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Sometimes you swore that you lived at Society HQ. Thai was on Monday, Mexican was on Tuesday, Chinese was on Thursday, and American comfort food was on Friday. You appreciated the variety, but also what to expect, especially after long missions where you had the energy to care about what food to eat.
[You knew Miguel liked the empanadas from the cafeteria. And hell, you liked them too. They were addicting, especially with the different flavors. You swore there was a different one each week.
"My mouth fucking hurts." Sticking out your tongue as you jabbed an angry finger at it. In an over-eager moment minutes previous, you had popped a fresh empanada in your mouth only to feel your tongue beginning to boil. Miguel heard your howl of pain from several floors down despite the fact that he had seen you get stabbed without breaking a sweat.
"Well, that is your own fault, Mimic." You frowned at his words. While not uncaring they sure were not friendly either. Why in the hell had you come to his "office" anyways, other than to get humbled? Yes, the villain-to-spider-person ratio that Lyla had calculated. You had even brought him an empanada as a trade. Gesturing the warm food at him as a sacrifice, he begrudgingly sent you a copy of the report from his computer.
“You see, this was a pleasant interaction. A simple trade and you didn’t insult me in some way or I didn’t end up getting absolutely railed. Not that I am complaining but anyways , see how easy it all is, Miguel? Perhaps you should take some notes.” You sent him a pointed gaze, gesturing with one hand to what had just transpired.
“Mimic…” His voice was strained, clearly unamused with your comments as he worked on his own project. But at least it meant that he heard your words and could possibly take them into account in the future. With a “ fine, fine, fine ”, you left the room, happy enough to get the report you needed. But as you left the room, you spied him taking a happy bite of your peace offering, a pleased look in his eyes. With a triumphant smile on your face, you left his space. Perhaps it was worth the burned tongue.]
You had a favorite chair in the lab, covered in colorful stickers from an eager Mayday. They were mostly unicorns and an occasional bear, you didn't ask any questions when it came to the "wittle lovebug" as you had titled her. While Peter B. was out saving the multiverse, you watched the young girl as best as you could between your own work. She was great entertainment when your brain was starting to disintegrate.
["It's unprofessional." Miguel had declared one day, your head so far up the ass of a specific algorithm that you barely heard him. As he loomed over your shoulder, Mayday let out a happy babble from her spot in your lap. He ignored her grabby hands to pluck a sticker off the back of the chair, a rainbow bear with glittery eyes. You heard his irritated grunt as it got stuck to his fingers. The red-haired child giggled as he struggled, clearly enjoying his discomfort just like you did. Maybe that was why you two got together so long. Miguel fixed her with a slight frown, finally flicking the sticker onto a nearby piece of your equipment. For him being such an organized bastard, he sure was not when it came to any of your possessions. You huffed, peeling the sicker off with one hand to give back to the eager child before going back to angrily punch at the keyboard in front of you.
"She's like, a baby, Miguel. You know what, you're unprofessional. Go and please stop hovering, weirdo. I'm busy." As he moved to leave, he heard not-so-covert laughter from behind his back from both you and Mayday. He certainly did not want to know why there was such a mischievous tone in your voice.
He later found a neon unicorn sticker stuck to his ass and had been there the whole day afterward. No wonder Peter B. had roared with laughter after their last meeting. With a curse on his tongue, he blamed both his lack of a spider sense and your trait of having one for, your hands too stealthy for their own good.]
Your favorite place to nap was on the 30th-floor lounge, specifically reserved for all Spiderpeople from universes from 300-400. There were not too many of you, not that you minded. It made the lounge quiet, perfect for post-mission relaxing where you truly didn't want to get a headache from multiverse traveling multiple times in a day. You needed to figure out why that was, perhaps it was because of your own specific universe…
[Your favorite couch was black and built like a square coffin. However, it was the most comfortable thing after dealing with the multiverse or dealing with Miguel O'Hara. When Hobie asked you out for drinks in his home universe you frequently messaged back "black couch" as your answer. At least one day of the week any Spider-person could find you there.
Miguel had seen you yesterday, and well, had done more than just see you on his platform table. His mind flickered to the memory before snapping back to look at you before him. Curled up like a cat, you were laying on your infamous couch. An old college hoodie had been pulled on over your suit, the hood pulled down to shade your eyes from the lights of the building. Evidently, you had never left the night after your well, activities .
He silently stepped up to the couch, waving a cup of your favorite coffee under your nose. As the smell wafted up, one of your eyes blinked open to stare at him and the coffee. You clearly recognized him but the look of disgruntlement did not disappear.
"What." The voice that came from the back of your throat was groggy but aware. As you responded to slowly extended a hand to take the hot coffee from him. He raised an eyebrow under his mask at your morning state. You had told him at some point you were a morning person, but only in specific circumstances. This must have not been one of them.
"Meeting at 9?" Your confirmation of the time was an unceremonious grunt, slowly rising to sit so you could rub the sleep from your eyes.
"9am, Mimic." His voice was stern, but not unkind as he looked down at you.
"Yes, yes, I know. I will be there at 8:50, boss . Fuck off." With a shake of his head, he left you to your coffee but not so quick to miss your happy ' mmm! ' as you realized it was your favorite flavor.]
Another multiverse travel experience was in order, this time a Spiderperson calling for aid in their world. Sections of another ‘verse were appearing in their New York, very much disrupting the lives of millions of people. And for that reason, much of the Spider Society had been dispatched. Walking through the hallways, the neon orange of the multiverse portals lit up the entire space like a beacon. Each spider person had their own flourish as they entered the portal and some had made you laugh, stifling the sound as you walked. Spidercowboy (also known as Webslinger) had literally yelled, “Yeehaw!” before spurring Spiderhorse into the portal. You had walked by with a smirk, saluting him as he went. Victorian Spiderman, known to you as Mr. Parker, had tipped his tophat to you before walking in. He strolled into the portal with impeccable grace, his cane tapping on the floor as he went. You envied his natural reputation but respected it at the same time. As the sound of portals filled your ears, you headed to the elevator.
As you stepped in, you were immediately met with a broad chest covered in neon blue and red. You were thankful for your spider-sense, quickly shifting on the balls of your feet to step beside him. He raised an eyebrow as you punched the button for the roof of the building, aiming to go above the skyline to teleport. You slowly turned your head to him, raising your own eyebrow as you met his gaze.
“Hi O’Hara.”
“Hello Mimic.” Silence filled the space for a few moments, the elevator beginning to rumble as it began to move to its floor destination. His low voice finally broke the moment, just as you began to hum a tune under your breath.
“...why are you going up?” You turned your head to him, a smile dancing on your lips at his pondering question.
“I like to have a little fun before teleporting into a fight or some complicated situation where I have to think.”
“Fun…?” His voice was questioning, a hint of absolute confusion in his tone. It made you laugh, enjoying a moment where he did not know what was happening, unlike every other time when he seemed to be in control of his existence.
“Yes, fun, O’Hara…Feel free to join me, I guess…?” The elevator pinged as the open-ended question left your mouth. As his gaze pinned you down, realization cross your mind at what the question could have meant in a different context. With a sputter, you attempted to correct what you had said. However, it was too late as Miguel chuckled at your struggle, sending one last look before heading to his chosen portal location. Of course, it was his personal platform. As the elevator doors shut behind him, you slapped a palm to your face. Miguel probably thought that you were up to something less than appropriate on the roof.
For once, you were not. Any embarrassment left you as the elevator opened to the fresh air of Nueva York. The air was thin, but it did not stop you from walking to the edge of the building with a relieved sigh.
[After the mission was complete and you had returned to your homeworld, Miguel’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. As Lyla ran reports on the various events, one of his holograms pulled up the security footage from the roof.
A spike of panic ran through him for a brief moment as you appeared to stand on the edge of the building. Without your signature mask there a blissful look was on your face, sucking in a breath of air. But his panic dissipated as you pulled your mask back on your face, typing the coordinates of the universe on your watch. The portal must have appeared, hovering on the side of the side but out of the sight of the security camera.
He watched with a faint sense of amusement as you stretched your arms and shoulders, swaying back in forth as he heard a soft yell of “Fuck it!” from the hologram computers. And there you leaped off the side of the building with a delighted sound, no doubt swan-diving into the entrance of the portal. With a click, Miguel paused the recording and went to his next task for the evening. He would have to ask you how many times you had leaped from the side of the building and crash-landed into something in the next multiverse. He could imagine the scowl on your face now but the answer would be worth it.]