you when you were sick. Of course, you threw it in the wash since you were sick and returned it to him, along with his blanket.

You glance at Miguel as he reads from a book. It’s a new one. Apparently he finished the previous one while looking after you a few days ago. He turns the page, his eyes moving across the page. You’re both still sitting on the ground, across from each other.

You turn back to your tablet, looking for gifts to give fathers. You don’t even know why you searched that up, but you did, almost mindlessly, as soon as you grabbed the tablet. So now, you’re “just looking.” You’re not buying anything. You don’t think so.

As you scroll, your mind is contemplating.

Should you, or should you not?

You know it might be a hard day for Miguel but at the same time, simply ignoring the day and making it seem like it’s a regular Sunday seems cruel to you.

You chew on your bottom lip.

Which is crueler? Ignoring the day, or bringing it up?

“What are you thinking about?”

You look up, caught off guard. Miguel is staring at you, his book in one hand held open by a finger.

“I… Nothing,” you say softly.

“I don’t believe you,” Miguel replies, knowing you too well. Something is bothering you.

“I… well,” you start, trying to give yourself time to think of a little white lie. “It’s just … I’m thinking about… Yesterday.” You nod, finding a truth. “When I went to the cemetery, I saw Harry there.”

Miguel nods, not giving away that he knows you’re telling him something else. He noticed the way you were thinking, giving yourself time. He goes along with it anyway, trusting that whatever was truly on your mind, you’ll feel comfortable to share with him later on if you wish to. At least, it doesn't seem to be life or death. Still, the fact that you ran into Harry makes his brows raise.

“You did?”

“Yeah. He didn’t see me. I - I fled like a criminal from Peter’s grave,” you say wincing as you realize that’s basically how you left, running away from there before he could spot you. “I didn’t want to run into him and have to give him an answer when I don’t have one yet. Or, have to tell him that I’m still thinking about it, you know? So, I just - avoided him.”

“I don’t blame you,” Miguel replies gently, placing his book down after saving his page with a bookmark. “It’s only been a few days since you saw him again after so many years. I hope he’d understand that his request might need more than a few days to be considered.”

Leaning back on the couch, you nod, relieved Miguel didn’t notice that you very last minute thought of the Harry situation. “I’m sure he would - at least the Harry I knew back then would, but I suppose that doesn’t matter much now. Maybe I don’t know him anymore. So many years have gone by and I’ve changed. Maybe he has, too.”

“Change - is good,” Miguel answers. He knows that himself. He wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for the changes he’s made in his life, for accepting and embracing them even when there have been times when it was hard. “Maybe he has changed - matured,” he adds, leaving out that maybe he’s learned not to abandon friends in need. He frowns, his hand curling into a loose fist for a few seconds before he relaxes. “It’s only been a few days. You still have time to think about it, figure out what you think is best for you. Not for him.”

Letting Miguel’s words sink in, you nod with a small smile. “I appreciate your encouraging words. I’ll admit, this threw me off guard more than I’d like, so I find your words reassuring. I don’t need to rush and make a decision,” you say. “I just need to not feel guilty or selfish about it.”

“That’s the last thing you are,” Miguel says leaning on the coffee table slightly. “You’re not selfish for taking your time, nor would you be selfish if you chose to - step back, even if it’s for now. I’m… I have no right to say anything. I know he was in your life since your childhood, and I’m no one to tell you-” Miguel says pausing to gather his thoughts.

“You’re my best friend,” you say softly, seizing Miguel’s pause to speak. “I appreciate your thoughts, your advice - I’ll say what you once told me - you’re someone to me.”

Miguel hums, a smile forming on his lips when he hears you reciprocate his very words from so long ago. Back then, he was unable to call you his friend, so he used the word “someone” instead. “You’re someone to me, too.” Now, he can say it though, so he does. “You’re my best friend.”

Smiling back at him, your heart is elated to hear those words from Miguel’s mouth once again. To have him verbally say it - you’re his best friend.

And he’s yours.

You push down the happiness, remembering you were talking about Harry and your decision. “So… you were saying?” you ask.

“Right,” Miguel says, also recalling what the conversation is even about. “I was saying that… Well, my opinion doesn’t matter at the end of the day. No one’s does. The decision is up to you, but no one would blame you for stepping back, or asking Harry for more time to think about it, but that’s just a thought. All I hope is that you don’t feel pressure, nor stress from your decision when you make one.”

You nod, thinking about his words as you rub your thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know right now. I don’t have a clear answer, and I don’t want to rush into making one.” You sigh and meet his gaze. “You’re right. It’s only been a few days, and I spent a lot of those days resting and sleeping, so I hardly even gave it a thought. A few more days won’t be so bad.”

“I concur,” Miguel says. “There’s plenty of time to think about it. Just - don’t get too stressed about it, okay? I have a feeling part of the reason why you got sick was because of stress you were - are - feeling about this situation.”

“I won’t, I’ll take it easy,” you reassure Miguel. “I don’t want to get sick again.”

“Me neither,” Miguel says, genuinely as he hated seeing you sick. “I hated seeing you sick, you know…”

You flash him a smile, moving your thumb from your knuckles to your wrist, feeling your hair tie. “I can imagine. I hated seeing you injured a year ago.”

He hums in response, understanding. If he hated seeing you sick with a cold, he can only imagine what he’d feel if something else - something worse - happened to you. He silently prays he never has to witness something like that with you. “Hopefully, it never gets to something like that again. For either of us.”

“I hope not,” you reply, still touching your hair tie. “By the way…”

“Yeah?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want more café de olla [coffee]?”

Amused, he nods. “Yeah, I could go for another mug.”

“I got it then,” you say, standing up and grabbing both your mugs. Miguel thanks you as you head to the kitchen. You come back a minute later and place yours down, holding on to his. “Here,” you say, placing his in front of him.

He looks at it, smiling. “Thank you again, I appreciate it,” Miguel says softly before he notices your hair tie next to it, laying on the table. He looks up just as you sit down once more. “You dropped your hair tie,” he says picking it up, remembering earlier when you almost caught him playing with it.

“I did? Oh, I didn’t even notice,” you say, surprised. “I had it in my pocket. Hold it for me, let me get a napkin, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.” Miguel watches you return to the kitchen, still holding your hair tie.

You return and sit down, placing napkins for each other. You notice Miguel is still holding on to your hair tie. “I think I’m just going to leave it here for now. It was bothering my wrist earlier and seems like it fell from my pocket. I don’t want to lose it,” you say. “It’s my favorite.”

Miguel nods, holding it. He places it down gently, like it’s some delicate item that might break. “You can leave it here on the coffee table, so you don’t lose it.”

“You’re right, I’m going to leave it here,” you say with a smile before you pick up your tablet again, not giving it more attention than necessary to avoid raising any suspicions.

Miguel goes back to reading after a few seconds, seeing you go back to whatever it was you were doing on your tablet.

A little while after searching the internet for gift ideas, you subtly look up.

Miguel is leaning on the couch, his book in his hand. His eyes move across the page fast, intrigued by the plot of his book. Under the coffee table, which is built in a way that allows people’s legs under, you feel his lower leg resting against your own. You hadn’t even noticed it but now that you are, you’re aware of the warmth, finding it comforting.

Up on the table, his free hand rests there. His fingers are busy playing with your hair tie. He turns it around his fingers before he slips it down his hand to his wrist so he can flip the page.

You turn back to your tablet with a smile, saying nothing for now.

It’s much later when you’re both heading upstairs to sleep that he remembers he has it, still on his wrist. He stops in front of his bedroom and turns to face you.

For a moment you think he’s just doing his normal gesture, waiting for you to enter your bedroom first before he enters his to be a gentleman but you notice his hand on his wrist.

“I have your…” he starts, trailing off.

“It’s alright,” you say from your door. “You can keep it.”

“I - what?” Miguel asks, taken aback.

“You may keep it.”

“Your hair tie…?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s your favorite.”

“I know.”

“So you should have it back, then.”

“You can give it back tomorrow if you’d like, but I don’t mind. Keep it safe for me,” you say before you yawn, covering your mouth. “Goodnight, Migs. Sleep well, okay? I’ll see you in the mornin’.” You give him a little wave and a sleepy smile before entering your room, leaving Miguel in the hallway.

His fingers remain on your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. For a few seconds, he stands still until he shakes his head, dropping his hand from his wrist and entering his bedroom at last.

Inside his room, he heads for the bathroom to do his night routine. He makes sure to take off your hair tie to avoid getting it damp, taking it back with him to the bedroom when he’s done and placing it on his nightstand. He takes off his shirt and throws it at the end of the bed before he gets the bed ready. In a few seconds, he settles under the covers with a sigh. He stares at the ceiling for several minutes, sleep slowly coming to him as he thinks. He eventually reaches for the hair tie and slips it into his wrist before he turns on his side.

Miguel’s hand searches the other side of the bed, looking for something. Once he finds it, he tugs it towards him along with a pillow. He easily slips the pillow into it, gently tugging the fabric down so the pillow is covered. At last, Miguel hugs the pillow, now covered by your sweatshirt, to his chest.

His eyes close as your scent reaches his nose.

“Lyla - do the thing,” he murmurs. Two seconds later, his gizmo plays the recording of your breathing.

With his sleep remedies in place, Miguel slowly succumbs to his slumber as he thinks about the day. There was training with the spider gang, which he enjoyed. He might join them again if they’ll have him. There was helping Reilly, who was acting strange today. He’s never seen Reilly struggle with a set before. Weird. Then, there was grocery shopping with you.

Miguel yawns quietly, shifting slightly to get comfy.

He bought you a coffee and you seemed to love it. Oh, and for some reason the lady working there thought you were his girlfriend. Strange. Then, you made pizzas and spent the evening watching the horror movie. Café de olla [coffee] was made and drank while you did your own things in each other’s company. The conversation of Harry came back.

Half-asleep and half-awake, Miguel sighs at that before he thinks about your hair tie, now on his wrist.

And to end the day, there was the nickname.

Migs.

More asleep than anything now, Miguel smiles sleepily, hugging your sweatshirt closer. “Buenas noches, dulzura [Good night, sweetness].” -Father’s Day-

Days later, you wake up around 8am. You go through your morning routine as usual, though you know what day it is.

It’s Sunday, but not just any Sunday.

You walk downstairs after changing into regular clothes, hoping to find Miguel on the first floor. You noticed his bedroom door is fully opened, which usually means he’s already awake but when you reach the first floor, he’s nowhere to be found. You check the office downstairs and the other living room. Nothing.

Stepping into the kitchen and dining room area, you notice a thermos with a note on it.

You reach for it, feeling the warmth from the bottle as you take off the sticky note. You almost get excited about the fact that he left you a note just like how you leave some for him on some days but his message doesn’t bring a smile to your face.

Frowning, you place the sticky note on the counter with his neat handwriting.

“Went to HQ. I’ll be back in a while. - M”

It’s not surprising that he’s at HQ on a Sunday. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve known that Miguel was always at HQ, even on the weekends. Over the last year, you’ve noticed he only goes for a bit on both days before returning home, and ever since you’ve been staying with him, he goes for an hour or so. Even then, he’s been going later in the day, not so early like today.

You have a pretty good idea why.

Father’s Day.

You wondered over the week if Miguel would mention it, whether he would react to it as the day got here. He didn’t say nor react over the week, even when Peter B. mentioned something about it to Miles on Friday in his presence at which you shot him a look.

You know Peter B. meant no wrong by it, but sometimes it seems a bit inconsiderate considering the situation and how Miguel’s loss is still fresh.

You open the thermos, the amazing scent of coffee greeting you. You sigh. The fact that he still made coffee despite the day hurts.

“You’re too good,” you whisper to yourself, thinking about him. “Lyla?”

“Hey, there,” she says appearing instantly. “You want to know about Miguel?”

“Yes,” you reply, not bothering to wonder how she knows.

“He’s… at the lab.”

“I know that much,” you reply.

”He’s just working,” Lyla says, shrugging. “He always works today.”

You nod, frowning. “So there’s no missions, no emergencies?”

“Nope. Nada [nothing]. He’s just… there.”

“I see.”

“Are you gonna - join him?” Lyla asks.

“Do you think he’ll stay there all day?” you ask, wondering.

“In the past, he has but this year with you being here… I don’t know, honestly.”

Noticing your frown and worried expression, Lyla adds, “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

You nod, grateful. “Thank you, Lyla.”

“You got it. Just - stay put, alright?”

“Alright.”

Lyla flickers away, leaving you alone. You check the time. It’s barely about to be 8:30.

You take a seat at the counter and drink the coffee in silence, thinking about how Miguel probably wants some alone time right now. You decide to let him be until noon, at which point you’ll show up to drop off some food so he can at least eat because you have a guess he hasn’t had anything except coffee.

After finishing your coffee, you eat something before going to your universe to check on things. You stay alert to your gizmo, just in case Lyla notifies you about anything, but no notifications come.

You return home an hour later after an easy patrol. Usually there’s no crimes on holidays like these, so there was no trouble. You do some light cleaning around the penthouse to waste time before you jump in the shower and get dressed for the day.

Back in the kitchen now, you notice it’s nearly noon. There’s still no sign of Miguel even when you decide to make lunch since you didn’t eat much before you went out.

It’s an easy lunch, so it doesn’t take long to finish making it. After eating, you gather ingredients onto one of the counters to bake. You decided a few days ago that you wanted to bake something for Miguel today, even if you play it off as a regular baking day and not because it’s Father’s Day.

“Hey, he’s heading out and coming back,” Lyla says as you place the last ingredient on the counter. “He’s a little quiet but not in a bad mood.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it, Lyla,” you reply.

“Of course. Take care,” she says, deciding that she’s not needed. Miguel will have someone with him today. You. She waves goodbye before disappearing.

With Lyla gone, you start the oven and check on the lunch. You made plenty for both yourself and Miguel, so you begin to prep it for him.

Sure enough, you hear a window from the living room open a few minutes later. You look up just in time to see Miguel enter the kitchen, donning his suit. For a few seconds, you say nothing, trying to gauge his mood.

He reaches the counter, saying nothing. The oven beeps, indicating that it’s done preheating. It catches his attention, breaking him away from his thoughts.

“…Morning,” he says at last.

“Morning,” you reply. “Do you want something to eat?”

He starts to shake his head but his stomach grumbles with the scent of food in the air. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll eat somet-”

“I made lunch,” you interject gently. “I made plenty, if you’d like some.” You fix a plate and show it to him. Thankfully he accepts it and eats at the counter, thanking you.

You do your measuring of ingredients, subtly looking at Miguel ever once in a while as he eats. You can definitely sense a different Miguel right now.

He finishes eating and excuses himself after he puts the dirty dishes away, promising to wash them in a bit before heading upstairs.

You bake on your own for a while. Lyla eventually plays music for you through Miguel’s sound system, probably finding the mood too somber, or something.

Half an hour later, Miguel walks back into the kitchen. His hair is damp and he’s dressed in a t-shirt and sweats. He approaches the counter, watching you as you check the oven through the glass.

When you turn to see him, he offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The sight hurts you, but you don’t let it show.

“Hey,” he says. “How’s your baking going?”

“Um - good. No problems,” you reply, for a moment not knowing how to respond.

“Good, I’m glad it’s going well.”

You nod. “Do you - Did that meal fill you up? I can make something else.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m alright, thank you. Lunch was good - it was fulfilling.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Miguel nods, thinking. He sits down, watching as you wipe the stand mixer down.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, making you stop. “Today…” Miguel trails off.

“I know,” you say softly. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

He sighs gently, your words soothing him. He suspected you’d know but he still wanted to let you know.

“I’m better now,” he says after a few seconds. “I just needed - to be out of the penthouse for a moment. I’m sorry for leaving.”

��You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just left a sticky note,” he says, shaking his head at himself, as if disappointed at his actions. “Not - very nice of me.”

“Miguel,” you say, straightening up and meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to apologize nor give me any explanations. I understand you needed a moment, or maybe you need the day. And that’s understandable. No one would blame you for doing so.”

Miguel’s eyes soften, he offers a smile once again. This time, it looks more lively.

“Thank you for - always being so understanding, dulzura [sweetness],” he says, so softly.

“Always,” you reply, offering a warm smile.

Miguel keeps smiling, taking in the soft look on your face. You really are so understanding, so sweet.

“I’ll be here for you,” you add. “Whatever you want to do today, I’ll be here if you need me.”

He nods, looking at the counter now. “I really - don’t want to go anywhere.”

That makes sense. There’s probably families out and about, celebrating the day.

“We can stay here then. I’ll let you be.”

“No.”

“No?” you repeat.

“No, you don’t have to - let me be. You can… You can stay with me?” he says, sounding more like a question.

“If you want to… I can.”

“Yes - please.”

So you do. You stay near Miguel all day, like glue. You eat the baked sweets together, watch TV, and read. You make dinner together when it’s time and make conversation, keeping it lighthearted.

After dinner, Miguel asks if you want to go outside with him for some fresh air. Of course, you accept. You both climb out of the penthouse and up onto the roof.

Sitting down, your legs dangle off the building as you both watch the sunset. In the distance, you can see the traffic. You both sit there in silence for a while, watching the sun.

“That was pretty,” you murmur once the sun has set.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Miguel replies.

With a smile, you nod and lean back on your hands.

“Thank you,” Miguel says, making you turn to see him. “For sticking around with me. I really appreciate it.”

“Always,” you say softly, still smiling.

Miguel copies your position, leaning back on his hands. His fingers accidentally brush yours, so he shifts his hand to avoid squeezing yours under his weight.

You both stay like that for a few minutes. The silence is nice, comforting. You think about something as you look at the sky, and it’s not the first time. You’ve thought about it multiple times throughout the day but you’re still making up your mind, wondering if it’s a good idea.

You still debate it even when you both head back inside and tell Miguel you’re washing your hands in the bathroom even though it’s a lie.

You enter your bedroom and pull out the gift bag from the closet, debating. You sigh.

It’s probably not a good idea. Maybe you can wait until next year to give him these things, or maybe on another day that’s not Father’s Day.

“Dulzura [sweetness]?” you hear Miguel’s voice. “Are you okay?”

“I - yes!” You reply, moving quickly to put the bag away. In your rush, you slam your elbow on the closet door, wincing.

“I’m coming in,” Miguel says after hearing your wince.

He steps in just as you put the gift bag inside the closet, except it falls from where you placed it. You catch it quickly, remembering that something could break.

“You hurt yourself,” Miguel says stepping closer. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You huff slowly, giving up and placing the bag on the floor carefully before rubbing your elbow.

Superhuman or not, a hit on the elbow always hurts.

“Hit my elbow,” you say, still rubbing it.

“I heard the hit, let me see,” Miguel says. “It sounded loud.”

“It’s okay, just hit it on the door.”

“Allow me?”

You nod hesitantly, your face feeling hot out of embarrassment that you hurt yourself trying to hide the bag. You show Miguel your elbow, and he hums.

“Damn, dulzura. You broke the skin somehow - hold on.”

“It’s... fine,” you say watching as he exits the room. He comes back in seconds, a first aid kit in his hand. He motions for you to take a seat on the one chair in the room, so you obey. Reluctantly.

He gets down on one knee and gets to work, opening the first aid kit.

“It’s not that bad,” you say, looking at it. There’s some blood but that’s about it. Of course, it’s still stinging like hell - somehow getting worse.

“You’re bleeding,” he says as he opens an antiseptic wipe package. “Here. Let me see your arm.”

You hold it out for him, looking at his concentrated gaze. He shocks you when he gently wraps his free hand around your forearm - his fingers warm.

He gently wipes your elbow, which makes you wince.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers gently. “Just want to clean the area.”

You nod. “I know, it’s not that bad,” you keep saying.

That makes Miguel look at your face. “Why am I surprised? You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He shakes his head and turns his attention back to your elbow. He was already gentle to begin with, but somehow he’s even more now.

“I’m not stubborn,” you say after a few seconds.

“Right, and everyone at HQ thinks I’m a beam of sunlight. They call me ‘solecito’ [little sun] - maybe you’ve heard members call me that before in passing,” Miguel says sarcastically, looking at you.

With serious faces, you stare at each other for a few seconds until your lips quiver, making Miguel’s quiver, too. Unable to hold back, you laugh.

Miguel chuckles, trying to hold back from full on laughing, but in the end, Miguel O’Hara laughs.

It’s a real laugh, so full of life. It’s the kind that makes his entire chest vibrate - rich and deep.

It’s the kind you’d do anything to hear again. And again. And again.

Your laughter subsides after a few moments but grins remain on your faces as Miguel continues to tend to your wound like you’ve come back from a rough mission.

“Solecito [little sun], huh?” you ask, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, I’m everyone’s ball of sunshine,” Miguel replies as he puts away the antiseptic wipe. “You ripped your skin - what were you even doing in such a rush?”

You look to the side. “I was - putting something away.”

Miguel turns to look at the closet, noticing the gift bag on the ground. He hardly noticed it earlier, more concerned about you than anything else when he heard you wincing.

“A gift bag?” he asks turning back to you. His mind quickly connects the dots as he tends to your cut.

“Yeah…” you simply say, staring off to the side.

“You bought something?” he asks gently while he places an adhesive bandage on you.

You turn to face him and nod. “I did, but I didn’t know how to give it to you, and then when I saw you this morning - or in the afternoon rather - I felt it wasn’t a good idea.”

Miguel hums, his gaze softening. He’s done tending your wound but his hand remains wrapped around your forearm.

“And you hit yourself trying to hide it,” he says.

“I heard you coming in.”

“I came upstairs to grab my sweatshirt and then heard you sighing. It sounded like you were disappointed, so I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t mean for you to hurt yourself,” he replies, softly.

“It’s not your fault - I was just,” you pause and wave your free arm. “I didn’t want you to see it and then, have to tell you about it. I realized it wasn’t a good idea, so.”

“I’m okay,” Miguel replies. “You didn’t have to hide it. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t show it to me. The first part of the day was a little hard but… the rest of the day has been better.” Miguel offers a reassuring smile. “Thanks to you. So... If you want to show me… I promise I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

You nod slowly. “Alright.” You shoot your web and pull the gift bag towards you. “Um - do you want to?” you say offering the bag to him.

He nods, releasing your arm at last. He accepts the bag. After all the trouble you went though, there’s no way Miguel isn’t accepting your gift, even if it makes him feel bittersweet.

He opens the bag, still on one knee, and reaches inside. He feels different objects but he goes for something that feels round and heavy, wrapped in paper, and pulls it out. He places the bag down for a moment.

You slide off the chair and sit on the ground, joined by Miguel a second later. He opens the package gently, sensing it’s something fragile.

Pulling off all the paper, he finally reveals the item and holds it up, his gaze soft.

It’s a pottery coffee mug with traces of the color lilac, but it’s the main design that tugs the most at Miguel’s heartstrings: two bees, one smaller than the other one, and “Father’s Day” written under it.

“You remembered,” he says tenderly. “You remembered what I told you about Gaby - that she loved the color lilac and bees.”

“I did,” you answer, smiling.

Miguel smiles, his chest fluttering with happiness and pure ternura [endearment] as he stares at the coffee mug. “And you made it yourself?” He asks, knowing that you’re a hobby person, you like to try new things.

“Yes. I went to two classes this week and worked on it then. It’s not perfect, being my first time with pottery but I hope you like it regardless.”

“I love it,” Miguel says sincerely, leaving no question or doubt about it. He holds it, not wanting to let go of it. In his mind, he already knows he’ll be using this mug every day for coffee.

“I’m glad you - love it,” you say softly, happy with your idea. “There’s more though.”

“Right,” he says remembering. He places the mug down and reaches for the bag. His fingers find a small box, so he pulls that out. His curiosity grows as he realizes it’s the size of a jewelry box. He glances at you, wondering.

“Open it.”

Miguel nods, opening it gently. His eyes widen for a moment as he finds a gold bracelet, the kind that he grew up wearing as a kid.

“You…” he starts as his eyes read Gabriella’s name on the gold plate. “She had one like this, much smaller, of course. She wore it all the time, day and night. You noticed that from the photos.”

You nod. “I hope you don’t… mind,” you whisper. “I thought… it’s something you can wear sometimes, a physical reminder of her with you.”

He nods, sliding his finger over the name.

Gabriella.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “You didn’t have to - this is real gold, it must have cost a lot.”

“Don’t worry about that, please. I’m just glad you like it. I was worried - it might be too much,” you admit.

“No, no, this is - I only have one thing of hers,” Miguel confesses. “The guitar I place on the ofrenda. It’s the only physical item left, and it was pure luck that it made it, so this… Thank you.”

You can only nod, relieved that Miguel is okay with the bracelet. He takes a few moments to look at it, lost in thought, before he finally reaches for the last item. He doesn’t know what it is but it’s a flat and long item. He peels the paper carefully, revealing an art canvas.

You notice the front is facing you, so you wait for him to turn it.

When he does, his eyes soften and fill with tears.

“Dulzura,” he says. “This is - beautiful,” Miguel says, his fingers tracing the painting. A tear slides down his cheek as he stares at the image you painted of him and Gabriella.

He’s in awe with how beautiful it is, so much he needs to take a moment. He looks away from you and closes his eyes, his chest filled with emotion. He lets a breath out, swallowing the knot in his throat and looks at the painting again.

It’s him in his Spider-Man suit, face uncovered, carrying Gabriella on his shoulders. Gaby is wearing her soccer uniform, one hand in the air while she holds her soccer ball in the other one. Based on the background, they’re, here, at the penthouse.

More tears spill from Miguel’s eyes - tears you’re tempted to wipe away. You swallow the knot that’s formed in your own throat from seeing Miguel grow so emotional, and clear your throat. In a second, you pull your sweatshirt from the bed with your web and take one of the sleeves. You lift it.

“May I…?” you ask.

Miguel’s red eyes turn to you, his tears running down his damp cheeks. He doesn’t say no or yes, so you dry his cheeks with your sleeve, gently.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Miguel blinks a few more tears, but a smile forms on his lips. “Someone on a rooftop once told me they’re happy tears.”

You smile and pull back, remembering the time Miguel did the same for you. You told him they were happy ones.

“Happy tears are good,” you say, nodding.

“Yeah, they are,” Miguel agrees, wiping his cheek. “Thank you - this is really - so beautiful. So, so… beautiful. Thank you.”

“Always,” you whisper.

Still holding the canvas, Miguel sniffles and extends his arm. He offers his pinky finger.

And of course, you accept the gesture with your own.

You give each other a pinky hug.

“Happy Father’s Day, Migs,” you whisper.

“Thank you,” Miguel answers, still smiling with his pinky finger wrapped around yours. "Thank you, dulzura [sweetness].”

A/N: I have many thoughts about certain things in this chapter, hehehe

But anyway - I made myself cry with the Father's Day part at 2am lmao

I WISH MIGUEL HAD GABY IN HIS LIFE !!!😭😭 Gonna be sad about this all day fr but anyway, I want to say thank you to the people that replied to my post from yesterday about what you'd gift Miguel for Father's Day. I did the same thing for Christmas and I really loved incorporating readers' ideas into the fic, so I figured why not do it again and they didn't disappoint!!! @lauraolar14 @only-a-universe-away @oharaslove thank you for the lovely ideas!!!!! <33333

Also one more mention for @lauraolar14 !! The hair tie scenes were based on this fan art that was inspired by a post of NC head canons of reader (I think I'm going to start calling her Dulzura from now on, lowkey) and Miguel as temporary roommates THAT I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT SGFRYEHRUH THANK YOU LAURA!! ❤️❤️ That's enough yapping from me!! I hope you guys enjoyed this one!! I cried and laughed, and hopefully you do, too (but in a good way, you know?)!!

THANK YOU!! IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME 🫶🏼🥺<3333333 Also, I hope you guys have a great start to your week!!!

Alondra❤️

taglist: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

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[totaly-obsessed]

Perfect

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader gets a red card and Alessia tries to comfort but aggressions get in the way

-> this request

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You were pissed.

Arsenal against Manchester City has always been a difficult match. But this? This was a joke… Two yellow cards for you.

Okay, admittedly the second one was warranted as you had pretty much taken Chloe Kelly off her feet when the ball was somewhere entirely else. But the first one was given in a scramble near the goal. Five people were on the, with you being the only one left standing – so you had to be the cause of all of this.

It was a joke and everyone knew it. Steph and Jen tried to protest it, going up to the referee and trying to explain that everything had simply been an accident, but it was no use.

Once Manchester’s star striker had been subbed on, you knew that it was over. You had already been incredibly angry with Bunny Shaw testing your defense skills. But seeing Chloe’s mean little smirk was enough to fill you with even more rage.

Seeing Alessia, your girlfriend, getting tackled every chance they got did not calm you down either.

It was Jill Roord, covering you for a corner kick, who whispered into your ear, giving you the last push over the edge of aggression “Your girlfriend looks delicious tonight, maybe I’ll give her my number.” While your favorite blonde would never text her, it was enough to rile you up even further.

Chloe did not have the ball anymore when you started your tackle, taking her feet clean out from beneath her – you knew it was dumb but her smirk was just so agitating.

The whole team knew that the yellow card, followed by a red was deserved, and no one protested it. Alessia watched with wide eyes as you left the pitch, face still hot with anger, blinded by rage.  Leah didn’t even try to approach you, knowing you well enough after three seasons together.

In the changing room, you changed after showering, trying to get as comfortable as possible. When the girls entered you sat curled up in your cubby, headphones in and the hood of your sweatshirt up, eyes closed trying to escape their stares.

It was Katie who ripped your escape out of your ears, turning you towards her. “Think I’m rubbing off on ya!” She was all smiles, no frown in sight, as she teased you. When the Irishwoman tried to pet your hair, you pushed her hand away, a pissed look on your face. “Woah, calm down tiger.”

Laughs filled the room, as you looked a little confused by their positive attitude. It was Jen who put you out of your misery, telling you that Alessia had scored a last-minute screamer, putting them in the lead.

A bitter taste filled your mouth – of course, it had been Alessia. Perfect Alessia who could do no wrong while you fucked everything up. Perfect Alessia, who had everyone wrapped around her fingers. Perfect Alessia who just looked too good. “Yeah, good luck with that one Russo.” Perfect Alessia who gave Kyra a pained smile as a reward for her teasing.

The blonde took her time getting ready, so you were one of the last ones to leave. You couldn’t leave without her, after all, she was the driver out of the two of you. Even if you were the one driving that would have not been a good idea with all the rage that filled your body.

Silence filled the car, as you listened to music on your phone, headphones blocking out Alessia’s worried sighs.

In your joined home you threw yourself on the couch, the striker taking to the kitchen to make a snack. “You know it’s not your fault baby, right? That first card was a joke. Ref need’s new glasses.” Perfect Alessia, who thought that you were angry because of the ref. You weren’t. You didn’t even know what you were angry about, you just knew that you were so fucking angry. “You defended so well amore. Didn’t let a single ball through – so proud of you.”

She placed a bowl down in front of you, filled with fruits and nuts, something small. The Italian pressed a soft kiss to your neck, trying to cuddle up to you. “I’m not in the mood Alessia.”

That should have been her first cue to leave you alone, not that she was the one to blame. “Just a little cuddle baby.” While throwing herself on top of you she kicked the table with her foot, knocking down the puzzle you had been working on. “Alessia, please leave me alone!” She started to see the deep frown on your face, eyes tearing up in anger and cheeks still hot. Carefully she got up again, picking up your puzzle to the best of her abilities.

“You’re fine baby, I promise.” That was the last straw. You just needed some peace and quiet – so you stood up, and started heading up to the bedroom. “Wow, thanks for paying attention.” You tried keeping it together, you really did but remembering the words of a certain midfielder gave you the rest. “So why don’t you just go to Jill? Maybe she’ll give you the attention you want.” Alessia was confused at your sharp tone and your need for her to contact her hold lioness teammate Jill Scott. “Why do you want me to-“

“Can you just shut up? Please?” The blonde nearly dropped her own bowl of fruits, shocked at your yelling. “No one is mad at your cards, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The scoff you let out nearly hurt more than the words that followed. “Didn’t do anything wrong? Not that you know what you’re talking about. Right?”

You got closer and closer to her, grabbing her shirt, and pulling her face down to level with you. “Just shut up! Perfect Alessia cannot do wrong. Get seven chances but none of them hit the back of the net – but you’re just perfect aren’t you? If I let a ball through or tackle a fan favorite, I get death threats.”

By now you were yelling, Alessia’s eyes filling with tears of shock, while yours dripped down your cheeks in anger. “Perfect Alessia who scores while I get sent off like the fuck up I am!” You couldn’t even form words anymore, anger consuming you whole by this point.

Alessia, the best girlfriend that she is, took a couple of deep breaths before taking your hands off her shirt and pressing a gentle kiss on them. “Okay, baby. How about you puzzle for a bit, yeah? Calm down a little? I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready.” The tears kept flowing as the striker tried to wipe them away to the best of her abilities. “Shhh, no more crying amore – I’m not mad. I promise. You just need to calm down, okay?” Only when you gave her a weak nod, she pressed a little kiss to your lips before turning to the stairs and walked up to your shared bedroom.

The now reset puzzle was still lying on the coffee table where Less had been trying to put it back – but now you started to pick out the corner pieces again. It took you nearly two hours of crying your eyes out while placing a total of twenty pieces, to get your anger out.

Alessia meanwhile had been getting the bed and bathroom ready. Everywhere were cozy candles, not a single light turned on. Soft blankets were on your bed, matching pajama sets on top of it.

The sound of dragging feet gave you away, as you slowly opened the door. Alessia couldn’t help herself as she cooed at your swollen eyes, opening her arms. You took the invitation, falling into her embrace and burying your face in her neck as she gently rocked from side to side. “I’m so sorry Less.”

The blonde striker kissed the side of your head – happy that she had you back. The you that she knows. “I was so angry about the card and I took it out on you. I’m sorry – please forgive me.” She nearly teared up again as you stared into her eyes, begging for her understanding. “I forgive you amore – don’t you worry your pretty little head. That first card was silly and we both know it. But please, please just talk to me about it.” You had never nodded as fast as then, thankful for the blonde and her calm head.

The rest of the evening was spent together. In the bath, in the bed giggling in soft hugs and passionate kisses as normality caught up to the two of you.

[lunarw0rks]

hi! im not sure if you do any requests like this but if you wouldn't mind, with ghost or konig, where the reader is depressed and has suicidal ideations and ghost/konig save them before it's too late? ive gone through somewhat similar things and it would be comforting reading someone be there for them!

A/N: I don't mind requests like this, just read with caution, please! To anon, or anyone reading that has gone through this, you deserve happiness and are loved!! "988" is the nationwide hotline ♡

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° I hope you don't mind, but I chose Ghost since I haven't written for Kӧnig (YET) Italics are Simon's perspective when it's happening at the same time as reader.

Summary: You feel swallowed by depression, but Simon saves you just in time.

Warning(s): depression, talk of suicide, PTSD themes - DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU!!, established relationship, GN!Reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 1.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' | ao3 ver.

In Your Arms // Drabble

The world's weight had been on your shoulders; the constriction on your chest gave you a constant state of crisis, the strain on your heart soon to break it to pieces, and most of all the strain on your mind.

Each waking moment was a gamble of numbness or overdrive. In the instances of numbness, you were withdrawn, coasting your way through meals, laying awake at night with a blank stare. When you were in overdrive, it was like each bad thought physically pilled itself atop you, increasing your irritability and defensiveness.

It was as if the real you were trapped inside somewhere, but you were being overruled by an enclosure of gloom.

Chores, conversations, and the people you loved dearly became a melancholy hassle. You hated every second of it, and most of all hated yourself for behaving like this. At first, you were begging for an out—some savior to snap you out of it.

But now, you felt hopeless—and were making plans to give yourself that out.

You finally had an opportunity, a few hours where you’d have the house to yourself, with Simon out for a few hours. The problem was, gathering the courage. Even though you had the thoughts raining down on you, it was a decision you would never be able to take back.

You were sat in the shared bedroom, on top of the bed you’d just remade. It had been God knows how long by now, and all you could do was stare blankly at the wall ahead, choking back sobs. You looked at his side of the room, seeing the stark contrast between his and yours.

When you thought of him, how he’d be better off this way, it nudged you toward your answer.

Simon noticed your off-balance behavior the day he arrived home. Despite telling you how lovely you looked, he could tell the isolation of his deployment had taken its toll. The bags under your eyes, the dark circles worsening, your sudden change in eating habits—something he greeted like an old friend.

He, of all people, understood the feeling. He just didn’t know how to confront it.

He was never good with his words, or his ability to provide comfort physically; he relied on his crisis training, and most of all, how much he loved you.

When he said he was going out with friends, he was. At first. He found himself sitting in the driveway with a pit in his stomach, his anxieties swallowing him. He was protective, to begin with, but paired with the behavior changes, he was practically trembling at the thought of something horrible happening.

He was white-knuckling the steering wheel, debating on spending his night inside with you. Guilt consumed him for even considering going out anywhere when you’d waited months for him.

His stomach was in knots, twisting and turning, begging him to give in to nausea overtaking him any second. Something was wrong, something was going to happen.

You were fighting yourself again. The thoughts were racing so hard you could swear you heard them buzzing around your head like an angry swarm of wasps, each of them a stinger in your skin.

You reached for the nearest object—the remote—then stood to your feet, sending it plummeting towards the wall in front of you. It shattered the hanging picture frame on impact, sending shards of glass around the bedroom.

It did nothing to silence the thoughts. The sudden rush of fury only fueled them, begging for you to do something more to stop them—the only option you felt you had left.

He had his car door open, gathering his things before he was on his way inside. He’d made his decision, he would rather spend the night with you.

Simon’s trained ear heard the faint shatter of glass, seeing that the upstairs bedroom was the only one lit. There was no hesitation; no second thought to make sure it wasn’t a critter in the garbage can or another household.

He unlocked the door swiftly, a hand hovering over the holster underneath his jacket. The downstairs was clear, nothing askew. He next went up the stairs, leaning in the direction of the bedroom to pick up any sound coming from it.

In his mind, he was fearing the worst, paired with the anxiety he was already having in the car. He’d been here before, with too many people. It couldn’t, no, wouldn’t happen again, not with you.

When the door creaked open, it revealed you, shriveled against the wall with your head in your hands. Beside you, was a broken picture frame, sent flying into pieces around the room. His mind put the pieces together—the irritability, the insomnia, the withdrawn behavior, his gut feeling—all coming together now.

But his worst fears hadn’t come true. You were alive. Alive, and in need of his help. His gut feeling, that painful ache in his stomach when he left, it was right.

His knees dropped to the ground beside you, ignoring the slices forming through his clothes. His entire focus was on you, nothing else.

“Love…” He whispered, grabbing ahold of your knee to make you look his way. When your pooled eyes met him again, he felt like his heart had been ripped in two.

The sight of you, the pain written in your expression. Not physical pain, not heartache, but hopelessness. A specific, known too well by him, expression.

Simon could barely stand it, the person he practically breathed for, fought for, succumbing to their sorry—and he could’ve been too late. The warmth of your flesh under his fingertips, how it shivered, he knew you were still here, still breathing.

He was at a loss for words, even for a man who spoke very little. Angry at himself, not you, for not saying something earlier on. His withdrawal was both a blessing and a curse—a lesson well learned, now that his life with you had flashed before him.

Without a second thought, he scooped you up, setting you gently on the neat bed. He remained standing in front of you, staring down at you with a foggy expression.

“I’m sorry,” You muttered, blinded by the tears.

Simon visibly shook his head, forcing yours into his chest. It wasn’t your fault, and if he could force you to believe that, he would. He didn’t have words to give you, only the comfort of his presence. He just held you; held onto your frame as you wept into his abdomen, soaking through the fabric of his tee.

Tears only teased at his own eyes, but never made it past them. Though internally, he was weeping for you, nearly inconsolable.

It was his job to follow orders, to do his duty. His duty now, was you. He had to be strong for you, always, otherwise he had no purpose left on this Earth.

When the sobs had turned into defeated sniffles, he dropped to his knees to meet your eye level. Him, never one for eye contact, but he couldn’t take his eye off you now.

“I’m here now, I promise.” His deep voice echoed through the room, bouncing off your repines for his comfort.

You were still in shock, how one minute ago you were so close to the edge, but the next he was by your side. The sorrow only subsided for the moment, but with him as a distraction, you knew you had at least one person there for you. One person who understood what you were going through, no doubt about it.

His large hands, the ones stained with the blood of his hands, gently cradling your face until you were lucid enough to give him your full attention. He was there for you, no matter how hard the stubborn thoughts tried to convince you he wasn’t.

They moved from your face, to your neck and arms, then your fingers, searching for any sign of physical injury.

“Let me help you, please…” Simon placed a small kiss on one of the tear droplets streaming down, wiping away the rest with his thumb. His hand went down again, clasping around yours tenderly as he routed you to the shared bathroom.

He grabbed a spare cloth off the rack, wetting it slightly in the sink as he traced it along each tear stain, his other hand on your waist the entire time. He was focused and stiff, but his eyes were gentle.

When he finished, he cupped your face again, touching his lips to yours, then your temple. “You are everything to me, got it?” He whispers against your forehead, eyes still wide, reeling with the shock of nearly losing you.

Your head was in his chest again as one hand remained on your waist, the other holding your head in place. He was savoring this, not taking you for granted for a second.

Deep inside, he was picturing all those months he’d left you alone to feel like this.

How each tear he wiped was a lash of regret. He was going to make up for it from now on. Whether he could help you one on one, or you talk to a professional, he would back you every step of the way.

That was his duty.

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 1

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Word Count: 3,502

Warnings: Abused animal, domestic violence, stalker ex-boyfriend, mention of nightmares/PTSD, smut in future chapters.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A big thanks to @shellyshellshell for encouraging me to write this story!

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

*Syverson POV*

It’s certainly difficult to leave the cool air conditioning of the house to head to work when the weather forecast predicts another scorching Texas summer day where the humidity makes your clothes immediately stick to your skin. It’s nothing I’m not familiar with having grown up in Texas my whole life and then spending two tours in the desert before returning home. You’d think I would move somewhere cold, but the south is all I know. I certainly couldn’t leave Nana and Pawpaw either. After finishing my last tour, I came home and bought an empty house in disrepair and spent the better part of a year ripping it to studs and rebuilding. I was really struggling with returning to civvy life after spending the majority last ten years in the sand pit. Originally, I had just planned to fix up my house so that it was comfortable and hell, livable, until I discovered what I wanted to do outside of the army. Remodeling my house taught me that I really enjoyed working with my hands and building things. I guess you could say taking a broken, outdated home and making it beautiful and functional again really resonated with me on a deeper level. I was lucky to leave the army with only some mild PTSD and nightmares. Hell, I had all of my limbs and was alive which is more that I can say I deserve. Staying busy helped me cope so after working towards getting my contractor’s license, I decided to start my own company, Syverson Contracting. It was still a small operation with only about seven employees including my cousin Alex, but we got by just fine.

After getting ready for the day and sipping on my cup of coffee on the porch with my German Shepard, Aika, I put my boots on and headed to the truck for the first day on a new worksite. Like usual, I called Nana on the way to work to check in. My grandparents lived about fifteen minutes away from me, but I still called to check on them every morning and make sure they’re doing alright. As I drive, Nana starts chattering all about how her friend’s granddaughter is single and I should be looking for a good woman to marry and settle down with. We’ve had this conversation umpteen times before but I can’t seem to get it through my stubborn grandmother’s head that it’s useless. I’ve been burned by too many women in the past as a young and naïve man and I just don’t want to bring someone into all of my problems. Yes, I go to therapy at the VA to help with my PTSD but it still doesn’t stop the sleepless nights and nightmares that immediately send me back to wartime in the desert. As much as I’ve always wanted a partner in life; a beautiful wife to come home to, a couple of kids and the proverbial picket fence, I just don’t see how it could be in the cards for me now. I’m too fucked up. Nana of course would never understand and I certainly don’t want to drag her into it so I just listen to her drone on and on about some chick named Susanne and then tell her that I’ve got to go.

After speaking with my team and giving instructions for the job, I went to Alex’s flatbed truck and we all started unloading the materials. The home we were working on was owned by a young couple expecting their first child. It was a simple job, replacing the flooring throughout the house, building a shed in the backyard for lawnmowers and other garden tools, and repairing some dry rotting siding near the fireplace. The great thing about my team is that I could get them started and didn’t have to micromanage them. After several hours in the walloping sun, we all broke for lunch. After cooling off and reenergizing at the local Wendy’s, we all headed back to the house to continue our work. Since I was used to being in these weather conditions, I decided to head out toward the edge of the woods in the backyard and start building the garden shed. When I went to lift up some of the plywood, I was beyond shocked to find a shaking and filthy little tan dog who appeared to be injured and terrified.

“Shit. Heya buddy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s alright pal. Let me take a look atcha.”

As a true animal lover, I was immediately enraged. Someone had intentionally abused this poor defenseless animal and either abandoned it or it was able to limp off to the woods. The little male pup, couldn’t be older than a year was bleeding from four different wounds on the side of his sand colored body. The second I scooped him up, he was whining and cowering in fear.

“You’re alright little man. I’m gonna take care of ya. Let’s see if we can getcha to a vet.” I call Aika’s vet office and unfortunately there is no answer. Janet must still be taking her lunch break.

I see Alex walking outside to grab some of the flooring to bring inside and yell for him to come here.

“What’s up, Sy?”

“Just found this little guy beat to hell by the woods.”

“Jesus. What kind of bastards do that to an animal?” Alex ponders as he was looking at the injured and sick animal. 

“I’m gonna see if Dr. Robinson’s in. Hopefully I can get the little feller in today but I need you to run the site until I get back.”

“No problem, Sy. Didn’t she just have another kid? I’m not sure if she’ll be there but I know Jessica said something about them hiring a new vet so I’m sure someone will be around.”

The veterinarian’s office was only a fifteen-minute drive from the site so after giving the poor thing some water, I loaded him up and drove there.

On the ride over, he seemed to relax a bit and not shake as bad as he had been and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Oh Austin! How good to see you! Did your Aika have an appointment?”

“Hey Ms. Janet, is Dr. Robinson in? It’s not for Aika. I found this guy by the woods and he’s been hurt something awful.”

“Heavens to Betsy! Poor little angel! Elizabeth is out on maternity leave but we’ve hired a new vet. You'll like her. Let me check with her and see if she can work you in.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A few moments later, Janet scurries back and directs me to an exam room with the little guy. I guess I could have just dropped him off and went back to work but my heart just couldn’t stand it. Hell, I fought to bring back Aika from Afghanistan because of how quickly I fell in love with her and she’s been the best dog ever. I can’t imagine leaving this little guy to potentially die from his injuries without a friendly face nearby.

*Knock Knock!*

The door opens and my heart stops at the same time. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen enters while carrying a clipboard and a stethoscope. She’s a petite little thing only reaching to my shoulders with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and crystal blue eyes that feel like they see straight to my soul.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Emma Miller. I hear you found this little guy in the woods?”

“Uh, yes ma’am. Hello there, I’m Austin Syverson. Yeah, I uh, I found him and he looks like he’s been abused.”

She smiles brightly and shakes my hand when I introduce myself and the moment I touch her soft skin, I can hardly think straight. Why the hell do I feel so jittery? It’s just a beautiful woman Sy. Get ahold of yourself. I tell her exactly what I found and she quickly starts examining him while speaking to him in a sweet voice.

“Hi sweet boy. You poor thing! I’m so sorry someone has been treating you so horribly. We’re going to take care of you, yes we are. You’re going to be good as new! I’m going to give you some fluids because you’re dehydrated little guy. Once we get some fluids in you, I’ll try giving you some food. How about that little man?”

I can’t help but smile as she baby talks to him while inserting an IV in his tiny arm and starting him on fluids. She examines the wounds more carefully before retrieving a pair of things that look like tweezers.

“If I had to guess, I would say this guy is about 10-12 months old. I suspect these wounds on his side are from a BB gun. Would you mind holding his head? I’m going to give him some pain relief in his IV to help him relax and then try and clean the area and see if I can remove them. We’re a bit short staffed at the moment with Dr. Robinson out and two of our techs calling in sick so I’ll need your help if that’s okay?”

“Fucking BB guns.” I murmur under my breath. Damn some people are just the worst.

“I’m happy to help.” I tell her quickly and take up residence next to the puppy’s head to hold him still.

“Thank you.” She replies quietly while concentrating on rubbing some brown cleaner across each wound.

I can’t help but watch her as she focuses on removing all four bb’s and placing them into a metal bowl. She’s so effortlessly beautiful and incredibly adorable as she works on the dog who seems to be feeling so much better with the medication and fluids that he has received. She sews up each wound quickly and efficiently. The pup seems to be almost as captivated by her as I am. When she’s done, he even attempts to wag his tail for her. Dr. Miller explains that he will need a flea and tick bath before she can dress the wounds because he has several fleas on him and she doesn’t want them getting into the incisions.

“Mr. Syverson, I hate to keep you from your day. Would you want to just come back for him in a little while? I have to do an exam on a yorkie with diabetes but then I’ll bathe him on my break and get his wounds dressed.”

“Sugar?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, pardon?” She responds a bit flustered.

I smirk as I see the blush tinting her cheeks. “The yorkie. Is it named Sugar?”

“Oh! Yes! Someone you know?”

“My grandma’s neighbor, Mrs. Clayton, has a yappy little yorkie named Sugar and I believe I overheard that it has diabetes.”

“Yes, well that would be her.” She smirks back.

“I don’t mind waiting with the little guy. Is it alright if I stay and help you bathe him? Since your short staffed and all?” I ask with my most charming smile.

Her beaming grin tells me all I need to know. “Sure, Mr. Syverson. Can you give me about twenty minutes?”

“Only if you’ll call me Austin or Sy. Mr. Syverson is my pawpaw.” I say with a grin.

“Alright Austin. I’m going to leave you with some wet food on the table for this little fellow, but can I trust you to only give him small amounts slowly? We don’t know when his last meal was so we don’t want to overwhelm his belly.”

“Yes ma’am.” I mock salute at her with two fingers and she giggles when she leaves the exam room. I swear the moment she did I was a goner. I need to find a way to hear that giggle more.

“Well little guy, it looks as though we are helping each other out, huh? You ain’t the only one broken and battered.” I say as I give the dog a small plastic spoonful of wet dog food that he almost swallows hole.

“What should I call you?” I hypothesize aloud while the pup continues eating sloppily from the spoon I’m holding.

“Since Dr. Miller here patched you up, how about Miller? We can call you Mills for short. What do you think about that? I like it.”

Emma finally returns to the exam room and is happy to see that the Mills has eaten the food I gave him and kept it all down. Due to the food, medications, and fluids he received you can already tell a slight difference in his demeanor.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up, shall we?” She says while carefully picking him up and carrying him to the back of the building before pausing. “You coming, Austin?” She asks.

God, I hope I will be soon. I think before I rush over to open the exam door for her and follow her to the back.

“You know, I’m breaking rules by letting you back here so don’t make me regret it.” She says to me teasingly as she carefully sets Mills into a large stainless-steel sink and begins to bathe him with medicated shampoo.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dr. Miller.”

“No, if I have to call you Austin, you have to call me Emma. It’s only fair.”

“Well, Emma is a beautiful name so that will be easy. If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? We haven’t had a new vet in town since Dr. Robinson came and that was probably ten years ago.” I watch as Emma carefully removes three ticks from his fur and want to outwardly cringe. Ticks are the devil’s bug.

“I’m from Alabama. I’ve only been in Texas for about a month but just started working in the office this last week.” She tells me as she very carefully continues to clean Mills.

“What brought you all the way out here? Did your husband get transferred out here or something?”

She side eyes my question with a smirk. “Nope, just the job. No husband or kids. No boyfriend either in case that was your next question.” She remarks sarcastically.

My stomach flips with excitement even though she caught on to what I was really fishing for.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here. For Mills’ health needs of course.” I add quickly while gesturing to the pup.

“Mills?”

“Yup. Short for Miller, after the doctor who’s taking care of him.”

Her cheeks blush bright red as she runs a flea comb gently through his fur. “Well aren’t you just the charmer. I’m surprised Janet didn’t warn me about you. She’s been clueing me in on pretty much the entire town.”

“Ah, good ole’ Janet. She knows there’s no need to warn you about me. She’s known me since I was in diapers so that should tell you enough about my character if she didn’t warn you off.”

“That’s good to know. So, are you planning on keeping little Mills? Or are you wanting us to adopt him out once he’s all healed?”

“Oh, I plan on keeping him if that’s alright. As long as my girl, Aika, is okay with it I’ll keep him. Can’t imagine sending him off to a stranger after what he’s already been through.”

“Well, if your girlfriend isn’t on board with keeping him just let us know and we can see about arranging a foster for him until he’s able to be put up for adoption.” She says while stepping a little further away from me.

Girlfriend? Oh dumbass, you made her think Aika is your girlfriend.

“Aika’s my German Shepard. I don’t have a wife, kids, or a girlfriend either.” I said poking fun at her sarcastic comment from earlier.

Emma grins but just continues to rinse Mills off. She notices that one of his paws looks a bit swollen but she can’t find any cuts or wounds so she thinks it may just be bruised from trying to run from his abuser.

Once we get him dried off, I hold his head again for her to clean and dress the wounds on his side and I’m dreading leaving.

“So, I’ll need to see little Mills in 3 days to check his wounds and remove the stitches. I need you to clean and redress the wounds one time a day like I’ve shown you. I’ve got his medication and antibiotics here and a couple of cans of that wet food that you fed him earlier. I recommend continuing to feed it to him slowly so that his tummy doesn’t get upset. Nobody likes waking up to a dog throwing up or having diarrhea in the house. If he does okay with that food we can discuss increasing his food intake at the next appointment. Do you have any questions, Austin?”

“Just one. Can I get your number, Emma? You know, in case I have questions about your prodigy, Little Mills, here.” I add with a smirk.

“I’m sure you have the number for the vet’s office.” She smirks.

“That I do, but I’d like yours as well, please.” I ask with my most convincing smile.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t advertise it. The last thing I need is people like Mrs. Clayton calling me after hours.” She concedes with a giggle and I can’t help my boisterous laughter at the last part.

“Nobody wants someone like Mrs. Clayton calling them all the time. That woman would talk to a wall just to hear her own voice.” I hand her my phone and she quickly types her number and I save it under “Mills’ Future Mama” and smirk to myself.

I pay and make the next appointment for Mills and then head to the local pet store for a collar, leash, dog bed, and more dog food. Luckily, Mills sleeps on the ride home and I can’t decide if he’s finally realized I’m not going to hurt him or if he’s still drowsy from the effects of the meds he received. I head home and send Alex an update that I’ll be back at the site tomorrow.

When I get home, I bring everything inside before carrying Mills over to Aika and carefully introducing him. After the initial excitement wears off, Aika heads outside to the backyard and I’m relieved that she seems to accept him. She’s always been such a good dog so hopefully I can rely on her to show our little rookie around and teach him our routines.

I go about showering and eating dinner, but I can’t seem to get my mind off Emma. I obviously want to play it cool but she has infiltrated my mind to the point where I just can’t think of anything else. I know this is a bad idea but I can't stop myself. I decide to take a picture of Mills in his little bed and text it to her.

Sy: <attached image>

Mills’ Future Mama: I’m glad to see my namesake is adjusting to his new life. I take it that his sibling accepts him?

Mills’ Future Mama: Also, you’re lucky I opened that picture text. Typically receiving a picture from an unknown number is never a good thing 😖

Sy: Sounds like your mind is in the gutter or you have some seriously unhinged acquaintances, darlin. Aika has accepted him into the pack without hesitation.

Mills’ Future Mama: More like, men are nasty and will take any opportunity to send an unsolicited dick pic to even the most unwilling recipients. Glad you found the little guy. He seems right at home.

Sy: He is. You should come visit him sometime.

Mills’ Future Mama: Why would I do that when he’ll be in my office in three days?

Sy: Maybe to see his owner?

Mills’ Future Mama: I’d imagine his daddy will be the one bringing him back to my office though?

Sy: Alright then, how about I make you some dinner at my place? Say tomorrow at 5pm?

Mills’ Future Mama: Make it 5:30 and I’ll be there. Just know I’ll be sending your information to my best friend in case you try and murder me.

Sy: What type of people were you surrounded by in Alabama? 🤨

Mills’ Future Mama: I was actually in a super safe town. Just watch too many crime shows to make careless mistakes.

Sy: Smart lady. You can tell whoever you want, darlin’. I’ve got nothing to hide and I appreciate a woman who has some self-preservation skills.

Mills’ Future Mama: Trust me, I’m very skilled at many things. 😜

Sy: Damn woman, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. It’s not fair to tease me.

Mills’ Future Mama: Not teasing. Just stating facts. 🙃

Sy: Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough. Here’s my address. Any food allergies?

Mills’ Future Mama: Nope! I’ll bring dessert. I’m interested to test your cooking prowess.

Sy: You’re killing me.

Mills’ Future Mama: See you tomorrow!

Part 2

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @henryownsme @caramariehurst @beck07990 @mollymal

[arjwrites]

— Good to know bc im here to request another Castiel x Winchester!reader (oldest sister) hehehehe...

Remember when Castiel became a human and that reaper April used him? I was thinking about the reader in her place, where she ACTUALLY likes Cas and takes care of him. The reader really loves him and doesn't care that he's a human now with no angel powers, he's still the man/angel she loves and care (I'm still mad that Dean kicked Cass out of the bunker)

It's his first time being human, he deserves some love 😞 (And I rlly need some comfort aughhh)

I think I wrote too much, sorry! It's just that I really love human Castiel, he deserved more ❤️‍🩹 — 👼 angel anon

Lessons on Humanity- Human!Castiel x Reader

Summary: Human!Cas arrives on your doorstep in need of a helping hand. Taking him under your wing, you offer him more than he bargained for.

Warnings: None (I don't think???) GN!Reader, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Well, this took forever. Idk why this gave me the WORST case of writer's block ever, but.... I think I just wanted it to be perfect for you, angel anon!!! I hope you enjoy hehehehehe <3333

Leaving hunting behind had been a tough decision, but leaving your brothers and Castiel behind had been even harder. But after all the years, your body screamed for rest, and your heart mourned the years of loss and trauma. It wasn’t like you had completely up and abandoned them- you still took their calls, visited the bunker from time to time, and took on many a research request (which had always been your specialty anyways). But you had grown so tired of the life. And as much as moving into the bunker had been a massive improvement from the endless series of motel rooms you’d grown up with, living in a concrete man-cave with your brothers had proven difficult. And you had always craved a home- somewhere that could be uniquely yours. This had led you to settle down into a sweet cottage, a bit off the beaten path in a quaint little town- not too far from the bunker, but far enough. It was cozy, nothing fancy by any means- two small bedrooms, a slightly outdated kitchen, and a snug little living room you had furnished with thrifted couches and a secondhand TV. What it lacked in elegance, it made up for in character. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

It was a Friday night. You had just gotten off work, ordered a pizza, popped your favorite playlist in your speakers, and were currently dancing around and vacuuming your living room. Ah, domesticities. It was always a nice feeling to be done for the weekend, to have a job you could hang up for a few days and not worry about until Monday morning rolled around. Not like hunting, with its worries that clung tight to you all hours of every day. After finishing your cleaning task, you flopped to the couch, clicking through the TV to find a suitable show to binge alongside your food. 

Two crisp knocks at the door pulled you from your search. That was quick, you thought to yourself. You practically skipped to the kitchen to grab your purse, wanting to hand the delivery driver a few extra dollars for the particularly speedy service. But when you swung the door open, more than just the chilly evening air sent a wave of shock your way. 

“Oh my God,” was about all you could whisper. In front of you stood Castiel, though he didn’t look much like his usual self. He wore a sweatshirt you didn’t recognize and had a slightly unkempt, unshaven look to him. But beyond his appearance, it didn’t feel like Cas. His shoulders were slumped over as if he was carrying the weight of them for the first time. He wore an expression so tired, so hurt, that your heart broke at the sight of it. 

“Cas, honey. What happened?” 

“I don’t have my grace. I… lost it. They told me I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to bother you, but… I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“Oh, Cas. Come in, God, come in.” Your brow furrowed as you gestured for him to enter, concern filling your body. What had you missed? Why didn’t he have his grace? Why wasn’t he with Sam and Dean?

Cas gingerly stepped through your door, barely making it inside the threshold before turning to you, as if he was waiting to follow your lead.

“Come, come sit,” you beckoned him after you, leading him into the living room and patting a seat for him on the couch. He sat, glancing around your room before landing his gaze back to you. You could tell there was something different about him- it was like he was seeing everything around him for the first time. 

“So tell me what happened, Cas,” you hummed, gathering every ounce of soothing calm you could muster in hopes you could offer him some comfort.

Cas jumped into his story, telling you all about Metatron, the angels, and him losing his grace- all the things you had missed out on since stepping back from hunting. You nodded along, listening intently, compassionately, quietly- that is, until he told you about the events that lead him to your doorstep.

“He kicked you OUT?” You rose to your feet as he said this, unable to contain your anger in your seated posture. You felt the rage bubble from the deepest part of your stomach, rising quickly to your chest. Poor, sweet Castiel, who tries so hard and deserves so much. Cast out like he was nothing. It was enough to drive you into a blind rampage. Cas, on the other hand, remained seated, eyes fixed to the carpet, dejected. 

“I just don’t know what to do. I have all these… feelings I’m not used to.” 

“Of course you don’t, honey. It’s all so new. I’ll help you figure things out, alright?” You thought for a moment about what may be most urgent. “Cas, how long have you been human for?”

“Well, a few days now.”

“And have you eaten? Drank water? Slept?” 

“I had a candy bar.” 

“Oh, you poor thing, Cas. Look… Sit tight, I’m going to get you a glass of water, and I have food on the way. Do you like pizza? No, you don’t know if you like pizza, do you…” You let your voice trail off as you hustled to the kitchen, fixing him a glass of water and returning it to him hastily. 

Cas lifted the glass, inspecting it, before tipping it back and downing it in one go. You watched the water slide out of the cup, disappearing down his throat in record time. There was one basic need supported. 

“Alright, Cas, why don’t you sit there and relax for a little? I’m going to go make up the guest bedroom for you. Is that alright?” You tilted your head to the side to better gauge his thoughts on the matter. Cas returned you a soft smile and nodded. You let out a subtle puff of breath in relief before retreating up the stairs. 

As you grabbed bedding from the linen closet and began to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, you couldn’t help but allow your body to take over the menial routine, while your mind fluttered off elsewhere. The angry pit in your stomach persisted, a deepening disgust for the way the angel had been treated, including by your brothers, of all people. But nestled in your chest above your swirling stomach sat your heart, which swelled at the thought of Cas, here with you. In all honesty, he had always meant a lot to you. You had so much admiration, so much reverence for the angel- of course, now that he wasn’t exactly an angel, that didn’t change anything. That was never what it was about. You saw deeper than just Cas’s angelic power- you saw him. Grace or not, there was no changing that. This was still the same angel, the same man, the same being you had always known. Only now, he really needed someone to be there for him. And you intended to do that- slowly, surely, gently. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from down the stairs. Instantly, your mind snapped to the worst-case scenario- call it a lingering hunter’s instinct. You raced down the stairs, only to find Cas perched on the couch, exactly where you had left him.

“Someone knocked on the door,” he whispered wide-eyed, as if it was some sort of intruder behind the door, waiting politely to be let in so he could go about his business.

You breathed a sigh of relief, willing yourself not to get frustrated at the poor man- he had no idea. Scared, lost, confused Castiel. 

“It’s just the pizza, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” you replied, giving him a soft smile of encouragement. 

With the pizza paid for, food on your plates, and your favorite mindless comfort show on TV, you and Cas began to settle in for the night. You and Cas. It was insane to see the angel in such a domestic setting. The two of you were sat at opposite ends of the couch, nibbling pizza in silent unison. You weren’t sure what to do or say, overwhelmed by Cas’s newfound presence, heartbroken by the things he had experienced, and overall just worried for his wellbeing. But, out of fear of pushing his limits- he had already been through so much the last few days- you fell into a comfortable silence that padded the space between you. 

That silence was broken by a yawn coming from the other end of the couch. Cas’s face contorted in a decidedly un-angelic expression, before drawing inwards in confusion. A giggle inched its way towards your lips, but you suppressed it.

“You must be tired, Cas. Let’s go up to bed,” you hummed. Quickly and efficiently, you snapped off the TV, balanced your drinking glasses and plates on top of the pizza box, and slid everything into its rightful place in the kitchen. Re-emerging to the living room, you extended a hand to Cas, pulling him up to his feet before turning to lead him up the stairs. 

“This is your room, over here,” you pointed, ducking in the door to show him around. You snapped the bedside lamp on to illuminate the space. “The bathroom is just down the hall if you need to use it. And my room is just next door, if you need anything at all.” 

Cas’s eyes scanned the room before settling back on you. He threw a tight-lipped smile, murmuring his thanks. He was bashful, certainly overwhelmed by the avalanche of human emotion and sensation he was experiencing. You really didn’t want to push it, but there was one more thing you wanted to offer him. 

Crossing the room, you pulled Cas into a hug. You felt his hands hover for a moment before he rested them across the middle of your back.

“I’m sorry, Cas. You didn’t deserve any of this. But I’m here to help you, whatever you need, okay? You deserve to have someone be there for you.” It was a desperate plea for the man to recognize his self-worth, to provide him with a bit of comfort during this terrifying transition. Your words weighed heavy in the room, anticipating a response that never came. But, you could’ve sworn you felt Cas’s shoulders dip and the muscles of his back soften into the hug. 

After a minute, you pulled away, snapping back to your lighthearted self. You wished the man a good night, retreating from the room and closing the door behind you. Crossing the hall and tucking yourself into bed, it wasn’t long before you drifted to sleep.

-

You rose early the next morning. Usually, you would stroll downstairs in your bathrobe or whatever mismatched pajamas you slept in, but this morning you hopped in the shower straight away, dressing and fixing your hair. Once you made your way down to the kitchen, you got to work pulling together a breakfast you thought Cas would enjoy- pancakes, bacon, and some fruit, all while brewing a pot of coffee. You weren’t sure he’d have much of a taste for it yet, but you certainly were in need of a cup. 

As you neared the end of your preparation, you heard the guest bedroom door swing open. Cas descended the stairs into the kitchen, somehow looking slightly more disheveled than when he had arrived on your doorstep the night before.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You offered, hoping he would take it in jest.

“Hello,” he responded. His eyes were puffed with sleep, his hair stuck up in every possible direction, face dotted with yesterday’s stubble that was inching into scruffy beard territory. Looking at him was a clear reminder that you needed to help him figure out how to clean himself up today. 

“How’d you sleep, hun?” In any other conversation, this would be a simple pleasantry, but in this case, it was an earnest inquiry.

“Not well. I think I had a dream. It was terrible,” he replied. His gaze remained vacant.

“A dream?” You thought for a moment- was it the sensation of dreaming that he wasn’t used to? Or was it a nightmare? “Tell me about it, Cas.”

“Well, I don’t remember a lot of it. I just remember I was running. And when I woke up, my heart was pounding and I was sweating and I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t actually run- just in the dream.” 

“Oh, Cas, honey, you had a nightmare.” You approached him, reaching up a hand to run a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “If that ever happens again, you can always come into my room. I’m right next door.”

“How will that help?” He inquired.

“Well, sometimes it’s nice to talk about it, if you want. Or, sometimes it’s just nice to be around someone else, so you don’t feel like you’re facing it alone.”

His nod in response sent a surge of care through your body. Rather than sitting there, gushing over him, you figured you’d channel your worry into something productive- getting him fed. 

“Well, I made some breakfast. Have a seat, I’ll make you a plate.”

You pulled out a chair for him at the table, gesturing for him to sit down, before scrambling to pull together a plate piled high with a stack of pancakes, a few slices of bacon, and some strawberries and bananas you had carefully sliced. You rested the plate in front of him, giving him a minute to inspect it, before returning to grab food for yourself. 

“Well, what do you think? I figured chocolate chip pancakes would be a safe bet. Everyone likes chocolate chip pancakes.”

Castiel clumsily sliced another bite from the pancake, lifting it to his mouth. He chewed pensively, mulling over the question.

“How do I know if I like it?” 

You thought for a moment.

“Good question. Does it make you feel happy?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, Cas, I think you’ll find that one of the great joys of humanity is the opportunity to figure out what makes you happy. We don’t get a lot of say in what goes on down here, but we do get to pick our favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite people, and fill our lives with those. It’s the small pleasures that make the difference.”

He considered your words for a moment, before spearing another bite with his fork. You giggled to yourself. It was adorable to watch him navigate the things you took for granted with so much fascination and uncertainty- something as small as taking a bite of food required all of his concentration and contemplation.

As you sipped your coffee, you considered the task that lay before you. It was your job to teach Cas how to be human- something you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself an expert on. With hunting dominating your upbringing and occupation thus far, you certainly hadn’t had the normal human experience. But you took the challenge in stride, knowing that Cas had much to learn. 

-

Saturday had come and gone. You had spent the entire day teaching Cas a crash course in human life skills, covering important topics like brushing your teeth (which proved more difficult than you thought it would be), remembering to drink water (you struggled with this yourself most of the time), shopping (the two of you thrifted him a whole wardrobe), and anything else you could think of as you went about your usual routine. 

As the day wound down, you and Cas sat on your back porch. The emerging twilight buzzed, and a warm breeze filtered through the trees and wrapped itself around the two bodies curled up in the lawn chairs. You were tired, he was tired, so another comfortable silence had settled into its now familiar place between the two of you. You could faintly hear the sound of children laughing and a mother calling after them, voices muffled by the distance that separated you from these neighbors down the street. You smiled to yourself, and Cas took notice. 

“Thank you for helping me today,” he offered hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb your thoughts.

“Anytime, Cas.” You were still a bit lost in thought as you responded.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why does being human feel so… Heavy?”

There was something about his tone of voice that snapped you out of your daze. Turning to him, you instantly recognized the worry that was weighing on him. 

“I just… I used to be a soldier. I had divine purpose. I’ve always had something to work towards, and now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Life is a complicated thing, Cas. Most people spend an entire lifetime figuring out their purpose. You may be thousands of years old, but you’ve only been doing the whole human thing for a few days. Be patient with yourself.” 

“You seem to handle it all pretty well. Leaving hunting, making a life for yourself. You have it all figured out,” he frowned.

“Want to know a secret?”

He nodded, silently, eagerly. 

“I’m not handling it well. And I don’t have it all figured out. Nobody does. That’s the whole game. That’s life. You take what you’re given and you do what you can with it. But the beauty is, you get to choose.” 

“How do I know what to choose?” 

You smiled in spite of yourself. 

“That’s the big question. No one knows what’s right for you except you.” 

Cas’s hand reached across to yours, giving it a squeeze that sent your heart aflutter. Fingers intertwined, you settled back into the evening, pensive.  

- 

Sleep that night hadn’t come easy by any means. What had started as worry had now spiraled into full-on anxiety, warding you away from slipping into sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted down the hall to Castiel, separated from you by nothing more than a dozen footsteps and couple pieces of drywall. It was as if you could feel his inner turmoil. And beyond that, your heart ached for the man. All you wanted to do was go to him, be with him, comfort him. But the fear that you were taking advantage of his newly human state still plagued you, so you lingered rigid and sleepless in your bed. Just as you rolled over to attempt comfort and hopefully find some sleep, there was the faintest knock at your door- so quiet, you barely registered it. 

At first, you weren’t sure if you had actually heard the sound, but when the noise was followed by slow footsteps shuffling away, you snapped up in bed.  

“Cas! Come in,” you called. After a second, the door swung open.

“I had another one. A nightmare.” Cas spoke matter of factly, and yet, very soft and reserved. He lingered in your doorway, timid, waiting for you to give your blessing on his entrance.

“Oh, come in, sweetheart. Come sit.” You patted the space beside you, the noise muffled by the thick, fluffy comforter. Cas made his way into a seated position on the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, hesitant to pry but insistent on providing support.

“No.” His response was tense and succinct without being rude- you knew he was processing a lot of feelings, and wanted to give him grace.

“That’s okay. Would you like some time to think through it? Or would you like to be distracted?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“Take your time. I’m here.” 

There was a beat of silence. Giving him space was your top priority, as much as you wanted to leap across the bed and into his arms. 

“Maybe, distracted?”

“Sure thing. I’ll put on a movie, we can watch for a bit.” You snatched the remote from the table beside you, flipping through a few movies you thought Cas may enjoy, before settling on a lighthearted Disney movie. Your finger pressed play and adjusted the volume to a dull hum. 

You watched for a while in silence. As the movie was picking up, breaking out into a cheerful musical number, your eyes darted to Cas. Expecting to see him enamored by the animated wonderland, you were taken aback when his eyes locked with yours instantly. It was like he had been looking at you the whole time. 

“Hey, Cas.” He wouldn’t look away, and the eye contact was entrancing.

“Hi.” His voice was gruff, a mix of sleep and something else you weren’t entirely sure of, though you were starting to get an idea. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better, now. Because I’m with you.” His words sent a wave of warmth through your body as you felt yourself inching closer to him, subconsciously. Clearly, he felt the same pull, as you both shifted to face each other directly. 

“Can I ask you about another feeling?” He was usually bashful with his questions, but this time, his voice was steady. His eyes were fixed on you with an almost palpable intensity, a kind of focus that made you fidget, suddenly so aware of yourself. 

“Of course,” you responded. He was now just inches away from your face. 

“What is this feeling I get when I’m this close to you?” His words were slow and genuine, and yet in some ways, it seemed like he already knew.

“What do you mean?” 

“It feels a lot like the nightmare. My heart beats fast and I can’t breathe. But it’s… Different. It’s good. I like it.” His eyes flickered as the words melted you.

He was so close to your face you could feel each breath tickle your nose and lips, as if pressing gentle precursors to tease you into taking the next step.

“Can I try something else you might like?” You could barely speak above a whisper.

He began to nod, lifting his head, but before he could complete the motion, all your defenses came crashing down, and you melted together- lips and limbs intertwining as one. And for the first time since becoming human, Castiel truly felt peace.

-

There’s something special about humanity. Sure, it has its ups and downs. There’s pain, fear, grief, death. Cas knew all those things already. They were what scared him most when he lost his grace. But he could have never known this, without experiencing it for himself. 

The early hours of the morning crept into the bedroom. Everything about the room was warm and soft- a kind of heaven that rivaled even the real thing. Cas watched as the rays of sun slipped through the window to kiss your skin softer, sweeter, more intimately than he ever had. Yet. 

There were many things about being human he hadn’t been prepared for. He had lost purpose, drive, direction. When he was first stripped of his grace, it had felt like his newfound heartbeat was mocking him with every pulse. But now? That heart served to pump more than just blood through his veins. His heart beat for you. His whole angelic life, he had been guided by divine word, but nothing had ever felt as holy as you, here, sleeping in his arms. You had taught him humanity, alright. And now, he finally had the chance to do something, to feel something, to experience something more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He could love you.

Cas let the sounds of your breathing lull him back to sleep.

[persephone11110]

rain is a good thing

Jake‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

PROLOGUE

warnings: breaking up, asshole jake seresin, pre-tpg.m, past child abuse, hurt people hurt people—NOT DEFENDING HIM, lack of communication skills, both oc and jake have self esteem issues, hurt no comfort, bradley is mentioned , mentions of alcohol->drinking and being slightly drunk, set in 2018-2019

author note: prologue and unfortunately please expect spelling errors, I want to make sure everyone knows that the prologue m is set atleast 2yrs before top gun maverick and the actual of chapters are before and after the uranium mission . Also i might tweak the ending a lil bit i cant tell If i I like it Thank you for reading— enjoy :)

WC: 900

Next

Series Masterlist

–

“I’d never a break promise darlin, especially not to my girl”.

You sheded more tears than any human ever has, you sat at the table watching the clock on the stove hit 11pm. The candle you once had lit was now out along with the patience you had for Jake this was the third time he’s broken his promise, he assured you he’d be home three hours ago for the nice meal you made.

The two of you would finally have the chance to just be girlfriend and boyfriend. The worry about work and stress would be put aside for once, Jake even promised you he wouldn’t bring up Bradshaw and how much he hated him.“Fucking hate him”.

You tried to not doubt your boyfriend word, you knew how much Jake worked and you knew he deserved the biggest break. Yet you couldn’t help but realize how much time he’s been spendin at the hard deck instead of the apartment you both shared.

Was this Jake way of telling you that he didn’t love you anymore, you tried to think of a time were theres been so much distance between you and him, and you couldn’t think of one.

Maybe your mom was right, maybe you weren’t destined for the love.

Why didn’t Jake Seresin love you anymore?

You were to busy wiping at your face to hear the door slam or him slurring your name. “Y/n I’m home!”.

You were ripping clothes off the hanger throwing them into a bag you found on the floor. You really thought he loved you—you should’ve know better a man like Jacob Seresin doesn’t love, he just takes and takes until the shadow of what used to be you is left lingering.

“Baby you okay?” he startles you out of a bubble of self-pity. “Y/n we can eat now…I’m home”. He goes to wrap his arm around your waist and you move from him.

His eyes widened at the bag of clothes on the bed.“What are you doing baby, are we going somewhere?”.

He’s looking down at you and your staring at those piercing green eyes that made you falling in love him in the first place. The green eyes he used to get himself out of trouble with.

“I’m going somewhere not you”. Already turned around you miss the way his mouth replicated a fish blowing bubbles.

“C’mon baby just let me heat the up food and it’ll be fine”. He trys to touch you again on but on your shoulder, and again you jerked away from him.

Drunk or not Jake realized you weren’t happy with him again. “I’m really sorry Y/n my phone died while I was there”. He throws a lame excuse at you hoping you take it like you did the last two times.

You pressed your tongue into side of your cheek. Not wanting to cry again, you shrugged him off instead. “Its okay Jake Its just I can’t keep doing this with you.”

He nose wrinkled in confusion,“Y/n what are you talking about you can’t keep doing this?”.

You let the shirt fall out of your hand before turning back around to him. “All I asked for was a dinner with the man I loved, I didn’t ask for a luxurious gift— I didn’t ask for a expensive vacation— I just wanted to be with the man I loved”.

The color drained out of his face.

“Y/n you can’t walk away from me just because it got hard”. His voice laced with anger,“Look I’m sorry I’ve been stressing over being a possible candidate for top gun”.

You frowned instantly,“I’m not walking away because it got hard, I’m walking away because you already walked away first from the relationship Seresin”.

“Y/n please….”. You already made it up your mind that Jake didn’t deserve a chance to explain more.

“I thought you be different— you promised me you different from the men that hurt us”. tears filled your eyes,“You just broke my heart in a way I didn’t think was possible”. You watched the sadness appear on Jakes face.

“Y/n please let me make it up to you I know the last two times I’ve broken my promise but give me tonight and you can watch me choose you”.

You stared at him as he put your bag at the edge of the bed. You allowed him to drag into the bed you both shared, “I love you Y/n please forgive me”. He whispered in the dark.

You were up before him, staring at him as he slept.

Jake how no idea what he was expecting when he woke up the next morning. Reaching our for you he felt a crinkly paper -he also noticed your bag wasn’t were he put it last night. “I’m sorry Jake looks like we both broke a promise”.

The rain hitting the windows lulled him back to sleep as Jake cried, he just lost the girl he loved and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

You laid on your ole crappy couch with Jakes Texas sweatshirt in your arms. The smell of him lingered around in your apartment, the sheets and the comforter, and now the sweatshirt you accidentally stole from him.

Watch me lose you.

[azulock]

hii, how are you doing💗? can you please write an aiku fulff, cs i have a feeling he would be a good bf if he REALLY tried😭😔🙏 (let me be delusional)

Oh nonnie, I'm a big believer that someone can be a slut but also turn into a good partner when they really want it. I've seen that in my life so I know it can happen. Here you go!

Oliver fluff headcanons

⊙ Get yourself a man who has range, he can do over the top corny flirting, he can do smooth and sexy, and he can do goofy and silly. He also knows a lot of the time the silly rizz will get him further, so he can be pretty goofy, esp when in a relationship. At that point he just drops the suave, smooth persona and lets himself be full silly - even borderline annoying.

⊙ Big guy isn't a good match for people who aren't comfortable with physical contact cause he is needy for touch, very much an overgrown koala - and that includes PDA. He is the person who decides when the hug ends, cause he is like 2 meters tall and heavy enough to trap even a grown man under him.

⊙ Wants to sleep cuddling every single night, no exception. If it's hot you'd better turn on the AC, but when it's cold this guy is a space heater, there is no cold with him under the blankets. Will totally be the big spoon most of the time, but does enjoy being the little spoon sometimes too.

⊙ Likes holding hands when you are walking together. No matter if you are going somewhere near or far away, he will have his fingers laced with yours, rubbing your hand with his thumb or squeezing it when you stop somewhere. But again, he doesn't care if it gets sweaty, so you better not care either.

⊙ Will wash your hair if you show him how to, but also wants you to wash his. He likes caring for you, but also wants to be pampered himself. Can get quite dramatic if you deny him that, but come on, he deserves some pampering.

⊙ Loves taking you to new and different places on dates. Having dinner and going out dancing is fine, but then next time you gotta go have brunch by the sea and visit a museum, and the one after that you go to the theatre and eat at a bar, and so on. He is always on the look out for new things to do too.

⊙ Likes sitting by your side when you are out so he can always have a hand on you, or an arm around your shoulders or waist. This way he can keep his body closer to yours and have easier access to kiss your lips too. It's an all around winning arrangement.

⊙ Sends you cute animal pictures during the day, either ones he saw somewhere like twitter or ig, or of animals he saw while out and about. Also always has cute animal stickers, gifs and what not to use when texting.

⊙ Can be quite the gentle giant at times, with surprisingly soft touches and caresses. Also melts if you just touch his face gently. And if you scratch his jaw he will almost purr, such a big man and so easily gives into a caress. One of his favorite caresses is rubbing his nose against yours, he loves doing it.

⊙ If he is at home during a rainy day, then it's a lazy day. He will have you both spend it under the covers, cuddling together, watching movies with snacks and drinks - he will let you choose what to watch, for the first movie at least. He will also order you both comfort food, including dessert. And if it isn't rainy but you are kinda down when he is around, that's the exact same move he will pull.

[anistarrose]

taz balance one-shot recs!

I've been meaning to make this post for a while now, so here we are! The majority of these are from the past three years or so, because I love a fandom classic as much as anyone, but I particularly want to shine a light on some gems from after the peak of traffic in the fandom tags! There are of course also exceptions that are older, though.

Also, April 19th-21st are Just Leave a Comment Fest, so please show these authors some love!! They're all so deserving!

a recipe for home by @journalofimprobablethings: Taako tries to cook for the first time since Glamour Springs. When things go awry, Lucretia is there to lend a hand.

Gen (Taako & Lucretia), 3.5k. Early B.O.B. era hurt/comfort centered around cooking, with a delicious dollop of sentimentality and dramatic irony on top.

Seven Times Magnus Burnsides Gave Someone A Hug + One Time He Received One by @barry-j-blupjeans: Magnus wasn't really any good at— at words. He was more of an action man. Or, y'know, a "I'll take this hit so you don't have to" man. Talking to someone about their feelings was all kinds of weird, so usually he just left the space for someone else to talk. And, well... Magnus wasn't good at words. But there's a few different ways to get his support across.

Mostly gen with some Magnulia, 8.6k. You've all heard of the classic 5 Plus 1, but obviously Magnus deserves a 7 Plus 1! I don't know how to describe it without spoilers other than being full of incredibly sweet, gentle takes on so many fraught or bittersweet moments. Super underrated, do give it a read.

Embrace the Dark by @ceilingfan5: Bookstore coworkers Kravitz and Taako get more than they bargained for when Taako tries to use his powers to fix Kravitz's migraine. But it's okay--it's an excuse for them to spend time together until one of them can nut up and ask the other out.

Taakitz, 8.9k. Modern with Superpowers AU! Super sweet interactions between Kravitz and Taako, paired with lots of fun background worldbuilding. And, of course, a very special grilled cheese sandwich.

Break This Heavy Chain by Punka_Writes: In the immediate aftermath of Story and Song, Barry Bluejeans could really use a hug.

Blupjeans and misc. platonic interactions, 2.3k. The absolute epitome of comfort food in written form, with excellent Barry characterization (and of course, he does get that hug)!

birds of a feather steal sweaters together by @holdmecloser-gandydancer: When you're a big, burly guy it seems that your clothes just become free reign for all your friends. Normally Magnus is a reasonable guy, but everyone has their limits.

Gen (IPRE crew), 1.9k. Starblaster era fluff! Everyone is written absolutely delightfully, and every time I read it I snort out loud at least twice.

Security by @ceilingfan5: Barry has finally made it--his incredible scientific discovery has landed him a huge fortune...and a lot of problems. The only good thing that's come of it, honestly, has been his bodyguard, Lup. (And the science. That's good also.) He's just gotta stay normal about how nice it is to have someone like Lup around, and also not perish by way of press circuit, and everything will be fine.

Blupjeans, 6k. Modern with magic AU from Barry's POV, featuring equal parts anxiety and pining. Also, it's straight-up extremely funny.

Lonesome Dreams by @jerreeeeeee: Taako wakes up one morning from a nightmare, fast fading. There was a guy in glasses, and they were… somewhere high up? Something terrible happened, but he doesn’t remember. He wakes up in a wagon he’s never seen before, but it has his name on it. There’s tons of food inside, more than he’d be able to afford. And he’s alone. Thinking back to the last thing he remembers is difficult. College? No, he’d graduated. Top of his class, obviously, he remembers that. But what- what happened after? Where is Lup?

Gen (Taako & Lup), 10.2k. Everything starts out the same, except Taako remembers Lup, even if not how she went missing, and it's incredibly underrated and full of phenomenal characterization. I won't spoil how things shake out, but it's a great emotional ride and I genuinely reread it all the time.

it's my party and I'll mope if I want to by @holdmecloser-gandydancer: Taako's birthday is just another Thursday. A detective and an old friend have a different idea.

Gen (Taako & Lucretia & Angus), 2.1k. Short and so sweet! Fics about voidfished!Taako's birthday never get old, and this is one of my absolute favorites. Nailing the angst-to-wholesome ratio.

Tedious Familiarity by @barry-j-blupjeans: Déjà vu. Noun. A feeling of having already experienced the present situation. A tedious familiarity. Barry Bluejeans woke up in a cave, fresh out of a pod filled with green goop, and saddled with an unsettling feeling that he had been here before. If you had asked forty-year-old Barry if he would follow instructions left by a talking coin, he probably would have asked you what type of drugs you were on. But, y’know, fifty… two? Fifty-one? How old was he? Fifty-two sounded right. But, y’know, fifty-two years old Barry didn’t really have that many other places to turn, so this couldn't be all that bad.

Gen, 4.1k. Missing scenes based off Barry's decade alone, written in such an effective style, where all the little details truly make it. Mandatory reading for fellow Barry angst enjoyers.

Angus McDonald and the Wonderland Escape Rooms by coppersunshine: When Angus gets grounded from detecting, to keep his skills sharp he becomes a patron of the Wonderland Escape rooms, run by Edward and Lydia, who quickly decide he's their new nemesis. To their surprise, Angus and the collection of weird adults he's accompanied by decide otherwise.

Gen (Angus & Edward & Lydia), 7k. Modern with magic AU, putting Edward and Lydia in the absolute funniest possible job, at which a little boy detective torments... and maybe, even gives them a chance to turn over a new leaf. I am of the opinion that Angus and the Wonderland twins have a criminally underexplored dynamic, and this fic gave me everything I wanted.

If the Sun and Moon Should Doubt by Punka_Writes: Merle Highchurch, on the brink of a bad decision.

Gen, 1.6k. Merle character study immediately before running out on his marriage. Truly the incredible characterization that Merle deserves; this was a fic that really ignited my love for him.

Greensleeves by @sgrumby: Kravitz has never seen a lich like this before, and he's seen a lot of liches. Merle is just trying to save the universe, thanks very much.

Gen (Kravitz & Merle), 2.2k. A unique and also absolutely genius Lich!Merle AU where Kravitz inevitably comes after him, and Merle is... well, the Peacemaker, of course!

[cryptidcorners]

Biker!Mike Schmidt x M!Reader Headcanons

Description: Headcanons with your biker boyfriend, Mike!

Media: FNaF!Movie [ AU ]

Character: Mike Schmidt (+ Abby)

Tags: Biker!Mike Alternate Universe, Fluff, Headcanons mixed with Drabbles, Protectiveness, Established Relationship, Found Family, Cute Stuff, Semi-Domestic, Romantic, Comfort + Uses Masculine Terms

Warnings: Mentions of (Gang, Vehicle, Physical) Violence, Injury + Kidnapping, Slight FNaF!Movie Spoilers, Depressive Thoughts, Stress, Extreme Nightmares

read my TOS + Mike Schmidt Masterlist

Definitely a show-off, even before you started dating. He wouldn't boast too loudly though, he prefers to smoothly tell you how he got blackeye or some new asset on his bike. He always melts when you're impressed by his feats, even if they were from failure.

Mike's a collector. While cycling or suffering from boredom in his dull jobs, he'd swipe a few things that grab his attention and share it with you. He enjoys making chains for you and Abby. It hasn't been the first time Abby has been dragged out of school for wearing a pin with some questionable language Mike didn't notice.

Absolutely adores helping you dress up to resemble his biker wear. Loves helping you find bracelets, decorative eyeliner and rebellious-printed clothes. It makes me squeal eternally.

Gets intense anxiety in populated areas, mostly due to his trauma with Garrett. He doesn't want to think about anyone taking you or Abby away. He's stupid protective in public spaces. With his already intimidating demeanour, it's safe to say nobody bothers talking to you too much.

He enjoys using pet names, but he jokingly calls you "sir", "bro" or "boytoy" a lot. Speaking of which, Mike adores when you make up titles for him. It's something he treasures a lot. A special name for him? And him only? Makes his heart melt.

Takes you on bike rides at any opportunity. He also loves taking Abby in rides too and doing basic tricks with you watching from the sidelines. He's always careful, he could never forgive himself if either of you got hurt.

One of his favorite things to do is let you touch his hair. Nothing makes him happier than intimate moments like that. He likes it more than cuddling and neck kisses. It's just the simple things in life that appeal to him the most.

Wears the silliest shirts while he isn't at work or roaming the streets. Either quotes involving boyfriends or cartoon merchandise. It amuses all of you, but it genuinely makes him happy to indulge in a separate style. Definitely has a: "Men love me, Fish Fear Me" hat somewhere.

You're always at his aid when he comes back bruised. Like the first bullet, he'd calmly hum you an out of tune, over exaggerating story to make himself look good. Truly, Mike doesn't think he deserves you. So, he refuses to embarrass himself.

Loves kissing. That's all.

"Come on, Mike. I gotta go," you giggled as he pressed featherweighted kisses against your skin. You could feel him smiling before he pulled back with a heated sigh. "Just a minute, please? You know how much I miss you." With a playfully eye roll, you wrap your hands around his sides and hug him as he continued peppering you again while grinning sweetly.

Always referencing something. Either it's from a show or song he likes. He's always dumbfounded when you don't understand and ends up spending thirsty minutes rambling about music history.

Pulls pranks occasionally, mostly with Abby's help. A few prank wars have gone down in your household.

Has at least two tattoos based on you (and Abby), he takes his relationships very seriously.

Cried when Abby called you her "dad" once. This loser is so head over heels for you he'd sob if you were complimented him. It makes his heart throb to see you and his sister connect despite everything.

Very defensive. If anything goes wrong, he's either going to use grade school insults or result to violence. There were a couple of times he couldn't come home due to arrest. He'd come back as if nothing happened.

If you ever got into an argument, Mike would try to give you the most formal apology ever. Either by notes or heavily descriptive speeches about how special you are to him. Most of the time it was pretty cheesy, but you couldn't help but be smitten by his adorable attempts.

Much deeper voice + Slightly Childish. He's still pretty shy when he isn't in his element, so Mike is much more confident with you around. Mostly due to his need to impress you.

So much fist bumping.

Mike's bike is DEFINITELY named after you. Anyone who asks about it is immediately shot with dumps of his adoration if you. Bro will never shut up about his boyfriend. Ever.

Mike has definitely gone through those: "This is for you," and failed immediately. As much as it embarrassed him, he finds it cute how fond you were of it. His face flares up a lot around you.

"God, I'm so sorry I missed it." He frowned, face drenched with numb scarlet. "I didn't mean to make a fool out of you." Mike relaxed once you gripped his leather glove with a smile, "So? I still love you. I think it was sweet how you tried to impress me. I'm proud of you." Mike swore he was starstruck right there.

Loves holding your hand, even in public. It's one of the only forms of affection he's comfortable with displaying.