I like Spider-Man, Avatar, Star Wars, art, manga addict, she/her, 19 DISCLAIMER: there will be some nsfw on my page, Just warning you now(minors dni please)╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
Prompt: June 4th- Right Place, Wrong Time - Dr. John / “But I'm having such a good time”
Character: Johnny Storm
I know it’s short but please let me know your thoughts and reblog. Also, would love to discuss any ideas these little snippets inspire!
Love you! 💞
"We need to go." Johnny taps your arm with his knuckles.
"But I'm having such a good time." You argue as you turn to him.
"Apparently. I thought you were too cool for these things." He scoffs.
"I never said that. You know I'm not the best at parties." You counter. "Susan was never much for them either."
"My lame sister? No shit." He rolls his eyes.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm over it. Let's go." He snips.
"Gee, okay," you look into your mostly empty cup. "Let me toss this."
"You know an Uber will cost you an arm and a leg."
"Johnny, I said one sec." You frown.
"I'm waiting two minutes then I'm out." He sneers.
You shrug him off and search for a bin. Johnny can be a real bitch. His sister says so, too. Unfortunately, they're a package deal.
You check your pockets and purse; keys, wallet, phone, and rush to the front door. You come out to Johnny revving his bright red Corvette. You get in as he takes off before you even close the door.
"Why did you even make me come?" You huff.
"Well it was for you to giggle at that idiot in the frog hat." He leans on the gas.
"Jake's funny."
"Funny looking." He snorts.
"What are you? Five?"
"And what are you? A slut?"
"Huh?"
"You heard me." He snarls. "Hanging off of me like a scarf until you see any other guy..."
"Seriously, we're friends, Johnny."
He shakes his head and hits the wheel. "God you're real fucking stupid. I'm not friends with girls. Especially not ones with your ass."
It is so unbelievably evil how hot Chris Evan’s and Ioan Gruffudd was(still are btw) in the Fantastic 4 movie from 2005 and Hugh Jackman from X-Men 2000 ITS SO UNFAIR
Summary ➳ Miguel attempts to fix a dimension where a canon event failed to happen again, and takes matter into his own hands.
(A/n) ➳ A day later than I expected but I am proud of what I got. It’s been awhile since I wrote something. I will try to be consistent but make no promises!!
Word Count ➳ 4k
Content Warnings ➳ Female reader/Spider-Woman, mentions of death, description of violence, alternate timeline Miguel, reader kinda absent mother, not knowing how the canon works, divorce/separation/custody…
Now let’s start this from the beginning.
My name is (Y/n) O’Hara, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the past ten years, I’ve been the one and only Spider-Woman. I will admit, being Spider-Woman isn’t always so fun. Add being the breadwinner of the family and you got an absent mother. I know I’m not always there for my darling Gabriella. My husband’s and I marriage was already on the rocks, and I guess after my uncle died, it was clear what was going to happen.
But that doesn’t stop me from doing my job as Spider-Woman. If I cannot be there for my daughter, then the least I could do is give her a safe city where she can grow without fear.
You stood in your bathroom, panning your phone’s flashlight over a fresh black eye a villain gave you. Of course, you covered it with makeup, but you were testing other lighting. Your husband Miguel always knew something was up, or ex husband. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the old left overs in your kitchen, laundry piling up… He believed work was getting to you. And that’s what you wanted him to believe.
Maybe you shouldn’t call him your ex husband yet. It was only a trial separation, to see how things go. He didn’t want to divorce, he wanted to get you help but how could you tell him all of this? For some random reason, villains were getting stronger and gaining in numbers. You wouldn’t come home for days, usually lying on a rooftop in pain.
You were lucky it was winter, a perfect excuse to cover yourself up. Head to tone. If Miguel caught a simple glance, you knew your cover would be blown.
You never liked hiding your other half. There were countless times where Miguel knew you were hiding something, he always encouraged you to speak your mind but you always held back. Making it into a joke or simply saying nothing.
You sighed and left the bathroom, you glanced at the time. Miguel should be arriving any minute. You knocked a couple times on Gabi’s door. “Got your bags ready?” You said, but you didn’t stay. You were getting ready for work at the same time, not realizing how long you spent in the bathroom.
“Yeah mamá!” Gabi giggled. Oh your little girl, somehow she never hated you for not coming around so much. Maybe the new schedule is working for her. Maybe… It was better this way.
“Mamá!” She shouted again. “Have you seen my sneakers?”
“I thought you left them by the door!” You replied, unable to help her look as you were putting on your earrings. “Think they might be in your closet?!”
“No, I checked.”
You rushed out your bedroom door, snatching your coat and messenger bag from your bed. “Your dad just brought those.” You began to panic. God, you were already a mess.
“I know it’s around here mamá!”
“Dammit.” You cursed, you wanted to pull out your hair. One moment everything is going as planned the next everything is just fucked. You began looking under couches, bathrooms, hallways until you heard the door bell ring.
Miguel was here.
“Gabi, keep looking please.” You whispered to her.
The girl gave a nod and a thumbs up before rushing back to her room. God she was adorable.
You took a deep breath and smoothed out your appearance, hoping not to look like you were just panicking and then, you opened the door. “Hey.” Miguel smiled. “Is Gabi ready?”
“Yes, she’s just grabbing the rest of her things.”
Miguel chuckled, the kind that made your heart skip. “Have some coffee to spare?”
“Uh yeah.” You stepped to the side to let him in.
You could feel it with your senses somehow. Though the house was in both your names, he was the one who decided to rent, not too far. You could feel him looking around the house, you knew he was trying not to snoop, a bad habit he gained when you continuously came home late or not at all.
You still weren’t sure how he didn’t divorce you earlier.
“How are you feeling?” Miguel suddenly said, his back was turned to you but you saw he was already in the kitchen, pouring himself coffee leftover.
“I’ve been fine Miguel.” You spoke, having a rather annoyed tone in your voice. He always questioned how you felt whenever he came around. “You know that better-”
“Better than anyone.” He finished before you. “I know you (Y/n).” He huffed, not angry or annoyed like you were, he sounded tired.
“I know you do.”
“Do you?” He questioned. “Your clothes don’t seem to fit you anymore. The house is rather warm but you’re wearing a jacket, and I keep finding bandages… If someone is hurting you-”
“No! It’s not like that!” You raised your hands, your heart began to race. You liked and hated how good he was at noticing things. You always forgot that.
“Then tell me.” He set his coffee down, he quickly stood in front of you, his hands on your shoulders. He gave them a light squeeze, his eyes observing you closely. “Mi amor, I don’t want to see you like this, we promised never to keep secrets.”
“Miguel-”
“And you know I don’t like giving you ultimatums.”
“But-”
“I found them!” Gabi suddenly popped in front of your both, holding her shoes in her hands and proudly showing them off. Her smile was wide and pure, full of joy. “They were under my bed.”
Miguel laughed, taking the shoes from her hands. “And that will be the last time I let you take new shoes.” He smoothed out her crazy hair and looked at you. “I’ll text you.”
“Yeah.” And tried to smile and looked at Gabi. “Behave would you?” You jokingly asked her.
Gabi snickered, nodding obediently. “Yes, mama!” Miguel then picked her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I always do.”
“Sure, mija. Just like your mother remembers to eat.” He teased, shooting you a look, though for once, you’re unable to read his expressions. “Speaking off, you got food in the fridge?”
“Papá says regret tastes like that green juice you made him!”
“Dios mio, kid, you’re never letting me live that down, are you?” He met your eyes once more. “I meant what I said.”
“I know, anyways, you should get going. Don’t want to keep you here long… And I got work.”
This time, you could see his expression flicker. But he just exhaled through his nose, and adjusted Gabi in his arms. “Right. Work.”
Gabi, oblivious, she waved excitedly at you. “Bye mama! I love you from the moon and back!” She threw her arms back for emphasis, nearly smacking Miguel in the face, luckily he dodged just in time.
“Ten cuidado, hija.” He muttered, he began walking away, he opened the door but stopped, looking back. “Please, just call me.”
And then he turned. Gabi was already chatting about a zoo you all went to once, hoping to go again but not before catching the way his shoulder tensed, like he was stopping himself from looking back.
“Just stay still!” You shouted at the newest villain, a rather large scorpion mutant.
From what bystanders and scientists said, it was an experiment gone wrong. The scorpion suddenly was growing in size for the past month and went out of control, breaking out of its cell which had its own floor. The scientists had begged you to not kill the project, hoping that they could prove to the world about something, something…
They totally pissed you off, not caring about the thing purposely striking people running or destroying everything in your path. But you took a deep breath when you landed on another rooftop. You felt like you were losing it already, everything happening all at once.
Normally you were good at blocking sound out, especially with your spider senses but now, everything was heard. People screaming and crying out for help, car alarms going off or honking, a helicopter on a news channel… Everything was getting to you.
“Okay, okay.” You murmured, looking at your surroundings to come up with a plan. Then you jumped, and with a flick of your wrist, your web attached to another building to catch up with the mutant.
You noticed the cops blocking roads and attempting to get people off the streets, and luckily, the road ahead was completely empty.
You grinned under your mask and used both of your web shots to launch yourself further in the air and while in the air, you began attaching webs in between in the buildings.
The mutant seemed to have terrible vision or something, and it quickly fell in your webs, but it began thrashing around. And when the cops began pulling away, and some in cars, people took that as their sign to drive right by and into danger.
The mutant was still in place though, giving you the chance to roughly crash into a cop’s car. You groaned but shouted. “Get these people off the streets! I’ll keep this thing still.” You huffed. Luckily, it was a cop you somewhat knew and although hated taking orders from a masked vigilante, followed.
You went back into the air, circling the mutant with your webs that tied its limbs together, but its tail slipped past your webbing, thrashing all around, making it difficult to get around.
And that’s when you felt it.
The sensation throughout your head, making your head snap right around. You found Miguel’s car among those stuck. You could see him reach over to Gabi, trying to sooth her cries.
But your distraction cost you, its tail landed a hit on you, and threw you onto the ground. You took a couple of rolls before hitting your back against a torn wall. The breast screeched, its talons began ripping away the webbing and slowly made its way towards the crowd of cars.
“Get out of the road!” You cried out, attempting to stand but your last fight weakened one of your legs. Though you hissed and cried, you still gathered strength to get back up. Without thinking, you attached your webs to a loose piece of a building and pulled with your strength.
It toppled over and landed right on the beast. Its screeching stopped and twitched a couple times before coming to a complete halt. You didn’t care about those stupid scientists anymore, you’d deal with the effect later.
You took a moment to catch your breath before walking out of the dust to see the sight in front of you.
Your husband’s car flipped over.
“No, no, no, no.” You ran right over, Gabi’s cries were loud, crying for her dad, for you. Miguel was unconscious though, blood was trickling from a cut from his forehead. You reached over to check for a pulse, you felt it but it didn’t soothe your own pain.
You stood up and put your hands on the car, though it was never recommended, you flipped the car over and waved down an ambulance. You raced over to Gabi’s side and ripped the door open. “It’s okay.” You whispered, concealing your voice. “It’s going to be okay.”
A pan sizzled on the stove, sending up little curls of steam that blurred the kitchen light. Miguel… The Miguel, who had been in the hospital two days before, who had walked out with a steady walk and an apologetic smile, stood at the counter with an apron tied around his waist and a concentration that made you want to laugh and then punch something.
You had noticed something was wrong. He looked the same. Same broad shoulders, same tired eyes, same posture that carried too many responsibilities that he shouldn’t have too. The doctors had released him a few days after with a concussion, cracked ribs, and strict instructions to rest.
You replayed the moment Gabi finally got to hug her father, she launched herself at him and he caught her with ease. You had frozen during that moment. When Miguel first woke up, he had struggled to lift his arm and the nurse said he took the brunt of the force on that side, it would be a couple weeks before the pain and soreness went away.
Now he was able to lift Gabi with that same arm… Like she was nothing. She didn’t notice, she was laughing, arms around his neck and Miguel was holding her like he may never see him again.
They spoke, sounding like any other father and daughter, his voice was the same but the way he just seemed to be wasn’t.
Gabi was on the floor by the coffee table, building a tower out of plastic dinosaurs, stopping only to poke your ankle and asking. “Mamá, do you want to build another one with me?” You crouched, took a dinosaur and offered it to her.
“If you finish your dinner and homework-” Gabi groaned which made you snicker. “We’ll build as many as you like.” She then beamed for a second, snatching the dinosaur and continued on.
You sat back on the couch and looked at Miguel. “You shouldn’t be-” You started, but he cut you off with the shake of his head.
“I want to.” He said. His voice had the same calmness, the same low warmth you’d memorized over the years but there was a hint in it. He plated the vegetables with efficiency.
“You shouldn’t be the one doing everything.” You replied but still let him.
You let Gabi drape herself over him like a blanket, let Miguel laugh and chase her hands away when she tried to hide some of his utensils to get his attention. And you took a couple photos as well, and felt like it was normal.
You should’ve felt relieved. Instead, it was like a pit in your stomach. You kept thinking of the way the air had tasted that day the car flipped, like rusted pennies and ozone. How you had Gabi and Miguel’s names in your mouth when you ran towards Gabi’s screams. The memory made your hands go cold.
When Miguel set two plates at the table, he didn’t sit. He leaned against the counter and watched you like a scientist cataloguing an experiment. “You look like you’re going to faint.” He said, not unkindly. “Come. Sit.”
“I’m fine.” You lied. You took the chair, and folded your hands under the table to stop them from trembling. Gabi passed her a plastic dinosaur and you accepted it with a smile.
Miguel watched you. He watched the way you ate. Almost ravenous, not because you hadn’t eaten, but because you’ve been surviving on adrenaline for months. He also watched the way your sleeve clung to the wrist where your costume’s fabric pressed under your clothes. Noticing the faint seam at your collarbone. You couldn’t see it, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Take it off.” He said suddenly.
You froze, a fork halfway to your mouth. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve got…” He pointed with the pronged end of his fork, like he was indicating an injury to Gabi’s eyes. “You can’t let it go untreated. Let me help you.”
You laughed nervously. “Miguel, no. I can-”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to question further, to reach for the hem of her shirt and find the answer. His hands remained close around his fork. “Let me help.”
You’d meant to tell him, the moment he woke up. You rehearsed it in the grocery store lines and red lights and on the rooftop between jumps.
“I’m Spider-Woman. I’m the one leaving everything to you because I thought I could keep us safe.”
You opened your mouth but suddenly slammed it back shut. Her skin prickled like static. The room’s edges sharpened. A high, distant ringing threaded through the air. You swallowed your words instead.
Miguel watched the change cross your face, he moved before you could. “You’re tense.” He sounded softer. He set his fork down. “You don’t have to-” His eyes flickered to her collar and then lifted, as if to check something. “You should change out of that before you sleep.”
“Yeah.” You whispered. “I’ll remember that.”
“Talk to me, (Y/n).”
You could’ve told him you were Spider-Woman and wanted to stop, or that you couldn’t stop, or that you didn’t know how to be or do both. But your senses were a leash, continuously tugging your mind, making you hear everything.
“Now’s not the best time.”
Miguel’s jaw tightened, he set his mouth in a hard line and exhaled through his nose. “Eat, then.” He said. “You’re not going to get anywhere if you faint at the table.”
You then scooped up your plate, all of it, and walked out of the dining room. Gabi peeked up from her plate. “Mamá?”
“I’m okay, bug.” You said too bright, too fast. She meant it for her daughter but aimed it at Miguel too. You didn’t want the answers he was trying to pry from you. You never intended to leave in the middle of dinner, especially not in front of her daughter. But you had rules.
Always listen to your spider senses.
You tried to work. You told yourself it would take your mind off of things. You clicked through a file and the police scanner that was thrown under some clothes chirped to life in a voice she knew by heart.
“-All units responding, possible enhanced individual, report of a structural collapse at Fourth and Harrow. Multiple civilian injuries.”
An argument with Miguel could wait, playing with Gabi could wait, the city needed her. It always needed her.
You slipped out of your clothing that hid your costume and jumped out the window. You swung past, harder than you needed to, tension burning in your muscles. The route was burned into your hands from muscle memory, swing, release, catch.
The sight of the city passed beneath you in a blur until you dropped three blocks from the scene. Cop cars ringed the block in a circle, blue and red gleamed off of glasses. A half collapsed storefront leaned into the street like a bleeding animal.
People were held back by the tape, faces lit with cameras and phones. You dropped to the fire escape, and kept low, away from the lights the cops were flashing.
What pulled at you immediately wasn’t the crowd but some of the rubble away from prying eyes glitched. It wouldn’t be the first time seeing it but you forgot about it when you couldn’t explain it.
You slipped over the edge, using the rooftops and shadows as cover, and snuck between two squad cards. You swung inside, ready to strike only to see a villain shaped figure slam into the far wall, and yanked backward by red, laser like webs that pinned them there like a bug in a display case.
“What the-?”
You dropped to the ground and leaned up against a boulder, watching the villain struggling against the restraints as a blue and red suit approached. His suit seemed to be digital by the way it glowed. You didn’t think that was possible.
He seemed to be unaware of your presence, too busy talking to the air until he addressed it personally. “LYLA.” The man said. “Reduce inflow at grid node six.”
LYLA had appeared from his wrist with her own screens. “Rerouting additional vectors. Probability stabilization at forty two percent.”
He moved in large strides, two steps and he was beside the pinned attacker. He grabbed them off the wall and dropped them with annoyance. When he clicked a couple of things on his wrist, for a beat, you saw the face beneath the mask.
Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.
Part of you refused to believe it was him when you heard his voice. But you were enraged because you were not only right when you saw him leave the hospital, you knew that wasn’t your Miguel.
“You’re causing this.” You said before you could top yourself, the sound of your voice echoed as well.
Miguel had turned towards her and closed all his open tabs. “Hello (Y/n).”
“What did you do?”
Miguel glanced at LYLA as if he expected her to explain everything. LYLA hummed. “External interference detected. Estimating cause: artificial insertion of cross variant entities.”
“What?”
He lifted a hand to stop her. “I thought I could fix it from afar. Your dimension had to be corrected, your Miguel was supposed to die at a canonical point. It was a problem when he didn’t, and your dimension compensated by getting messy.”
You took a step back but began circling him like prey. “I presume your solution was to throw monsters into New York in hopes of getting it back on its path?”
He let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh or sob. “I started this to fix an inconsistency. You’re the first universe to have this happen. I tried the obvious, I pushed more anomalies through, thinking your world would demand the event to happen. It didn’t. I had to escalate.”
Silence grew… Your world tilted when he was taken. And it was worse when you were right all along. The man that sat across from you hours ago was the man in front of you, not your husband.
“And you thought murdering my husband was going to fix it all?”
“I did what I assessed that would bring back stability.” Miguel sounded disturbingly calm. “I didn’t like it. But it was necessary.”
“You didn’t?” You felt the scream build in your chest, rage and grief woven together. “You don’t get to say you didn’t like it! You made him die!”
“I didn’t like watching you.” He interrupted. “I didn’t like that watching the screens, watching you and her, and the way you adored him. It was the only time I allowed myself to feel whole. I… I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the way you made a real family.”
It came out like an apology and a confession tangled together, like a man who watched from the sidelines and decided he deserved a piece.
“You watched my family. And you-!”
“And grew attached.” He finished for you. “I did it for stabilization. But I didn’t calculate stepping in after his death. And then I watched you. I didn’t mean to feel the way I did, but I did. I loved the way you moved through chaos. I loved your stubborn, stupid care for everyone. I loved the way you glared at him across the kitchen. Loving you isn’t my excuse. It doesn’t absolve me.”
Miguel folded his arms. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”
You let out a sharp laugh with an edge. “Then what do you want?”
“I believe your universe will go back to normal if you retire. Step away from being Spider-Woman. You’ve been breaking yourself for a decade and your universe is unwinding because of anomalies. You could live a normal life, be there or Gabi, have Miguel.”
“He was my Miguel.” You countered.
“He’s not dead in the way that matters to me. I can keep him alive, figuratively, if you let me. If you step away from being the cause, the canon is reacting to. I can at least stabilize it.”
“Then who’s going to be Spider-Woman?”
“I have a couple possibilities. But that doesn’t need to be talked about. The math is simple.”
Sounds of radios and flashlights come into view. LYLA’s voice chimed low. “Miguel, two units are closing in.” She warned.
“...And you expect me to trust you? How will I keep Gabi safe?”
“Harm will not come towards any of you. All I can offer is truth and an admission. I did what I did. I will do what I say. Choose.”
Your mouth went dry. The voices were louder, orders and commands were heard. He was offering a silent life, you could finally be there for your little girl but your reminder will always have a hand on your shoulder.
His tongue's close to the mouth of his cigar, and he wonders for a moment if that may accidentally send off the wrong message. Entice you, perhaps. Seduce you. Inadvertently offend you.
"But not unwelcome?" A tilt to your lips. A sip of your wine, and his eyes reluctantly follow the drops down your throat as you gulp.
"Not at all." He's not sure how to do business with a woman, truly. He's trying to be respectful, but he's lost. Did that smirk mean you wanted his business or wanted him? Or both? Or neither?
"You are... a feminist, then, I take it?"
"A feminist? What a novel word. Is it French?"
"It is, indeed. Fourier penned it down first. Means someone who believed women and men can belong in the same opportunities, if I am not mistaken."
"But they do not."
"Come again?"
"You would not be able to imagine a man in the art of child-rearing and a woman sweating in a factory, now could you? Well, unless there is something gone terribly wrong in their lives. A loss of their spouses, perhaps, leading to him to raise or her to provide."
"And this is your segue into saying something has gone terribly wrong with the deal?"
He smirks. Beautiful. "Precisely. Your father and my father had been in business decades ago, and had a fixed deal. Which was expertly designed to benefit both sides back then, but times have changed, wouldn't you agree?"
"The deal is outdated?"
"Very much so. Aged like... milk, perhaps, though I suspect our fathers hoped for wine.", he replies, licking his lips before he leans back to rest his arm on the back of the exquisitely crafted chair you have allowed him to seat himself in.
"I can give you this...", you say, punctuated with a tap of your finger on the topmost layer of the collection of photos (expensive to procure, he notes. You must have fit into your inheritance of the business perfectly) "And throw in its newer model, as well, and lower it to the same price as the original, but that's all I can do."
"But it appears the original has increased in price.", he observes, one knee over the other.
"I assure you, Herr Harding, no price increase is without reason. Tough times, wouldn't you agree?"
His tongue rolls around to the back of his molars, before he shakes his head. "What else can you offer me?"
You lean forward. "This, this, and perhaps an anchor or two."
"For?"
"Twenty-five."
He snorts. "And if I walk out right now?"
"I will close the door behind you. I do not wish to let in a draft."
Audacious.
"You need to help me out here, I'm afraid.", he smiles, courteous and professional. It doesn't matter how breathtaking you were, this was a business meeting.
"Trust me, Herr Harding, this is me helping you out."
"There has to be something you can do. I cannot, in good conscience, you see, unjustly increase my procurement costs while our profits stay stagnant."
You point. "Ah. Stagnant, but never bad."
"No one would say no to more money, would they, madam?"
You laugh at that, though hushed and polite. "Alright. Three of the new models, then. Three anchors. No originals."
"The new models at the price of the originals?"
"Yes."
He stands, his hand out. "You have a deal, madam."
"Thank you, sir."
Your handshake's firm, he notes. You've either been rigorously trained, or you're made for this.
"I do, however, have a condition, Herr Harding, one that I know my father set, but not rigidly enough, not even nearly, and all our customers skirt around it."
He nods, his brows furrowing for a moment, before he sighs. "The weaponry."
"The weaponry.", you affirm. "Herr Harding, we provide solely for cruise ships and merchant ships, not military ships, not ones which create havoc in the oceans."
"You refer to the HMS Medusa.", he mutters, attempting to fix his hat on just perfect so that you are not privy to the bulging vein on his forehead. He recalled the horror stories his father told him about sea-wars, and conversely, the horror stories he'd been told of his business partner who refused to take part in naval ship-building.
"It is said to be huge, stacked with carronades, and it is already the talk of the town, despite having just been ordered this year.", you explain, your hand gesturing to the door of the study so that you may walk him out.
The clicking of heels overlap, just as your voices do.
"But madam, military ships are the new—"
"I am aware, but it was my late father's wish—"
"I understand that, however, you must think of how it looks for me to refuse my customers - the Navy, essentially - simply because you do not wish your accessories part of a military effort.", he reasons, his fingers skirting around the rim of his hat.
"These are my conditions, Herr Harding. I will have my people draw out the deal, and if you are not interested, simply do not sign. I bid you a good evening."
His first time dealing with a woman was proving to be the last time he'd ever want to.
Friedrich had grown up watching his Papa at the factory, his little feet straining to keep up with Herr Harding's purposeful strides as he moved with his hands behind his back, his workers earning warnings, instructions, and approval alike from their boss.
Now, he is the Herr Harding, and he, too, strode with his hands pinned behind him, moustache twitching every time that he sees something he approves of. "Good job, Johann.", he mutters offhandedly, before his eyes fixate on something approaching him.
The annoying "businesswoman" who could not even lower her price for one of her oldest, most trustworthy business partners. You.
Yet, he remains civil, cordial, even, as he walks to you. Although, it's hard to remain himself when the sunset on the horizon strategically behind you blazes the edge of your hair just so. It's as though your hair's dripping Sun.
"You might have written, I could have sent a rider to bring you on horseback."
"Ah, that's no trouble. I quite like walking by the port. The sea breeze calms me."
"So, this is a random visit, then?"
Your brows furrow. "No, it is mentioned in the drawn-up agreement that you signed. We come and ensure our materials are not being used on a war ship, or anything to do with the military."
He fights a scoff and suppresses an eye roll. "Right. I must've missed that. It is the first time this has ever happened. Do you mean to say, all these decades, you have had spies?"
You chuckle at that, shaking your head. "No, no, this is a new condition that we added. We— Herr Harding."
You've noticed, it seems.
"Those are cannons."
"That will be covered. They will be tucked in safely to the—"
"Herr Harding, it was my father's wish not to inadvertently induce violence, because his father, my grandfather, said to him—"
"Military ships are the new necessity.", he grits out, patient and firm.
"My father believed—"
"Your father believed that he could bring popularity to such an imbecilic concept as "cruise ships", madam! They have never, and will never exist ; there is no one with such an interest in the sea besides pirates and dolphins, and your father, god rest him!"
Your scoff (and what would have been a very biting retort, he's sure) is cut off when the foghorn sounds. It seems to give you enough of a jolt not to say something you do not mean, although Friedrich knows that what he's just said had crossed a line.
"You are a liar, then, Herr Harding."
His arms open, almost like a hug, although you know it is not. "I am a businessman, madam."
"A liar. We should not like to do business with you again."
"You cannot afford to lose us as customers!", he calls to your retreating figure. "You know this!"
"My father used to tell your father everything, but those times have changed! You and I are not best mates, Herr Harding! I have gained a lot more customers than you know of!"
That gives him pause.
Truth of the matter was that he could not afford to lose your business.
He sighs. God. Doing business with a woman? Hell. No wonder "feminism" was such a novel phrase. Hopefully it stays in France.
His hat presses against his chest as your maid opens the door.
"Is the Madam in?"
He's not sure what they call you, but he's sure they won't take it kindly if he used their Lady's first name so casually.
"Sir, it has nearly gone midnight."
"It is alright, Frieda.", a voice is heard, and his brows bunch together, paired with a squint of his eyes, and he can almost make you out in the bluey dark of the night, your beauty highlighted by the vague orange tint of the maid's candlelight. What a challenge you were proving to be. "Let him in."
His gaze is fixed on the floor when you excuse yourself to tighten your robe's knot, and then, he dutifully follows you into your study, which is surprisingly already sparkling with gentle glows of burning candles throughout, a gold sheet over the dull browns he'd been privy to not a month before.
"This is wildly improper, Herr Harding."
"Yes, yes. I am aware. I simply wished to convey my apology. I... spoke out of line, and I hurt you. I, of all people, know how tender the name of a father is in a child's head, how precious, and it was a line I did not wish to cross."
"Is that it?"
He huffs. He could leave while he's in the safe zone, having apologised for both the rudeness and the late-night visit. But when has Friedrich ever been able to resist a tiny peek past someone's walls, especially someone as exquisite as you, in your nightrobe, repeatedly running your hands through your hair to ensure the results of sleep (or tossing and turning) left it?
"No. If you have time, I'd like to go over the next order."
You raise a brow for a moment, before you scoff. "Unbelievable."
He, for one, did not expect this. "Come again?"
"Midnight, on a Sunday, and you expect—"
"I'm sorry, I'm confused, how does the day matter?"
"No one reads the contracts!", you whine, shouldering past him and causing him to lurch forward to hold onto the table for balance. You return rather huffily, dropping a tiny stack of papers identical to the one delivered to his house nearly a month ago for him to sign, onto the table with a flutter. "We've adopted Industrial Britain's idea of a "week-end", though they have only Saturday afternoons off. We have a five day workweek. It's novel, but I've found it highly increases my employees' spirits, and they work better."
His finger slides across the page as he reads, his lips mouthing the words before his striking blue eyes move up to yours, brimming with incredulity. "You're telling me that two days of the week, neither you, nor your employees work? And you've somehow managed to gain customers in this... this... chaotic new system of yours?", he splutters, his hands running through his hair.
"It intrigues people that my company's services are not available every day of the week, it makes it seem scarce and exclusive and—"
"Mad! I'm in business with a madwoman, a child, as well, as I've found out from due research on my part."
"I am twenty, I am no child!", you retort, stacking up the papers with aggressive taps onto the table, before you move past him to place them back.
"Two decades you've lived on this planet, then, and more than half that time, you were a child, a non-conscious entity that merely did as told!", he spits, his arms folded so as to not clench and reveal just how vexed he was.
"And, what, you've got a couple decades on me, have you?", you scoff, mirroring his stance. "You're twenty-five, Friedrich, you are considered young in this world, as well!"
The use of his first name is what sets him off. How dense of him to expect the same courtesy of professionalism from a twenty-year-old, a girl at that, that he so kindly provided? It's almost like your very presence disturbs the air around him, tugs at the very ends of his self-restraint, offends his sense of propriety.
His hand is on you in an instant, the soft curve of the side of his palm aligning with your jawline, his index and thumb digging into your cheeks on either side, so hard he could feel your pulse. "Yes. That's half a decade wiser, little girl.", he hisses, ignoring the rage in your eyes in favour of glancing down at your lips.
It's almost as if you're aware of every silly, sinful, wrong thought that's just permeated through his brain that instant, because you slap him away, the impact echoing through the room.
He knows what's coming. It's what any self-respecting woman would do. But before you shriek 'get out', he's going to attempt to salvage this wreckage of a business relationship.
"If you are so against ships on the offensive side, enlighten me with your plans for how ships — even merchant ones — may be able to defend themselves from being seized by pirates or enemies of the Crown.", he challenges, breathily, because he's just come this close to heaven, and hadn't even made his presence known at the gates.
Your demeanour shifts, a split second frown on your brows. "Come again?"
"You have any ideas for a ship that runs solely on defence? Because I'll tell you something, if you manage, that, you'll be a pioneer."
You suck on your teeth, eyes dancing around the room. "Do I have your word to maintain secrecy?"
It's good there's a lack of light in this room, because it'd have been over for his dignity had you seen his jaw slacken.
"Now, believe it or not, growing up, I was quite the patriot. Quite the skeptic, too, although those often go hand-in-hand.", you begin, gesturing for him to duck as he nearly collides with a hanging model of a ship.
"And I, too, asked my grandfather and father how they hoped to engage solely in non-violence. I thought, should our enemy attack, we must be properly armed to strike back."
He follows you through the expanse of what most houseowners would use as a wine cellar, traipsing past tiny models of ships with labels he can't read, because you refuse to linger long enough with the lamp.
"Then, I realised, a good offence is worth nothing if your ship has already acquired a heavy amount of damage."
"So... you have come up with a preventative measure? Some form of device that can detect offensive intention?"
The glint in your eyes travels to your mouth as you grin. "Not quite, Herr Harding."
He loves this, he decides. There's something about the excited, almost manic way you move around, floaty, dreamlike, angelic, as you speak about what he assumes is the only thing that brings you joy and solace alike, since your father's passing.
"What if you could detect the approach of another ship, as well as its speed and direction?"
Friedrich tilts his head. "Surely you don't mean to suggest—"
"This contraption, Herr Harding, can do two calculations at once. First, the speed of the waves in general will move this knob any which way.", you demonstrate, tapping your nails on the glass. "However, this knob is for any irregularity, any... ripples, I would say, that disturb this regular pattern. Ripples big enough not to be a whale or dolphin, that is."
Remarkable. He must remember not to gasp. "Seems there are plenty variables."
You seem genuinely pleased by that. "A man of science. Good. Yes, this is a prototype. I'm working on it. However, this...", you declare, moving around the unnaturally long table to another model. "A propeller that minimises cavitation—"
"Propellers? For big ships?"
"Why not? David Bushnell did it in 1776. Why can we not?", you ask, a glimmer of mischief in your tone. "Now, these minimise cavitation, which will minimise noise. And less noise means..."
"They won't see us coming."
"That's on the offense-side, Herr Harding. I mean to say that we can creep past them, most likely. I also have a method of creating safe fog that envelops around the ship but not the crew."
He's in absolute awe.
He settles in the study armchair upstairs with a huff after you two climb the arduous stairs, without invitation, though he has a nagging feeling that the two of you had gone far past that.
"You do not mean to tell me you come up with these alone?", he muses, the question a scream in the tranquil of your study at one in the morning.
"You do not mean to tell me you run your business alone?", you retort.
"You are fascinating.", he murmurs, and you pretend you didn't hear it.
"Am I allowed to include these in my ships? Or will it take a while to perfect?"
"It will take a while."
He nods. "Fair enough. I feel honoured to have seen these."
You seem quite pleased at that, a form of childlike validation, it seems.
He points at you with a single ringed finger, with playfully narrowed eyes to boot. "You tell me the moment it's ready, alright? The propeller and the... the fog... contraption. Yes?"
You nod, and he stands, his fingers drumming at his waist. "Anything else?"
You shake your head. "I will give you the regular order by...", you mumble, flicking through pages and pages of a rough yet new book, presumably a ledger. "The fourth?"
The corners of his lips curl down in acknowledgement. "Alright."
He reaches over to the table behind you, nearly desperate for a taste of heaven once more. But he is nothing if not a gentleman, so he clutches onto the hat he'd been pretending to reach for. "I shall take my leave. Thank you for bearing with me tonight."
Doing business with a woman was tiresome, but a business with an inventor? Fantastic, magic, even.
Friedrich isn't sure when his nails had become this blunt. Surely he had a lot more left to chew? He flexes his hands before him. No, he has not got anything left but skin to chew. It's tempting, but he wouldn't want blood to stain his legal documents as he signs them.
Perhaps one day, there will be an invention where a message once sent can receive a reply immediately, without the sender having to anxiously await it. Hell, perhaps you'll invent it.
For now, however, he has to wait the stipulated three days. You live too far, he thinks. Unnecessary.
Today, ideally, is when the return letter should have arrived.
Nine words is all he'd written.
Nine words and that had taken, possibly seventy-two hours to reach you, and another seventy-two for a letter back to reach him.
He wishes it would reach, but he sits, wringing his hands together, a bit too close to his candle.
He contemplates attempting the trick many a friend of his has shown him, swiping a finger through the flame, but recalls that this is possibly the hand he will have to use to place a ring on your finger.
The fog of the early morning, and the fog from trying out your fog-contraption amalgamate into what can only be known as the eeriest blanket Friedrich has ever found himself cloaked in.
But he finds himself cloaked in anticipation a moment later, because something nearly angelic, a silhouette of sorts that seems equal parts ominous and ethereal. He knows it's you.
As you get closer, however, his mind begins to play tricks on him. You're either holding the letter he sent you, or some sort of cleaver meant to mutilate him, and in this fog, he's sure he'd be left unprotected. He's rooted to the spot.
"'I have a proposal. A real one this time.'? What is that supposed to mean?"
It is the former. The letter.
He cocks his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. The daftest, most dexterous girl he's ever loved. "You do not understand? I thought I was the epitome of clarity."
"No, by all means, be vaguer.", you hiss, waving the letter around in front of his face. "Perhaps I'll understand in about a century."
Shaking his head, Friedrich moves closer. "Did you see what came with it?"
"Yes.", you mutter, handing him the necklace. He folds your fingers around it, gently pushing it back to you.
"The ring in it, acting like a pendant? It is for you. Clear now?"
You remind him of a statue, the way you're looking at him, the only indication that you are alive being the way your eyes dart between his.
"Clear now?", he repeats, fingers reaching for your earring. "Lovely is the woman that wears diamonds."
No one has ever said that in his life. He's sure you're smart enough to figure that out, but you say nothing.
"These are pearls.", you scoff, grateful for one bit of banter, one subject change, at the very least.
He nods, biting his lip. "True. But this is not.", he murmurs, tapping on the ring resting on your palm, along with the chain around it.
"I—"
"I do not wish to be unprofessional, and I definitely do not wish to embarrass you, in any way, shape or form, because I have given you more than a tiny peek— no, an endless view behind my walls, and as a businessman... well, you know more than most how that is a suicide in the business world. I— I am afraid I am rambling, and taking up far too much of your time."
Shaking your head offhandedly, you rub the delicate chain between your fingers, your mind clearly elsewhere.
"You do not have to give me an answer that you do not want to give. You do not, in fact, have to give me an answer at all. But you did come onto this pier, to my port, because you wanted... at the very least, to know more."
You don't respond, so he pushes. "Am I right in assuming that?"
"I don't know why I came."
"I don't know why I wrote. We are in the same b— well, ship."
That earns a pity-laugh out of you.
Sighing, Friedrich is forced to shake his head for the thousandth time in your presence, and he's prepared to do it for the rest of his life, if you'll have him. "Here."
"What?"
"May I?", he asks, his palms hovering over your shoulder until you nod with permission. He places them on your shoulders, gently steering you to face the ship. "That's your fog-contraption."
He sees you smiling.
"The propellers are, of course, not visible, but I can show you the plans later."
You're still smiling.
"Look at the ship. Our ship. Your ship."
You do, and he swears he just saw a spark fly in your eyes. God.
"And now, look at me. The only question you need to answer is whether you can look at both the ship and me the same way."
Your lips part, and he's not sure if you're simply amused that he's compared himself to a ship, to your life's work, or if you're about to say something.
It seems to be neither.
You just keep looking at him, and it's throwing him off, frankly.
"What is it?" Perhaps you cannot see him in this fog.
"I'm not—"
Not in love with you.
Not interested.
Not an idiot.
Not ever going to reciprocate.
"Not what?"
"Not sure that's fixed right.", you say, and he looks over his shoulder. The fucking contraption. Teach him to love an inventor. "It's getting caught in the— hold on."
You make for the ship, but he grabs your arm, close enough that it seems like you're in the glistening study again, illuminated solely by candlelight and love. However, his fingers do not jab into your cheeks this time, no, this time, they flow against your features, jaw clenching, throat bobbing as the words he wishes to say are somehow adhered right there.
"I will not hold on.", he says, sternly. "Either kiss me, or give me an explanation, but I will not be made to wait."
He's sure he's inches away from throwing himself into the murky waters beside him.
"My affections may be seen as offensive, or seen as repulsive, or even, unfortunately, disrespectful, but I find comfort in the fact that they are at least seen.", he murmurs, his forehead against yours, tiny little kisses blooming on each of your knuckles.
He's really, desperately hoping your little fog machine works, because the last thing he needs are his employees seeing a younger woman reject him, especially with the bluntness you seem to possess and wield.
"Are they seen? Tell me they are seen. They are seen, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Are they reciprocated?"
"I'm not sure."
A tilt of his lips. "But there is a chance."
Nodding, you shrug. "Yes."
"You're a scientific mind. Tell me the chances. Not in percentages, I can never comprehend them."
A small laugh escapes you. He wants it to ring through his ears until he's driven further into insanity. "A good one."
"Air-travel-being-invented-by-tomorrow-good, or I-can-kiss-you-now-good?"
It's cheeky, he knows, and he knows you're amused, if your scoff is any indication. "Well, you know, I think it may take a few decades, but air travel may be—"
"Teach me percentages so I can tell you which feature of yours occupies which percentage of my heart.", he murmurs, shaking his head with a breathless "Shh-shh-shh." at your imminent snarky retort.
Friedrich will let you talk later. For now, as his lips move with yours and the fog acts like the veil you will wear when he weds you, he'll do the talking.
It is so unbelievably evil how hot Chris Evan’s and Ioan Gruffudd was(still are btw) in the Fantastic 4 movie from 2005 and Hugh Jackman from X-Men 2000 ITS SO UNFAIR
him finding little things that remind him of you. a small flower, curled against its self in the sun. the fallen branch of a mighty tree. a shining stone in the bank of a river
bringing them back to hq with him. trying to find the right moment to give them to you casually, but there’s nothing casual about it. every bit of your soul shines in the world, he looks for you wherever he goes
this can never be casual. he knows it. and yet in his heart his soul body and mind he is consumed by you
the thought of another being audience to your smile, your sweet words and sweeter gestures fills him with a horrid bile of teeming jealousy
he wishes to be the only one. the sole receiver of such pure energy. boundless and so bright, dancing through life
he doesn’t know how to approach you will all this. dream walker, so different from himself. he knows others are interested be sees the way they look at you. at dinner, when you tell stories of earth. feigning eagerness just to be close to you
none of them know you like he. none could provide, protect, please you like him
when he makes it back. little things tucked inside the satchel on his chest, he sees you first
“hey so’lek” you hum. cleaning your weapon, tongue poking from between your lips as you sit on the floor.
“hello” his ears twitch, tail slashing wildly
“anything interesting out there?” you pause your work to look up at him with a fond smile
“ah. no.” he shrugs
you hum again, going back to your work
he carries on, trying to find a bundle of herbs he stored away somewhere but his legs stop him. he turns back to you, now completely in your own world. his feet take him right back. fingers digging into his satchel, taking out the flower, branch, stone
he holds them out in one hand, crouching to be her level with you. “for you.” it comes out much harder than anticipated, strained
you only smile at him, taking the gifts gingerly and setting them down beside you. did you not like them? you did not spare them a glace. should he have brought something different? he knew he should have gone-
his thoughts are derailed as you wrap your arms around him, pressing your bodies together in a warm hug
“thank you so’lek” you mumble in his ear
his ears go flat. tail thumping against the ground, sending the little stone jumping up and down. he finds the brain to wrap his arms around you tighter. you smell as sweet as ever
“you are welcome”
you unlatch with a laugh, taking each gift and running your fingers along them gently. “i love them.”
Sitting up in bed, sucking on my jelly pack wondering if or when I should sign up for college art classes so I can continue further learning and developing my art so I can maybe start making money off of it.
(Higuruma Hiromi x female reader) 18+ only, no minors.
Higuruma was a man of autonomy. He couldn't be tied down by the most impossible cases, yet he was about to bind himself into a marriage with you.
❧ arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety & anxiety attacks, overthinking, insecurities, hesitation, slow burn, curses, takes place before Higuruma fully awakens as a sorcerer, eventual smut later in the story, reader has a vagina. 18+ only, no minors.
!! do not make AI bots of my fic/put it into AI !!
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