#also sorry for how long this is... when i say i have feelings i mean it rip

[sa2sugu]

....hi everyone......... i know that some of you already know about this but i have a bl comic that is currently being published on lezhin. it's called "처음의 여름" or "a first of summers". it's explicit and i'd be really happy if anyone who is interested in this type of thing or my art gives it a read.

you can read the english version at: https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/first_summer

(or the korean version here if you're into that): https://lezhin.com/ko/comic/first_of_summers

you can also follow me on twitter: https://x.com/pppanghouse

i have gotten many messages asking me if i was the one behind a first of summers (because apparently my art style is very recognizable i can't hide from you guys!!), and i've been ignoring them for months (sorry, everyone) because i was never fully proud of the work that i was putting out there. i still don't think i am at a point where i can confidently promote my work like a normal person would because me and shame are like this -> 🫂. but i am working on getting better at managing my shame and making this post is a step towards that goal. in a way, i felt more reluctant to post about it here because i see the connections i've made on tumblr as real tangible friendships rather than parasocial ones so it's even more embarrassing.

as a lover of yaoi, slice of life and queer media, i tried to make something that i personally would like to read, in an art style that i would have found inspirational when i started digital art. here are some panels that i am kind of proud of ahh hee hee

to be honest it feels very very weird to "make a story" and "share it with people", because i've never done something like this before and having to offer my personal themes and internal symbols to people in the hopes that some of you may resonate with them feels like i'm running down the street with my whole ass out in the open. idk how people do this.

also, i know a lot of you consume media illegally and i know that i alone can't stop you from doing that. which is why i'm all the more thankful to anyone who chooses to support me by buying the chapters on the official websites. i'm slowly learning that this (working on stories and drawing) might be something i want to keep doing and get better at, so i'm so deeply grateful to those who make that possible for me by supporting me financially. it always feels super nice when people show appreciation for my art and recommend it to other people and talk about it.

anyways, so that's me. i have a lot more to say but this post has already gotten long enough, and none of it includes any information on what the comic is about lol so here's a short synopsis: hyeonseon is a 40yo divorced salaryman who, after having a bit of a midlife crisis about where he is at in life, decides to learn electric guitar. his teacher, yeoreum (which means summer) is a 24yo college student who is also having a bit of a crisis of his own aaaand falls for the older dude. uhhhh and as i said it's explicit they are fucking it oppa homo style, and it does deal with themes related to age gaps but please don't come for meeeee!!!!!!!! i tried to make it tasteful and chose to work with age gaps because i had something to say about the concept of adulthood/life, also i enjoy a dude who's a little old getting dicked down by a younger lad what do you want me to say, damn......

if you have any nice things to say about my work then weeheee please go ahead, thank you

[sai-int]

hihi i recently discovered your blog and i am in love with you writing!! it’s so beautiful and i wish i could wallpaper it to the insides of the brain tehe i’m super interested to see how you’d write daddy kink with either price or simon (or whoever else you see most fit)! i wanted to keep this req general/basic so you could really do anything you want with it but here are some dynamics/au’s/etc. that i find enjoyable, in general, in case it sparks anything: soft dom, leashes/crawling, wild west au (bonus points for boot riding 🫣), boxer au, butcher!char x florist!reader, and ballerina!reader. (sorry felt like that list was all over the place LOL.)

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! And ooooou anon. The way I evilly rubbed my hands together when I read this... Also, if you're looking for price and boot riding, look no further.

Here's some butcher!simon x fem!florist!reader, plus a sprinkle of softdom!simon w a daddy kink

The bell over the shop door chimes, delicate and bright—a sound far too gentle for the man who steps inside. Simon's too big for a place like this, too heavy with the scent of blood and metal. The air, thick with lavender and roses, should soften him—but instead, he makes the space feel smaller, like the walls close in just for him.

You barely look up from the bouquet in your hands, carefully tying off a bundle of peonies. "You're late," you murmur, but there's no real scolding behind it, just soft acknowledgment.

Simon grunts, gently shutting the door behind him. His boots hit the wooden floor with their usual weight as he steps closer, watching you with an unreadable, steady gaze. "Had a long day," he mutters. "Some tosser ordered a full side o' beef last minute. Took me the better part o' the afternoon t'quarter it."

You frown, already wiping your hands on your apron, instinctively stepping toward him. "Oh, Si," you hum, reaching to brush your fingers over his forearm. "That sounds awful. You must be exhausted."

His fingers twitch, his gaze dropping to where your soft hand press against his skin. You always touch him so freely, without hesitation—like he wasn't too big, too rough, too covered in things you had no business being near.

Simon exhales, his shoulders shifting. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," you say, voice soft, warm. "Doesn't mean you should have to."

That makes him pause. He tilts his head, watching you carefully, his hands already finding their place at your waist, large and warm. You fit against him so easily, so naturally, like you belong right there.

Your eyes flick downward, catching the faint streak of something crimson near his elbow.

"Simon." You frown, taking his wrist between your hands, your delicate fingers turning it slightly. "You've still got—"

"Blood," he supplies flatly.

You swallow, your fingers smoothing gently over the stain. "You should've washed up more before coming here."

His lips twitch. "Didn't want t'keep y'waiting, dollface."

Your heart squeezes at that, warmth blooming in your chest. He's never the type to say much, but little things like this—small, quiet acts of care—spoke louder than words ever could.

You wrap your arms around him, looping them around his middle, pressing yourself against his broad chest. He's solid as ever, warm as always. You hold him tightly, sighing against the fabric of his shirt.

"You take such good care of me, you know that?"

His hands flex on your waist, his fingers spreading wide, like he's trying to feel all of you at once.

"Yeah?' His voice drops to something lower, something rougher.

You nod, rubbing your cheek lightly against his chest. "Mhm. You always make sure I'm safe— always there for me." You smile softly against him, letting yourself sink into his warmth. "So good to me."

His arms tighten around you, pressing you firmly against him, one hand trailing up your back, fingers tangling briefly in the little bow of your apron. "Course I am," he mutters, his voice thick with something deeper, heavier. "Gotta look after what’s mine, yeah?"

That makes your stomach flutter, your breath hitch.

Your voice softens, warmer, something meant just for him. "That's why I love being yours," you breath, your breath warm against his skin. You let the words linger, let them settle between you, before you add, in a whisper full of quiet, saccharine affection—

"Daddy."

Simon tenses in your hold, a sharp inhale cutting through the air. His hands tightens at your waist, fingers digging in, just shy of rough.

Posessive

"Fuck, dove" he rasps, voice strained. Then, in a rough whisper, like he was barely holding himself together— "Right here? In the middle of y'shop?"

You giggle, shaking your head. "No, not here," you hum, still teasing, still warm against him. "But I get off in an hour."

His grip stayed firm, his nose brushing against your temple, his voice dropping even lower.

"I could get you off in less."

Your mouth falls slack in shock before you huff, swatting at his arm. "Si!"

He chuckles, smug as ever, his grip on you unrelenting. "What?" His lips ghost the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Just sayin'"

You swat at him again, though it was weaker this time, warmth blooming in your chest, your stomach twisting with anticipation.

Simon leans back slightly, reaching into his front pocket to pull out a folded bill. With a casual ease, he slips it between his fingers, glancing down your shirt, his height making it effortless, before tucking the bill into your bra.

"F'the flowers," he said, voice rich with amusement. "Bring home somethin' nice, yeah? Something' soft."

His gaze drops to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes, dark and unreadable. "Not everything I touch has to bleed." He gently presses his lips to yours, savoring the taste of you until he can get you to himself at home.

And with that, he heads home, leaving you warm, breathless, and counting down every second until you can lock up for the night and let him keep his promise.

[oystermark]

Mohawk Mark x M!Reader (Suggestive)

synopsis: you're the only man version of yourself across all mark universes, still, he seems to recognize you just fine.

A/N: i wanted to make this longer with sinister and no goggles mark but it has been almost a year since i wrote anything and i got really tired.. but i can take requests. having said that im sorry if this is shit, its been a while.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

You sigh wearily as you drag your feet out of your bathroom, a towel wrapped around your hips as you use another one to dry your hair. It has been… a long week to say the least. Your boss decided that you’re the guy to pawn off every little responsibility to, you’ve been sitting on your office desk like a shrimp for weeks, you arch and crack your back with a satisfied moan.

You pick up your phone and toss the towel on your hand to your couch as your eyes drift to the news blaring on your TV.

“Multiple versions of Invincible have been spotted around the city—”

You feel your heart rate pick up as you look through your window without getting up from your seat, your instincts kicking in, though if one decides to come after you…

“Stay in your homes, stay hidden and stay safe, these dangerous vers–”

You turn off the TV with a sigh.

This… “Invincible” guy happens to be your childhood friend, also your first kiss at 13 when you were both nervous and he wanted to feel how it felt to kiss a guy and then high school happened and–

No. Stop. 

Shit happens, life happens, people break off contact without meaning to all the time. Though, it does hurt when that person has been your friend since 3 years old, the person that shared his first kiss with you.

You can’t– don’t know what to call him now though, the last time you talked was… a year ago. For your birthday. He remembered that, surprisingly. Does he even still… look at guys that way, does he even remember–

This isn’t the time for this.

All this to say, in your professional opinion, none of the Mark’s would give a shit about you so you should be safe and sound. You don’t have anything to worry about.

You put your phone down and get up.

You hear the glass of your windows shatter before the sight registers in your mind. Your eyes shut, your arms defend your face as instincts kick in but you never feel the incoming cuts of the broken glass. Instead, the air is knocked out of your body as Mark slams you down on the floor with his body.

“What the fuck– You– hold up,” he sputtered as your gazes locked, yours is terrified while his turns from glee to…confusion?

He yanks you closer to his face by your chin with an iron grip as he looks you over,

“Well… it is you, huh. Just a dude now, though,” just as you finally think to say something he yanks you up from the floor and sits you down on the kitchen table –when did you even get here– and he saunters closer. 

“Look at that, all ready for me too?” he coos, his eyes drifting to your —almost undone by now— towel, he steps closer, his hands planted on either side of your thighs, “did you know I was coming?” he snickered at his own immature joke.

“What– what the fuck are you doing here?”

You finally spoke and it felt like torture through your dry and constricted throat, your hoarse voice evidence of your nervousness. He cackles as his hand moves from where it was planted, to your ass and giving it a squeeze, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“Nice ass”

You don’t know what to do, you feel frozen, you could try to fight, punch, run, do something. 

You’re frozen, either because of fear or because of how frayed your nervous system is from overworking for years that your body just gave up when being confronted with a fight or flight response and just deciding to freeze.

He pouts and squeezes your ass even tighter, making you groan in pain, “Come on babe, say something, I missed you– well, you weren’t a dude but, I know it’s you,” his other hand deciding to pinch and grope your thigh as he goes on, “I know you aren’t so boring, so c’mon, this is foreplay isn’t it? I bet you’re used to doing this shit all the time with your mark–”

He feels the impact of your punch on his throat, letting out a surprised but satisfied groan he looks you in the eyes, opening his mouth before you interrupt him with a glare, “I don’t know which version you are or whatever but me and ‘my’ mark don’t have anything to do with each other. Not...not for a long time,” finally hearing your voice, although hoarse, plus your glare and fuck that punch has him so fucking turned on already. He can feel the uncomfortable constriction of the suit becoming more and more prominent as you speak.

“Which means I’m not a leverage or a hostage to be used, I– I won’t give you any kind of advantage so just– please just—” your rambling gets interrupted by his lips latching onto your neck, you let out a whimper involuntarily as you try to push him off of you. Grabbing his hair –as much as you can anyway– you pull his head back with as much force as you can muster and headbutt him. Which goes as well as you’d expect. Your vision blurs and your ears ring, you can feel blood seeping from your nose as your ears finally register the exhilarated laugh. 

“Yes, fuck! That’s it baby, give it to me, I can take it,” he cups your face with one hand as the other brings your bodies closer by his other hand on your ass, “let me show you what that little bitch boy could only dream of doing to you, what you’ve been missing out on,” you groan in pain as he plants a rough kiss on your lips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip with very clear intention to draw blood.

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 10

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate, Kyra, is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: (+18) SMUT. FINALLY SOME SMUT FOR THOSE TWO!! Plus, of course, Y/n getting her cast off, Kyra coming home, and Y/n finding out about Alessia and Leah.

Word count: 9.2k

Masterlist

You can read part 1 here

..

“How does it feel?” Mary asked, finishing up the last of the cast removal.

Beth and Lotte sat quietly across from Y/n. Their arms crossed as they watched her carefully from the seats in the rehabilitation room.

Y/n stared down at her leg–the bad one–as she had been calling it since it broke in half almost 3 and a half months ago. The cast had been a part of her for so long, and now, with it gone, the skin underneath it felt different…foreign.

It just didn’t look like she expected. The healing process through those three months hasn’t been easy or gentle; the damage of the injury was left behind, marked on her shin.

The skin on her leg was very dry and red, a mix of scars imprinted on it– some of them from when the injury itself occurred, others from the injury.

“So, sweetheart?” Mary asked again, more gently. This time.

Y/n hesitated, almost reluctant to speak her thoughts. “It looks–” She bit her lower lip. “Ugly.”

The room was silent as the word hung in the air.

“I’m sorry?” Mary asked again, confusion evident on her face.

Lotte and Beth looked at each other, not really sure of what to say.

“I don’t like it,” Y/n said again, more firmly. “I thought… I thought it would look like my other leg.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she hated herself for it. She looked down, avoiding Mary’s gaze.

Mary didn’t say anything, slowly turning to Lotte and Beth, and silently asking for some help. Y/n needed friendly words at the moment, not medical advice. 

“I have to go to the infirmary to get some cream for your skin, but I’ll be right back,” Mary said as she headed to the door, leaving the three girls alone.

Lotte, noticing Y/n’s frustration, carefully slid onto the bed next to her, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s shoulder.

“Your leg’s been through a lot, baby,” Lotte said softly. “It broke in half, it tore your skin, your muscles–”

“It was a very traumatic injury to your body,” Beth finished Lotte’s sentence. “Scars are good, it means your body was able to heal properly.”

“You’re gonna get used to it,” Lotte smiled.

Y/n blinked a few times at the two girls, feeling grateful that they were trying to make her feel better, but unfortunately, the overwhelming wave of disappointment and frustration was stronger. 

She imagined the day she was going to get her cats off was going to be different.

She thought the skin underneath the cast would be completely healed, but she didn’t expect the stiffness that came when she tried to move her leg; she didn’t expect the big scar that began on her ankle and grew all the way to her knee.

She’d also thought  Kyra would be here with her. She’d imagined sharing this milestone with her, Leah and Alessia. Y/n loved Beth and Lotte to pieces, and she appreciated all the things they had done for her, but it still felt like important people were missing from this moment in her life.

Beth, sensing Y/n’s discontented attitude, placed a hand on her thigh and got down on her knees in front of her, looking closer at her leg. 

“I get it, she said softly.” She touched the side of Y/n’s knee on two spots, right to the left side of the patella, on the anterior cruciate ligament– ACL. “It’s not easy seeing yourself change like this.”

“But trust me, you aren’t alone–me, Viv, Leah, and Vic, we all went through it,” Beth explained in a tender voice. “The side of  our knee is all patched up, the skin around it’s all rough, just like your shin.”

Y/n’s eyes flicked up to Beth, grateful but still feeling the sting of the reality set in. She looked down at her leg, tracing her fingers gently over the scar that ran from her ankle all the way up to her knee.

“Leah got the worst of our scars because her surgery was more complicated and took longer,” Beth noticed the way Y/n’s gaze lingered on the scar, her voice softening as she continued. “But we didn’t have to wear any casts, so we just watched our scar and our legs heal little by little.

“You, on the other hand,” Beth said, gently touching the skin of Y/n’s healed scar. “Had your leg hide from your view, so you didn’t get to see it getting better day by day. You only just took the cats off.”

Lotte, sensing Y/n’s unease, added with a gentle smile, “You’re not used to it yet. It’s a lot all at once. The cast is off, and now you can move more freely, but you’ve got these new scars to accompany you. It’s a lot of change in a short time.”

“I’m scared that–” Y/n had a hard time processing her words. “If the outside looks like that, then maybe I’m not completely healed on the inside too.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart,” Mary said while walking into the room.

Y/n squinted her eyes at her, she was a hundred percent sure Mary was listening to their conversation all along.

“Your scar is a bit rough given the nature of your injury, but it doesn’t look swollen or have any indication that you won’t heal properly.” Mary got closer to Y/n, and Beth and Lotte went back to their previous seats.

Mary touched Y/n’s shin, pressing it and lifting it off the ground. “Does it hurt when I do that?”

“No,” Y/n shook her head. “It just feels very stiff, and it's kind of uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt.”

“Yeah, that’s expected,” Mary said, tapping Y/m’s tights. “You’ll be back on the pitch in no time. Don’t let a little scar get in the middle of that, okay? I’ve treated a lot of athletes with broken bones, and most of them had a really good recovery.”

That gave Y/n a little hope. She smiled at Mary, watching her leg as she slowly moved it. Taking the cast off was one more step into her recovery; it might not be the scenery Y/n expected, but she was grateful for it overall.

Mary went to the cupboard on the other side of the room and came back with a grey shin brace. “You’re free from the cats, but this,” she pointed at the brace. “It’s going to be your new friend.”

Y/n groaned. “Bloody hell, I really thought I was a free woman now.”

Both Leah and Beth laughed at Y/n’s joke, feeling at ease that the girl didn’t seem so sad now.

“You can take it off to shower and bathe only, ok?”  Mary got on her knees and put the shin brace on Y/n. “It is way more flexible and light than the cast, so you can move around and walk with your crutch all you want.”

“But I can’t have you bending your knee or putting pressure on it, alright?” Mary thighed the shin brace around Y/n’s leg, making sure it wouldn’t be loose. “And, for the love of God, don’t walk on your own, we’re keeping your crutches for a reason.”

“Do I have to wear both crutches, though?” Y/n asked. “And can I stand on my own? Or do I have to use my crutches for that too? I just–I really miss cooking,” she confessed, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“You can just wear one,” Mary said, getting up and taking a final look at Y/n. “You can stand, just try not to be up for long periods of time, we don’t want too much pressure on your leg just yet.”

“Alright,” Y/n said, looking down at her leg, now with the shin brace on, she moved it side to side, tasting the water. “Yeah, it's way better than the cast.”

Mary gave her the last bits of instructions and medical advice before telling her to come back the next day for her first session of physiotherapy without the cast.

Beth was a sweetheart as always and dropped Y/n off at her place. Y/n promised to bake a cake for her as a ‘thank you’.

Y/n waved at Mrs Petunia from her front door before heading inside her house, Footy was meowing exasperatedly as soon as he heard Y/n’s keychain. 

Y/n couldn't pet him down because of the crutches, but made sure to fill his bowl with food before laying her down on the sofa and stretching her leg into a pillow.

She took her phone and quickly zoomed in on Footy before taking the picture and sending it to Kyra. ‘Son if fed’ she wrote. Kyra wouldn't reply to her until later, because, if Y/n remembered her schedule correctly, she was in a tactical meeting with her manager.

Y/n looked around the room, thinking of what she should do next. Watching TV? Too boring; reading a book? She already read all the ones she had in the house; cooking? Hmm, maybe later.

She watched her leg, moving it to the side again, making sure she still had the ability. Y/n wanted to share this moment with Kyra, but she also wanted it to be a surprise for her when she came back. Y/n still needed to tell someone about it, though… who was the chosen one? 

Leah.

Y/n looked at the clock. Leah was definitely out of training by now, most likely in her room getting ready for bed–that meant playing Sudoku.

She clicked on the FaceTime app before and stared at her face, waiting for Leah to pick up. In less than a few seconds, Leah1s face was on the screen, but she looked…anxious?

“What happened?” Leah asked, Y/n could barely see her face or where she was, the lighting was horrible, and Leah was holding the camera weirdly close to her face; Y/n couldn’t see the background. “Why are you calling?”

Okay, that was too harsh even for Leah. Something was going on.

"Uh... hi to you too," Y/n muttered. "Are you busy or something?"

"No," Leah said quickly–too quickly. "Just... What's going on? Why are you calling?"

"Wow, okay." Y/n huffed. "Nice to know you care."

Leah sighed heavily. "I'm just–” she cut herself off, glancing to the side for a second before snapping her eyes back to the screen. "–sorry, never mind. What's up?"

"I got my cast off today." Y/n frowned and said hesitantly.

"That's good," Leah said, her voice clipped.

"Yeah," Y/n agreed, feeling a little deflated. "It... doesn’t look great, though."

"What do you mean?" Leah asked, still sounding rushed.

"It’s all red and stiff, and the scar is huge. I don’t know, I just thought it would look... better." Y/n paused, noticing Leah glance to the side again. "Hm, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, I’m listening," Leah snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "I just–look, your leg is fine. That’s what happens when you get injured. It’s not gonna look pretty, but you’ll be back on the pitch soon enough."

"Yeah, thanks for the heartfelt support," Y/n shot back, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "I knew I could count on you for comfort."

"I’m just being realistic," Leah said sharply. Her eyes flicked away from the screen again, and Y/n caught the shadow of movement behind her.

"Okay, what’s going on?" Y/n asked suspiciously. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m not acting weird."

"You’re literally refusing to look at me and snapping like I just insulted your mum, or something.” Y/n shot back. “You can talk to me, you know?”

"I’m just– " Leah cut herself off with an irritated groan. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to be short with you. I'm just... distracted."

"Distracted by what?" Y/n pressed.

Leah’s eyes flicked sideways again. "Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," Y/n muttered.

"I am not!" Leah protested, her face reddening.

"You are," Y/n said smugly. "And whatever’s going on over there–it’s weird."

"It's not weird," Leah insisted.

"You're holding your phone like it's a security camera, Leah. I can’t even see half your face, mate,” Y/n said. “Look, I can call later if you want? Or maybe tomorrow?”

Just then, Y/n caught a muffled voice from behind Leah’s screen– “Tell her I have the perfect cream for the scar, baby, it’ll work wonders…”

Leah stiffened, her eyes flicking nervously to the side. 

"Oh fuck…" Leah turned the camera to the side quickly, just as Y/n leaned in closer to the screen, her brow furrowed in complete confusion.

"Wait a second," Y/n said, squinting. "Is that... Alessia?"

Leah's gaze darted to the side again, her face turning an unattractive shade of pink. "What? No! You didn’t hear anything." Her voice was quick and defensive.

"Oh, I definitely heard Lessie," Y/n said, crossing her arms. "She even mentioned my scar, which–" Y/n paused, her eyes narrowing. 

"–wait a minute. I did see that story Alessia posted the other day,” Y/n said, mouth open as she had an eureka moment.

 “I thought you guys were on a date, but then I thought I was going crazy because…how the hell would you two be dating?” Y/n continued, everything finally making sense in her head: The story, Leah’s weird attitude, the way Less and Leah were always together and bickering like an old couple.

Leah’s eyes widened, and she quickly cleared her throat, her voice low.

"You’re imagining things, Y/n. It’s just—" She cut herself off, her frustration bubbling over, and then, she gave up, one hand coming to hold the bridge of her nose as the other one held her phone.

 "I didn’t want to tell you yet, alright?” Leah continued, cranky. “Happy now?" 

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "So you are dating." She leaned closer to the screen, amusement in her eyes. "And you're being all weird about it because Alessia’s there…look at you, Williamson, all cute and nervous.”

Leah’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, and she bit her lip, eyes flicking away, clearly embarrassed. "It’s... not what you think," she mumbled, looking guilty.

“I think it’s exactly what I think, actually.” Y/n leaned back into the sofa, grinning now that she was fully enjoying the moment.

Leah didn’t say anything, but Y/n could see her jaw tighten, like she was already regretting answering the call.

“Don’t worry, I totally get it,” Y/n continued, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin. “If Kyra and I were on the same national team, we’d definitely be roomies. One hundred percent. No doubt.”

“In fact,” she added, voice dripping with faux innocence, “I’m just waiting until I get better so we can have a proper sleepover—me, Kyra, you, and Less! Oh, it’ll be adorable.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but Y/n wasn’t done.

“Shut up,” Leah grumbled, but instead of arguing, she tilted the camera away from her face…revealing Alessia sitting beside her.

Alessia, who was already smiling.

Leah, who had an arm casually slung around her.

“Oh, that’s so cute!” Y/n beamed, waving at the screen. “Hi, Lessie!”

 Alessia laughed, leaning into Leah like this whole thing was hilarious. “Hey, Y/n,” she said brightly.

Leah huffed, clearly defeated, as Y/n grinned at them both.

Oh yeah. This was definitely exactly what she thought.

Y/n saw the screen shaking before, only Alessia's face was on the screen, the happiness on her face a clear contrast to Leah’s crumpy one. “I heard you got your cast taken off! I’m so happy for you!”

“Yeah, baby. Thank you,” Y/n said, picking up a pillow that had fallen on the floor and putting it behind her back. “I’m just with a shin brace now, but it’s way better than the cast.”

"You’re already looking way better! The brace is nothing compared to that cast. You’re gonna be back on the pitch in no time, baby,” Alessia smiled.

“Yeah, Mary told me–”

Alessia’s face was replaced by Leah, who had a clear frown on her face.

“Give me Lessie back,” Y/n said flatly. “Don't want you.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “You literally called me to talk about the cast removal.”

“And now I know to never call again!” Y/n shot back, half-teasing. “You’re grumpy, I’m not even as cranky as you are. Don’t know how you pulled such a sweetheart like Alessia.

“The same way you, the disciplined one, pulled the prankster of the team,” Leah smirked. 

Y/n grinned, resting her head on the pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. "I guess we all have our types."

“But seriously,” Leah said, her tone softening. “I’m very happy that you got that thing taken off. Just a few more months until we have you running again.”

Y/n nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. “Yeah, enjoy while you can. When I get back, you won’t be the fastest on the team anymore.”

Leah chuckled. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

..

When Y/n woke up on the last day, she followed her routine, but this time, she realised her life from now on was going to be way easier because as soon as she stepped on the floor, she didn’t have to carry the weight of the cast all the way to the bathroom.

Instead, she grabbed her crutches, moving slowly but much faster than when she had been in the cast.

As she stepped into the shower, she took off her shin brace with a sigh of relief. No more fussing with that annoying plastic wrap to keep the cast dry!

If yesterday she had been disappointed by how her leg looked, today she felt like kissing her calf for how much better–and easy–it was to do life without the cast.

For the first time in weeks, Y/n was actually able to cook herself a full recipe–she chose pancakes! It wasn’t as difficult as before; she could easily balance herself while flipping the batter, feeling happy by the accomplishment.

She had to hide all of her excitement from Kyra- she still didn’t want the girl to know about it– when she facetimed her hours later.

“You look weird…” Kyra said, squinting her eyes and getting comically close to the camera. “What's wrong? Did something happen to Footy?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned the camera to the little black cat who was still sleeping curled on the loveseat by the window. “He’s fine, come on!”

“Then what is it?” Kyra pressed, raising an eyebrow as she brought a mug to her lips, drinking what Y/n thought to be coffee.

“Nothing!” Y/n said defensively, “What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

Kyra narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “I don't know, you just keep… showing your teeth for no reason–”

“That's called a smile, bro,” Y/n shot back, looking at Kyra emotionless.

“Yeah, but you never smiled this casually.” Kyra tilted her head, clearly intrigued.

Kyra’s gaze softened, but did not lose its suspicion. “Yeah…why?”

“I’m just happy!”

Y/n hesitated for a second before shrugging. “Can’t I just be happy?”

“Not when you’re hiding something,” Kyra leaned back into her chair, folding her arms. “Which you clearly are.”

“Ky! Please,” Y/n said, trying to think about some dumb reason to lie about, something that would actually make her happy. Something Kyra would totally believe.

“I just–” Y/n looked to her side, eyes lighting as she saw the perfect reason right in front of her. “I found a really good brand of peanut butter when I went grocery shopping with Lotte yesterday…down that little corner store I told you about.”

Kyra blinked, her expression deadpan. “Peanut butter?”

“Yeah! It’s life-changing, I swear!” Y/n said, her excitement growing, as she made up the biggest lie ever. “It’s smooth, creamy–not chunky. You know I hate when they’re chunky.”

Kyra stared at her before, brows still furrowed, “Really? That’s what’s making you so happy? Peanut butter”

Honestly, both girls had said peanut butter so many times that it was losing its meaning.

“Yes,” Y/n said, confident in her voice. “And…It’s also organic!” She added dramatically.

“Organic?” Kyra raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t all peanut butter organic?”

“No, Ky,” Y/n said, shaking her head as if she was ready to lecture a class. “Not all of them! This one doesn't have all those weird additives–it's pure peanut butter–just peanuts and palm oil. The label says the oil is ‘ethically sourced’, too.

“Ethically sourced peanut butter? What does that even mean?”

“It’s like peanut butter that is made with conscience,” Y/ns said seriously, without missing a beat. “They are processed while following rigorous environmental laws.”

“And since when did peanuts–” Kyra started, but then paused before shaking her head, “You know what? I’m just happy you‘re happy.”

They chatted a bit before Kyra had to go to training. They had only one more game to play before Kyra would go home. 

If they lost to the USA, they would be placed second, and of course, the Matildas didn’t want that.

..

After a few more days, the SheBelieve cup had come to an end. The Matildas had beaten Colombia and Japan throughout the last two weeks, but they ended up losing to the United States team, which made them runners-up.

Kyra videochatted Y/n after the loss, clearly upset, but after a few hours talking with Y/n and her teammates, she calmed down and was able to smile a bit.

After two whole weeks without Kyra, she was finally coming home in less than an hour.

If Y/n could bounce on her feet, she would be doing that now, her eyes glued to the clock in the kitchen. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t nervous–but she was, and Y/n didn’t understand the reason why.

She was happy that Kyra was coming back home, thrilled even, but that feeling was mixed with something heavier–anxiety, maybe? Fear that Kyra would look at the missing cast on her legs and…not like her anymore.

Why would Kyra not like Y/n now that she didn’t have the cast on? No clue, Y/n couldn’t even think of a good reason, but that didn’t ease her nervousness. It’s been two weeks, and Y/n was scared that something was going to change between her and Kyra.

She and Kyra had only been together for the period Y/n had the cast on. Would things in her relationship change much? Would they change at all? Would their routine change? 

There were a lot of questions running through her mind at the same time, and the noise of the clock’s hand moving was making her even more anxious. 

Y/n sat on the table, smoothing down her shirt for what felt like the ninth time, her gaze flicking from the clock, to the door, to the table set in front of her.

Y/n had tried to do something different. She wasn’t very good at expressing how she felt with words, so she tried to do it with actions.

She had set the table hours ago–impatient much? Lit candles were sitting right in the middle of the table; all the lights in the dining room were turned off, and the only source of lighting came from the candles.

She had made pasta, it was easy, she didn't have to stand up for long, and it was one of Kyra's favorite dishes, so it just felt right. 

Y/n had also bought wine. She actually didn’t drink alcohol–scared that the alcohol could lower her performance in the long run somehow–but today she would allow herself that.

She stared at the bottle of ‘Priorat’ sitting right beside the candle. It was a type of red wine made out of black cherries. She had bought it from a vintner, and he had said it had a tannic flavour to it. 

Y/n wasn't sure what tannic was or what it tasted like.

She just hoped Kyra liked it.

Kyras was coming home. After two whole weeks without her, she was coming home. 

She texted Y/n 5 minutes ago letting her know she had just got into a taxi at the airport and was on her way home. It would probably take 20 minutes before Kyra arrived.

Y/n looked down at her leg and tried to flex her ankle, like she had been doing every day since she removed the cast, just to feel the freedom of movement. It didn’t hurt–not really, but the lingering stiffness was still there.

Mary had told her it would feel like that for a good whole month, even with physiotherapy. It was just the natural healing processes of the bones and muscle fiber, but still, she wanted to be able to walk around without her crutch soon.

The notification on her phone brought Y/n out of her thoughts. It was Kyra saying she was close.

Y/n quickly went to the mirror on the far side of the dining room, checking herself one last time. Her hair was in check and her outfit too: a green shirt and white t-shirt; something easy to take off–she had to think about after dinner too.

And just like that, Y/n heard the key on the door turning. 

Y/n turned around, quickly getting her crutch. She adjusted her grip. Tucking it snugly under her arms before moving toward the front door.

Kyra’s back was to her, her suitcase parked by the door as she fiddled with the lock.

Y/n didn't waste anything before she shifted her weight onto her good leg, planting her crutch firmly against the floor for balance. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Kyra from behind, pressing her face into the fabric of her hoodie. 

Y/n breathed in and out, feeling Kyra’s shampoo fill her nose. Suddenly, relief washed over her.

She missed Kyra, she missed her scent, her laugh, her smile, her hugs. 

Everything. But now she was here.

“Hey, pretty,” Kyra said, trying to turn around, but y/n held her tight. “I leave for a fortnight and you’re giving bear hugs now, what else? Let me guess, did your leg heal or–”

As if this was the cue Y/n was waiting for, she let loose of her hold on Kyra, letting the girl turn around. She watched Kyras' soft eyes, the way they squinted when she smiled.

Kyra didn’t notice her leg, not yet, being too occupied looking at her eyes and well, at her mouth.

Y/n quickly cupped Kyra's face and brought her to a kiss, her crush long forgotten on the floor somewhere, her only source of balance was Kyra. Y/n clutched one hand on Kyra's hoodie while the other was placed on the back of Kyra’s neck.

Kyra deepened the kiss, savouring Y/n. She noticed how Y/n was a bit unbalanced, so she held her hips and gently brought her closer.

“Hi,” Y/n said, breaking the kiss just to meet Kyra’s lips again.

She felt Kyra smiling against her mouth, that's how they should always be, together, kissing, just the two of them.

“Miss me much?” Kyra asked, kissing Y/n’s cheek, and then travelling to the girl's jaw, where she sucked the skins softly. 

Y/n couldn’t help but think about how much had changed in her world since Kyra came into it–the little things, like how there were no weird jokes to laugh at when Kyra wasn’t around, or how her nails looked far less neat because Kyra wasn’t there to paint them.

“Not much, no,” Y/n teased as she lifted her neck so Kyra could have more room, her lips warm and wet as they kissed Y/n’s skin.

“That’s not what you told me the numerous times we called,” Kyra murmured, placing a hand under Y/n’s shirt on her back, scratching the spot.

“Just kiss me, please,” Y/n murmured, looking up to Kyra.

“Just because you said please,” Kyra said, smiling, kissing her back, more slowly this time, trying to show through the kiss how much she hated being away from Y/n.

Playing for Australia was always an amazing experience, being on the field wearing her country's colour was a feeling Kyra could not put into words, especially when she was doing it with players she had known since she was basically a teen.

It felt good to play again after such a long time without an international break, but man, did she miss Y/n all the time she was in the US.

Kyra missed her grumpy remarks, missed having someone telling her she should eat more salad, missed having someone to brush and dry her wet hair for her, missed the massages Y/n used to do on her feet after a long day of training.

She was just happy to be home now.

After being away for two weeks, that’s what Kyra realised Y/n’s house was: her home, especially because Y/n and Footy were in it, waiting for her.

“I always knew you had a short attention span,” Y/n said, chuckling, taking her crutch back with one hand as she took a step back to better look at Kyra. “But this is getting ridiculous.”

“Ugh?” Kyra tilted her head, like a puppy who was still learning a new trick.

“Don’t you notice… anything different?” Y/n asked, lifting her eyebrows.

Kyra’s gaze drifted down her body, scanning her up and down, observing every inch of the girl. Her eyes lingered, brow furring, like she was piecing together a puzzle. Nothing caught her eye.

Y/n facepalmed herself.

“Hmm,” Kyra said slowly, hesitating in her voice. “Your hair looks so nice… I love the new…cut?” 

“Kyra, baby,” Y/n said, pointing to her leg. “Cast it off! I didn’t get a hair–”

Before Y/n could finish her sentence, Kyra had already wrapped her arms around her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a dizzying circle.

“What the fuck?” Kyra exclaimed against her shoulder, while still twirling her around. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Y/n said cheekily.

“Wow–Okay,” Kyra said at a loss for words. “It worked, I’m very surprised… When did you take it off?”

“Lika last week–”

“Last week?! You took your cast off last week and you didn’t tell me!”

“Yes! That’s how you plan a surprise.”

“Your cast is off,” Kyra said once again, in disbelief.

“Yep” Y/n smirked. “and if im not misteken you said we’ll have sex once my cast was off so pretty plese can we fuck?”

“You’re so romantic, oh my god!” Kyra said sarcastically, but swiftly cupped Y/n's cheek in a deep kiss.

“But–we, hm,” Y/n tried to say between the kisses, but Kyra wasn’t letting go of her mouth, so she gently pulled her body so she could speak.

Kyra looked at her, sad, with a pout.

“As I was trying to say, first we need to eat,” Y/n said.

“I do want to eat,” Kyra said, a grin on her face, “Let me? Please?”

Y/n felt her heart skip a beat. Kyra wasn’t normally the one to say dirty things, but she always got along when Y/n did it.

So she flushed at the sudden boldness.

“I-I mean it like real food,” Y/n said. 

Great, she stammered, guess that was her new personality right now.

“I made spaghetti–”

“spaghetti!?” Kyra said, losing all the devilish expression on her face, changing it to pure happiness. “I love spaghetti, baby!” 

Kyra hugged her again, but more softly this time.

“I know you do,” Y/n laughed as Kyra kissed her in the ticklish spot on her neck. “Now let’s go before it’s cold.”

Kyra and Y/n stepped into the dining room. Kyra stopped, and her eyes flickered around the room. The warm light of the candles made the atmosphere of the room seem cozy.

The faint scent of something garlicky lingered in the air, it was coming from the plates already set out on the table.

“Baby!” Kyra said softly, turning to Y/n. “You did all of this?”

Y/n glanced at the table–the candles flickering gently, the wine glasses way too fancy for a casual dinner. Her face heated up; maybe she had overdone it, it really looked like a lot for just a ‘welcome home diner’.

Y/n shrugged one shoulder, suddenly finding the rug on the floor very interesting. “Just didn’t want you coming home to, like, cold pizza and soda or something.”

“It looks lovely,” Kyra said, cupping Y/n’s cheeks. “You are lovely.”

Y/n felt Kyra’s lips on her forehead, and for some reason, she felt embarrassed…exposed–like Kyra was seeing something she wasn’t ready to show–a part of her that was private, intimate.

Kyra grinned. “You know I would love some pizza. But this.” She pointed at the table, “This is amazing.”

“It’s just dinner,” Y/n said quickly, adjusting a candle that didn’t need adjusting,

“Sure, just dinner?” Kyra’s grin widening, leaning over Y/n, her breath warm against Y/n’s ear. “But a romantic one, maybe?”

“Stop it,” Y/n groaned, her cheeks on fire. “It’s just pasta and…wine.” Her eyes flickered back to the table, focusing on the stupid candle. Why had she lit them? It looked like a rom-com set up right in her dining room.

“I love it,” Kyra tugged Y/n closer, holding her by her waist. “And I love how you’re blushing right now–should've got that on camera.”

“I would never let you,” Y/n warned, but her voice lacked any real threat. She was too flustered, too warm and too aware of Kyras's smile pressing against her skin.

Y/n blushed as Kyra held out a chair for her. She almost refused–hating how formal Kyra was making it–but she didn’t want to ruin things with her grumpiness right when Kyra had just gotten home. She could handle thirty minutes.

Dinner passes in a blur of teasing smiles and that old, comforting and easy conversation Y/n and Kyra were used to. 

They talked about everything that they had already talked over the phone because Kyra insisted on telling the same stories all over again, although Y/n didn’t mind hearing them, not when Kyra had that soft smile on her face the whole time.

Y/n shared about her routines, about the coffee dates with Lotte and Beth, and the video chats with Leah. How well behaved Footy was and how he had definitely not taken his well-behaved nature from Kyra.

Kyra begged Y/n to recreate that Lady and the Tramp movie scene, where both characters share one noodle, but Y/n said no grumpily, murmuring something about how each of them had a plate for a reason, all while putting hers closer to her chest.

Afterward, they ended up curled on the couch, Kyra’s arm lazily wrapped over Y/n’s waist while they shared a glass of wine.

“You don’t share food, but you share drinks?” Kyra asked as Y/n held out her glass to Kyra.

“Yes,” Y/n said stoically, feeling the warmth of the wine settling in.

“Hmm, good to know,” Kyra smiled, taking a sip. “I like it. It tastes good.”

Kyra passed the glass back to Y/n’s hands, as she took another sip, savoring it but feeling a slight tension building between them, as unspoken energy in the space.

The moment Y/n was waiting for so long was finally here.

With a confident smile, Y/n put the glass down on the coffee table and turned to Kyra, her movements slow and deliberate. She placed her hand on Kyra’s thigh as she wrapped her finger in the back of Kyra's neck, bringing her closer until their lips met.

The kiss was slow at first, Y/n was the one dictating it, turning Kyra’s face just the way she wanted while playing roughly with her tongue in a slow, but intense manner. 

Her tongue brushed against Kyra’s. Tasting the lingering acidity of the wine of both of their tongues as Kyra let out a soft, almost imperceptible moan as their kiss deepened.

Y/n’s hand shifted, boldly pulling Kyra’s even closer as she pressed her body against hers. Every inch of space between them vanished in the moment.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” Y/n murmured, placing her hand under Kyra’s shirt, feeling the softness of her skin.

“Me too,” Kyra whispered, tilting her head to the side, and Y/n kissed the side of her face slowly. “So much.”

“Did you think about me?” Y/n asked, caressing her fingers through Kyra’s back, watching as the girl shivered.

Kyra hesitated, but nodded, a blush on her face.

“I’m asking you, baby,” Y/n said, her tone sternly, but the soft touches of her hands against Kyra remained the same. “Talk to me, come on.”

“I did, a lot,” Kyra purred, the fabric of her shirt bothering her; she wanted to take it off, be free of everything standing in hers and Y/n’s way.

Y/n grinned, happy with Kyra’s response.

“I touched myself every night after I took the cast off,” Y/n confessed, tugging at the hem of Kyra’s shirt, but not taking it off. “Came a hundred times on my finger thinking about you.”

Kyra’s cheek went flush, and her eyes closed. “Y/n–fuck, the things you say–” 

Y/n smiled as she watched Kyra, her mouth slightly open, her hips moving in very slow and almost imperceptible movements. 

“Are you horny, Ky?” Y/n asked, taking her own shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the living room. 

Kyra opened her eyes at Y/n’s voice, her eyes trailing Y/n’s torso, the red bra she was wearing, how they filled it perfectly. The girl placed her hands on Y/n’s ribcage, enjoying the view in front of her.

“I-I want you,” Kyra said in a low voice, too busy watching Y/n’s tits. Kyra’s thumb softly brushing on the center of the bra, feeling Y/n’s erect nipples. “Please?”

Y/n watched Kyra up and down, Kyra’s big brown eyes watching her as if she held the world in her hands.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, baby,” Y/n said as she held Kyra’s wrists and took them off her body, ignoring the way Kyra pouted. “I’m gonna take care of you now–”

“–And then we’re going to our room,” Y/n unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the sofa before she put it to the side, just like she did with her shirt. “And you’re going to fullfill your promise of fucking me as many times as I want, alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kyra said eagerly, her eyes glued on Y/n’s breasts. They were soft and hung just the way Kyra liked them.

Y/n leaned forward and turned her body to Kyra, her good leg was crossed on the sofa while her bad leg was still, hanging over the sofa. 

She had way more mobility since she had taken the cast off, but she still needed to be careful not to get carried away. The cast always reminded her of what movements she could or couldn't do, but now, without it–with only a shin brace on–it was easy to forget about her limitations.

“Good,” Y/n said hungrily before holding her one breast in her hand.  “Now suck it.”

Kyra didn’t waste any time before wrapping her lips around Y/n's nipple, twirling her tongue around it and sucking dutifully, just like Y/n asked her too.

Kyra wasn’t expecting sex when she walked through the front door, still pretty much jetlagged. She had no clue Y/n had taken her cast off; she knew she was going to take it off sometime this month, but she didn’t know when.

As soon as Y/n showed her leg, now bare of cast, with only the grey brace on her shin, she felt a mix of emotions. The most overwhelming one was happiness.

Kyra was so proud and happy for Y/n, she was slowly going back to being who she was before the injury. She hoped that taking the cast off would get Y/n more excited. She tried to sound casual about it, but Kyra knew how much it bothered her being on the sidelines.

Although Kyra’s happiness quickly turned into something else as Y/n and she shared the bottle of wine. 

She knew the moment was coming, the moment where they would finally have sex

Kyra just didn’t expect Y/n to be so intense and, well, bossy about it. She pictured their first time having sex as something sweet and slow, with Y/n and her being a bit awkward about the whole thing. 

But it was far from the truth.

What they were sharing was intense, Y/n stern voice made Kyra want to drop to her knees at any time, but the slow breathing coming in and out of her nose while she sucked Y/n’s tit grounded Kyra, it made her relax, it was also…comforting, in some strange way.

Y/n caressed her thumb on Kyra’s cheek, watching Kyra's working on her tit while Kyra’s hand came to her other breast, massaging it and pinching the nipple.

Kyra had, so thoughtfully, put a pillow underneath Y/n so she could grind against it. The angle was a bit awkward since she could move both her legs the same, but the friction of the pillow was good enough to have her moaning, 

Y/n took Kyra’s hand and placed them on her hips. Kyra understood right away what Y/n wanted, she kept on sucking on her tit while playing with the hem of Y/n’s shorts and so gently, helped rock the girl against the pillow.

Y/n pushed Kyra’s face even closer to her chest, holding her there by the back of her neck as Kyra’s grip on her hips became sharper. Y/n could feel her finger digging into the fabric of the shorts Y/n was still wearing.

She wanted to take her fucking shorts off, it felt so good against her clit, she coulnd’t stop now. 

Y/n knew she had told Kyra she was going to take care of her, but she was going to allow herself one little orgasm, just one before they could really start.

“More, Ky,” purred, eyes closed as she felt it coming.

Kyra took her mouth off Y/n’s nipple, kissing all over her chest before pressing her chin on Y/n’s sternum and looking up to her face.

“More of what, Baby?” She asked, her grip firm on Y/n’s body, moving the girl so she could rub more against the pillow. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Everything,” Y/n mumbled, starting to feel the usual warm sensation on her lower body growing. “Fuck, I-I, hmm–”

Kyra, again, obeyed Y/n. She wrapped her tongue on Y/n’s nipples again and sucked on it more intensely than before, noticing how much Y/n liked it. Her right hand was on Y/n’s back as her left hand helped Y/n ride the pillow beneath her.

Kyra felt a drop of sweet falling for Y/n’s neck and dropping slowly against Y/n’s skin. Kyra licked it, feeling the salty taste of it.

Right now, all she wanted was to watch Y/n come undone.

Kyra continued helping her move with her hands, but she placed her mouth near Y/ns ear.

“Let me take it off?” Kyra asked, tugging at the shorts.

“No,” Y/n mumbled in her usual bossy tone. “I’m almost there, ple–”

Kyra kissed Y/n deeply, twirling her tongue around, but as she got closer to being the one in control, Y/n’s hands found themself once again on Kyras face, cupping her cheeks and dictating the direction and pace of the kiss.

Y/n’s movements on the pillows got faster, and her breathing hitched as she arched her back and moaned in Kyras' mouth sweetly. They shared the same breath as Y/n came down for her orgasms, her hips still buckling.

“Ky,” she whispered against Kyra’s mouth, eyes still closed, mouth hanging slightly open. “Fuck–so good,”

Kyra kissed Y/n on the lips softly, before trailing small pecks on her forehead and then nose. Y/n had stopped moving her hips, so Kyra’s grip on her body loosened; instead of hard, her grip became comforting.

“Felt good?” Kyra whispered against Y/n’s neck, her lips leaving a heated trail down toward her collarbone, the warmth of her breath sending a wave of desire through Y/n.

Y/n didn’t respond immediately, her breath catching at the feel of Kyra's lips on her skin. Instead, she nodded, her eyes darkening with a mix of need and confidence. 

Without wasting another moment, Y/n's hands slid down to Kyra's waist, pulling at her pants, a clear sign that she wasn’t going to wait for permission. 

Kyra moved her hips so Y/n could fully take pants off, her underwear making its way to the floor alongside the other piece of clothing. Y/n didn’t waste any second before also taking her shorts and underwear too.

Now the only fabric between them was Kyra’s shirt. But Y/n decided to leave it on for now, wanting to focus on something else.

Y/n leaned over and kissed Kyra, biting Kyra’s lower lip gently, not sure if Kyra would like it if she drew blood, which was like Y/n wanted to do, so she chose the safe option.

“I’m gonna touch you,” Y/n whispered against Kyra’s mouth. “And I’m gonna fuck you until you’re whimpering.”

“I want that, please,” Kyra begged, feeling as Y/n cupped her cunt, already wet in need.

“I didn’t ask if you want it or not, love,” Y/n said, almost in a taunting tone. “I can feel how much you need me already.”

Y/n first circle her thumb around Kyra’s clit, rubbing it slowly and gently, tatsing the water to see how much Kyra could handle.

“Did you use your finger while you were away?” Y/n asked, pressinger her clit a little harder than before. “Did you play with your cunt?”

“Yes,” Kyra breathed, closing her arms and slowly moving her hips against Y/n’s thumb. “I-I touched myself in the shower.”

“Yeah?” Y/n teased while she lowered her fingers and gathered some wetness from Kyra’s hole before putting her attention back on Kyra’s clit. “What were you thinking?”

“Y-you,” Kyra mumbled, hesitant of her words. “You and me fucking and– touching each o–oh fuck.”

“Keep going,” Y/n said as she played with Kyra’s nipples, brushing them under the shorts while also making circles with her thumb against Kyra’s clit. “Where did we touch each other?”

“I don’t–it’s embarrassing.” Kyra blushed and shook her head. 

“You can say it,” Y/n took her hand off of Kyra’s cunt. “Or I’ll stop, baby, what do you want?”

“No! Please!” Kyra begged, opening her eyes and looking at Y/n. “I want you.”

Y/n pitched Kyra’s nipple harder, her hand back on her clit, now making eight figures on it. “Then go on, tell me about what you thought while you were making yourself cum.”

“You, I was thinking about you and–” Kyra moaned as Y/n fastened her pace. “We were rubbing against each other while we, hm, fuck, touched eath other’s tit.”

“Would you like that, baby?” Y/n purred against Kyra’s ears as she lifted Kyra's shirt just enough for her to put her head under it.

She latched on one of Kyra’s nipples, sucking it hard, her thumb giving Kyra’s clit all the attention.

“Can-can i cum?” Kyra asked while biting at her lower lip, almost out of breath. “I-I need it baby, hmm, please?”

Y/n gave a kiss on Kyra’s nipple before taking Kyra’s neck, suckling on the skin until it was red, until it marked.

Kyra was so compliant that she did just that, cumming on the exact moment Y/n allowed her too.

“Yes, baby,” Y/n whispered against her skin. “Do it, let go, yeah?”

Her sweet noise filled the room as Y/n helped her ride her orgasm, still moving her thumb against the girl’s clit, trying to make her savor it for as much as she could. 

“Too much,” Kyra mumbled, letting her body fall to the couch, hand on her face as she tried to get her breathing in order.

Y/n quickly cleaned her hands in one of the clothes that were on the floor before lying down by Kyr’s side, right on top of her other arm.

Y/n kissed Kyra’s arm, her shoulders and collarbone. She gently took off the hand that was covering her face, putting it to the side and watching Kyra’s face.

She looked like she just has been fucked, just the way Y/n intended.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kyra mumbled, slight redness in her cheeks.

“But you’re so pretty,” Y/n smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “Especially after you cum.” 

Y/n very slowly made her way to Kyra’s cunt again, it was all wet and messy, still.

Kyra held her hand before she could reach further down. “Sensitive,” she said in a whisper.

 “Thought you might want more.” Y/n kissed her lips sweetly. “I’ll be gentle, yeah?”

Kyra hesitated, but nodded, and when her body relaxed, Y/n let one finger slide inside Kyra’s wall. It went in so easily, she didn’t even have to work Kyra up to it. That’s how wet and ready she was.

She felt the warmth of Kyra’s walls snuggling her finger, and she couldn't help herself but add a second. This time it didn't slide in like the first, but Kyra’s body still welcomed it overall.

Y/n put her head down on Kyra’s arm, which was still stretched down by her side. In that position, Y/n could see Kyra reacting to each of her movements.

The way her eyes rolled when Y/n took her fingers out just to thrust them again, and again and again, in a slow, but deep rhythm.

“You’re so wet,” Y/n murmured, turning her head just to kiss Kyra’s shoulder. “Wish you could feel yourself right now, such a wet cunt you have.”

Y/n felt Kyra clutch around her.  “Oh, you like when I talk to you?” Y/n asked, moving her finger faster.

“Y-yes,” Kyra said, moving her hips to meet Y/n’s finger at the same time. “I’m close again.”

“Already, baby?” Y/n said teasing. “But I’ve barely touched you.”

Her warm walls were clutching even more now, as if ready to cum soon. Who would know her girl was so easy to cum, huh?”

“You’re just very needy, right?” Y/n asked as she added yet another finger, moving the three of them as she heard Kyra moaning.

“I-I know, I just–”

Kyra nodded while making an indecipherable sound, Y/n could only guess it was a ‘yes’. She kissed Kyra again, hand on her cheek, turning the girl’s head more to the side so she could deepen the kiss.

She was very close, her hips moved swiftly on Y/n’s finger, her hands were lying on fists by Kyra’s side. 

“I wanna see you cum again, Ky,” Y/n purred, licking Kyra’s lips as the girl moaned. “Soak my fingers, go on.”

Kyra did just that, taking her hand to her own mouth and biting it hard to muffle the sounds of her orgasms, but Y/n wasn’t having it. 

She took Kyra’s hand off her face and fastened the thrust of her fingers inside Kyra’s cunt, all while sucking Kyra’s bottom lip into her mouth.

Kyra came fast, feeling her skin prick with pleasure, her hips still rutting on Y/n’s finger, trying to make her orgasm last as long as possible.

Y/n kissed her sloppy, slowly taking her fingers off of Kyra, focusing on just kissing her mouth. 

“You felt so good,” Y/n whispered, her voice low and smug, pride curling at the edges of her words. She shifted closer, pressing her body against Kyra’s side, and kissed her sweetly on the cheek, before leaving a heated trail down towards her collarbone. “I wanna do it all over again.”

Kyra turned her head to the side, still breathless and lightheaded from the two orgasms Y/n had just pulled from her– both in a ridiculously quick succession. Her limbs were still heavy and her head foggy, but she still managed to reach for Y/n, fingers slipping lazily into her hair.

“Hmm,” Kyra hummed, her eyes falling shut as she felt Y/n’s breath warm against her skin. “Of course you do…you’re like…a menace.”

“No, I’m not,” Y/n  murmured, her lips curving against Kyra’s neck. “I’m just efficient.”

Kyra chuckled as her hands traced a lazy circle along Y/n’s waist.

“You know,” Y/n said, her voice low and teasing. “You promised me all sex in the world when I got my cast off.”

Kyra let out a breathy laugh. “I didn’t promise all sex in the world in one night.”

“Hmm,” Y/n kissed her way back to Kyra’s neck, pausing at her jawline. “Yes, you did.” Y/n made her way to Kyra’s warm, nipping at Kyra’s earlobe gently.

Kyra shifted beneath her, and a groan slipped out — but not the kind Y/n was aiming for.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Kyra murmured.

“How?” Y/n said teasingly.  “We’ve barely done anything–you are a few years younger than me, I thought your sex drive would be better.”

“My sex drive is great”, Kyra grumbled. “When I don’t have to spend nine hours crammed in a plane seat next to Steph.”

"Yeah..." Y/n said, her fingers softening against Kyra's arm. "You must be wrecked."

“I’m fine,” Kyra said through a yawn. “Just need to close my eyes for, like, two minutes.”

“So we can have more sex after?” Y/n asked smugly, “That’s still not a no.”

“It's a ‘please, let me take a nap’.”

“Fine,” Y/n muttered, flopping dramatically onto her back. “I guess I’ll just lie here…cold…unloved…”

“Bloody hell,” Kyra laughed, pulling Y/n closer and tucking her head under her chin. “You’ve gotten so dramatic while I was away.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” Y/n grinned, pressing a kiss to Kyar’s collarbone.

..

“Yeah,” Kyra murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. “I already do.”

Notes: 10 chapters!! 52k words for this series <3 Thanks to everybody who stuck around haha I think we have like... two/three more parts until this series is over! I know the smut wasn't very long, but there will be more in the next chapter <3

Notes 2//: Please let me know what you guys think!!!

Tag list in the comments

Masterlist

[biteyoubiteme]

Im so ready to lock into this ive been waiting and it wasnt even that long bc rain is amazing but still im on the edge of my seat omfg- also i love pregancy trope im not even sorry its like a comfort fic i swear i cant turn them away- Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. EEEEEKKKK THE WRITING ALREADY ><

Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. STTOOOOOOOPPPPP I LOOVEE IT SM- 

What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? Is it too soon to say i love this so so so so so so much already??? Because i do ;-;-;--;-;- tiny fingers clutching agt yours- stop im going to cry- 

Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. Heeeey its my pookies from collide- 

A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” I LOVE THEM OMG- 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” “Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” stop i love how the world is falling apart for reader but jake is just like ‘hi’ lmao like the normality mixed in the angst is killing me i love it sm and im just eating it up uuuughghgh

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. Okay supposed mr. friends with benefits…..

Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” OMGOMGOGMGOGMGOMGOGMGOGMOGMGOGMOMG

“Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. NOOOOOO what if i screamed and cried and threw up bc no no no he is just a boy pleek “Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. ILL FIX IT OMFG HE WILL BREAK ME- 

“This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” STTTTOOOOOOOP IM ON MY KNEES PLS NO- also if he took the out i wouldnt forgive him whoops- but gosh i love this sm uuuuughgghghhgh

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. “I’m in.” ><EEEEEKKKK me when i know the outcome and still act shocked lol- 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. And im kicking my feet and twirling my hair rn 

And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. STTTTOOOOOOPPPPP you know i love it when they cry- 

“I just—I need to see her.” okay so i love him- 

He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

“Are you gonna sleep with other girls?” you know what she is so real for this bc i would be asking the same thing lmao- 

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. IM GOING CRAZY UUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH I LOVE THIS SM SM SM SM SM 

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that? I love the first line sm but uuuuggghhhh stop i love the angst but im hurting already- 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence. Oh no no no no no no no it hurts why would you do this to me pleek no no no no no no- 

You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him GIRL HAS HE NOT BEEN DOING THIS THE WHOLE FIC WTF- PLSSSS

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move. SSTTTTOOOOPP THIS PAIN THIS MADNESS YOU HATE ME JUST SAY IT JUST SAY YOU WANT ME TO FEEL PAIN- 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. “I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need. SSSSOOOOBBBBIIINNNGGGGG

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” stop they are so cute ;-;-;; 

“Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.” ;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;-;; uuuuugggh i loved this sm i wanna sob and beg you for 20k more pleek- no but seriously i loved it sm 

OFF THE ICE s.jy

synopsis ⤑ You were having fun. That’s all. You were young, in college, readying yourself for true adulthood. You didn’t know adulthood would come so quick, in the form of a baby you didn’t plan for. With a man who was more in love with Hockey than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to happen, and it definitely wasn’t supposed to happen with him.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!Jake x pregnant!reader word count ⤑ 18k

warnings ⤑ pregnancy trope, smut, friends with benefits, angst , depictions of hockey injuries , probably more

crossing the line series.

read heeseung's story here.

Two pink lines. 

They stare back at you, unwavering. Bold. Permanent. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A dull roaring fills your ears, like the moment before a crash, when you see the impact coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You blink once, twice, waiting for the second line to disappear, for reality to snap back into place. It doesn’t. It stays. Pregnant. A hollow, sinking feeling settles in your stomach. No. No, no, no. This can’t be real. Your fingers tighten around the plastic stick, your knuckles aching from the grip. You were careful. You were always careful. Birth control, condoms, every precaution. You did everything right. So how the hell did this happen? 

You shake your head, your breathing ragged. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe the test is faulty. They mess up sometimes, right? You should take another one. Five more. Ten. You should drive to the store right now and buy every test on the shelf, because this? This can’t be happening. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you as you sink onto the closed toilet lid, one hand gripping the edge of the sink to ground yourself. 

Jake. His name crashes through your thoughts, and a fresh wave of nausea rises up in your throat. Oh my god. There’s only one person it could be. Jake. Your friend. Your friend with benefits. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them. Your mind flickers through the memories—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered jokes between kisses, the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was fun. Easy. No strings attached. Except now, there are strings. Big, life-altering, impossible-to-ignore strings. 

Your stomach lurches. You press a hand to it instinctively, but it’s still just you. Just your body, your life—except it’s not just yours anymore, is it? A shuddering breath leaves you, and suddenly, you feel so, so small. What are you supposed to do? You’re in your second year of college. You have plans, dreams, a future that doesn’t include cribs and lullabies and tiny fingers clutching at yours. You can’t be a mother. Not now. Maybe not ever. And Jake? 

Jake has hockey. The game is his whole world—the early-morning practices, the late-night workouts, the way his eyes light up when he steps onto the ice. He has a career to chase, a future that doesn’t include this. 

This will ruin everything. Tears burn at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You can’t cry. Not yet. Not until you’re sure, not until you go to the doctor and they tell you this is all some cruel mistake. Because if it’s not… You swallow hard, gripping the test so tightly it feels like it might snap in half. You can’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you don’t say it out loud, if you don’t give it weight, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe you can find a way to make this all go away. But deep down, beneath the panic, beneath the sheer, suffocating terror— You already know. This is real. And there’s no undoing it. 

Your breath shudders as you stare at the test, the past clawing its way back to you. You’re racking your brain trying to find when the two of you went wrong, when you stopped being careful. You know exactly how. The memory slams into you, sharp and unforgiving—that night. 

Two months ago. 

The house was packed. Bodies pressed together, the air thick with heat and sweat and the sharp bite of liquor. Music pounded through the speakers, rattling the walls, the bass thrumming through your chest. The whole hockey team was celebrating their win, and Jake was at the center of it all, grinning like he owned the night. Heeseung had won it all, again. Except he was too busy pulling his girlfriend into a random room to really celebrate much. 

You weren’t even supposed to be here—you had a paper due, an exam creeping up—but when Jake texted “Where are you? We won. Get your ass over here,” you rolled your eyes, threw on something half-decent, and showed up anyway. And now you were here. Back pressed against a bathroom door, your fingers tangled in Jake’s hoodie, his mouth hot against yours. A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your veins. “I just came to say congrats.” 

Jake grinned against your lips. “This is how you say congrats?” You smirked. “I was gonna buy you a beer, but—” 

His hands slid down your sides, rough and familiar, pulling you flush against him. “This is better.” And god, it was. You had always liked this about Jake—how easy it was, how uncomplicated. No messy feelings, no awkward expectations. Just heat, just want, just the press of his body against yours as he backed you up against the bathroom sink. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging it up, your mouths moving together in that frantic, greedy way they always did when neither of you could be bothered to make it back to one of your apartments. 

“Quickie?” you breathed against his lips, teasing. Jake groaned, already fumbling with your jeans. “Fuck, yeah.” It was fast. Dizzying. His hands were everywhere, pushing, pulling, unzipping. Your back hit the counter, your fingers in his hair, his mouth tracing fire along your throat. Your skin was hot, your pulse erratic, and nothing else mattered—not the party raging outside the door, not the alcohol humming through your system, not the fact that you weren’t exactly thinking. 

It wasn’t until he was pressed against you, skin to skin, that something in the back of your mind lurched. You blinked up at him, breathless. “Wait—do you have a—” 

Jake cursed under his breath. “Shit. No. I didn’t—” He moved like he was about to pull back, but god, you wanted him. The ache was unbearable, your body screaming at you to just— “It’s fine,” you whispered. You’re on the pill. It’s just one time. Jake hesitated, his hands gripping your waist like he was giving himself a second to think, but then your mouth was on his again, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had vanished. 

With one delicious roll of his hips against yours he was a goner. “Holy- f-fuck.” Jake hissed, his mouth agape and eyes heavy lidded as he looked down at where the two of you were perfectly intertwined. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

“How’s that feeling, champion?” You purred in his ear, your hands playing in his hair as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Such a pretty pussy..” Jake groaned. His grip on your thighs was almost bruising but you didn't care, you welcomed the pain. Your head leaned back, hitting the mirror as moans fell from your lips like a mantra. Jake’s lips found the column of your neck sucking and biting at the skin. “You like that, baby?” 

“Uh-huh” You nodded your head finding it hard to find the ability to speak when Jake was doing unspeakable things to you. Jake’s thrusts were starting to become frantic, his moans higher and more frequent as it became apparent he was closer and closer to the edge. The music outside the door thumped, sounds of muffled voices passing by the door fell on deaf ears. You were too wrapped up in the way Jake was making you feel, coupled with the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. It was almost euphoric when your orgasm hit. Your legs shaking in Jake’s grip. 

“God-” Jake breathed. Your orgasm served as a catalyst for his own. His hips slamming against yours with finality. It was reckless. It was careless. It was just once. Except once was enough. 

Present day. 

Your stomach lurches. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the memory away, willing yourself back into the safety of denial. But it’s useless. The test is still in your hands. The two pink lines are still staring back at you. And no matter how much you wish you could undo it— You can’t. 

Your hands are still trembling. Your fingers ache from how hard you’re clutching the test, but you can’t let go. If you set it down, if you let it slip from your grasp, that means you’re accepting it. That means this is real.A choked sound slips past your lips before you can stop it. Your vision blurs. Then it happens—you break. 

A sob rips through your chest, raw and unrestrained. You fold in on yourself, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sounds, but it doesn’t stop the tears from coming. They fall in hot, messy streaks, slipping down your cheeks, soaking into your shirt. Your whole body shakes with it, shoulders curled forward, knees pulled up as if making yourself smaller might make this moment disappear. But nothing disappears. Nothing changes. You’re still here. Still alone in this room. Still pregnant. 

The word echoes inside your skull, over and over, until it drowns out everything else. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. The panic tightens around your ribs like a vice, and suddenly, you can’t breathe. You gasp, swallowing down air, trying to steady yourself, but it’s like you’re stuck underwater. Like you’re drowning. You don’t know how long you sit there—minutes? Hours? Time blurs, slipping through your fingers like sand. All you know is that you can’t do this. 

You can’t be pregnant. You can’t be a mom. You can’t tell Jake. A fresh wave of nausea churns in your stomach at the thought of him. Of his reaction. Of what this will do to him. To you. Jake, with his whole future mapped out in skates and ice and championships. Jake, who has never even hinted at wanting something serious with you—because this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Because it never has. And now, you’re carrying something that means everything. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against them. If you don’t see the test, if you don’t look at it, maybe—maybe—No.

You inhale sharply, forcing your mind through the fog of panic. There’s only one thing you can do right now. Only one thing that makes sense. Before you tell Jake—before you even let yourself fully believe this—you need to be sure. A pregnancy test is just plastic and dye. It could be wrong. It could be wrong. A doctor. You need a doctor. 

The thought latches onto you like a lifeline. If you go to the doctor and they tell you this is a mistake—if they tell you that somehow, someway, those pink lines don’t mean what you think they mean—then you can pretend this moment never happened. You can wipe it from existence. You have to know. Your phone is on your nightstand, facedown, dark. You force yourself to move, to function. Your limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and fear and the sheer impossibility of what’s happening, but somehow, you grab it. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull up the campus clinic’s number. 

You hesitate. Your thumb hovers over the call button, the moment stretching out in front of you. Because if you make this appointment—if you hear a doctor say the words out loud— Then it’s real. And once it’s real, you can never go back. A single tear drips onto the phone screen, smudging the numbers. You close your eyes. And you press call. 

The next day feels like a fever dream. You go through the motions, pretending your world hasn’t tilted off its axis. But every breath, every step, every blink reminds you that something is different. That there’s something inside you—growing, forming, changing everything. You haven’t said a word to anyone. 

Yuna had texted this morning to let you know she was crashing at her friend’s place again. You almost told her. You almost begged her to come home, to sit with you, to make you feel like you weren’t completely alone in this—but you couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until the doctor confirms what you already know deep in your bones. So, you’ve spent the entire day in silence. Sitting with this information like a stone in your gut, waiting for the inevitable unraveling. 

You didn’t sleep last night. Every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts crept in—images of Jake, of your future, of what this means for the rest of your life. Of every possibility, every terrible outcome. You’ve always thought of pregnancy as some far-off, abstract concept—something that happened to other people, to people who were ready, to people who wanted it. But not you. Never you. 

And now, in just a few hours, you’ll be lying on an exam table, hearing a doctor tell you how far along you are. How long ago your life changed without you even knowing. The thought makes your stomach twist, nausea curling in your throat. You’re so lost in your thoughts that when your phone rings, the sudden sound makes you jump. It’s Jake. Your heart stops. His name flashes on the screen, bold and unmistakable, and for a second, you consider letting it ring. But that’s suspicious. You never ignore Jake’s calls. That would only make him ask questions.

So, you force yourself to breathe, force yourself to steady your voice, and answer. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he echoes, his voice easy, warm. There’s the faint sound of voices and clattering sticks in the background, and you picture him in the locker room, probably shoving his gear into his bag while talking to you. The image is so painfully normal that it makes your chest ache. “What are you up to tonight?” he asks, casual, unaware of the chaos inside you. “Practice should be done around eight. You wanna come over?” 

Your grip tightens around the phone. It’s a simple question. A question you’ve answered a hundred times before with some variation of yeah, sure or your place or mine? But tonight, everything is different, and Jake has no idea. You swallow hard, throat dry. “I—I can’t.” 

He pauses. “Why not?” Because in less than two hours, I’ll be staring at an ultrasound screen, listening to a doctor tell me how many weeks pregnant I am. Because I don’t know how to look you in the eye, knowing that inside me—inside us—something is changing, something we never planned for, never wanted. “I'm sick,” you say instead. It’s a rushed excuse, flimsy and weak. “I think I caught something.” 

Jake hums, like he doesn’t quite buy it but isn’t ready to push. “You okay?” No. Not even close. 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just tired. I think I just need to sleep it off.” Another pause. You know Jake well enough to know he’s debating whether or not to call you out. But finally, he just sighs. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” 

His voice is so normal. So Jake. And for a moment, you almost break. You almost say, Actually, there is something I need. I need you to know. I need you to tell me what the hell we’re supposed to do now. I need you to promise that I’m not in this alone. But the words don’t come. Instead, you rush out, “I gotta go,” before he can say anything else. You don’t wait for his response. You hang up, your hand shaking as you set your phone facedown beside you. 

The room is too quiet again. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline making your whole body feel light and untethered. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when everything inside you is breaking apart. And yet, that’s exactly what you do. You wipe at your face, stand up, and grab your coat. The appointment is waiting. And whether you’re ready or not— You’re about to find out exactly how much time you have left before you have to tell Jake the truth. 

The air outside is sharp, biting against your skin as you step out of your dorm. It’s early evening, but the sky is already dark, winter pressing its cold fingers into everything it touches. Streetlights flicker to life, their glow hazy against the fog of your breath as you exhale, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The clinic isn’t far. Just a short walk across campus. Still, every step feels heavier than the last. 

Your stomach churns with nerves, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets to hide their trembling. The closer you get, the more the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. There’s no turning back after this. Once the doctor confirms it—once they tell you exactly how far along you are—you’ll have no choice but to face this head-on. No more pretending. No more hoping the test was wrong. You wish Yuna were here. You wish someone was here. 

But instead, you walk into the clinic alone, head ducked, shoulders curled in like you can make yourself disappear. The receptionist barely looks up as you check in, only nodding before motioning toward the chairs in the waiting area. You sit. The room smells like antiseptic and old magazines, too-bright lights buzzing overhead. Your legs bounce restlessly, fingers twisting in your lap. The other people waiting don’t even spare you a glance, but you still feel exposed, like someone could look at you and just know. Your name is called. 

Your body moves on autopilot, following the nurse down the hall, into a room. She asks questions. You answer without really hearing yourself, your voice robotic, like you’re reciting lines for a role you never wanted. Then the real part begins. You lie back on the table, cold gel spread across your stomach. The machine hums to life, and your heart pounds. You don’t know if you want to look. You don’t know if you can. But then the doctor says, “There it is.” And you do. You look. 

The screen is grainy, shifting black and white, impossible to make sense of at first. Then she moves the wand, adjusting the angle, and— Your breath catches. A tiny flicker. Your whole body freezes. “That’s the heartbeat,” the doctor says softly. “Would you like to hear it?” 

Your throat is too tight to answer. You don’t know what you expected, but not this. Not something so small, so fragile, so real. You nod. And then—sound. A rapid, steady rhythm, impossibly fast but undeniably there. Your vision blurs, and it takes you a second to realize you’re crying. 

Because this isn’t just a concept anymore. This isn’t just two pink lines or a mistake or a problem you don’t know how to solve. This is real. And whether you’re ready or not, this is happening. The doctor speaks again, gentle but firm. “You’re about seven weeks along.” 

Seven weeks. You squeeze your eyes shut. Because now there’s a heartbeat. Now there’s a timeline. Now there’s no way out of this moment, no way to pretend it hasn’t already changed you. You leave the clinic with a small printout in your hands, the black-and-white ultrasound photo pressed between your fingers. You don’t even know why you took it. Maybe because part of you knows that after tonight, everything is going to change. And Jake still has no idea. 

Back in the dorm you're still alone, Yuna not having come back yet. You were grateful for that as you just needed the time alone to process. Your phone buzzes. You flinch at the sudden vibration, your fingers tightening around the ultrasound printout still resting in your lap. It takes a second for you to move, to blink, to tear your gaze away from the tiny, grainy image on the paper. Another buzz. Your stomach twists. 

Slowly, like you already know what you’ll see, you reach for your phone and tilt the screen toward you. 

Jake: You feeling any better? 

You stare at the message, your pulse hammering in your throat. A third buzz. 

Jake: Practice just ended. Thinking about you. 

You suck in a sharp breath, a lump forming in your throat so quickly it nearly chokes you. Thinking about you. He doesn’t even realize what those words do to you right now, how they cut straight through your ribs, cracking something open inside you. You can picture him perfectly—his damp hair, his flushed cheeks, the easy way he leans against his locker while texting you, probably half-distracted, expecting you to reply with something simple. Something normal. But nothing is normal. Not anymore. The screen glares up at you, demanding an answer, but your fingers won’t move. 

What could you even say? Actually, I’m in my dorm having just left the doctor, staring at an ultrasound of the baby I never meant to have with you. But don’t worry, I’ll get back to you when I figure out how the hell to tell you. Another buzz. This time, it’s a call and you panic. Your heart slams against your ribs, and before you can stop yourself, you flip the phone over, screen-down, silencing it. The call cuts off. A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jake: You good? 

Your breathing is uneven. Your hands are shaking. You can’t do this. Not right now. You toss your phone away on the bed, like that will somehow make it all go away. Like that will somehow delay the inevitable. But you know it won’t you have to tell him soon, or it will eat you alive. 

For the next few hours you sit in silence, still not having left the dorm. The room is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above your desk.  You’re curled up beneath your blankets, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep after getting back from the clinic, but your body had other plans. It wasn’t restful, though. Even in sleep, your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the sound of that tiny heartbeat over and over and over again. 

Suddenly a soft click of the door was heard. You stir, blinking blearily as the light flicks on. “Hey, are you awake?” Yuna’s voice is gentle, cautious. You push yourself up, rubbing at your eyes as you watch her drop her bag by the door. She looks guilty. “I’m sorry for being gone so long,” she says, brushing a hand through her dark hair. “Our study session ran late, and we figured, why not just turn it into a sleepover? I should’ve texted you more. I feel bad.” 

You shake your head, forcing a small, tired smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to check in with me every second.” Yuna eyes you for a beat, like she’s trying to gauge if you really mean it. Then she sighs, kicking off her shoes before flopping onto the bed beside you. “I missed anything exciting?” Yes. No. everything. 

You swallow, shaking your head again. “Not really.” Yuna shifts, turning onto her side to face you. Then, her brows furrow. Her eyes scan your face, tracing the dark circles beneath your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the way you keep fidgeting with the edge of your blanket. “Okay, what’s wrong?” she asks, blunt as ever. 

Your heart stutters. “What? Nothing’s wrong.” 

Yuna doesn’t buy it for a second. She gives you a look, her sharp, knowing gaze cutting right through your weak attempt at indifference. “Don’t lie to me.” You open your mouth—ready to deny, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth—but something inside you breaks. The weight of it all, the sheer impossibility of holding it in any longer, crushes you. You don’t say a word. You just reach under your pillow, where the crumpled ultrasound printout is still hidden, and pull it out with trembling fingers. 

Then, without looking at her, you hold it out. Yuna blinks, confused for a second—until she takes the paper from your hand and sees. Her entire body goes still. Silence. She stares down at the black-and-white image, her lips parting slightly. Her throat works like she wants to say something, but no words come out. Seconds stretch, heavy and suffocating. 

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice is quiet, but sharp with shock. “Is this…?” You nod, your chest tight. Yuna inhales sharply. “Holy shit.” She sits up straighter, like the weight of the moment is finally hitting her. She looks at the ultrasound again, like if she stares long enough, it’ll make sense. Then, eyes wide—voice barely above a whisper—she asks, “…It’s Jake’s? Right?” You let out a dry, humorless laugh, wiping at your face. “Of course, it is.” 

She looks up at you, eyes still wide with shock. “He’s the only one I’ve been with in a year,” you add quietly, voice almost getting lost in the space between you. Yuna swallows, nodding slowly, like she’s just now processing how real this is. Like she’s flipping through all the memories she has of you and Jake—of the nights you’d leave your dorm with a smirk and come back in one of his hoodies, of the way you never quite called him your boyfriend, of the way he was always just there. Her gaze sharpens. “How did he take it?” 

Your stomach twists. You hesitate just a second too long. Yuna’s face drops. “Oh my god.” She leans forward. “You didn’t tell him?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before shaking your head. Yuna groans, throwing her head back against the headboard. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“Yuna—” 

“No.” She sits up straight again, looking at you with something between exasperation and concern. “You have to tell him.” 

“I know,” you say, voice tight. “I just—” 

“No,” she interrupts. “Not later, not eventually—you need to tell him now.” You shake your head quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your whole body feels cold, like the weight of this conversation is seeping into your bones. “You don’t get it,” you say, your voice almost breaking. “Jake loves hockey. More than anything. More than school, more than his own goddamn life sometimes.” You sniffle, shaking your head again. “If I tell him this, he’ll—” You stop, choking on the words. 

He’ll what? Walk away? Shut down? Look at you like you’ve just ruined his entire world? You don’t even know. That’s the problem. Yuna softens. She reaches out, placing a warm hand over yours. “Jake is a good guy,” she says gently. “He would never do that to you.” You stare down at your lap, at your fingers twisting in your hoodie sleeves. She says it like it's a fact. Like there’s no question, no possibility of anything else. But she doesn’t know what you know. 

She doesn’t know how much Jake lives for the game, how hockey is the thing that keeps his blood pumping, how he lights up when he talks about it in a way he never has about anything—or anyone—else. She doesn’t know that you’re terrified. Because if you tell Jake, if you say the words out loud— it’s real and it’s scary. 

The tears come fast. Faster than you expect. One second, you’re staring at your lap, chest too tight to breathe. The next, your vision is blurring, and your shoulders shake, and a broken sound rips from your throat before you can stop it. Yuna reacts instantly. “Hey—hey, no, don’t cry,” she says, shifting closer. Her arms wrap around you before you even realize what’s happening, pulling you into the warmth of her embrace. “I got you. It’s okay.” but it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. You bury your face into her shoulder, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. She doesn’t let go, just rubs circles into your back as you fall apart. 

“I—I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice muffled. “I’m so scared, Yuna.” She sighs, resting her chin atop your head. “I know.” A fresh wave of tears spills over. You wish you didn’t feel like this. Wish you could be stronger, steadier, more in control. But right now, you’re none of those things. Right now, you’re just a girl who made a mistake and is staring down the consequences. Yuna squeezes you a little tighter. “Listen, whatever happens, you won’t be alone in this, okay? You have me. And when you tell Jake, you’ll have him too. And even if—even if he’s an idiot about it at first, I’ll kick his ass into shape.” That actually makes you let out a weak, teary laugh. 

Yuna gasps, dramatic as always. “Did you just laugh? Oh my god, it’s a miracle.” You sniffle. “Shut up.” She pulls back just enough to grin at you, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m serious, though. If worst comes to worst, you and I will just get married and raise the baby together. Two badass moms against the world.” 

A laugh bubbles out of you, real this time. “You’d hate being married to me.” 

“Yeah, but I’d do it out of love. I’d be the hot, rich, wine-drunk mom. You’d be the stressed one who has to actually parent.” You roll your eyes, but the weight in your chest feels just a little bit lighter. Yuna smiles. “See? You’re gonna be okay.” and you think, maybe she’s right, maybe you will be okay. 

The next day feels like a blur. Again. Like you’re going through the motions of life with no real end goal. You know you have to get up, do something. Tell Jake that he’s going to be a fucking father because the longer you keep this a secret the more its eating you up inside out. 

You spend most of your day in the dorm, curled up on the couch with the TV playing some random show you’re not even paying attention to. The volume is low, just background noise to fill the silence, but it doesn’t stop your mind from racing. Jake has been calling all day. Text after text, call after call—his name keeps flashing on your screen, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You know you should. You know avoiding him won’t make this easier. But every time you reach for your phone, your stomach twists, and your fingers freeze, and the weight of what you have to tell him slams into you all over again. So you do nothing. 

You let the calls go to voicemail. You leave the texts unread. And now, as the sun sets and the room is cast in a dim, golden glow, you’re still here—still stuck, still waiting, still pretending for just a little longer that none of this is happening. But then there's a knock on your door. And you're scared shitless because you think you know who it is. For a second, you don’t move, barely even breathe. Then another knock—firmer this time. 

Slowly, legs unsteady beneath you, you rise from the couch. Your hands feel cold as you grip the doorknob, pulse hammering in your ears as you turn it and pull the door open. And there he is. Jake. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, his hair still damp from a shower, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern. His eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—scan over you, taking in your messy hair, the exhaustion written all over your face, the way you’re not meeting his gaze. 

He shifts his weight, tilting his head. “…What’s going on with you?” You grip the edge of the door tighter. Your throat closes. Jake exhales, his expression softening as he reaches up, brushing his fingers over the side of your face like he’s trying to pull you back to him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” 

His voice is quieter now, tinged with something almost like worry. You swallow hard and your chest tightens, because this is it. There's no more running because Jake is right here in front of you. Jake doesn’t wait for permission. The second you hesitate, the second you shift like you might try to close the door on him, he pushes inside. 

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in. He stands there, shoulders tense, his eyes scanning over you like he’s trying to read your mind. His brows are furrowed, frustration flickering behind his gaze. “What the hell is going on with you?” he demands. 

Your stomach knots. “Jake—” 

“No, seriously,” he cuts in, voice sharp. “Why the hell have you been ignoring me all day? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts, didn’t pick up any of my calls. I had to come here just to get you to look at me.” You take a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I told you. I’m sick.” 

Jake scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.” Your breath catches. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he watches you. “You don’t just disappear like that. You don’t just cut me off without a reason.” He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep his temper in check. “Did I… do something?” His voice is quieter now, more cautious. 

“Because if I did, just—tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” His jaw clenches. “I just—fuck, I don’t know—I miss you.” Your heart stutters. You stare at him, the weight of his words pressing into your ribs, making it even harder to breathe. “I’ve wanted to run here to you all week, tell you about my game, watch movies with you. Anything, but you're shutting me out.” This is Jake. You’re jake. And suddenly all of it feels so much worse. 

Your voice is small when you finally speak. “You didn’t do anything.” Jake takes a step closer, searching your face. “Then what is it?” You inhale shakily. Your hands tremble at your sides. Your throat burns. It’s time. There’s no easy way to do this. No way to soften it. 

So you just say it. “I’m pregnant.” 

Silence. It crashes over the room like a tidal wave. Jake doesn’t move, for a moment it looks like he doesn’t even breathe. Completely still. His face goes blank, his lips parting slightly like the words haven’t fully registered. His fingers twitch at his sides, his whole body stiff with shock. You stare at him, heart pounding, waiting—waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. Some kind of response. But he doesn’t say a word. Your stomach twists. He just keeps standing there, frozen, staring at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. And maybe you had. 

You bite your lip, blinking back the burn in your eyes. When you finally speak again, your voice is quieter. Sharper. “This is your only chance to take the out.” Jake’s brows pull together slightly, but he still says nothing. You swallow the lump in your throat. “If you don’t want this, if you don’t want to be responsible for a baby, you can walk away. Right now.” Your voice shakes. “No one would blame you. I won’t blame you.” Jake blinks. Still silent. Still motionless. Your heart slams against your ribs. You hate this. Hate this. Hate that you don’t know what’s going through his head. Hate that you feel this vulnerable, this exposed, this small. 

You force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I know hockey is your life..” You trail. “ I know that’s what you’re thinking about right now. You forget that before..this, we were friends. good friends. I know what hockey means to you and I would never in a million years ask for you to choose. So I'm giving you a choice. be a dad or walk away. Neither of those involve not playing hockey. but i’m telling you right now. if you choose this, if you’re all in you better be all in because this is your only time to tap out. don’t get my hopes up then crush them when it gets too hard because i’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Jake just stands there. Still silent. Still unreadable. 

“Why are you not saying anything?” You whispered brokenly, the silence almost too much to bear. “Please say something.” 

Finally, Jake’s mouth opens but then it shuts again like he’s trying to find the ability to speak. Like a failing fish out of water. It’s nerve wracking, your body feels like it's on fire. “Please Jake.” You beg, at your wits end. 

“You’re giving me an out..” He trailed off, and your heart sank at the words. Was he really going to walk away and leave you to raise a baby alone? The thought terrified you to no end. “You’re giving me an out and a very big part of me is screaming at me to take it. it would be the smart thing, the easy thing and maybe the best thing for my career. My brain is ticking, yelling over and over ‘take the out, take the out. but there is a small part of me that outways the rest, a part that won’t let me be like the man who didn’t have the guts to raise me. that refuses to leave this kid, my kid, without a father. so, yes I'm quiet and yes I'm not saying anything. because my mind is going to war trying to think of a way to be a dad and a damn good hockey player at the sametime.” 

“Okay.” You said simply. And for a while you both sat in silence, neither of you finding the right words to say. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Did you figure it out?” You asked him. Jake’s eyes closed, a deep breath falling from his lips. 

“No.” He said simply, “but I will.” Your head shot up in surprise, your eyes wide and glassy with tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re in?” You ask with a strained voice. 

“I’m in.” 

Jake and yourself had a lot more that you had to talk about, that was for sure. But the confirmation of him staying and raising this baby with you had definitely lifted a large weight off your shoulders and although you were less terrified it didn’t mean you were prepared. You were having a baby for god's sake. That scared you to death. And you weren't sure if you were entirely ready for it. 

Over the next few weeks Jake does things that prove he's all in. The first time Jake shows up, you don’t expect it. You step out of the campus doors, arms wrapped around yourself, still shaken from your last appointment. The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you take a deep breath, trying to center yourself. And then you hear it. The sound of footsteps. The rustling of fabric. And then - “Hey.” Your head snaps up. Jake is there, leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he just came from practice. 

Your stomach flips. “What are you doing here?” you ask. Jake shrugs, pushing off the car. “Thought you might need a ride.” 

​​You hesitate, tightening your grip on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I can take the bus,” you say, voice quiet. Jake raises a brow. “You could. Or you could let me drive you home.” You don’t have the energy to argue. Not today. So you nod. Jake doesn’t say much on the ride back. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but every so often, his gaze flickers toward you — like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. 

It keeps happening. 

A few days later, a jersey appears on the back of your desk chair. One of Jake’s, the fabric worn in places, his last name sprawled across the back in bold letters. You pick it up, running your fingers over the lettering. There’s a note tucked into the sleeve. "Just in case you need something warm." Your breath catches. 

The next time you see him, you don’t bring it up. But when you wear the jersey around your dorm, you pretend not to notice the way Yuna raises a knowing brow. Jake keeps showing up. Not in the obvious ways, not in ways that force anything. But in the background. In the small things. A decaf coffee left on your desk when you step out of class. A text asking if you’ve eaten. A moment at the rink where he catches your eyes before disappearing into the locker room. He doesn’t say anything about the pregnancy. Not yet. But he’s there. And that terrifies you just as much as it comforts you. 

Jake isn’t there. Not really. His body is on the ice, his skates cutting across the surface, his hands gripping his stick, but his mind—his mind is still sitting in that sterile doctor’s office, staring at a screen where a tiny, flickering heartbeat had filled the room. "There’s your baby."  He can still hear the doctor’s voice, still feel the way his stomach had plummeted as the reality of it settled in, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. "Your baby."  Jake clenches his jaw, gripping his stick tighter. 

“Jake!” The sharp bark of his name barely registers before — CRACK. The puck flies past him, a blur of black and white as it slams into the boards. “Jesus Christ, Sim!” Jake blinks, snapping back into focus just in time to see his coach skating toward him, fuming. His teammates shift uncomfortably, casting wary glances between them as Coach Bennet stops in front of Jake, eyes blazing. 

​​“You wanna tell me where the hell your head is at today?” Coach snaps. “Because it sure as hell isn’t here.” Jake swallows hard. His grip on his stick tightens, knuckles going white. “I—” Coach doesn’t let him finish. 

“You’ve been slow all practice. Missing passes, losing pucks—you’re a vital part of this team, Sim. You don’t get to check out like this.” His voice drops slightly, but it only makes the words hit harder. “Get it together. Now.” Jake nods stiffly.  He doesn’t say anything. Because what the hell is he supposed to say? That he can’t focus because his whole life changed forever? That there’s a baby now—a real, growing baby—and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that? That every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is that ultrasound? 

Coach exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Take five.” Jake doesn’t argue. He skates off the ice, his heart pounding. He needs to get his head straight. Now. Because if he doesn’t — He might just lose everything. 

Jake barely makes it through the rest of practice. He’s off. Way off. His passes are sloppy. His shots lack power. He’s slow to react, too caught up in his head to play the way he’s supposed to. By the time Coach blows the final whistle, Jake is drenched in sweat and running on empty. His entire body feels tense, like his muscles are wound so tight they might snap. He just needs to get out of here. 

He needs to shower, grab his stuff, and go check on you. But before he can make it out of the locker room — “Yo, Sim!” Jake glances up, spotting Jay, Heeseung, and Sunghoon making their way toward him. Jay slings an arm over his shoulders, still dripping wet from his shower. “We’re heading to a party tonight. You coming?” 

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

Jay pulls back slightly, raising a brow. “No?” 

“Dude,” Sunghoon snorts. “It’s a Friday night, and you’re passing up a party? Who are you?” Jake exhales, shaking his head as he shoves his gear into his bag. “I just—” He hesitates. “I have somewhere to be.” 

Heeseung leans against the lockers, crossing his arms. “You’ve been weird as hell all day, man.” Jay nods. “Yeah, what’s going on with you?” 

Jake grips the strap of his duffel so tight it hurts. He could make something up. Should make something up. But instead — it just spills out, before Jake could stop it. “She’s pregnant.” The words hang heavy in the air. None of them move. None of them speak. Jay blinks. “Wait. What?” and Jake laughs.

Or at least, he tries to. It comes out more like a broken, choked sound. His throat feels tight, his chest squeezed so hard it physically hurts. “She’s pregnant,” he says again, voice cracking. And then, before he can even stop it — He’s crying. Right there, in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates, Jake fucking breaks. 

His head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he lets it out. Because he’s scared. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Because this isn’t part of the plan. And for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Fuck, man,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first to move, stepping closer and clamping a firm hand on Jake’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jake shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” His voice is raw, shaky. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” 

Sunghoon exhales through his nose. “Okay, first? Breathe.” Jake tries. And fails. He sucks in a breath, but it feels like nothing is getting in. His heart is racing, his mind spinning, and everything is just — “Jake.” Jay squeezes his shoulder. “You’re not alone in this.” Jake lifts his head, eyes red, glassy. 

“We got you, man,” Heeseung says quietly. “No matter what.” Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. And, I mean—” He gestures around. “This isn’t exactly news you should be dealing with alone.” 

Jay nudges him lightly. “Have you told her how you feel?” Jake wipes at his face, sniffing. “I don’t even know how I feel.” His voice wobbles. “I just—I need to see her.” Jay exchanges a glance with Heeseung before looking back at him. “Then go” 

Jake doesn’t wait. He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and leaves. 

The knock at your door startles you. You freeze mid-reach for your phone, heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You already know who it is. For a second, you consider ignoring it. Pretending you’re asleep. Pretending you’re busy. You’re not sure you want any company. But you can’t do that forever. 

So you force yourself up, smoothing down the front of your sweater as you cross the room. You take a steadying breath, gripping the doorknob with fingers that tremble just slightly, and pull it open. Jake stands there. The first thing you notice is the hoodie—dark gray, pulled up over his head, casting a shadow over his face. His duffel bag is slung over one shoulder, his hockey gear probably stuffed inside. His posture is a little tense, like he had to talk himself into coming here. But the real thing that catches your attention is what he’s holding. 

A takeout bag. Your throat tightens. “I, uh…” Jake shifts on his feet, glancing down at the bag like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it. “I remembered you said you were craving this, so I thought—” He hesitates, clears his throat, then lifts the bag slightly. “I figured I’d bring you some.” Something cracks inside you. Because it’s such a small thing—just food, just a meal—but the fact that he remembered that he went out of his way after practice when he was probably exhausted, when he could have avoided all of this — You swallow hard and step aside, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “Come in.” 

Jake hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t hesitate, just walks straight over to your desk and sets the bag down before collapsing onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is normal. Like nothing between you has changed. He stretches out slightly, fingers drumming against his thigh before he looks at you. 

“So,” he says, voice easy, like he’s not breaking some invisible barrier by being here. “How was your day?” You blink. It’s such a simple question, but it feels heavier than it should. Because what does he want to hear? That you spent most of it overthinking? That you barely slept last night, kept up by the thought of everything crashing down around you? That every time you close your eyes, you see your own future in a way you never imagined it before? Instead, you inhale deeply and say, “It was fine.” Jake gives you a look. You fidget slightly under his gaze before sighing and elaborating. 

“I had class this morning,” you start, perching on the edge of your chair. “Yuna and I grabbed coffee after, but the barista completely messed up my order, so I ended up drinking the strongest espresso of my life. I swear I could hear colors after that.” Jake snorts, shaking his head. “Then I came back to my room, tried to take a nap, but the guys across the hall decided to have a full-on garage band session at, like, peak volume.” You groan, rubbing your temples. “It sounded like someone was murdering an electric guitar.” 

Jake tilts his head. “Were they at least good?” 

You deadpan. “No.” He chuckles, the sound low and familiar, something that almost makes you feel lighter. So you keep talking. You tell him about your classes, about how Yuna dragged you into watching some new drama that she’s absolutely obsessed with. About how you got sucked into a rabbit hole of cat videos on your phone, and one was so funny that you laughed until you cried. And the whole time, Jake listens. Not just in the polite, half-distracted way people sometimes do. No—he really listens. He nods at the right moments. Asks questions. Throws in sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes but also bite back a smile. And it’s so… easy. 

For a few minutes, it’s like things are the way they used to be. Like there’s no giant, life-changing revelation hanging over your heads. Like it’s just you and him. Like it’s always been. But that’s the thing about pretending. Eventually, reality always catches up. 

You shouldn’t be staring at Jake. But you are. It’s not your fault, really. He’s sitting on your bed like he belongs there, hoodie still pulled up, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your blanket. The room is dim, just your bedside lamp casting a soft glow, making everything feel warmer. Closer. And maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s here, but — he looks good. Really, good. You could blame it on the hormones but you know that’s not entirely true, you were attracted to Jake enough to fuck him on the regular. 

Which is so not what you should be thinking about right now. Especially when everything between you is so much bigger than it used to be. Still, you can’t help but glance at him as you chew your food, watching the way his jaw tenses like he’s caught up in his own head. So, to fill the silence, you ask, “What about you? What did you do today?” 

Jake blinks, like you’ve just pulled him out of a thought he wasn’t ready to leave. Then he sighs. “Practice.” You raise a brow. “That’s it?” He huffs out a soft laugh. “That’s pretty much all I do.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back against your pillows. “Yeah, yeah. Hockey is life.” Jake smirks. “Glad you’re finally getting it.” You nudge him lightly with your foot, and for the first time in days, something feels normal. But then you see the way his smirk fades slightly, the way his fingers keep fidgeting. 

“How was practice?” you ask. Jake hesitates. And you can tell — whatever it is, he doesn’t want to say it. But after a moment, he sighs. “It sucked.” That makes you pause. Jake never complains about practice. Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s been chewed out by his coach, even when he’s sore and bruised—he always shrugs it off. It’s just part of the game. So the fact that he’s saying it now means something. 

“Why?” you ask, setting your food down. Jake drags a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I don’t know. I couldn’t focus. Coach was on my ass all day. Kept telling me to get my head in the game.” He shakes his head, voice quieter now. “I just… couldn’t.” Your chest tightens. Because you know. You know why he couldn’t focus. And it hits you, suddenly — Jake is scared. Maybe not in the same way you are. Maybe not in the overwhelming, spiraling, how-will-I-ever-handle-this way that’s been sitting heavy in your chest since you saw that test. 

But still—Jake is scared. And for the first time since this whole thing started, you realize, You’re not the only one whose world is changing. Jake won’t look at you. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point in the room, his jaw tense, fingers still picking at the frayed thread on your blanket. He looks like he wants to say something, like there’s too much sitting on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where to start. And for some reason, that makes your chest ache. 

“Jake…” you start carefully. His head tilts slightly, but he still doesn’t meet your gaze. You swallow. “Is it because of—”

“You,” Jake says suddenly. The word is soft. Quiet. But it still punches the air right out of your lungs. Your breath catches. “Me?” Jake finally lifts his eyes to yours, and god, they’re unreadable. Dark, searching—like he’s trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything inside him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is rough, like he’s only just now admitting it to himself. “It’s you. It’s… this.” He gestures vaguely, and you know he means all of it. The pregnancy. The secret you held onto for weeks. The way everything between you is shifting, unsteady, the ground cracking beneath both of you in real time. And it’s weird. Because part of you has spent so long thinking about how this will change your life—how everything is unraveling for you—that it didn’t even occur to you that Jake is unraveling too.

That he’s scared. Just like you. The thought makes something twist deep in your stomach. You exhale, shifting slightly so you’re facing him completely. “I didn’t mean to mess everything up for you.” Jake’s brows knit together immediately. “What?” You glance down at your hands. “I know hockey is your whole life, Jake. I know you’ve got… plans, and dreams, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. And now it’s just—” You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek before whispering, “I don’t want you to hate me for it.”

Jake stiffens. The room is silent for a long, painful moment. Then, suddenly, he shifts—pushing himself off the bed and moving toward you so fast that your breath stumbles. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s closer now. Close enough that you can see the way his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hoodie sleeves.

“Don’t say that,” he says, voice low. “Don’t ever say that.” You blink up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his eyes. Jake shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I could never hate you.” Your throat tightens. “But I—”

“You didn’t do this alone.” His voice is firm, certain. “You didn’t just wake up one day and decide to flip my life upside down. I was there, too.” You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m the one carrying it.” Jake flinches slightly at the word carrying, but he doesn’t look away.

“I know,” he says. His voice is softer now. “And I know it’s different for you. I know I’ll never fully get what that feels like.” He swallows hard. “But this isn’t just on you, okay? I’m scared too.” Your heart stutters. Because this is Jake. The Jake who’s always been so steady. So sure of himself. Who skates like nothing in the world could shake him. And now he’s sitting in front of you, looking like he’s the one who can’t find his footing.

You don’t know what to say. So you just nod. Jake exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before falling back onto your bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long second, letting the silence settle between you again. Then, with a small, almost bitter laugh, he says, “God, no wonder Coach was on my ass all day.”

That startles a laugh out of you. It’s small, barely there, but Jake notices. His lips twitch. “Oh, so now it’s funny?”

You sniffle, shaking your head. “I mean… kinda.” Jake groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering.” You roll your eyes, nudging his foot lightly with yours. “It’s not suffering, it’s called consequences.” Jake drops his arm, lifting his head to give you a flat look. “I don’t like that word.”

You smirk. “Well, get used to it.” For a moment, you just sit there, looking at each other. And something settles. The air is still heavy, the weight of everything still pressing down on both of you. But… It doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. 

The rest of the night kept going just like that, sat next together watching reruns, laughing about everything. You’re trying to focus on the show playing in front of you. Really, you are. But it’s hard—and not just because Jake keeps making little comments about the plot, half-serious, half to mess with you. It’s because you can’t stop thinking about it. Something that has been plaguing you these past few weeks. The feeling has been creeping up on you for weeks now, an itch under your skin that only seems to get worse. At first, you thought it was just stress, or maybe a weird symptom of everything your body was going through. But now, sitting here next to Jake, your legs tucked up under you, his thigh warm where it brushes against yours — 

You know exactly what it is. And god, it’s humiliating. Because there’s no good way to say it. Hey, Jake, I know our lives are changing forever, but by the way, I’m really, really horny. You press your lips together, eyes flickering toward him. He looks relaxed, his arm slung lazily over the back of your bed, fingers occasionally tapping against the blanket. His hoodie has shifted slightly, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats, and why are you even looking at that? 

You force yourself to look back at the screen, gripping your blanket like it might physically restrain you from saying something stupid. But then Jake shifts, turning toward you slightly. “You good?” You freeze. “What?” 

Jake gives you a look. “You keep making weird faces.” Shit. You clear your throat, shaking your head quickly. “I’m fine.” Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You sure?” 

No. “Yeah.” but he doesn’t look away, god can he just look away. “Because if something’s wrong—” 

“I said I’m fine,” you blurt, a little too quickly, a little too defensive. Jake blinks. You clamp your mouth shut. Then, slowly, his expression shifts. Like he’s figuring something out. Like he’s putting a puzzle together, piece by piece. And suddenly, you regret everything. Because this is Jake.

Jake, who knows your body better than anyone. Jake, who has spent the last year reading your little shifts and signals, knowing exactly when you wanted him—when you needed him—even before you ever said a word. And now he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. Your stomach flips. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something — But you panic, snatching the remote and turning the volume up way too high.

Jake flinches at the sudden blare of noise. “Jesus—”

“Sorry!” You fumble with the remote, lowering it again. “My hand slipped.” Jake stares at you. Then—slowly—he smirks. Your stomach plummets. “Your hand slipped?” he repeats, amusement dripping from his tone. You nod quickly. “Yep.” Jake tilts his head, still watching you. Your heart is pounding. And you realize, with absolute horror, that there is no way you’re getting out of this.

Jake is still watching you. And you can tell by the glint in his eyes, the way his smirk is growing, that he knows something’s up. So, before he can start teasing you, you blurt out the first thing on your mind. “Are you gonna sleep with other girls?”

Jake stills. His smirk drops instantly. His whole expression shifts from amused to completely caught off guard. “What?” You don’t back down. You cross your arms, looking straight at him. “Now that I’m, you know…” You gesture vaguely toward your stomach. “Are you still gonna sleep with other people?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No.” Just that. No. No hesitation, no confusion, just a simple, matter-of-fact no. And that does something to you. Because you weren’t even sure why you asked it. Maybe because you never really talked about exclusivity before. Maybe because things between you have felt so different lately, and you needed to know. Or maybe because part of you was scared that nothing was different for Jake  that he’d still be going out, still be with other girls, while you were here, pregnant with his child.

But now, sitting here, watching the way his brows are still pulled together like he can’t believe you even asked  Something inside you loosens. You exhale. “Good.” Then, before you can overthink it, before Jake can even process what’s happening You lean in and kiss him.

Jake freezes. It’s so different from the way things used to be. Before, your kisses were quick, hungry, never filled with anything but need. But this is slow. This is intentional. And it’s Jake who responds first.

He melts into you, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just right as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm, familiar, but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now, something softer, something that lingers. And god, you need him. Every built-up thought, every moment of tension from the last few weeks, crashes into you all at once. You press closer, hands fisting into his hoodie, pulling him in.

Jake makes a low sound in his throat, his grip tightening slightly, his other hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers skim the hem of your shirt, hesitate — Then he pulls away just slightly, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. “Are you—” His voice is hoarse, strained. “Are you sure?” You nod. Jake studies you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when he finds none, his lips crash into yours again. And this time  Neither of you stop. Jake kisses you like he’s making up for lost time.

Like he’s been waiting for this, just as much as you have. His hands slide up your sides, slow and careful, like he’s still giving you a chance to change your mind but you don’t. You can’t. You press closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, and that’s all it takes. A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, his flushed skin, his rapid breathing sends a shiver through you. He’s so warm, and when his hands find your hips, you let him guide you back against the pillows, your body reacting on instinct.

Everything feels different. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that makes you hesitate. Just in a way that makes you aware of the weight of his body, the way he touches you, the way he looks at you. Because for the first time, it’s not just mindless. For the first time, Jake is looking at you like he actually sees you. And god, you want him.

His lips trail down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder everywhere. His hands are careful, slower than usual, like he’s savoring the moment instead of rushing through it. And that’s the thing there’s no rush. Because tonight isn’t about just getting lost in each other. Tonight is something else. Something neither of you have had before. And as Jake’s lips find yours again, breathless, desperate, needing you let yourself fall. 

He took his time peeling off every layer of clothing that stood in your way, his sensual kisses leaving butterfly like feelings in his wake as he moved them up and down the expanse of your neck. It was more romantic than you had ever experienced. He was taking his time with you, cherishing your body as he helped you, cradled you. There was beauty in the way the two of you were finally joined, again. 

You are on top of him, your knees on either side of his hips, lifting yourself up than crashing down to the tune of your own heartbeat in your ears. Jake drank in the sight of you, his hands running up and down your body, squeezing at your breasts like a vice. They were noticeably bigger and it was apparent that Jake loved it. 

Your moans and groans grew in tandem as Jake whispered dirty things into your ear. The gasps he let out everytime your hips slapped against yours served as a catalyst to your already awaiting orgasm. It hit you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in its wake. Jake followed not long after. His body is shaking along with yours. And when it was over, you sat atop him with him still nestled deep inside of you and fell asleep. Feeling more peaceful than you have in weeks. 

The next morning, the first thing you register is warmth. It’s different from the usual comfort of your blankets or the lingering haze of sleep. It’s heavier, grounding, and when you blink your eyes open, it takes you a second to realize why. Jake is still next to you. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm stretched lazily across your waist. His breathing is slow, deep, even, and in the soft morning light filtering through your curtains, he looks so peaceful. So different.

Jake is always moving, always carrying some kind of restless energy on the ice, at parties, even just sitting next to you. But right now, he’s still. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his lips parted slightly as he sleeps. You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the subtle weight of his arm over you, and for a brief, fragile moment, you let yourself just exist here. In this sliver of morning where nothing has to be said. Where nothing has to change. But eventually, Jake stirs.

He shifts against the pillow, letting out a low hum as his lashes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. His grip on you tightens for a second before he pulls away, rubbing at his face. You watch as he blinks a few times, clearly still waking up, before his gaze finally settles on you. A small, lazy smile.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse. You swallow, forcing yourself to look away from the mess of his hair, the sleep-drunk warmth in his eyes. "Morning." Jake shifts onto his side, his movements slower than usual, more relaxed. His eyes flicker toward the bedside table, where his phone buzzes quietly, before he turns back to you.

"The frat’s having a thing tonight," he says, voice still rough from sleep. "Not a party, just a small get-together. You should come." You hesitate. "A get-together?"

Jake nods, stretching one arm above his head before letting it drop back onto the pillow. "Yeah. Just the guys, Yunjin, Yuna, Heeseung’s girl. No crazy shit." He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “It might be good for you.” There’s something careful in the way he says it. Like he’s watching for your reaction. And the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You haven’t really been out since everything happened. The idea of being around everyone again of feeling like things are normal when they’re so clearly not makes something twist in your chest.

Jake notices. "You don’t have to," he says, quieter now. “I just thought—" He stops, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just thought you might wanna get out for a bit. Clear your head.” And the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker to your stomach for the briefest second before meeting yours again.  You know what he means. He’s giving you an out. If you don’t want to go, he won’t push. If you say no, he won’t mention it again. But the idea lingers.

Because part of you does miss it. Misses laughing with Yuna and Yunjin, miss sitting around and watching Heeseung get bullied by the guys, miss feeling like yourself. Even if things aren’t the same anymore. You exhale slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Okay.” Jake blinks, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually agree. Then slowly, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?” You nod, and something inside you eases. This could be fun and god knows you need that in your life right about now. 

That night, air is crisp as you step outside, carrying the first whispers of winter on its breath. You tug your coat tighter around you, relishing in the warmth as you walk alongside Jake. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, the fabric pulled over his head, but you can still see the easy grin playing at his lips. There’s something light about tonight, something you hadn’t expected. It’s been weeks of suffocating thoughts, of holding your breath, of feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on your chest. But tonight, for the first time, that pressure isn’t there. Maybe it’s because you’re choosing this. Or maybe it’s because Jake's here with you. 

Jake glances at you as you walk. “You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“You sure?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow, playful, teasing. “Because I don’t wanna show up and have you ditch me two minutes in. That’d be kinda embarrassing.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small laugh that escapes you. “I’m not gonna ditch you.” Jake hums, side-eyeing you like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I dunno. You’ve been real unpredictable lately.”  You nudge him back, a little harder this time, and he lets out a soft chuckle.

The sidewalk stretches ahead, illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. It’s late enough that campus is quiet, the usual bustle of students reduced to only the occasional passing group, muffled laughter carrying through the air. The night feels calm. Jake walks beside you in that familiar, effortless way—like being near you is second nature. And maybe it is. Maybe, despite everything, it always has been You glance over at him. “So, what exactly is this get-together?”

Jake shrugs. “Just a small thing. Heeseung and Jay wanted to do something before our next away game. No crazy party, just hanging out.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Swear on my life.” He presses a hand over his heart. “No surprise kegs, no random strangers passing out in the hall. Just us.” It sounds… nice. Like the kind of normalcy you hadn’t realized you missed until now. The thought makes you exhale softly, your steps slowing just a fraction. You hadn’t expected to feel good tonight. Hadn’t expected to look forward to anything, let alone this. Jake notices your pause and turns slightly, walking backward now so he can face you. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head, “we can still turn around, you know. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” But you do.

So you shake your head. “I wanna go.” Jake studies you for a second, like he’s searching for any hesitation. But there isn’t any. Not tonight. Eventually, he nods. “Okay,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into something softer. “Good.” And as you near the house, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch, the glow of string lights hanging from the windows, You realize you’re glad you came. 

The warmth of the frat house greets you the moment you step inside, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air is thick with the scent of garlic bread and pasta, something home-cooked and rich, filling the space with a kind of comfort you hadn’t expected. Laughter hums in the background, the low murmur of conversation weaving between the sound of utensils clinking against plates. It’s not the kind of party you’d grown used to at this house. No booming music rattling the walls, no overwhelming crush of bodies moving in tandem, no spilled drinks coating the floor in sticky regret. Instead, it feels warm, familiar. Like a gathering of people who actually care about each other. Jake’s friends greet him instantly, throwing easy nods and teasing jabs his way. Jay claps him on the shoulder, Heeseung tosses some offhand comment about how “Wow, Sim, you actually showed up for once?” but then their attention shifts to you.

“Hey!” Yunjin grins, pulling you into a quick hug. “We were wondering if you’d come.” You smile. “Yeah, Jake convinced me.”

“Good. You needed to get out,” Yuna says, appearing at your side with her usual knowing smirk. “You can’t just sit in the dorm watching Netflix and eating fruit snacks for the next few months.”

You narrow your eyes. “That was one time.”

Yunjin snickers. “Sure, babe.”

There’s no judgment in their words, though, just familiarity. That easy friendship that makes your chest loosen. Everyone settles into a comfortable rhythm as the night unfolds, plates passed around, laughter spilling over casual conversation, Jake leaning back into the couch beside you, his arm draped along the back of it, close but not quite touching. And then, at some point, the conversation shifts.

“So,” Yunjin says, sitting forward, her eyes flickering between you and Jake. “We have to talk about something important.” You blink. “Uh… okay?”

Yuna grins. “A baby shower.” You choke on your drink. “A what?”

“A baby shower!” Heeseung’s girlfriend nods eagerly. “Come on, you have to have one! It’ll be so cute!” You stare at them. “I mean, I—”

“It’s not really up to you,” Yunjin interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already decided. We’re throwing one.” Jake huffs a small laugh beside you, shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re having a baby, dude. This is happening.” Jay gestures between the two of you. “You might as well have a party for it.” You glance at Jake, unsure what to say. The idea of a baby shower hadn’t even crossed your mind yet. There’s been so much to think about. doctor’s appointments, your classes, the slow, terrifying reality of your life shifting that something as normal as a baby shower hadn’t even made it onto the list. But the way everyone is looking at you excited, hopeful, like they genuinely want to do this for you makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jake’s knee bumps against yours as he shifts beside you. “What do you think?” he asks, voice low enough that it’s meant just for you. You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think…” You exhale, looking back at your friends. “I think it sounds exciting.” The girls cheer. Heeseung claps Jake on the back. “Guess you better start making a registry, man.” Jake groans, but there’s something soft in his expression, something light. Something you’d love to see over and over again until you die. 

The conversation drifts naturally, flowing from one topic to the next like the rise and fall of a tide. The laughter still lingers in the air, the warmth of it curling around you like a blanket, but then the topic shifts. Jay leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Man, this schedule is gonna kill me.”

Heeseung snorts. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every year.” Jay groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Back-to-back away games? We barely get time to breathe.” Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you. “You’re so dramatic.”

Jay lifts his head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up, Sim. You love this shit.” Jake shrugs, unbothered. “I mean, yeah. It’s hockey. What’s not to love?” And just like that, the floodgates open. The guys dive into a conversation that feels almost foreign to you, play schedules, practice drills, strategies for upcoming games. They speak in a language that’s second nature to them, that thrives in their bones, their voices animated, hands gesturing wildly as they argue over stats and game plans. And at first, it’s nothing. At first, you just sit there, listening. But then — Then it starts to settle.

Jake does love this. It’s not just a hobby, not just a college sport—it’s his life. The hours, the dedication, the grueling schedule—it doesn’t seem to weigh on him the way it does the others. He thrives in it. He needs it. And this is just college. If he’s this busy now…

The thought creeps in, slow but merciless. If this is what his schedule looks like now—morning practices, late-night workouts, weekend-long away games—what the hell is it going to look like when he goes pro? Because he will. You know it as sure as you know the sun will rise in the morning. Jake was built for this. It’s what he’s worked for, what he’s bled for. Hockey isn’t just something he loves. It’s his future. And where the hell do you fit into that?

You blink, barely registering that the conversation is still going, that the guys are still talking and laughing and teasing each other, that the warmth of the room hasn’t faded—but suddenly, it feels distant. A dull, steady ache starts in your chest, creeping up your throat, tightening around your ribs. You stare at the flickering candle on the table, at the way the wax pools and hardens, melting and reforming in an endless cycle. They keep talking. And you go quiet.

You don’t even realize how still you’ve gone until Jake nudges your knee with his own. “Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze, and there’s a slight furrow between his brows, that subtle shift that tells you he notices. “You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that the others don’t hear. You should say yes. Should push down the thoughts clawing at your chest, the creeping fear that tells you this is a mistake, that you’re deluding yourself into thinking this can work, that you won’t get left behind in the wake of his future.

But your throat is tight. So you just force a smile, nodding once. Jake doesn’t buy it. His gaze lingers, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to figure you out. But before he can press, someone calls his name, dragging him back into the conversation, and you take the out for what it is. You breathe. And the doubt lingers. The room is still alive with conversation, laughter curling at the edges of words, but your mind is somewhere else. Distant. Tangled.

Jake is talking again something about next week’s game, about how they need to tighten their defense but the words barely reach you. They swirl around the room, carried by voices that belong in this world, that fit. And then there’s you. Sitting here, stomach heavy with something that feels like lead, pressing against your ribs, against your lungs. Because how does this work? How do you fit?

You glance at Jake from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees, brows furrowed as he listens to Heeseung explain something about their last game. He’s so focused. So in his element, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. And then there’s the baby. And you. Where do you fit in all of this? It was easy, easier when the thought of being pregnant was still something distant, something you were still getting used to. But now it’s real. You’ve seen the ultrasound. Heard the heartbeat. There’s something inside you, someone that’s growing, changing, becoming more real every single day. And Jake..

Jake is here. He’s showing up. He’s bringing you food and taking you to appointments and rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way every time he catches himself looking at you for too long. But for how long? Because this is just college. This is before the contracts, before the NHL scouts come knocking, before his entire life shifts into something so much bigger than campus arenas and team dinners. You bite your lip, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. Jake loves hockey. It’s the one thing he’s never wavered on, the one thing that’s been steady, unwavering, untouchable.

And you, You’re just a detour. A pause in his story. A moment in time that he never planned for. He’s already stretched so thin. His schedule is already brutal. Morning practices, games, travel, training when would he even have time for you? For a baby? For late-night feedings and diaper changes and God, what were you thinking? This isn’t sustainable. This isn’t something that fits neatly into his world.

The realization crashes into you all at once, so heavy you almost feel sick. You need to talk to him. But then Jake laughs beside you, head thrown back, voice warm and unbothered, and when he looks at you, his smile is easy, soft. And for a second, just a second you wonder if maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s trying. Maybe he wants this. Maybe…

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you. “You’re quiet.” You blink, jolted from your thoughts, your heart hammering against your ribs. You force a small smile. “Just tired.” Jake’s eyes linger for a second longer, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But then Jay nudges him, pulling him back into the conversation, and the moment is gone. And you, You’re still stuck wondering.

The night air is crisp when Jake pulls up in front of your dorm, the distant hum of campus life still lingering in the background, laughter from passing students, the occasional roar of a car engine down the street, the muffled bass of music from a party somewhere nearby. But inside the car, it’s just you and him.

The warmth of the heater hums softly, filling the silence that has stretched between you since you left the frat house. Jake’s hands are still wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, but he’s not in any rush to move. His eyes flick to you as you shift in your seat, your fingers curling and uncurling in your lap. “You want me to come in?” His voice is careful. Not forceful, not overbearing gentle. An offer. A quiet attempt to be there, to be with you.

You shake your head almost immediately. “No, it’s okay. I think I just wanna sleep.” The words leave your lips too quickly, too practiced, and you can tell by the way Jake’s brows furrow slightly that he catches it. That he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out on it. He just exhales slowly, watching you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a restless little rhythm, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how.

You push the car door open before he can change his mind and insist, before he can see through you too much. The cold air bites at your skin as you step out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. You feel Jake’s gaze on you as you turn back toward the car, gripping the edge of the door. “Thanks for the ride.” Jake gives a small nod, his lips pressing together. “Yeah. Of course.”

You linger. For some reason, you linger. Your fingers tighten around the door, the weight in your chest heavy and pulling.Like there’s something that wants to slip out, some small confession that’s buried too deep for you to name just yet. But then Jake shifts in his seat, glancing toward the windshield, and the moment shatters. You clear your throat, forcing a small smile. “Night, Jake.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Night.” You shut the door and walk away before the doubt in your head can make you turn back.

Inside your dorm, it’s quiet. Too quiet. The air is still, untouched by Yuna’s usual presence—her music, her laughter, her constant, grounding presence that keeps you from feeling like you’re alone with your thoughts. But tonight, you are alone. You toe off your shoes and drop your bag by the door, shrugging off your jacket and letting it slip from your fingers onto the chair nearby. The room feels colder than usual, or maybe that’s just you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, fingers threading through your hair as you stare at the floor. The doubt is back. That creeping, suffocating feeling that has latched onto you ever since the conversation about hockey at dinner. How does this work? You feel like you’re standing at the edge of something. A reality you’re not prepared for, a future that you don’t know how to step into. Jake is here now. But what about when the season gets more intense? What about when the scouts come, when contracts are on the table, when suddenly he’s got offers from teams that are miles and miles away?

What about when the NHL swallows him whole and you and this baby become nothing more than a footnote in his history? Your fingers tremble slightly as you rest them against your stomach. It’s still flat, still unchanged, but you know you know something is growing, shifting, taking root inside you. And yet, you still don’t know where you fit in Jake’s life. Maybe he’s showing up now. Maybe he’s trying. But what if this, this thing between you was never meant to last? You press your lips together, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes. You’re exhausted, your body heavy with the weight of your thoughts, but sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

It’s been a week. Seven days of silence. Seven days of unanswered texts, of ignored calls, of messages left on read. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, that eventually, Jake would force his way in. That he’d demand answers, refuse to let you keep pushing him away. But still, when the knock comes; sharp and insistent against your dorm door and  your stomach drops.

For a second, you think about pretending you’re not home. But then his voice comes through, firm but edged with something else. Something raw. “Open the door, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers curling against the fabric of your hoodie. There’s no running from this. No delaying the inevitable. So you inhale, force your hands to stop shaking, and pull the door open. Jake is standing there, still in his practice gear, sweat dampening the strands of hair curling against his forehead, his hockey duffel slung over one shoulder. He must’ve come straight from the rink, must’ve been thinking about this the entire time because his eyes are already burning with frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

You cross your arms over your chest, stepping back just enough for him to push past you into the dorm. He does, kicking the door shut behind him, and suddenly the room feels too small. Too full of him. He turns to you, brows furrowed, jaw tight. “You’ve been ignoring me.” You scoff, arms tightening around yourself. “Yeah, well. Maybe that’s because I needed some space.”

Jake shakes his head, running a hand down his face. “Space from what? Me? The baby? This whole situation?” He exhales, something heavy behind it. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t know when something’s wrong with you?” You look away, fixing your gaze on the floor. “Jake—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the room, not loud, but firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.” Your throat tightens. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping closer. “Tell me why you suddenly don’t want me around. Why are you acting like I’m already failing at something I haven’t even gotten the chance to do yet.” The words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You don’t mean to let it slip out, but suddenly, it’s there.The fear that’s been clawing at you, the doubt that’s been growing like a weed. “Because I don’t know if you can do it, Jake.” Silence.

His expression shifts, the frustration flickering into something else—hurt. You swallow hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You might think you can handle it, but… this isn’t just a game, Jake. This isn’t a season, or a practice, or something you can walk away from if it gets too hard.” Your voice shakes, but you push forward. “This is a baby. A whole life. And you’re already stretched so thin. Your schedule is insane, your life is already moving in a direction that—” You shake your head, looking away. “What if I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?”

Jake exhales sharply, stepping closer again, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are stormy, filled with something desperate, something pleading. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t know how to make you believe me when I tell you that I want this. That I want to be here.” Your lip trembles, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “You can’t just say it, Jake. You have to prove it.” Jake flinches like the words sting, like they land somewhere deep inside him. He presses his lips together, dragging a hand through his hair. “And how am I supposed to do that if you won’t even let me try?” The words linger between you, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between breaths. You don’t have an answer.

So you just whisper, “I need space.” Jake’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, controlled breath, like he’s forcing himself to accept it. He nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” But then his voice softens, just barely. “I have an away game this weekend. I’ll be gone until Monday.” His eyes search yours, like he’s looking for something, anything to tell him you’re not slipping too far away. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, we’re talking about this.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.” Jake lingers for a moment, like there’s something else he wants to say. But instead, he just exhales, shoulders still tight with tension as he steps back toward the door. And then he’s gone. And the second the door clicks shut behind him, the weight in your chest pulls you under. 

The dorm is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint blue light spilling from the television screen. The glow flickers across the walls, illuminating the mess of blankets you’ve curled yourself into on the couch. The volume isn’t high, but it doesn’t need to be. The sound of the game filters in clearly, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp whistles, the distant roar of the crowd.

You’d told yourself you wouldn’t watch. That you’d let the game pass without so much as checking the score. But now you’re here, heart hammering against your ribs, watching him. Jake. The camera zooms in as he weaves through the defense, his body moving like something fluid, something effortless. His hair is damp with sweat beneath his helmet, strands sticking to his forehead as he skates into position. He’s good. He’s so good.

You can see it in the way he moves, in the way the opposing team struggles to keep up. They’re aggressive, irritated because they know they can’t outplay him, so they’ll try to beat him down instead. And that’s exactly what they do. The hits tonight have been brutal. More than usual. It’s a grueling, ruthless game, bodies slamming against the boards with resounding cracks. The referees aren’t calling much, letting things slide, letting them play too rough.

And then, Sunghoon goes down. Your breath stutters as you watch him crash against the ice, his body crumpling on impact. He tries to get up, his gloved hands pressing against the rink, but something is wrong. His leg. You can tell immediately. The way he winces, the way his teammates circle him in concern, the way the trainer rushes onto the ice. The cameras cut in close. His face is tight with pain.

It takes two people to help him off the ice. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your hands clenched into fists. You hate this. You hate watching them get hurt like this. And then, Jake. He’s too fast, moving up the rink, his stick handling the puck with precision. The opposing team is trailing behind him, trying to keep up, trying to stop him.

They can’t. So one of them doesn’t even try. The moment it happens, you feel it, the wrongness. The guy comes in too fast. The check is too high, too hard, too reckless. And Jake never sees it coming. Your breath stops. Jake’s body is airborne before he crashes into the boards with a force that shakes the glass. The sound of it is sickening,a violent collision of bone, plexiglass, ice. His head snaps back. His helmet slams against the wall with a brutal crack. And then he slumps. He doesn’t move.

Your vision blurs. The game fades into the background, the commentators talking too calm, too casual as Jake remains still. His limbs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, his hand curled slightly over his side, his helmet tilted askew. He still hasn’t moved. Oh God. Move, Jake. Your stomach is in your throat, a sharp, rising panic clawing up your chest. Your hands are shaking. Your breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and you feel like you might be sick.

Then, slowly, he stirs. Not much, just a twitch of his fingers, a subtle shift in his shoulders. But it’s enough for the trainer to rush onto the ice, teammates circling him as he tries to push himself up. The camera zooms in, his face is twisted, his brows drawn together in pain.

His hand is gripping his ribs. Your throat tightens. You can see it, he’s hurting. Even as he shakes his head at the trainer, even as he tries to play it off. He’s trying to act fine, trying to prove he can keep going, but you know him. You can see through it. Jake’s not okay. Tears burn at your eyes, and you don’t even try to fight them. You don’t care that you’ve spent the last week avoiding him, don’t care that you’ve been drowning in doubts, don’t care that you still don’t have all the answers. Because none of it matters right now. Jake is hurt. You just want to be with him, you need to be with him. You have to get to him, and fast. 

You barely remember how you got there, your feet pounding the pavement in a haze, the world a blur of motion as you rushed toward the hospital. You’re too frantic to think, too scared to process anything more than the fact that Jake was hurt, hurt in a way you couldn’t ignore, couldn’t pretend didn’t matter. The lights from the hospital sign flicker above you as you stumble through the entrance, the sterile scent of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting you like a wall. Your heart is hammering, the fear sitting heavy in your chest as you make your way to the front desk, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I—I’m looking for Jake Sim," you stutter, your voice shaky, too soft as you try to push past the thick knot of panic that clings to your throat. The receptionist eyes you, takes a moment to type something into her computer. “Room 214,” she says flatly, barely glancing up. “He’s being kept for observation.”

Room 214.

The number echoes in your head as you make your way down the hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. You can hear your pulse pounding in your ears, a steady thrum as you walk faster, too fast, the air around you seeming to constrict with every step. You reach the door. For a moment, you just stand there. Your hand is trembling as you push the door open, the sight of Jake in the bed almost too much to bear. His face is pale, too pale, and his eyes are closed, though he’s awake. He’s hooked up to an IV, his forehead glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks - fragile. Your breath catches in your throat as you step into the room, and it takes everything in you to swallow the rising lump of emotion that threatens to spill out. You’ve seen Jake take hits, seen him get back up from injury after injury. But this feels different. His head turns when he hears the door, his eyes opening slowly, a small smile curling on his lips when he sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough but warm, like he’s trying to ease the tension in the air. His smile is weak, his usual confidence stripped away by the injury, but it’s still there. It’s still him.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight. You move to his side, hovering for a second before reaching out to touch his hand, your fingers trembling against his. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, the solid reassurance you’ve been craving, yet his grip feels fragile in a way you can’t quite shake.

“I didn’t mean to freak out like I did,” you murmur, your voice cracking. “I know you love the baby, and I know you’ll be there for them. I—I know you’ll be a good dad.” He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a faint wince on his face as he shifts his weight, but the way his lips curl into something resembling a smile makes your heart ache.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension that’s been hanging between you for days. “I used to think hockey was the world, that I lived for it, breathed for it. that it was my life. That hockey was the reason I woke up in the morning. I love hockey, hockey will always be my passion and it will always be what I want to do, and who i want to be. But it’s not my life. you are. you two are my life, you and this baby and I wouldn't want it any other way.” 

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air rushes out in one long, shaky exhale. Jake’s hand reaches up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the pain he’s in. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so focused on everything else, and I didn’t stop to think about what you needed. What we needed.”

Tears sting your eyes, a sudden rush of emotion overwhelming you. You hadn’t known how badly you needed to hear those words until they were out in the open. “Jake—” But he’s not letting you finish. He pulls you closer, gently, not forcefully, as though he’s afraid you might break. And when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, soft in a way that makes the world feel like it’s finally falling into place.

You close your eyes, the weight of everything you’ve been carrying melting away in an instant. His kiss is tentative at first, just the brush of his lips against yours, a delicate reassurance that he’s here. That he’s not going anywhere. But then, as if the words he’s spoken have unlocked something inside both of you, the kiss deepens, slow and aching, full of the longing that’s been building between you for weeks. The warmth of his lips against yours is the grounding force you needed to remind yourself that everything was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze full of tenderness, full of something real.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” he murmurs. “I’m staying. I’m gonna be here for you, for the baby… for us.” The words resonate deep inside you, a wave of warmth flooding your chest. You don’t know what the future holds, but in this moment, you believe him. You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the world seems to slow down. The hurt, the uncertainty, all of it seems to fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I love you,” you whisper. And this time, it’s not a question. It’s not something you’re trying to convince yourself of. It’s just the truth. He smiles, the familiar glint of something unbreakable in his eyes. “I love you, too.” In that moment, you realize that everything’s been leading to this, a moment of vulnerability, of surrender, of knowing that no matter what comes next, you’ve got each other. And maybe that’s all you really need.

AFTER. 

The baby shower is a blur of light and warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of happy conversations filling the air. The room is decorated with soft blues and yellows, little stuffed animals and pastel balloons drifting lazily overhead. It’s a cozy, intimate gathering. more like a family get-together than a grand celebration, and everything feels perfect. The air smells faintly of sweet pastries and flowers, and there’s an undeniable sense of anticipation hanging in the air, as if everyone is waiting for the moment when you and Jake’s little one will finally arrive.

Yuna is by your side, her bright smile radiating as she hands you a piece of cake, teasing you about cravings you’d been indulging in the past few months. You laugh along with her, feeling lighter than you have in ages. There’s a sense of peace in this room — a fleeting, magical calmness that you don’t want to end. Every now and then, your hand drifts to your swollen belly, gently pressing against the soft curve of it, as if the little life inside is dancing along to the rhythm of the moment.

Jake, ever the protective figure, is right by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back, his gaze never straying too far from you. His face, always so expressive, is filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, something soft, something cherishing. It’s hard to imagine a time when things were uncertain, when you wondered if he could be the father you needed, the partner you dreamed of. Because now, standing here with him, you know the truth. He’s already there. Already doing everything he can to show you he’s in this for the long haul.

“Do you need anything?” Jake asks, his voice low, full of the kind of care that only someone who loves you like he does can muster. You shake your head, the warmth from his touch making your heart swell. It’s moments like these, quiet, simple moments that remind you how far you’ve come from the uncertainty you once felt. How far you’ve both come.

“Just you,” you smile up at him, the words coming out without a second thought, and he grins at you like it’s the best compliment he could ever receive.

The guests are all mingling now, with the occasional burst of laughter ringing out as the game ideas you and Yuna came up with take full effect. Everyone is gathered around, exchanging baby gifts, newborn clothes, soft blankets, bottles, stuffed animals. Your friends and family are here, laughing and celebrating this new chapter of your life. The people you love most are sharing this with you. And even though there’s a bittersweet ache in your chest, because Sunghoon is absent, recovering from that god-awful injury, there’s a deep sense of thankfulness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey,” Jake says, breaking you from your thoughts. His voice is so gentle, his hand finding yours in the crowd. “I need to step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, watching as he slips through the door. You know he’s been feeling the weight of everything lately, the pressure of balancing his career, school, and this new role as a soon-to-be father. You trust him to make it all work, to prove to you that he can handle the responsibilities. But there’s a piece of you, a vulnerable part, that still worries. The doubts always seem to rise like whispers in the back of your mind.

“Win or lose; I want to come home to you,” Jake had said to you not long ago, those words echoing in your memory like a melody. They settle in your heart like a promise, something real, something that matters. The door opens softly, and you look up to see Jake reentering the room, his eyes catching yours immediately. His smile, though small, is genuine, and you feel your breath catch in your chest. The way he looks at you, the way his hand rests against your back once more as he steps closer. it’s as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the miracle of everything that’s happening.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, his voice full of tenderness, vulnerability slipping in beneath the surface. You nod slowly, your hand resting over your belly as you meet his gaze. “We already are, Jake. I already know we are.” The words settle between you both, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party fades into the background. All that matters is this. this feeling of being connected, being here, in this moment, together. The baby, the future, it’s all a little clearer now.

Jake’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The room seems to hum around you, the laughter and chatter distant, but in this small space between the two of you, the world feels as if it’s standing still. Everything has changed. The uncertainty, the doubts, the fear. it’s all been replaced by the certainty of one truth: You’re in this together. And when you see Jake’s face soften with that same familiar warmth, you know it’s true. He’s here. He’s home. “Win or lose,” he whispers, echoing the words he had said to you weeks ago. “I’ll always come home to you.”

Your heart swells in your chest, the weight of his promise settling deep inside you. And in that moment, you know it’s all going to be okay.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

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[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 7

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(just a brief warning that this is not a guide, I won't necessarily have all the +4/+4 options since I used a bunch of those elixir items and blasted my way through the route before guides were up. It mostly becomes relevant starting from this chapter. Sorry about that!)

---

After leaving the basement, I made my way towards Victor’s office.

(I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to say…)

But I knew that I had to tell Victor how I really felt.

(First, I need to apologize for slapping his hand.)

I knocked on the door.

Victor: Who is it?

Kate: It’s me. Can I come in?

Victor: Of course, the door isn’t locked.

Slowly, I swung open the door and stepped inside the office.

Victor: Hello Kate, good morning. Or rather, good afternoon.

Victor welcomed me as if nothing had changed while sitting at his desk.

(...Huh?)

I was so surprised by his reaction–or lack of reaction–that I froze in the doorway. When Victor noticed that I hadn’t actually entered yet, he looked up.

Victor: What are you standing there for? Victor: Are you feeling unwell?

Kate: No, I’m okay… Kate: Um. I’ll come in now.

Victor: If you could handle these today, I’d appreciate it.

Kate: Alright.

Finally entering the office for real, I walked up to Victor to collect the work I’d be doing for today. After picking up the reports, I sat down in my normal chair and got ready to focus.

Kate: …

(Isn’t this too normal?)

My mind was racing after we went through our normal routine.

(Am I the only one who’s concerned about yesterday?)

I snuck a glance to Victor from the corner of my eye. He was hard at work as usual. Time passed as it normally did.

(I have to say something.)

Kate: Um, Victor…

Victor: Hm?

When I gathered the courage to speak up, his warm gaze turned in my direction.

Kate: About yesterday–

Victor: I’m very sorry that you had to witness something frightening last night.

Before I could speak, he stopped working immediately and bowed his head to me. I found myself standing up.

Kate: That wasn’t your fault. I was the one who chased after you.

Victor: But that doesn’t change the fact that you were scared. Victor: I promise that you will never see such a thing ever again.

His self-deprecating smile made my heart squeeze.

Kate: No, that’s not the point. You didn’t do anything wrong. Kate: I was the wrong one for being so ignorant.

Victor: Kate?

I reached over for his hand that was resting on his desk. Victor glanced down briefly at the motion, but said nothing. 

Kate: No matter how upset I was, I still hit you.

The shape of his hand was so different from my own: large, bony, with long and elegant fingers.

Kate: More than anything else, that is what stuck with me the most from last night.

My fingers brushed against his. Relief flooded through me when he didn’t pull away, but that also made my guilt at rejecting him even stronger.

Kate: I’m so sorry for that.

Victor: …

Still silent, Victor looked at me, then grasped my fingers.

Kate: Wha-

Victor: …You truly have a kind heart.

He laced our fingers tightly together.

Victor: You witnessed a terrible sight, and yet you feel guilty for pushing me away. Victor: If our roles were reversed, I would have blamed you much more.

My heart began to beat faster as the warmth of his palm seeped into mine.

Kate: …I mean, I do have someone I want to blame. Kate: But it’s not you. It’s myself, because I’m the one who needed to be protected. Kate: I really am a useless good for nothing, aren’t I?

Immediately, his fingers tightened.

Victor: No. That isn’t true.

Victor’s gaze was piercing as he looked at our joined hands.

Victor: You’re someone I rely on. You aren’t useless, and you aren’t weak.

Kate: But you’ve been making sure I haven’t seen anyone die, haven’t you? Kate: I know you meant well. But it made me sad, too.

Victor: …What?

Kate: Even if my time here is limited, I am Crown’s Fairytale Keeper. Kate: You drew a line between me and the rest of you. And I… that makes me feel lonely.

I couldn’t bear to look into his sharp eyes any longer, and averted my gaze. Even though I finally said what I needed to, I didn’t feel any relief. I think I had an idea of how he would respond.

Victor: I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.

(I knew it…)

I looked down upon hearing the words I expected. But his continuation came as a surprise.

Victor: I know better than anyone that you’re stronger than anyone else I know.

Kate: What?

Slowly, I raised my head. I met Victor’s gaze as he wore a troubled smile.

Victor: I know that your resolve to fulfil your duties is ironclad. I know that even if you were to witness death, and grieve for those lost, you’ll still be able to keep going on. Victor: From watching you, I know the kind of person that you are. Victor: But even so, I still selfishly wanted to keep you far away from death. Victor: I wanted your world to remain as pure as possible, so that you could return to your old life.

It was as if the warmth of his hand was being conveyed directly to my heart.

Victor: If that has caused you to feel guilty, or sad, then I am truly sorry.

(Just how nice is he?)

Just like that, all my shame, guilt, and frustration disappeared like melting snow. His kindness almost made me want to tear up. Slowly, I opened my mouth to respond.

Kate: For as long as I’ll be here, I want to know everything. Kate: I want to know about what I’d been unaware of because of how I lived my life before. Kate: And I want to know more about you.

Victor: …

Now was the time to ask. My resolve solidified, and I curled my fingers tighter around his. I hoped he would answer me.

Kate: Can you please tell me why those people died? Kate: Did you kill them? …Was that your ability?

The leader of Crown, the queen’s aide, the reaper of the palace. The Victor I knew was bright and kind, and maybe a bit of a tease, but always reliable. And at that time, he definitely said something.

Victor: –evil.

(After hearing what Victor said, those men all collapsed.) (The only thing I can think of that would cause that is a curse.)

He said nothing, but unlaced our fingers and withdrew his hand. That was like an answer in itself.

Victor: There are some things in this world that you’re happier not knowing.

This was another line. But this was different from the last time. The line he drew now was obvious. And he was clearly warning me not to step over it. As I stood there, unsure what to make of it, he picked up his quill and resumed working without another word. I felt a sense of emptiness throughout my entire body, as if my heart had been hollowed out. Similarly silent, I went back to my own work. I accidentally made a mistake, so I scribbled over it. As a chilling loneliness seeped into the hole in my heart, I reflected on why I began helping Victor in the first place.

(...That’s right. I wanted to know more about Victor. That’s why I’m here.) (And if I don’t do anything, nothing will change. We’ll just go back to normal.)

And then my time as Fairytale Keeper would come to an end, and I’ll never know the truth about Victor.

(I’ll only ever know this one face.)

I needed to know more. My hands curled into fists in my lap, wrinkling my skirt.

Kate: Victor.

I made up my mind.

Kate: Even if you won’t tell me about yourself, I’ll learn more about you. Kate: Because that’s what I’m here for.

Victor’s eyes widened in surprise as I threw down the gauntlet. 

(As Fairytale Keeper, I’ll learn the truth about him.)

His expression shifted to a grin.

Victor: Do as you please. Victor: I won’t restrict what you do while you’re in the castle. Victor: I have no right to stop you from trying to learn about me, either.

His perfect composure made me feel a little irritated.

Make sure you don’t regret saying that! (+4/+2)

I’ll show you!

Fine, I’ll do what I want!

Kate: Make sure you don’t regret saying that!

Victor: I don’t know how much you’ll learn or how far you’ll get. But… Victor: I don’t go back on my word. Do as you please.

Seeing how worked up I was, he smiled widely.

Victor: You’re always adorable, but you’re extra cute when you’re sulking.

Kate: …!

(You–!!!)

He wasn’t shaken by anything. Not knowing how to retort, I shut my mouth. What drove me wasn’t just my pride as Fairytale Keeper, But I didn’t realize it yet.

-----

Roger: So are you here about my offer after all?

Kate: No!

Roger paused his reading and adjusted his glasses, laughing heartily. As soon as I finished my work, I immediately headed back for the basement. I had a singular purpose.

Kate: You have everyone’s medical charts, don’t you? Kate: I want to see Victor’s.

However, Roger made a face.

Roger: I can show it to you if you really wanted. But the only thing on there is his height.

Kate: Huh?

Roger: I’ve tried to properly fill it out but he’s always dodged me every time I try to give him an examination.

Kate: You're kidding me…

If Roger had everyone’s medical files, then he had to have had some information about Victor. Or so I thought… I’d ran all the way back to the basement for nothing.

Roger: Trying to find his weak spots?

Kate: Well, that’d technically count as information. But I mostly just want to know more about Victor.

Roger: I see. But I don’t really know much about him myself. Roger: There’s no one who’s really as close to him as you are right now, I don’t think. Roger: If there’s anything you don’t know about him, maybe William would?

Kate: He’s out of town for a mission today.

(He’ll only be back the day after tomorrow so I can’t ask him anything now.)

My shoulders slumped in disappointment. Rubbing his chin, Roger thought for a while and then made a suggestion.

Roger: It’s probably a long shot, but why don’t you ask the rest of Crown what they know? Roger: Things like, “What kind of person is Victor?”

(That is probably the best thing I can do right now.)

Kate: Then let’s not waste any time. What kind of person do you think Victor is?

I repeated his own question back at him. Still, he had to pause to think.

Roger: Someone who you can’t tell what he’s really thinking.

Kate: Anything else? Kate: It doesn’t have to be important things. Likes and dislikes work too.

Maybe there’d be something I didn’t know in those little bits of information. I looked expectantly at Roger, who seemed exasperated.

Roger: It’s not like we’re good friends or anything. Roger: He’s my boss, I work for him. That’s as far as our relationship goes. Roger: I don’t know things like what food he likes, or what he likes in a woman.

Kate: …What he likes in a woman…

(What kind of person would Victor like?)

The topic had never come up before, but I was suddenly extremely curious about it. However, Roger didn’t seem interested at all.

Roger: You’re better off asking one of the others. This isn’t my forte.

Kate: Thanks. I’ll do that.

I likely wouldn’t get any further here, so I said my thanks and started walking to the exit. Roger turned back to his book. But–

Roger: Oh yeah, one more thing, actually.

Kate: What is it?

Roger scratched the back of his head and responded.

Roger: Victor seems like he’d be a pain to get involved with.

…

Elbert: “What kind of person is Victor?” …He’s cheerful. And strange. Elbert: He seems like he has everything… However he did it, I want it too… Elbert: “Is he a Cursed One?” …I don’t know. I’ve never seen him use an ability…

…

Liam: “What kind of person is Victor?” Hmmm, he’s really good at magic tricks, and he’s very funny. Liam: He’s the reason why I could join Crown, so I’m really thankful to him. Liam: “Is Victor a Cursed One?” Well, I haven’t seen him use his ability so I can’t tell. Liam: What do you think?

…

Alfons: “What kind of person is Victor?” I suppose he’s a person who’s very benevolent to us Cursed Ones. Alfons: Though, who knows what’s on the inside. Alfons: “Is he a Cursed One?” …I don’t know. He’s full of mysteries, that one. Alfons: But more importantly, I’m headed into town for some fun tonight, would you like to join me?

…

Ellis: “What kind of person is Victor?” …He’s a little bit weird, I guess. Ellis: When I ask him questions, sometimes he avoids it, and sometimes he just tells me not to ask.

Jude: That’s ‘cause it’s you askin’. Jude: You’re off your rocker for trying to get close to someone like him. Jude: Hah? “Is he cursed?” Beats me.

Ellis: If he has an ability, I’ve never seen him use it. Not even once. Ellis: Maybe he isn’t a Cursed One after all.

…

(I didn’t get any of the information I was hoping for.)

I ran around Crown’s castle asking the other members about Victor for the rest of the day, and before I knew it, night had fallen.

(William’s not here today, and I already heard a bit from Harrison before…)

I sat down on my bed as I went over today’s results in my head. The way Crown viewed Victor wasn’t much different than how I did. The Victor of that night seemed like a totally different Victor than the one that Crown knew. And what's more, nobody had ever seen Victor use an ability before.

(What happened that night must have been unexpected even for Victor.)

Kate: …All I have are questions without any answers…

Getting up, I made my way to my desk and reached for my music box. Its gentle melody drifting through the night made my heart feel just a little bit lighter.

[muletia]

I have not been able to stop thinking of smokescreen being one with boobs think we could get more of that pretty please like oh god him just being obsessed with your body and adoring it

obsessed!smokescreen x human!reader very suggestive/sexual content

cw: possessiveness, clinginess, breast play

word count: 1000

"Smokescreen" a reprimand.

"Hmm?" and a cheerful hum.

You glare at the large helm blocking your laptop screen, leaving no illusions about how much you currently disapprove of his clinginess. When all you get in return is an even wider, confident smirk and Smokescreen leaning in to steal a kiss, you reach your limit. You press your palm against the center of his faceplate, covering his intake, and try to clear the space between you and your laptop by pushing him away with all your strength. Naturally, it ends in utter failure. Smokescreen doesn’t budge.

"You won’t succeed, sweetspark," he says, his voice muffled by your hand. "No force in the world can pull me away from you right now."

As he starts placing small, quick kisses on the inside of your palm, you groan in frustration.

Sometimes, his clinginess was honestly endearing, especially after a long separation, when you finally had free time to lounge together on the couch in the garage, showering each other with affection all day long. But today, it was giving you nothing but a headache. You had mountains of overdue work to catch up on, which you had informed him about beforehand, adding that you wouldn’t be able to meet up today. You just hadn’t expected that he’d come to visit anyway, barge into your home, and sprawl out on your bed with you, making it nearly impossible to get anything done with his unrestrained longing.

"Don’t you have some Decepticon afts to kick?" you ask, craning your head in every direction in search of a good place to actually see what you do.

"Naaah, not today. Today, I’m all yours," he says between kisses. "I mean… I’m always yours, of course! Only yours. But today especially."

His large optics gaze at you, but you refuse to make eye contact. You’re still trying to find a way to ignore his advances, which hurts but also fuels his determination to keep vying for your attention. He hasn’t had many chances to do so lately. Smokescreen wanted to make the most of every nanoklik together, not feel like a third wheel between you and your laptop.

"Come on, sweetspark," he whines, prying your hand away from his faceplate. "Let’s do something fun. Maybe we can try beating our last record on the track, hm?"

"Sorry, Smokes. I’m not going anywhere." You sigh. "I have to finish this work, so be a good mech and find something to do."

"Can I keep myself busy with you?"

That question makes you want to scream, but before you explode, an idea forms in your head.

"Actually… you can," you say.

Smokescreen’s faceplate lights up with joy, as if you had just gifted him a star from the sky. He’s already preparing to bury you under an avalanche of kisses when you stop him with an outstretched hand. A single optical ridge rises.

"Give me your servo," you encourage, and Smokescreen obeys without hesitation. "I’ll give you something to play with since you’re so adamant about not backing off. Just, for the love of God, be gentle."

You guide his large servo under your loose T-shirt until it reaches your chest. At the contact with hard metal, you shiver slightly, but you leave his servo there. Immediately, his thumb begins stroking your skin.

You’re lucky you didn’t wear a bra today.

"Wow," Smokescreen sighs, utterly captivated by the softness and plumpness of your breasts. "They’re so soft."

"And sensitive," you warn. "Don’t squeeze too hard, alright?"

"Mhm," he hums, unable to tear his gaze away from his servo working under your shirt.

"Here’s the deal. You let me finish my work in peace, and then we’ll think about breaking that record, okay?"

"Mhm," another barely coherent response. But you’d take that over having his helm constantly shoved in front of your laptop.

Smokescreen found himself on a cloud nine.

He had experienced the softness of your body before. He was convinced he knew it by heart, and though every time he held and touched you was pure bliss, it didn’t even compare to what he was feeling now.

Remembering to be gentle, he alternates between squeezing and stroking, familiarizing himself with this new shape, savoring how easily your flesh yields under his fingers and then bounces back into place when released. He quickly becomes mesmerized by the sensation and craves more. He squeezes again, and again, and again, sometimes gathering more from the left, sometimes from the right, utterly enchanted by the plushness you’ve allowed him to experience, yet profoundly grateful for this taste of true happiness.

Smokescreen suddenly feels the overwhelming need to share that happiness with you. To show you just how grateful he is in the only way he knows how.

Yet, he cannot let go of his selfish desires in the process.

"So?" you ask after several minutes of silence. "Do you like it?"

"I want more," Smokescreen whispers.

"Uh, sure. The other one’s all yours."

"No. I want more," he says mysteriously, staring at your chest like a predator eyeing its prey.

You stop working just in time for the attack.

With a speed unfathomable to you, Smokescreen pushes your shirt up and slips his helm underneath. Without wasting a second, a dense rain of kisses descends upon your chest, starting from your sternum and eventually moving to your breast, kissing all around your nipple and in less precise spots.

"Incorrigible!" you shout.

You pull at the collar of your shirt to investigate what he’s doing, hoping he might reconsider upon seeing your fury, but Smokescreen has no intention of looking up — far too absorbed in worshipping your body.

Which is adorable and lovely… just not when you need to work.

"Primus, you’re so beautiful and soft," he murmurs. He momentarily latches onto the skin of your inner breast, attempting to leave a peculiar hickey, which he successfully does after a few moments. "I don’t want to break any records today," he informs you, nuzzling against your left breast, rubbing his faceplate over it. "I want to stay right here. Forever."

[mysterymachine67]

HOPE TO GOD THAT THIS TIME FRAME IS STILL THAT FEW HOURS THAT YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

pretty please can you write dean x top male reader.. but i want reader to be the most cocky hunter asshole known to man,, like rude, no empathy/sympathy, NOT LIKEABLE at all. LEGIT NOTHING IS GOOD ABOUT READER except his looks, of course. bobby asked reader to help dean with a hunt and with so much bribery, reader agreed. pls sex like in the bathroom of a bar or sex in an abandoned house,, JUST something with a shit ton of degradation and insults. 😈 oh and make reader very rough, I mean VERY.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x M!reader

NSFW. Minors DNI.

HERE YOU GO 🙌🏼. I hope you enjoy this, and it fits your request. Also I’m not to sure if there’s enough degradation 😭 Sorry!

You’re a dick, an asshole, a brutally honest person, someone who doesn’t give a shit about someone else’s feelings, and many other things under those categories. If someone needed to be told the truth, they’d come to you. Even if it meant getting their feeling hurt. You were a well known hunter. If someone were to bring up you in a conversation, or your name was heard, nine times out of ten someone will scoff or scowl. People hated working with you, but you were a damn good hunter so most didn’t have much of a choice. So when Bobby called, asking you to help the Winchesters with a hunt, of course you were gonna be a hard-ass.

“They just need you this one time. Yeah, I know I’ve said that before but this one’s bad. They’ve been on it for a week. They never take that long on a hunt,” Bobby explained. Hoping you’d just quit with the act and accept it already.

“I couldn’t care less of what they need. What good does it for me? Absolutely nothing,” you paused, actually considering whether going or not. “Find somebody else.” You finished, hanging up the phone.

“Damnit,” Bobby cursed. But he wasn’t about to give up. It was Bobby for fucks sake.

Your phone rang again. You let out an irritated sigh, shooting your phone a look. C’mon, this was the least you could. So after a few seconds of letting it ring, you finally picked it up. Answering it, and putting it up to your ear. “What?” You snapped.

“Could you please just help them out? Hell, I’ll even buy you whatever drink you want after. They just need help, no matter how hard they refuse to admit it.” Bobby pleaded.

“Fucking— you know what? Fine. Where are they?” You finally, finally agreed. Bobby whispered a quiet ‘Oh, thank God’ when you responded.

“They’re in Erie, Pennsylvania. Hunting down something they’ve never heard of. They called me for help but I ain’t got nothin’ but a steaming pile of shit.”

“Alright, give ‘em a call for me would you? I’ll be on my way.” You grumbled, beginning to get up and pack the things that needed to be packed. Once one of you hung up the phone you shoved it back into your pocket.

—

The drive there was calm, and relaxing. Something you needed. Nobody talking your ear off, being annoying, or anything of that sort. Peace and fucking quiet. That was until you arrived at the motel they were staying at. The moment you knocked on the door and Dean opened it he shut it. Right in your face. And best believe that pissed you off.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean exclaimed. “Nuh uh. Nope. Not doing it. He can fucking leave.”

“Dean, it’s only for a few days. I don’t like him either but we need the help.” Sam said, attempting to calm his irritated older brother. Dean, knowing he won’t win this argument, decided he was going for a drive. Also going to complain to Bobby, because what the fuck?

“Whatever. You can deal with his shit on your own.” He said, walking toward the door that you were currently talking shit behind. The moment he opened it he pushed past you. Hearing him say ‘move’ in the process. You surprisingly didn’t say anything. Deciding to be mature and walk into the motel room.

“Sorry about him. This hunt hasn’t been the best—“ Sam started.

“Yeah, I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t fucking be here.”

You caught Sam off guard. Over the course of time you saw them last he forgot how you were. “Listen man, I understand you’re upset but don’t take that out on me.”

Kicking the door shut behind you, you grumbled stuff under your breath; clearly not caring. Meanwhile, Dean was pretty far from the motel. Arguing with Bobby over the phone while music played faintly.

“Dean, please you need him for this hunt.”

“He’s a huge asshole! We can handle this hunt ourselves. It’s nothing we haven’t done before!” Dean nearly shouted.

“Bullshit! You’ve been stuck on this for a week. You should be thanking me that I called him. Now, get your ass back to those books!” Bobby quipped, pressing the button to stop the call. Still irritated, Dean decided to stay out for a little longer. Calming and preparing himself to deal with you for more than twenty-four hours. When he returned you and Sam had been looking at lore books for the longest time. Your eyes began to hurt. Though the sound of the door opening and shutting brought your attention back to reality. “About fucking time. We could’ve used your help.” You scolded. All Dean did was shoot Sam a look. Sam shook his head, hoping that Dean took it as him suggesting for him to brush it off. He did. Rolling his eyes and sitting at the end of the bed.

“What do we got?”

Then the both of you began to explain what you’ve came up with in the past two hours Dean had been gone.

—

You guys pretty much stayed up all night. Getting only about two hours of sleep. You ended up bunking with them, staying on the couch. Of course not without hearing Dean’s complaints. You were in the bathroom, currently. Changing your clothes and getting ready for the day. Just as you unbuckled your belt, and began pushing down your jeans the door opened. It was Dean. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He said, quickly. But couldn’t help himself with catching a quick glimpse of your body.

You caught it. Of course you did. “You gonna take another look or are you gonna close the door?” You pointed out. “I wasn’t looking at you, you’re crazy.” Dean said, shutting the door rather harshly. You laughed to yourself, then continued to change. “Whatever you say.”

Once all of you were ready to leave and go find out more things, you all walked out the door. You noticed Sam and Dean got closer together while walking toward Dean’s car. Dean was whispering something to him. “I don’t want him in my car.”

“It won’t be the first, and it definitely won’t be the last. You’ll be fine.” Sam replied. You couldn’t care about what they were saying. It was probably about you. No, definitely about you.

You guys drove around all damn day. It was late and you guys didn’t get jack shit. Well, you found out a few more useful things, of course. But Sam pointed out a pattern last minute and you guys had to turn around to this random house. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but there were a few houses around it. Not that it made it any better. Sam, deciding that you and Dean need to get on better terms, put you two as partners to check out one singular house. While he went off to check out a different one across the street. The moment he walked away you swung your arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“Just me and you. Alone. So dreamy, isn’t it?” You teased. “Get off me.” He grunted while shrugging you off. Then you trailed after him into the house. Mind you, these houses are abandoned. By the looks of it no one has lived in them for years. So maybe you’d finally catch whatever you guys have been hunting. Once inside Dean spoke up. “You take down here, I’ll go upstairs.” You agreed, there was no reason to argue.

You found nothing downstairs. So you decided to go upstairs to Dean, see if he needs any help with anything. Just as you started to walk up the worn stairs you heard a loud thud followed by a grunt. Your feet started to move faster. You won’t admit it but you nearly tripped up the stairs. Once you got to the room Dean was in, you brought out your gun. Not knowing if the thing he was fighting would even reaction to the bullet, or if it’d even affect it. Turns out it did do something. It vanished into thin air, leaving you and a nearly out of breath Dean. “What the fuck was that?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever it was seemed to be affected by the gun,” he paused to take in a breath. “That’s a plus.” At lunch, you guys found out whatever this thing was can be stopped by a sigil. And you soon found out that Dean attempted to draw one.

Dean had drawn a sigil, yes, but it wasn’t working for some reason. “I don’t know why it didn’t work. The book said it would!” He exclaimed. So you took a look at it. Almost immediately noticing how he messed up a line. “Well if you’d fucking do it right,” you grumbled, fixing it. Dean had drawn these things for his whole life, and now he’s messing up? How does that make sense? Well, he’s just now come to realize that whenever you help them out with a hunt he always fucks up on something. Whether it’s something little or big. One time, he fucked up a ritual, another he forgot holy water. There are many other times. Dean cursed under his breath before fully speaking up.

“Stop being a dick, alright? Seriously. It’s annoying.” Dean said, watching as you fixed the sigil. “Well we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t mess up. We could’ve told Sam that you got rid of it, then went home,” you paused, but had one more sentence ready to roll of off your tongue. “Always fuckin’ something up.”

“It’s not like I meant to! God, have some empathy.” Dean nearly shouted. You decided not to respond. Standing up once you were done and turning to face Dean. You got close, really close. And Dean just let you. Hell, all he was doing was staring at your features. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. Especially your lips. But he wouldn’t admit that. “I don’t give a shit what you meant to do. I care about getting this done and going fucking home.” You whispered, lips barely touching his.

Okay, he was starting to get a boner. But so what? You don’t know, at least he thinks you don’t know. But you do. Of course you do because your you. So you know what you do? You press your lips against his, harshly. Your hand going straight down to cup his dick, squeezing probably a little too hard. But Dean loved it. You pushed him back against a fully built wall. Not one where it was coming apart. Dean moaned into your mouth, hips pushing into your hand. When you pulled away to breathe you held his bottom lip in between your teeth. Then let go once you’ve stretched it back far enough, watching as it snapped back to place. You heard Dean groan in response.

“Fucking slut. You like getting yelled at? Like getting called out for the shit you’ve done, huh?”

All Dean did was whine and fuck his hips into your hand. You couldn’t lie, your dick was starting to leak from how Dean was reacting. You wanted to do something about it, no, had to. So you pushed your lips against his again. The hand that was one his crotch undid his belt and pants, then you used both hands to push down his pants and boxers all in one swift motion. The feel of the cold air on his throbbing, twitching cock made him wince. You didn’t care. Moving to undo your own pants yourself.

Your cocked bobbed once it was free. “Fuck, baby, you see what you do to me?”

Dean swallowed. “You gonna fuck me good? Make me feel what you did to me even days after?”

“Course.” You replied, knowing that you’ll keep that promise you just made. Before Dean could respond, you spit in your hand then proceeded to reach down and grip his cock. Your spit and his pre worked well together, creating nearly the perfect lube. Dean cursed under his breath—letting out a broken moan and making his head go back. With his head going back you saw it as an opening to go for his neck, so that’s what you did. Pressing opened mouth kisses, and soon sucking hickeys. Which was a complete bad idea because you guys were not supposed to be fucking, instead hunting. In the heat of the moment Dean didn’t seem to care, but you know once he realizes he’ll flip, and you’ll be in deep shit. But that’s a future problem.

His hands quickly scrambled to your shoulders when your pointer finger and thumb squeezed his tip. You don’t know why you did it, perhaps just for the fun of it. Dean refused to let you hear anymore noises from him. So, he turned to biting his lip instead. Though that did very little once you took his legs, propped them up on your hips, and spit on your fingers.

“Oh, fuck..” Dean whispered.

“What? Can’t take some dick? I’d assume you could, y’know? With all those people you’d fuck,” you paused, and without any warning shoved a finger into his hole. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those girls wanted to reverse the roles. Ya catch my drift?” A teasing smile playing on your face. All Dean did was groan and wince.

You didn’t care, only using him for your own pleasure. Did he know that? Maybe. Maybe not. His reaction only made you want to add the second a lot quicker, but you decided to wait a few seconds. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. While your finger worked you went back to his neck. Pressing kisses, biting and sucking hickeys. When you added the second? Oh, he about made sure Sam could hear him from across the street. Moaning and groaning so damn loud.

“Shut up. I mean, unless you wanna get caught, then I can make that happen,” you leaned in closer to his ear. “Besides, you’re just going to be showing your brother what kind of a slut you really are.”

And to that Dean let out a drawn out groan. “Fuck you,” he spat.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Me talking down on you. Who knew that the big, bad Dean Winchester likes being degraded.” You continued to annoy him because why not? Something that you picked up when you have sex with someone is that although you can be an asshole during it, it turns out to be the best sex they’ve ever had. For you it was just another reason to be cocky.

You soon add the third, not caring if he was ready for it or not. Or maybe it was because you forgot? Oh well. Either way he’s got three fingers up his ass, and he seemed to be enjoying it. But the grip that he’s holding on your shoulders was tight. Not that you really minded it. Once he was nice and prepped you spit into your hand again. Making sure it was enough to lube your cock up, but even if it wasn’t your pre helped. Making your hand glide up and down your dick. Then, you aligned your tip with his hole, and started pushing in agonizingly slow.

“Fuckfuckfuck..” is all that you heard in your ear. You stopped about half way, not to give Dean a moment but because he felt so fucking tight even though you’ve prepped him. Your hand went to his cock—beginning to stroke him. Meanwhile you soon began to push your hips forward, pushing your cock deeper till you bottomed out. The added pleasure causing Dean to let out a broken moan. He chased after your lips. Feeling a sense of an overwhelming need to feel you closer to him. The kiss was rough, heated. The both of you loved every minute of it. Teeth clanking together, breaking away to breathe for a quick moment before pushing your lips together again, the harsh pull of someone’s bottom lip while the other pulled away. When you pulled away to look at Dean, his lips were swollen and even more pink than before. Not that it mattered, just something you noticed.

Also, throughout the whole time you two were kissing, Dean had gotten drawn closer to cumming. The mix feeling of your cock driving in and out of him, and the glide of your hand in his cock all made it much easier. To which he soon came with a moan that died down to a whimper. His cock twitching and throbbing within your hold as white spurts of cum got onto his shirt. Which is another problem you two need to fix before regrouping with Sam. You could practically feel him pulsating in your hand. He nearly panted into your mouth with how close you two were. Your thrusts didn’t let up and neither did your hand. Even when he started to warn you about the overwhelming sensation he was beginning to feel.

“Okay— I..uhm!” It was obvious Dean started to speak, but once your cock hit his prostate it turned into a hum. With Dean getting more squirmy, it made it difficult to keep him up in your grip. “Uh, uh. I haven’t even came yet. You’re gonna have to wait.” You reminded. Your thrusts got more faster and rough with you nearing your orgasm. That bullet must’ve really affected whatever that was, because you two have been going at it for quite some time. Hopefully Sam moved onto a different house by now, and not questioning where you two were.

“Who,” you say, following up with a thrust to match when you spoke. “Knew that Dean, a complete ladies man, can take some cock? Your like a bitch in heat. Every time I hunt with you guys, you’re always going away to fuck some whore while Sam’s doin’ all the work.” With one, two more thrusts and your cock abusing his prostate, the both of you came at the same time. You letting out a groan and Dean letting out a whimper. The feeling of your cum painting his walls made him clench, which caused you to let out a grunt. The two of you were panting, breathing heavily. You still had some stamina. Dean on the other hand you weren’t to sure of.

But to you, it wouldn’t be fair if he got to cum twice, and you only got to cum once. So you moved the both of you to a sturdy looking table. Hopefully it didn’t collapse with the added weight of Dean. Anyway, you set him down on it. He was on his back and his legs automatically wrapped back around your waist. But you wanted to switch up, grabbing his legs and hooking them over both your shoulders. You gave no warning—slowly beginning to push your cock into him again before starting to speed up. Dean let out a groan, closed his eyes and put his head back. His eyebrows drawn up slightly. You wouldn’t admit it but it was beautiful. Reducing a man that was stubborn and feared by most, to a squirmy, panting, and whimpering mess. It was like you earned a trophy.

“What? You thought we were done?” You scoffed. Tightening your grip on his thighs to the point where he’d probably bruise. Not a problem for you but a problem for him. “We— oh, God.” Dean breathed out. He swallowed before finishing his sentence. “We have to get back. What if something happened to Sam. What if-“

“None of that. Sam can handle himself.” You attempted to reassure. Which probably did not work but hey, you tried. Your hands trailed down his thighs to his sides. Which caused you to move your body down on top of his, of course you made sure to keep his legs on your shoulders. It helped push your cock deeper into him. And oh, the face he made nearly made you cum on the spot. Your lips brushed over his jawline, pressing kisses all the way down to his neck. Which already had marks in which you made not to long ago. You decided to give him one more, or maybe two. One by his collarbone and one on his inner thigh.

You should probably be thinking of ways to help him hide the very few marks on his neck and down, but instead you can’t help but think of how much of a whore he is, and how good he feels around you. It was like he was made for you. Dean’s jaw hung open but no sound came out. His hands gripped the edge of the table, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to get a splinter. He tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he was currently getting fucked so, so good and his brother was probably working his ass off, but it was difficult. The feeling of guilt slowly started to seep into his body. But when you hit the spot within him, and soon spilled into him once more, it took his mind off of the thought. Dean arched his back and clenched his jaw; not daring to let out any noise for you. Even though he’d been doing it for nearly the whole time you’ve been having sex. You stayed buried in him till the both of you got your breathing under control.

You pulled out with a soft moan. Dean looked like he was about to fall asleep. So you playfully slapped his face a few times. Surprisingly the only thing he did was make a face. “Up.” You said. Soon enough after a few seconds he pulled himself up, the table creaking. How were you gonna clean this up? Who knew. But you two would figure it out. For the dried cum in his shirt you suggested he button up his jacket until you guys got back. Other than that you two found a way to clean everything.

—

The two of you walked out of the house. The earlier activities causing Dean to walk with a very clear limp. With the thing you guys faced it must’ve moved on, but once you met up with Sam again he explained that he got rid of it.

“What’s up with you?” Sam asked Dean, a look of confusion displayed on his face.

“He tripped.” You answered for him. Earning a small ‘huh’ and a look up and down at Dean from Sam. Then all of you walked toward the car. Ready for a shower, sleep, and maybe even a celebration at a nearby bar.

—

About an hour later once all of you took showers and changed clothes, you brought up how you all earned a nice drink and some food. In response to that, you all got in the car and drove to a nearby bar. Dean was the first to order food, then Sam, then you. While you all waited Sam started a conversation.

“So..why’d you guys take so long in the house? I cleared mine in like fifteen minutes, and I’m only one person.” He scoffed.

“Uhm, difficulties,” Dean answered, though it sounded more like a question rather than statement.

“We were pretty taken back when we got attacked by it. It caught us off guard, so we took some time to get back on our feet.” You lied. And it was quite concerning how good you lie, but it was a nice feature to have. Sam hummed in response, deciding it was a pretty good reason. “Well, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You announced, getting up from your seat.

The moment you started to unzip your pants the door opened. You didn’t turn around to look, focusing on emptying your bladder. But then hands went to your hips. It caught you off guard and you were ready to start throwing punches, but once a familiar voice whispered into your ear, you relaxed a bit.

“Did you come back for more? Can’t get enough of me, can you?” You teased. Letting out a small laugh.

“Shut up,” Dean paused. “Just need to…release some pressure.” You zipped back up your pants, clearly not being able to piss in peace. But you knew you’d probably be unzipping them sooner or later again. With a shake of your head you pushed him into a stall. Locking it then shoving him against it. You pressed your lips against his. Your hands ran down his chest all the way to his belt. Unbuckling it and breaking away from the kiss.

“Gotta make this quick,” you reminded. The minute you got his cock free and started to jerk him off he let out a sigh, and let his head go back against the stall door. His hips instinctively pushing up into your hand. “Can’t even keep it in your pants for a few hours. I thought you were better than this, Dean.” The mix of your tone and the way his name rolled off of your tongue he couldn’t help but whine. Your dick started to get hard in your pants, unfortunately you didn’t want to do anything with it. Just a quick handjob for a guy who can’t help himself. He got close, quick. Just as he let out a moan you heard the door to the bathroom open. Quickly moving your free hand to his mouth. Luckily the guy did his business quickly, but for Dean it felt like forever. Even though your hand was still moving up and down his throbbing cock. Speaking of which, the familiar feeling made itself known in Dean. The moment the person left you moved your hand, and Dean let out a small whine. He chased after his orgasm. Thrusting his hips up involuntarily to feel more. More noises spilled from his lips; a lot frequent and louder.

Just a few more jerks of your hand and—

You pulled back.

“Oh— what the hell?” He groaned. His cock throbbed and jumped, begging for release and attention. But you simply gave him a kiss, moved him out of the way and walked out of the bathroom. Returning to your seat at the table with Sam and leaving Dean with a hard-on. All you could say or think was that it wasn’t your problem.

“Everything all good?” Sam asked.

“Perfect.” You answered.

[clownshifting]

I do not trust and will never trust anyone who calls themself a p-shifter, because it just shows that either the person doesn't know of the terms harmful roots and should really REALLY do much more research (cause you more or less can't avoid this topic if you dig into physical nonhumanity a bit) or they are aware of the origin and just... don't care and decide to use an inherently ableistic term?? which, no??

Terminology and the way it is used can always ve changed to better fit or to adapt to the current times. Right now, if I had to count, out of the 40 members in a shifting server i used to run - nearly half of them experience disability and a few experience psychosis/are CLCZ. The community has and will always change, not to "rope" people in, but because our experiences are always exceedingly vast and "pshifting" doesn't mean what you think it means nowadays. It's just physical shapeshifting in any form, psychosomatic or metaphysically - it's still PHYSICAL.

Our community and our identity is nothing compared to what happened before, and we have denounced and have shut down cult behavior in our servers and safe spaces. Our terminology is not YOURS to remove from US. We don't need your trust, we need basic personhood and respect.

As far as I've been able to tell, this modern iteration of the p-shifting doesn't really do anything about this and it's the same shit it's always been. I think discussions about physical nonhumanity are a good way going forward, but in general I also think people should be careful and aware of how loaded an issue this can be. I am also extremely wary of anyone who's a self-identified p-shifter.

"The modern iteration" hasnt been exclusively singling out those who are CLCZ or endels because delusions and psychosis do not function in a "if we experience it, they'll think so too" way nor does any shifter think that these things are inherently harmful. We don't teach those things.

It's interpersonal and those subjective beliefs in CLCZ are always influenced by the person themselves before anything else. There is no way a pshifter can make someone believe they are a fox just because they are publicly sharing their identity and their feelings. Shifters have had a long history in physical nonhuman spaces, to the point of literally being at the forefront and supporting holotheres in their community building. We are inseparable from the physical nonhumanity movement because we are not dangerous - we are just shapeshifters.

I'm truly sorry you have horrible experiences but that doesn't give you the right to denounce our experiences and our community and say that we are abusing our friends with our ideology and identity. I have friends who are CLCZ, who have psychosis, and who have other semblances of physical nonhumanity that varies from somatic to metaphysical and not once have I ever intentionally hurt them by explaining my identity. Not once. It is not my responsibility as a person to shield them away from content they don't want to see, but it is never on purpose that they may see it at all. That is never a shifter's fault that they share their experiences.

I hear this "I'm wary of pshifters" stuff all the time from those who used to be in those spaces because they haven't actually ever tried to deep dive on the newer blossoms of the community, focusing on past experiences from others we physically cannot stop or change. All pshifters can do now is change, denounce, and build our community to be better than it once was. We are not here to do anything you claim we want or wanted to do in the past.

They are not like us, and using trauma or the same rhetoric that our identity is "unsafe" for another group when the history is inherently muddied behind context is, imo, a mockery of analyzing a new community.

You aren't going to find a physical nonhuman space free of pshifters because we built those spaces.

hello kinblr. i think. perhaps! we should be kinder to pshifters!

some of y'all talk about pshifters the way kintok talks about physical therians and it's kind of disgusting.

some of you will say "not all physical therians are delusional! and even if they are, they're just as valid as anycreature who isn't" in the same breath as "physical shifters are delusional. you cannot physically become an animal :/ you have clinical lycanthropy PLEASE seek help and stop getting ur delusion everywhere i just had the floors waxed"

you swear you can experience therianthropy on all levels including physical, but call p-shifters crazy for experiencing physical shifting. you cannot say you love physical therians and then exclude therians who physically shift! you are just as bad as anyone who denies or invalidates p-therians because "you can't have wolf dna"

these communities were created by and for the therians you want to throw under the bus. they created these spaces for us, and you need to act like it

[alice-angel12x]

The complicated heart

I want some Angst so here is some Pure Vanilla x Y/n knight cookie. Also pt.1 of overall fanfic story.... I guess. (Blue Knight)

This is the last thing Y/n Cookie wants to wake up to? Especially on the first night when the two of them share a bed together. They could only silently stare at Pure Vanilla's sleeping form. He is a bit of a sleep talker.

That one sentence fills Y/n's mind with so many questions. From "Is that what he really feels? If he still feels that way, why is he with me? I can never measure up to someone like her."

Suddenly, sharing this space didn't feel right. Y/n slowly tries to wiggle out of the entanglement of Pure vanilla's arms. Only for him to cuddle closer to them, clinging onto them. With a sigh, they twist and turn, eventually escaping Pure Vanilla's grip. Y/n quickly replaced themselves with a pillow in his arms.

Y/n could feel their heart twist in their chest as they decided to sleep on the couch in Pure Vanilla's chambers. As emotions run high inside Y/n, they do their best to suppress them with logic.

'Of course. Those two have been friends since the beginning. '

Y/n thought to themselves, but it did little to hold back tears and the ache in their chests. They shut their eyes and tried to sleep it off. Thankfully, morning couldn't come any quicker.

Pure vanilla woke up with a yawn as he slowly opened his eyes. Which widden in shock when he found himself alone on the bed. Jolting up his eyes search around his room, soon landing on a lone figure by the window.

"Y/n? Good morning." Pure vanilla smile as he walks over to them. "You're up early."

"Yeah," Y/n says, trying to put on their best smile. It's very weak.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Pure vanilla asked as he gently wrapped his arms around them. Giving a light peck on their shoulder

Y/n was silent for a bit, contemplating what to say. They turned to face Pure Vanila and gently returned the hug.

"Can I be completely transparent with you?" They asked the ancient healer.

"Of course, love," Pure vanilla welcomes as he guides them to a chair.

So Y/n would tell Pure Vanilla what he said at night, and how it makes them nervous about where his heart truly lies. Eventually, the two sat in an awkward silence.

“So where does White Lily cookie place in your heart?" Y/n asked with a calm sorrow.

Pure vanilla opened his mouth to say something, but there was no sound. Y/n could already see the conflict in Vanilla's expression. Their heart wanted to shatter than and there, but sucking in a deep breath they put on a brave face.

"Seems you need some time to search your heart," Y/n sighs as they stand to leave.

"Y/n... Im sorry. After all this time, I thought I would be past this," Pure Vanilla apologized, gripping his knee in, shame? Sorrow perhaps.

"I mean... You two have been through almost everything together for hundreds of years. Childhood friends, schoolmates, and a close team of heroes, and you lived long lives together. Something like that won't be washed away with-," Y/n stops themselves. "I've only been with you for a year or two now.

"Don't say that. I loved the times we shared together," Pure Vanilla said as he stands to stop Y/n with a hug. "I don't know why the thought of White Lily came rushing to me like this. It's been happening for a few nights now."

"It's a sign prehaps. That you might see her soon," Y/n says with a sad smile.

"Do you think so? White Lily Cookie... Changed and became Dark entress Cookie. How would that be possible?" Pure vanilla asked with surprise.

"If she is like how you describe her, then I wouldn't put it past her to actually seek out the witches. And we have no idea which one she met, meaning anything could have happened," Y/n said, thinking deeply. "Tell me, along with your dream. Did anything else stand out to you?"

"Yes, a voice. It was calling out to me, to go to beast yeast," Pure vanilla said as he recalled his dream.

"Then you have your path. And if I'm not mistaken, Entranchress cookie has a strong hold there," Y/n said when suddenly images flash in their mind.

A Map, a shattered soul jam, fairy wings, a giant tree, and a bright light over beast yeast.

"Y/n? Y/n, did you think of something?" Pure vanilla asked.

"You... You might actually are being called. You must go quickly," Y/n said suddenly.

"Wha- Why so suddenly?" Pure vanilla asked in surprise.

"You might find who you're looking for there. I believe that white lily cookie might be there," Y/n said. " White Lily's soul is still out there."

As Y/n held his hands, they could see it. Hope and a bit of something else flash in Pure Vanilla's eyes.

"Thank You Y/n! I shall depart to Beast yeast," Pure Vanilla cookie thanked with a bright smile. "Wait for me, White Lily cookie."

Pure vanilla quickly leaves to prepare everything for this dangerous journey. Y/n stood there, trying to hold back tears.

'Don't cry, Y/n. He thought he had lost his friend and might see her again. Don't be selfish,' Y/n silently scolded themselves.

Days passed as Pure Vanilla spent all his time gathering all that he would need for such a journey. One day, from morning to noon, Y/n mindlessly wandered the streets when a familiar voice calls out to them.

"Y/n Knight Cookie!" Gingerbrave called out.

"Ah, Gingerbrave, strawberry Cookie, and wizard Cookie. How can I help you?" Y/n smiles warmly at the young cookies.

"Pure Vanilla cookie has asked us to accompany him to beast yeast, and we wanted to ask for you to come with us," Gingerbrave said.

"What?! Why Me?" Y/n asked nervesly.

"Beast yeast is a big unknown to us, so we need as many strong cookies to help," Wizard cookie explained.

"And we've seen you fight waffle bots by yourself. Your help would be appreciated," Strawberry Cookie said.

Y/n wanted to say no, but the three younger ones looked up to them with baby doll eyes. Crumbling their resolve to turn them down. The three practically dragged them to the airship.

"Gingerbrave! Everything is ready. did you find what you-" Pure vanilla pauses, surprised to see Y/n before him.

Another awkward silence falls between them. The ancient hero was a bit embarrassed after remembering how their last conversation went. Pure vanilla wanted to say something, but Y/n raised their hand.

"We have a friend to save, and that is more important right now," Y/n Cookie said a bit strenly.

Gingerbrave and co, could feel the strange tension. So they hurried onto the ship.

"Y/n cookie," Pure vanilla said softly.

"I am your knight and am ready to serve," Y/n kneeled, stoic.

They get up to walk onto the ship.

-----------------------------------------------

Continue?

[impactedfates]

Hi I see that you open submission 👀 so, I want to put into your submission 3 character for dan heng, sunday and jing yuan (separate) with fem reader

The alphabet is : A,B, I, J, W (for all of them)

Hihi :3 Sorry for taking awhile, here's your request done <33 I hope it's good!

A - Affection (How they show they love you)

Staring, long and loving staring. There doesn't even need to be sound between you both, whether you're yapping away about things you love, telling him stories or you're also silent, maybe drawing or reading. He enjoys staring. At first he got embarrassed when you noticed, he let out a rare blush before turning away.

But now a days he continues, even if you do notice him. Even if your eyes meet and the two of you have an unintentional staring contest. He is more than content to continue. Even if no words are exchanged between the two of you, you know this is him silently telling you he loves you, silently telling himself how lucky he was to have you.

B - Blessing (Would they get your families blessing?)

I think so, maybe your family is a bit off due to his silent nature, but they give him a chance and they're so happy they did. Even if he is more on the quiet side, they see how well he treats you, how he holds onto the corners of the tables as you two walk by.

The grip he has around you if he sees someone try to flirt with you. I feel your parents are more than happy that you two are dating, and if you plan on marrying each other. They'll be so happy.

I - "I love you" (When's the first time they say this?)

Me thinks this was after a particularly long mission, you had just come back and quickly sought out your boyfriend, as soon as you entered you felt his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. You feel his tail join the hug, his breath hot against your neck as he nuzzles in.

"...I missed you"

He mumbled into you're neck, urging you to lay next to him in bed. He was so worried during the mission. As you lay down and make yourself more comfortable, ready for bed. You can't help but hear him utter out the words:

"I love you"

J - Jealousy (How jealous are they?)

I wouldn't think Dan Heng would be too too jealous. He knows you love him but he can get possessive at times, especially when others try and flirt with you, right in front of him no less. His arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you closer, trying to make it very clear you're taken.

If they persist, he'll be able to keep calm but he'll out right tell them you're taken. If they still do it? He isn't hesitant to take you somewhere else, as long as the other doesn't try anything, like try to hit you or aeon forbid hit you. He's pulling out that spear as soon as he sees them even try and grab you.

W - Wedding (Are they thinking of marriage? Are they ready for it?)

He's thought of it, and he'd love to finally put a ring on your finger, but he's not sure if he's truly ready. He feels there's too much of his past that still needs to be dealt with.

Still stuff in his past he'd rather not bring him down as he continues. There's also the fear of your own life. Assuming the fact you're not from the Xianzhou nor a Vidyadhara or in general. Just have a regular human life. He's scared of loosing you, sure it'll still be a long while before your day comes but knowing he'd outlive you so a thought he'd rather not think about. He's still debating it though, he just doesn't know what choice he'll finally make.

A - Affection (How they show they love you)

He likes doing things for you, at first it was a small means of apologising for his previous actions, this amplifies if you two were already in an established relationship before the Penacony events.

Then it became a habit, even after he's been told he didn't have too. He wanted to for you. He himself enjoyed seeing your face of gratitude as he placed a cup of tea or coffee next to you as you worked.

He loved seeing your excited face as he fixed perhaps a plushie you had ripped by accident. Loved hearing you laugh as he attempted to help you with your work despite not knowing anything.

B - Blessing (Would they get your families blessing?)

This all depends, pre-penacony story? Yes of course, especially if your parents were from Penacony. What do you mean you managed to make the Head of the Family fall for you? Not saying you couldn't but they would've never thought to see him at their door, asking for their blessing.

It's a bit more complicated after the Penacony events, especially again if your parents were from Penacony. They wouldn't know the full extent as to why he did what he did, not that it made things better of course but I feel hearing his explanation may make your family be a tiny bit more okay with him.

Though as it is, they need to get to know him much much better. You can ask them to be less overbearing about it and Sunday can apologise. But it'll be a bit harder to get your families blessing this time.

I - "I love you" (Whens the first time they say this?)

I'd like to think your his first I love you was infact when he confessed (or you, but he's still saying it)

Sure maybe people will think it's too fast but if he likes someone he wants to try and be direct. Even if the nerves in him are killing him slowly. He spokes softly, gently. As if you were glass that could be shattered if he spoke an octave higher.

He makes sure the confession is perfect, even if it'll hurt him if you reject him. It's set perhaps in a flower garden, all the flowers matching either your favourite colour, scent or in general. The flowers you like, he'll take your hand gently and recite the script he has written for this moment.

"Ah, perhaps I've talked for far too long but...I just want to let you know that I love you"

J - Jealousy (How jealous are they?)

A bit more jealous, he loves you. He's scared of loosing you, if he sees another person trying to flirt with you, he'll quickly cough, interrupting the conversation before looking away. If he was still the Head of the Family it would be a bit simpler, perhaps the man would quickly back off even without asking who you were to him.

But without his status, people don't truly care all too much. And he's not a fan of that. There are some who may recognize his previous status and back off, or know of what he did and still do. But when it comes to the ones who still flirt, Sunday is willing to let the other know that you're taken.

Holding your hand, kissing your cheek or kissing you on the lips, calling you pet names. All this in front of him. That or he may sulk a bit, don't worry. As long as you're there he'll feel better.

W - Wedding (Are they thinking of marriage? Are they ready for it?)

He wants to marry you, but for now he'll wait. He wants to wait for the best time and similar to Dan Heng, he feels there's too much in his past that he feels he needs to deal with first.

Yes you two are already dating, but marriage to him is such a big next step, he doesn't wish to burden you with it, even if you technically are and are willing to help, he feels marriage makes it much too more personal. Once he's ready and felt like his past isn't weighing him down as much anymore. He's ready to find that perfect ring for you to adorn your finger.

A - Affection (How they show they love you)

Tons of different ways or physical affection is his favourite. When he's tired, he'll come to wherever you are and lay on your chest or lap. Or even just beside you. You presence alone is enough to lull him to sleep.

He loves hugging you too, especially from behind, doesn't even matter if you happen to be taller than him, he'll still love his hugs from behind oh and he'd be swooning if you did the same. He's already heads over heels for you, don't give him another reason to be. As long as he has you by his side, he'll have his arms around you.

He loves you so deeply.

B - Blessing (Would they get your families blessing?)

Oh hell yes I think, what do you mean you're dating one of THE generals of the Loufu. Huh?? Did they miss a page??? Of course he has their blessing, maybe they're iffy and cautious encase the talks of him being a gentle and kind yet strict general are false and he's different behind closed doors.

But those thoughts die away quickly as he sees how in love with you he is. Still opening doors for you, pulling out chairs. All of it, and he truly is a kind general as he helps them as well. He is such a nice man, he gets that blessing rather quickly, probably one of the quickest out of all hsr characters.

Oh do get married soon, he's just perfect.

I - "I love you" (Whens the first time they say this?)

I see it as a random day, you two are looking at the stars, his head on your lap as he slowly flutters his eyes closed. He hears you laugh softly, thinking he's asleep.

He hears you lean down and place a kiss on his forehead then nose, mumbling out a soft and gentle:

"Sleep well"

Then and there is when he realised he wants to spend so much of his life with you. Then and there is when he opens his eyes slowly, reach a hand up to rub a finger against your check and say:

"I love you"

J - Jealousy (How jealous are they?)

I think he's rather chill around most people, even if they try to flirt...well, not many would dare try and flirt with one of the generals lovers. Especially with him around so he had no thoughts... had

The first time he saw someone flirting with you, especially after seeing you try and say you were taken, he's quickly ignore whatever he was planning on doing (or doing anyways) and walk over, gently leading your face to him and kissing you softly.

When he pulls away, he has a knowing smile on his face that he shows the other person who tried flirting. Needless to say, not many come back after trying to flirt with Jing Yuans partner.

W - Wedding (Are they thinking of marriage? Are they ready for it?)

Oh he wants too, he so so wants to. Before all of that though, he wonders how it'll be like for you if you ever await his return from a mission but don't return. How it'll be like if he ever outlived you, or worst yet get mara struck. Of course the whole outliving thing depends on your species but he's still scared of possibly loosing you due to your association with him.

Against all else though, he still wants to and probably will after a bit longer. To ensure your safety though, he may ask for you to have a bodyguard. That you help choose of course, you have to be comfortable.

One last Alphabet event left hehe. Hopefully I'll get it done at the end of this month or a week into the next. I hope you guys like this <33

[frotees-corner]

Lucanis Romance Ramblings

I want to piggyback off this post on the Nevecanis romance to make some additional arguments. Sorry for the rambling!

To;dr: No, the Nevecanis romance is not objectively better than the Rookanis one, learn to read the fucking room people. You can dislike it, but that doesn’t make it bad.

Firstly, I feel like most of the people who complain that his romance with Neve feels better and more intense than the Rookanis romance forget that it happens in a much shorter timeframe.

Due to the structure of Veilguard and its romances, all companion romances happen very late in the game (to allow the player to shoot their shot with anyone for a long time even if they avoided flirting earlier on).

You get some actually flirty banter (the regular banter between Neve and Lucanis just maybe feels that way because Neve is being Neve and both of them are actually quite funny), then you get the one companion asking you for advice (which would be the lock-in scene on a Rookanis run), and then you get the resolution where their relationship is actually confirmed, and then some more banter with other companions about the relationship.

The feelings between Rook and Lucanis develop much more gradually and undergo some setbacks because of his story arc. (By the time he expresses his interest in Neve, you have already helped him overcome his most pressing issues, leaving him some breathing room to actually feel his feelings.)

First, there is the easy, surface level flirtation during the coffee date, after you just freed him from a year of torture prison and he is happy to be home and among his people again. He will never bee this relaxed and happy again until after you deal with Ivenci.

But then The Horrors start happening, beginning with the realisation that being an abomination is much more difficult outside the Ossuary (Spite trying to walk out of the Lighthouse) - and who knows what else the demon might do while Lucanis sleeps?

Then there’s Weisshaupt and the anxiety of failing a job for what is perhaps the first time in his life - and what is left of him if he can’t even do his job anymore? Of course he he essentially blocks Rook off when they try to comfort him, because he Cannot Be Distracted again (and something tells me he might be talking about more than Spite here).

Then Spite takes control of him while he is fully awake and aware to try and kill the only family he has left (and he starts suspecting that there is something wrong in the state of Denmark for the first time). How can he have Feelings for Rook when he cannot even trust Spite not to hurt those he holds most dear?

Our pookie is understandably terrified! Of and for himself, but also for Rook, who is important to him and has shown him nothing but care and consideration! Of course he keeps shooting them down until he breaks (almost-kiss), but even then his mouth keeps saying No, Don’t, This is a Bad Idea!

Yes, the actual lock-in could have been a little longer and more elaborated, but of course he doesn’t talk about his feelings for you the same way he talks about his feelings for someone else with you, his best friend? ("[Illario was] my only friend, before you" will never not crush my soul ;_;)

Have none of you ever been smitten and gushed about your crush (shyly) to friends, and then felt all the words dry up when talking to the actual object of your desire?

Especially when you know you fucked up before, and cannot figure out why they even liked you in the first place.

Especially someone who canonically hates talking about his feelings (that one banter with Taash) and has no confidence in his charm and ability to flirt (that banter with Emmrich)? Yes, I know we disagree with him, but that doesn't mean he doesn't absolutely believe these things about himself.

But once he gets over his hang-ups? He is SO in, full on life-or-death devotion, that man is so utterly in love he cannot keep his hands off you (that Isabella comment if you manage to get him killed ;_;). So don't tell me he doesn't even really like Rook just because you didn't get the little things.

Personally, I see a lot of parallels between Lucanis' romance and the things Astarion says in his Graveyard scene (come on people, I know the pipeline is there, even if it technically makes mor sense to come here from Gale):

"You've been with me through all of this, through bloodlust and misery and pain. You've been patient. You cared. You trusted me, even when that was an objectively stupid thing to do."

(Did I just paraphrase that from memory? Yes I did. Astarion may have grown on me more like a fungus, instead of the instant 'Yes, that is for me, thank you!' I had with Lucanis, but grow on me he did. And I am so very fond of his more tender romance scenes.)

You even get that "It's time to try living again", during Inner Demons, it just takes him a little longer to get to the "with all that life has to offer" part.

Lucanis may not be able to articulate that stuff, especially not in a coherently and all at once, but it's definitely there and he's definitely aware of it (i.e. "How do you always do that? Break apart my perfectly gathered cluds of doom." - "It's better if I stay in here than risk losing you").

It's perfectly ok if Lucanis romance is not for you. All the romances in Veilguard have different flavours, to appeal to a multitude of different people, and I think that's a good thing.

Just, you know, don't say it was objectively bad, because it's not.

[greensagephase]

Pooks, I’m finally getting to your NOTES! Thank you for always sharing your thoughts on every chapter! It means so much to me! 🥹💕💖

✨Hahaha, love that we’re getting a translation of Dulzura’s thoughts, which is so accurate! She’s trying to delude herself and using other words, but girl… She be observing Miguel! (the way she was looking at the happy trail...)🤭

✨YES, I’M SO GLAD YOU CAUGHT THAT, HAHAHA!! 🤭MIGUEL WAS BLUSHING FROM HIS EXCITEMENT THAT WE WERE BACK AT THE PENTHOUSE. Truth be told, he missed us 😭 and in my head, he’s still reluctant about Harry, too, so not only did he miss us, but he also was a bit worried.

✨THE FUZZY FEELINGS… I wonder what it means... 👀👀🤭🤭

✨Miguel wanting to sit closer to Dulzura 🥹🥹 HE’S ACHING TO BE NEARER, I SWEAR!

✨Still not over Dulzura calling Miguel cute and his brain having a short circuit, haha! He’s truly so cute 😭😭

✨I just knew the Lovers’ Cabin was going to get you guys so excited, hehe! I was plotting 😈

✨OMG WHEN MIGUEL WAS TYING HER SKATING SHOES AND THE COUPLE SAID THAT SKJDJFJDKJSDKFJD The couple knows what they’re saying, for real! 🤭

✨(HEHEHEHE NOT YOU EXPECTING A KISS OR CHEEK PECK I’M SORRY POOKS😔)

✨HELP - the freaking broken bed! That poor bed, RIP. It has seen things😭

✨Omg, Miguel’s venting about the Christmas movies! It was a funny little thing that I just threw there because it’s so true and a running joke for the holidays of course, but I thought it was funny to have Miguel be so passionate about it, he even came off as sassy!

✨MIGUEL PULLING DULZURA AWAY FROM BEN — SAY IT WITH ME: DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT🗣🗣 He was most definitely jealous, even if he doesn’t realize it!... Yet.

✨Pav’s line about fanfic had me cackling, I’m not joking! I thought it was so funny, but SO TRUE SJDKJSDKJD The slow burn is slow burning, achingly so 🤭😩

✨LMAOOO don’t blame me, it was Peter B. 😈😈 but yes, they were so close to kissing sighs 😔😔😔

✨Omg, YES! Miguel realizing he’s ready for more physical contact was such a sweet and fulfilling part to write because of his entire progress. I feel so proud of him for how much progress he’s made! 🥹🥹 I’m also proud of their growth together, they’ve truly come a long way since the beginning of the fic 🥹🥹 (I’m gonna cry; also RIGHT? THE FACT HE OPENED SO MUCH TO HER!!)

p.s. omg, awww, I’m sorry for almost making you cry, pooks! But I feel you 🥺🥺 Ever since I initially thought of that little subplot line, I got so bittersweet thinking about how they both have family members looking after them (Miguel and Dulzura), and for Dulzura, Peter finally realizing she’s in great hands. He has nothing to worry about because he knows Miguel will look after her; he knows Dulzura is safe, appreciated, and loved by Miguel. I’m so happy you loved it, pooks, because I genuinely enjoyed coming up with that symbolism!🥹🥹

AWWW, I HOPE YOU ENJOY PART 23 ONCE IT’S POSTED, POOKS!! ALSO I’M SO LATE, BUT HAPPY [LATE] NEW YEAR TO YOU, LARA!! I hope this year has been treating you well! 🥰🥹🥹💕🫶🏼

Nonviolent Communication - Part 22

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: A getaway trip before Christmas with Miguel! ♡ Word Count: 27.6k (back on my shiz, what's new?😔) Warnings: mention of blood and injuries; mentions of Mexican/Latin food, but it's nothing new; the dating allegations are getting harder to deny, I'm afraid; slightly jealous Miguel??!🗣🤭 A/N: hiii, new update! Music Inspo (Spotify playlist): "Carol of the Bells" - John Williams "Better Than Snow" - Norah Jones, Laufey "Where or When" - Laufey "Die With A Smile" - Birru (piano version) "Nocturne (Interlude)" - Laufey Masterlist

Part 22

Snow sticks to the bottom of your shoes as you walk across the snow-covered pavement. The chill bites at your face, making you feel thankful about not forgetting your gloves or else, your fingers would be freezing right now. From somewhere in the city, you hear a clock strike seven times, announcing it's already 7pm. Internally cursing, you speed up to your destination. You could’ve simply traveled straight to the location from Miguel’s universe, but you decided against it to avoid any potential witnesses and now, you’re running a few minutes late.

Pausing at an intersection, you make the spontaneous decision to take a shortcut through an alleyway. If you were any other woman, you'd disapprove of this decision, but since you're Spider-Woman, you take the risk.

You move quickly through it, steering clear of frozen puddles of water under dirty and dimly lit light posts that make the alleyway a perfect place for a naive individual to run into trouble. Halfway across, your spider senses alarm you and a second later, an arm is wrapped around your shoulders.

“Drop all the money and jewelry you have,” a rough voice commands. “No screaming, or else.”

Seriously? You sigh internally. This is the second petty robber you've come across tonight just on your way to the dinner party.

“Did you not hear me? I told you to drop all the money and jewelry you have on you. Now. Don’t make me repeat myself, pretty thing,” the man says, his arm tightening around your body as a warning.

“You're lucky,” you start. “I don't have much time to teach you a proper lesson.”

The man snickers, amused by your words. “What could a thing like you do to me?” he arrogantly asks, that being the last thing he says.

In the blink of an eye, you easily free yourself and push the man against the wall, earning yourself a noise of surprise. You look at the poorly lit light posts and decide that they’ll at least keep your face hidden pretty well, so your identity won't be compromised.

“Now, where were we?” you ask, taking care of the matter. Two minutes later, you walk out of the alleyway and slip your phone back into one of your coat's pockets. You continue walking, police sirens audible in the distance.

It's not until you're about thirty feet away from the building’s entrance that you notice him, Felix Kerr. He's clad in dark clothes from head to toe, blending into the night. You hum to yourself, hoping he didn't see you slip out from the alleyway from a distance, but just in case he did, you relax your face and wear an expression of innocence and ignorance to the situation as you walk closer to the building's door.

“Madam,” Kerr says as a form of greeting, breaking the silence.

“Mr. Kerr,” you reply with a nod.

“Are you alright?” Kerr asks, pushing himself off a car — Harry’s — and stepping closer. His wide shoulders are covered in flakes of snow, making you wonder how long he's been outside in the cold and why.

“I am, thank you.”

“Allow me to walk you inside,” he says, gesturing to the double doors of the tall building. Before you even respond, he’s already moving towards the doors, expecting you to follow.

Silently, you follow and enter the building while he holds the door for you. Inside, you're both greeted by warmth, a sharp contrast to the coldness outside. Once you reach one of the elevators, Kerr steps aside to allow you in first.

“Ladies first,” he mutters.

Inside, Kerr presses a button and the doors close. You find yourselves, standing across from each other, leaning into the elevator's walls in silence, minus the elevator’s sound system announcing each floor level, for several seconds.

“You're lucky,” Kerr starts, breaking the silence.

“Pardon?” you respond, turning to look at him in the face.

“A petty robber was reported in that alleyway minutes before you stepped out from it. You're lucky Spider-Woman got him before you ran into him.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. How the hell does he know about that? Quickly, you use your genuine surprise to hide the reality, however.

“There was a petty robber there?” you ask, lifting a hand to your chest to pretend to be shocked and frightened by the news. “I did hear noises, but the alleyway is so poorly lit, I didn't see anyone. I assumed it was coming from the other side of the street. Oh, my goodness,” you mumble, looking down. “My landlord stopped me on my way out of the building to discuss something. It's why I'm running late. Had I been on time, I might have ran into them,” you lie. “Who knows what could've happened.” You sigh in relief and lift your face to look at Kerr again, who is observing you with a frown on his face.

“I’m glad you missed them, madam,” he replies. “Thankfully, Spider-Woman got there before you did.”

“Agreed,” you answer, pushing your hands into your pockets and turning to look at the digital display that reads the floor number. You clear your throat. “How did you find out so soon, sir?” you ask, turning to look at Kerr again.

At that, the older man gives you a small grin. “I used to be a police officer. My coworkers and I remain in touch, especially since I’m somewhat of a bodyguard for Mr. Harry. As soon as the call was reported, someone notified me since they know I’m in the area with him. I suppose they figured I could take action if needed before they arrived.”

“Oh, that’s… Great,” you answer, offering a small smile. You turn to look at the display again, feeling off not by the fact that Kerr is an ex-police officer, but because it seems that he’s still somewhat in touch with the police department, as if he were still active. Silently, you wonder if it’s illegal and also, if you’ve ever come across him in the past as Spider-Woman, but you cannot remember ever seeing him before that day you ran into Harry for the very first time in years.

“We’re here,” Kerr says just as the elevator doors open. “Ladies first.”

Thanking Kerr, you step into the fifth floor of the building. Christmas music, laughter, and conversations immediately reach your ears, reminding you that this is a Christmas work party Harry invited you to, even though you’re not an employee. He initially asked you about meeting on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but you had to decline because you already have plans — plans that involve traveling to another destination with Miguel and part of the spider gang tomorrow.

Unfortunately, scheduling a dinner between Christmas and New Year’s isn’t possible because Harry is highly busy with work and will also be traveling out of the country with his father the day after Christmas. Still, Harry insisted he’d like to celebrate a bit with you, even if it meant you attending his father’s work Christmas party, and now you’re here.

In truth, you wish you were home by the fireplace with a cozy book and café de olla [coffee] with Miguel sitting across from you, both wearing pajamas or lounge clothes. Instead, you’re here in this room full of strangers.

“Mr. Harry is this way,” Kerr says, tearing you away even from the mental image of being home with Miguel.

You almost sigh in displeasure, but stop yourself from doing so. Following Kerr, you move past a few people before you’re in front of the man who once used to be a close friend. Seeing Harry’s face, you’re reminded of the awkward moment you both shared last month when he went straight for a hug while you offered a handshake. This time, thankfully, Harry holds back from instantly going for that and instead, he smiles at you and places his hand on your shoulder to greet you.

“You’ve arrived! I was wondering if you had forgotten,” Harry states, a hint of worry in his tone.

“No way,” you answer with a smile. “I was just a little late, I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen?” Harry asks, concerned.

“No, thankfully not,” you answer, reassuring him.

“Miss Y/N barely missed an encounter with a criminal, sir,” Kerr states, gently inserting himself into the conversation.

Harry’s eyes go wide before his gaze sweeps over you. “Oh, God. Are you okay?” he asks, placing his hands on both your shoulders to inspect you. “Are you hurt? Scared?”

“I’m alright, Harry,” you answer, slightly annoyed by Kerr. “I didn’t even see the person. I missed them completely.”

“Thank God,” Harry breathes out. “I’m so glad to hear that. Come on, let’s get you something to eat and drink. Thank you, Felix.” With that, Harry guides you away.

After two hours of conversing, eating, and drinking, Harry helps you slip on your coat when you inform him that you’re heading out. Insisting on walking with you, Harry guides you out after you thank his father and wish him well for the holidays and their trip.

“Please allow Felix to drive you home,” Harry says in the elevator, suddenly.

“What? No, no, that’s not necessary.”

“I can’t allow you to walk home alone this late. Much less when you hardly missed a criminal earlier. I’d drive you myself, but I must see everyone away.”

“It’s fine, Harry, seriously,” you insist.

“Please. I’ll be worried the entire time until you reach home,” Harry states, taking your arm and holding it. “You’ll be home sooner, too. Out of this cold weather.”

Sighing, you agree. “Alright, alright. If it’s not a bother.”

“Of course not. I’ll be relieved knowing you’re safe. And, Felix is free,” he answers before you both move towards his car. “Felix. Please drive Y/N home.”

“Yes, sir,” Kerr replies, moving quickly to open the backdoor on the passenger’s side. He looks between you both, waiting.

Harry smiles, his hand sliding down your coat. “Thank you for coming tonight. I’m glad we got to celebrate and enjoy a bit of the Christmas season together, even if it was through a work party. I wish we could’ve had dinner, but perhaps we can do something once the new year starts, and we’re both free.”

“That sounds wonderful. Once you’re back from your trip, we can discuss it,” you reply with a smile. “By the way, have a safe trip, okay? And, try to enjoy the holidays with Mr. Osborn.”

Harry laughs softly and nods. “I will. I try to appreciate every moment with my dad as much as possible, being the only parent I have left. We’ll make time to celebrate the holidays properly, for sure.”

“Good,” you answer, slipping into the car. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon,” Harry answers, looking down at you. “Happy Holidays!”

“Happy Holidays!” you cheerfully reply before Harry steps back and Kerr closes the door. After waving goodbye and buckling your seat, Kerr begins the drive to your home.

Quiet Christmas music plays from the radio, filling a silence for several minutes. You find yourself staring out the window, counting the seconds until you’re home and done with this car ride, which feels awkward for some reason.

“Excited for the holidays, madam?”

You blink in surprise, not expecting the man to make small conversation. “… Yes… Yes, I’m excited,” you start softly. “What about you, sir?”

“Hm… Yes.”

You nod, despite the fact that he probably can’t see you. “I’m glad to hear that,” you reply before a short silence follows.

“Will you be doing some traveling, madam?” Kerr asks, continuing the small conversation.

With pursed lips, you decide not to fully share your plans. Better safe than sorry. “No traveling, just going to other people’s homes for the celebrations,” you share. “Small gatherings.”

“I see,” Kerr replies as he makes a turn.

You glance out the window before deciding it would be bad manners if you don’t ask about his plans. “What about you? Are you traveling with your family, or staying home?”

It takes several seconds for Kerr to reply, as if he’s deeply pondering your question, and you almost swear he looks at you through the rear view mirror for a second before he finally replies. “I’ll be traveling with Mr. Harry and Mr. Osborn.” Kerr pauses, letting that sink in. “I don’t have any family.”

“Oh,” you respond in a hushed tone, understanding that feeling very well from when you were alone before joining the Spider Society.

“Not anymore,” Kerr continues quietly as he pulls to the side of the street, in front of your building. He clears his throat, unbuckles his seat, and gets down in seconds.

Despite Kerr’s startling revelation that he no longer has a family, you quickly unbuckle your seat when you see how fast he gets out of the car. A second later, your door opens and Kerr is there, offering his hand to help you out. To avoid being rude, you accept the gesture and step out of the car. Shivering slightly now that you’re back in the cold weather, you quickly thank Kerr for helping you out and for the ride.

“No problem, madam. I’m simply doing my job,” Kerr replies, taking a step back. “I’ll let Mr. Harry know that you made it home safely.”

“Thank you. Have a good night, and… I hope you enjoy the holidays,” you gently say, taking several steps backwards, towards your building’s entrance. “And, be safe.”

“Thank you. I hope you and your friends enjoy the holidays, too. Take care,” Kerr says with a nod, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

With a final nod, you walk towards your entrance, feeling a heavy gaze all the way to the door. As you open, you dare to glance back, finding Kerr in the same spot and watching you, probably to ensure you truly make it home safely, or maybe because Harry asked him to.

Inside your apartment, you turn the lights on and do a quick check around your space. You fluff the couch pillows and refold the blanket over your couch, wasting time. Humming, you turn to the art work on your wall and stare at it before you turn away and check your gizmo. After a few seconds of reading random messages from your friends, you subtly check the window to ensure that Kerr is gone. Satisfied when you don't see the car anywhere in sight, you open a multidimensional portal and finally, **travel back to Nueva York.

You step into the penthouse, specifically the living room, where you find the fireplace roaring with gentle flames. Above it, a fluffy and big green garland with ribbon, ornaments, twinkling lights, and other Christmas decorations adorns the fireplace mantle.

"Dulzura? Are you home?" Miguel calls out from the kitchen.

"I'm home!" you answer with a smile upon hearing his voice. You quickly slip your coat off just as Miguel enters the living room, looking incredibly cozy and warm in a white cable knit sweater while carrying a tray with two mugs on it.

With a warm smile and pink cheeks due to the penthouse’s warmth, Miguel happily welcomes you back home. "How did it go?" Miguel asks, handing you a mug.

"Mmm, it smells so good," you murmur with a smile, lifting the mug closer to smell the freshly made Abuelita hot chocolate Miguel promised to have ready for your return [a hot chocolate brand]. "It went well. It was a work party, so I talked with a few strangers, but for the most part, I talked with Harry and his dad."

"I'm glad to hear it went well. Sounds like it went smoother than the previous time you met with him," Miguel replies, placing the tray on the coffee table.

You smile sheepishly, remembering the embarrassing and awkward moment with Harry and his attempt to hug you on Día de Los Muertos for the second time tonight [Day of the Dead]. You sigh in relief that that didn't happen again, or something of the sort. "Don't remind me. I'm getting embarrassed again just thinking about it, but thankfully, nothing like that happened. It went smoothly. I was just a little late because of petty crimes."

"What happened?" Miguel asks, worry instantly flashing in his eyes despite the fact that you’re Spider-Woman. Still, you get a fuzzy feeling inside seeing Miguel so concerned over you.

“Just two men trying to rob money and jewelry. I took care of them, no worries,” you answer, reassuring Miguel “How’s the packing?” you ask before taking the smallest sip from the hot chocolate to avoid burning yourself.

“My bag is ready. Yours?”

“I have a few things I still need to pack, but I’m pretty much done! I’ll pack them before I go to sleep. So, packing the groceries is the only thing we have left to do?” you ask, watching Miguel take a seat on the couch, the one you always sit on. You make note of that, how he opted to sit there instead of the couch he always sits on, on top of the fact that he’s leaving your specific spot open. You can’t help but interpret it as a silent invitation for you to take your spot, next to him, so you do.

“Yep, the groceries are the only things we’ll need to pack tomorrow. Other than that, we’re set,” Miguel answers before gently blowing on his mug. “Shock.” Miguel gets up, placing his mug on the coffee table. “I forgot the pan dulce [Mexican pastries].” Miguel almost facepalms at his forgetfulness. He was so happy about you returning already that he forgot about the damn pan dulce. A few seconds later, Miguel returns to the living room with a plate that contains a few pieces of the sweet pastries, neatly arranged. “Here we go!”

Miguel joins you once again on the couch, now with pan dulce to go with the hot chocolate. You both indulge, happy and relieved to be back in each other’s presence while basking in the cozy vibes from the penthouse thanks to the Christmas decorations you both put together; from the garland on the fireplace mantle to the Christmas tree. Drinking hot chocolate, you admire it.

It’s a tall and fluffy artificial tree — not holographic like previous years. Smiling to yourself, you remember how at the end of November, Miguel and you put it together along with the holographic one in the dining area and the one at your apartment. You enjoyed setting up each one, but this one… It has a special place in your heart.

It was Miguel who brought up the topic the day after Thanksgiving. Unlike the previous year, when you both brought up plans for Thanksgiving dinner barely a few days before the holiday, Miguel and you discussed it with plenty of time this year. It may have seemed silly, considering you spend so much time with each other already, to think that you wouldn’t spend Thanksgiving day together, but still, you both brought it up to confirm.

Of course, the answer was yes; you wanted to have dinner together for the holiday again. It resulted in the two of you cooking and inviting the spider gang to join you, hoping that some of them could join.

In the end, a majority of the spider gang made it, along with a very pregnant Mary Jane, Mayday, and Gayatri. With such delicious food and great company, the dinner extended longer than either Miguel or you anticipated, but neither of you minded. The next day, after waking up much later than you’re both used to and having a much needed mug with coffee, Miguel brought it up. He asked if you wanted to help him set up the Christmas tree.

You agreed, expecting it to be the holographic tree with holographic ornaments, but no. An hour later, Miguel came back from downstairs carrying a large box. The surprise must have been evident on your face because he grinned at you before he placed the box down in the living room floor.

“¿Qué [what?]? Did you forget what I told you about Christmas trees on Earth-928? We do have artificial trees, you know,” he said, still grinning.

You grinned back before he headed back downstairs to retrieve the decorations, thinking to himself that you must have forgotten what he told you in the past regarding trees for the holidays, but it wasn’t that. You didn’t forget what Miguel told you; about how most families have holographic trees on this Earth and that they have an app to design their ornaments together, making it a family tradition. Nor did you forget the fact that some individuals or families have artificial trees and some even live ones, but that only the wealthiest tend to go for the latter.

You remember thinking that you knew Miguel had money, more than plenty, since he lives in this penthouse and keeps up with the Spider Society’s headquarters. Along with that, you recalled thinking you expected Miguel to own an artificial tree, but that it was likely he didn't put it up because he hadn't celebrated the holidays in recent years. Since you’ve only ever seen a holographic tree in his home, Miguel must have thought you forgot the information he gave you because of your surprise, but it wasn’t that.

Your surprise wasn’t due to seeing an artificial Christmas tree on this Earth, but rather because Miguel actually brought out his. That was the reason for your surprise; that Miguel felt like putting a physical tree up, and on top of that, with you.

Perhaps it was silly, but as the two of you assembled the tree and fluffed the branches before decorating it while lively and joyous holiday music came from the record player, you couldn’t help but consider it as yet another step forward for Miguel.

It was hard not to when you noted the smile on his face while he added beautiful ornaments to the top of the tree where you couldn’t reach, something he teased you about. Ornaments, bows, and other small decorations were added to the tree and when you thought it was all done and ready to lit up, Miguel disappeared upstairs.

He came back shortly with a bag, wearing a sheepish expression on his face. You didn’t know why, but you had a feeling it had to do with what was inside the bag, and you were right.

Inside the bag were clear, see through ornaments to be decorated along with supplies for such activity. Still looking sheepish, Miguel explained that DIY ornaments are also a thing in his dimension.

“And, I thought — I was thinking — you know,” Miguel said, his cheeks feeling warm while trying to relay the purpose of him buying those supplies. “If you want, which you don’t have to,” he continued, scratching his neck out of shyness. “That we could make some?”

You chuckled sweetly and walked past him. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” you murmured before you took a seat on the floor and picked up a clear ornament.

“I’m wha — cute?” Miguel asked, so flabbergasted that the words were barely a whisper. He watched you with wide eyes and even redder cheeks while you looked through the supplies with much excitement, he wondered why he was even nervous about asking you. Meanwhile, his brain was struggling to process the fact that you called him ‘cute’. A few seconds later, he pulled it together and joined your side, clearing his throat and hoping that you hadn’t notice any of that because in the moment, Miguel couldn’t even understand why your simple and short statement was affecting him so much.

In the end, the activity gave you something fun to do together and once completed, the ornaments were hanged on the tree not far from each other — as if neither of you could handle even your ornaments being too far apart from the other.

Now, your gaze falls on those ornaments, hanging so beautifully from the lit tree. A few branches below those, hangs another one that catches your attention. It turns out there are highly small projectors, small enough to fit inside a regular-size ornament, available on this Earth, and now, there’s that ornament displaying pictures of Miguel and you throughout the year.

Musing on the tree, Miguel drinks hot chocolate from his mug while your eyes move around the rest of the living room. After the Christmas tree, Miguel brought out other decorations, which resulted in the garland over the fireplace mantle, poinsettias on the coffee table, Christmas lights lining the windows, blankets on the couches paired with decorative pillows in winter colors, and other decorations, including a stocking for each of you with your names embroidered on them. The penthouse has never looked this cozier, that’s for sure. It’s the reason why Miguel and you decided to only spend the weekend away and return the day before Christmas Eve to the penthouse again; neither of you wished to be away from home for Christmas.

-♡-

The next morning, the groceries are packed away and everything from ensuring that the doors are locked to the air conditioner being set the way it needs to is checked before you both head out. With the help of the gizmos, Miguel and you arrive to the location in seconds, where you’re both welcomed by a cold breeze and the crunch of snow beneath your shoes.

Standing side by side, Miguel and you take in the view. The cabin, a single floor space, sits right in front of you. It’s surrounded by tall, majestic trees that seem to be hundreds of years old. The front of it is aesthetically decorated with rounded bushes covered in snow. In fact, almost everything in front of you is covered by snow except for a single path leading up to the cabin’s door. On one side, there’s logs ready to be used for a fireplace and on the other end, wooden chairs surround a fire pit.

“Looks cozy,” you state at last, looking around and realizing your cabin is far away from the rest were members of the spider gang should be staying at.

“It does. I like the pine trees,” Miguel says with a soft smile. “Should we head in?”

“Yes!”

After finding the key under the door mat, Miguel and you enter the cabin, completely missing the cabin’s name found above the door on a metal plaque —Lover’s Cabin.

Once inside, the two of you look around with interest and drinking in the coziness from the warm tones and Christmas decorations, including a Christmas tree, in the living room. You move to check the kitchen, finding it cozy and quaint. After putting the groceries away and becoming acquainted with the kitchen, you finally inspect the bedrooms to select one for your stay.

“You can have this room,” you say after a second or two when you realize the last room is the master’s bedroom since there’s a king size bed and has an en suite bathroom.

“Why?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Bigger bed,” you simply state, as if that alone should make sense. Noticing his raised eyebrow, you continue. “You’re a tall man.”

Miguel snorts, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the doorway. “So, just because of my height?”

“Yep! I’ll take the other room, alright?”

“Are you sure?” Miguel asks.

“I’m sure. I’m going to unpack now,” you announce. “And then, we can… Unwind for a little before we do other stuff.”

“No rush. We can figure it out once we unpack, Dulzura,” Miguel replies gently, gazing at you with nothing short of an adoring gaze, even without realizing so.

“Right,” you answer with a smile. “This is meant to be relaxing.”

“And, a bit spontaneous,” Miguel adds, his hand suddenly itching to rest on your shoulder as a form of reassurance. Just when he lifts his hand, however, you walk back to the first bedroom, leaving his hand hanging.

“Alright, let’s unpack,” you eagerly say as you walk away. You glance at him with a smile before you enter your bedroom, unaware of how close Miguel was to making physical contact.

With a quiet yet defeated sigh, Miguel enters his own room carrying his luggage. He unpacks his personal hygiene items first, placing the items in the bathroom, before unpacking his clothes and placing them in the empty dresser. He walks around once he’s done as an attempt to get acquainted with the room and to ensure the windows are locked. At last, he turns to the bed and runs his hand over the bedding, finding it soft. He presses a hand into the mattress, trying to see if it’s going to be comfortable or not just as you walk into the room, missing a slight noise the base and headboard made when he pressed down.

“All unpacked?” Miguel asks straightening up, satisfied with the mattress.

“Yes. You?”

“Same. I was just checking the bedding, making sure it’s comfortable,” he says walking closer to you. “Is everything okay with your room? No issues? We can switch, if you want.”

You shake your head with a smile. “No issues. Everything is fine, so no need to switch on my behalf. You?”

“The room is great,” Miguel answers with a smile, glad to hear that you’ve found your room satisfactory. “So… We're here now. Our little Christmas getaway begins now.”

The vacation begins by settling down in the cozy living room. Miguel starts the fireplace, blankets are unfolded, and books, which you both brought along with you, are taken out. You both settle on a different couch, which you both find much smaller than the ones back at the penthouse, to read for a while. Eventually, you both grow hungry and decide to make brunch in the cabin’s kitchen.

“Do you want to go out? Head to the village?” Miguel asks once you’re both done eating and cleaning the kitchen.

Humming, you look around, thinking. “If you’d like to. Unless you want to do something else and check out the village tomorrow since we’ll be taking Mayday anyway.”

“That’s true,” Miguel answers, remembering that you both offered to look after her to give Peter and Mary Jane a little break, for lack of a better word, since they have a newborn at home and also, to give Mayday a chance to be out of the house, considering Mary Jane is recovering and Peter is taking care of her, while they both look after the baby. “There’s a little bookshop, coffee shop, and an ice skating rink just outside the village — it’s kind of separated from it by a small forest.” Miguel shrugs, smiling softly. “What do you think about a coffee and a visit to the book shop?”

“You know what? That sounds better than snow,” you answer with an excited smile. “You want to head out now?”

“If you’re up for it,” Miguel replies.

“Give me five minutes, please, and we can be on our way!”

“Take your time,” Miguel says, finding your excitement contagious and endearing. “No rush. Today, we’re being spontaneous.”

“Spontaneous,” you repeat. “We’re going with the flow.”

Miguel laughs softly and nods. “We’re going with the flow for this trip.”

After quickly getting ready and dressing appropriately for the weather, Miguel and you leave the cabin and walk on foot to the small area he suggested. The walk is a short one despite the snow and it grants you both a moment of tranquility and fresh air. You even spot squirrels scurrying away with their mouths full, carrying food to their small and cozy homes within trees. When you reach the small area at last, you pause and admire it, guessing that it’s only a small teaser of what the village has in store for you tomorrow.

The first stop is at the welcoming and warm coffee shop, where Miguel, always the gentleman, buys coffee and warm pastries for the two of you. You get on to him for always treating you to things and hardly giving you opportunities to reciprocate, which he chuckles about as you walk to the book shop. Amused with your little frown, he tells you not to worry about it.

Once at the book shop, the two of you browse every shelf high and low for an interesting book to take home with you. By the end of your search throughout the entire shop, you head to pay with Miguel, who carries the shopping basket for the two of you. And of course, Miguel pays before you get a chance to.

“That was a successful book shopping trip,” Miguel states softly once you exit the shop, carrying a reusable bag with everything that you both picked up.

“They had a lot of great options. I’m excited to read every book I picked. You?”

“Same. I got a few sci-fi books, and the others are in genres I don’t read much. I figured I’d give them a try,” Miguel answers as you walk past the ice skating rink. Still walking, Miguel glances back at the sign announcing the entrance and fee. “Would you like to — To go ice skating?” he asks suddenly, making you stop in your tracks.

“Ice skate?” you repeat, glancing at the entrance and reading the sign. You bite the inside of your cheek and turn to look at Miguel again. “I…” you trail off, nervously.

“We don’t have to,” Miguel says, immediately noticing your reluctance. “I simply noticed the sign and thought it sounded fun. I haven’t gone ice skating in forever, but it’s silly. Plus, it’s going to get dark soon and we have the bonfire with our friends, so —” Miguel continues, but is interrupted by you.

“I don’t know how to ice skate,” you gently confess with a bit of embarrassment. “It’s not silly at all. It actually does sound like a lot of fun, but I don’t know how to skate. I always wanted to try it out, but… It’s one of those things that you never make time for.” You smile sheepishly at Miguel. “So, yeah… But! I can watch you! I’d still find it enjoyable to watch.”

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” Miguel answers softly, understanding. “We can go back to the cabin and unwind before the bonfire instead.”

“Please. It sounded like you really want to. Don’t stop on my behalf,” you insist with a smile. “I’d be more than happy to watch you. Maybe I’ll even get inspiration and try to learn as a new year’s resolution.”

Miguel chuckles before he sighs. He glances at the sign and then back at you. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent. Come on,” you say, leading the way.

Inside, Miguel heads to the ticket area to pay and get a pair of skates. While he does that, you settle down on a bench facing the ice rink, excited to see Miguel skate and have fun. A minute or two later, Miguel is at your side again, holding a pair of skates that look far too little for him. Just as you’re about to inquire about that, he kneels in front of you and it’s only then that you realize he’s already wearing a pair.

“Wait — Miguel?” you ask, looking at him a little confused.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Miguel starts, looking at you. “I went ahead and bought a ticket for you, too.”

“But, I don’t know how to skate,” you remind him softly, amused.

“But, I do,” Miguel answers with a soft smirk. “And you said, that by watching me, maybe you’d get inspired to learn, so I thought… Why not start now? If you’re okay with it, of course! I’m not pressuring you, just offering. I’ll guide you.”

Quietly exhaling, you glance at the ice and find it slightly intimidating.

“Hey,” Miguel starts, trying to get your attention again. “It can be a little scary at first, but after a few minutes, you get a little used to it. You just need a guiding and helping hand.”

Smiling, you nod. “Right. It’s like everything else… I… Okay,” you answer, nodding more to yourself for encouragement. “Alright. I’ll try it out.”

“Good, I’m happy to hear that,” Miguel answers with a grin before he gestures to your shoes. “I’ll help you put your skates on.”

“Wha- That’s not necessary! I can put them on myself.”

“It’s no problem, plus,” Miguel says as he begins to fix the shoe laces on the skates while you slip off your shoes. “I tie them in a specific way to ensure they’re truly secure. Sometimes they feel a little loose and tying them the right way makes a big difference.” With that, Miguel helps you put the skates on, despite your shyness about it.

He carefully ties the first one, concentrated on the task while you sit on the bench.

“How come you don’t do that for me?” a woman mumbles behind you from somewhere.

“That’s marriage level,” a man answers.

Curious, you glance back and spot a young couple walk by, exiting the skating rink. You hum to yourself, unsure what the couple were talking about.

“All done,” Miguel says with a smile.

“Thank you,” you answer, looking at the skates now on your feet. You glance up at him, a nervous look on your face. “I suppose… We go now?”

With a grin, Miguel nods. “If you’re ready. Or, we can take a few minutes if you need them. No rush,” he firmly states. “At your own pace.”

You sigh softly, mentally preparing yourself before you nod. “Let’s do this.”

“Are you sure? If you need a few more minutes, that’s more than okay.”

“I think I’m ready,” you insist. “Can we just… Stick to the edge, so I can hold on to the boards?”

Miguel smiles and nods. “Of course. Whatever is more comfortable for you. Ready?” he asks, standing up and extending a hand to you.

You look at him and then at his hand, truly noticing for the first time that he’s wearing the gloves you gifted him the previous year for Christmas. The sight brings a small smile to your face before you accept his hand with your own gloved one, standing up.

“Ready, I think,” you answer, trying to stand very still. “Okay,” you breathe out, unused to the feeling.

“Step like this, look,” Miguel gently guides, demonstrating for you while still holding your hand.

With his demonstration, you slowly but surely make it to the actual ice rink without falling. Miguel, ever the patient man with you, continues to guide you.

“Some people try to walk,” Miguel says. “But skating isn’t like walking because you’re not walking. You’re gliding on the ice. To get the feel, you need to start off by gently marching.” Still holding your gloved hand, Miguel marches, staying near you. “Like this, see?”

“Mhm. I can tell already that you’re — like, pre-gliding.”

Miguel chuckles. “Pre-gliding, that’s right. Okay, do you want to try now?”

You huff softly, out of nerves, and nod. “Yes. Marching, right,” you mumble more to yourself than him. Despite Miguel holding your hand, you still hold on to the boards. “March, march, march,” you whisper, moving your feet. “If I fall, I’m going to try very hard not to use my webs to help myself.” You state, marching shakily.

“I won’t let you fall,” Miguel states with a soft smile. “I’ll catch you. You trust me, right?”

“Yes, of course. I trust you. It’s me I don’t trust in this situation,” you answer. “I feel like I’m one second away from one of my feet gliding a little too far and then, falling on my butt.”

“You won’t fall,” Miguel assures you again, squeezing your hand and surprising you in the process because of it. “I’ll catch you however many times I must. I promise.” He grins at you before he continues on with his lesson. “However, I should probably teach you how to correctly get on the ground if needed, and how to get up again. Safely.”

After showing you those things and having you practice everything he’s taught you, Miguel then shows you how to ‘kick’ your feet off the ice to properly skate. When you successfully skate about fifteen feet or so, Miguel congratulates you.

“Great job! You’re doing amazing, Dulzura,” he proudly says, still holding your hand. “It took me far longer to get used to the gliding, but you — You’re already so much more comfortable with it.”

“Thank you! Your patience and guidance made it possible. I’m no longer as nervous as before. I see why people enjoy this,” you answer. Grinning, you slowly let go of the boards.

“There we go,” Miguel whispers, noticing that you’ve let go and you’re now only holding on to him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this new experience. It’s a fun activity, and you can even learn tricks when you get more experience.”

“Do you know tricks?” you ask Miguel.

“Mm… Not really. Just spinning around, but it’s been a long time since I’ve skated. I probably can’t even do that now,” he answers with an amused smile. “Plus, I won’t let go of you now that you’ve let go of the boards. Maybe in the future. For now, lets try to circle around the rink — get you more comfortable.”

Continuing to apply what Miguel taught you, you grow more and more comfortable and manage to complete one full lap of gliding around the rink.

“I think… I’d like to try on my own,” you announce when you skate, still slowly, past the rink’s entrance.

“Alright, I’ll loosen my hand, and you can release mine when you’re ready,” Miguel responds, trying to make everything confortable and safe for you. He slowly loosens his grip on your hand and a few seconds later, he feels your hand slip away. With much pride, Miguel watches you skate on your own for the very first time.

“I’m doing it,” you say with a smile as you move. “I’m actually doing it, Miguel.”

“You are.” Miguel answers with a smile. “You’re doing so well,” he continues, keeping up with you and remaining alert, just in case.

You giggle softly and kick your feet a little harder, trying to gain a little more speed.

Unable to stop himself from smiling, Miguel speeds up just a tad to keep up. He watches in awe as you move, the sound of your giggling kindling a fluttering in Miguel’s chest.

“I think I’d like to keep practicing in the future,” you say, looking up at him for a moment. Unfortunately, looking at Miguel distracts you, eliciting a loud gasp from yourself as you feel your foot move in a way it shouldn’t. The sense of falling is barely registered by your brain when strong hands take your arms and hold you steady.

“Tranquila [relax; feminine noun],” Miguel gently mutters, holding you. He helps you straighten up first, trying to make the near accident as calm and smooth as possible. “You’re not falling, remember?” He continues with a small smile as you sigh in relief.

“Yes. You’re not letting me fall,” you answer, your shoulders relaxing slightly after growing tense. You exhale again and gather yourself. “I’m sorry. I got distracted looking at you.”

“Hey, no reason to apologize. Small accidents are going to happen,” Miguel reminds you. “Even those with years under their belt have hiccups.”

You chuckle. “Thank you — for the lesson and for catching me.”

Miguel’s gaze softens as he gazes at you, his hands releasing your arms. “Always,” he answers, wholeheartedly, before his hand moves to yours. “Do you want to do another round? Maybe this time faster?”

“Faster?”

“I'll hold both your hands,” Miguel assures. “And you can experience skating with a little more speed. Only if you're open to it, of course.”

You hum and look around the rink before nodding with a smile. “I'd like that.”

“Hold on tight,” Miguel instructs, offering his other hand and standing in front of you. Once you're holding hands, he begins to skate backwards with ease. “You're doing great.” Miguel praises as you simultaneously follow and allow him to lead, moving your feet. “We're gonna pick up speed now,” he informs to avoid startling you.

“Alright, alright,” you answer, bracing yourself for a different pace, but Miguel does it so carefully that you hardly feel the transition. “Hey, this isn’t so bad!”

Miguel grins, guiding the two of you around the rink. He continues to skate, gently tugging you along. “Having fun?”

“Yes!” You answer, chuckling.

The two of you continue to skate, moving along the ice rink laughing and talking, unaware of strangers’ gazes. The innocent bystanders stop and watch, the sight of you alluding to an intimate, warm, and beautiful romantic connection; the kind that millions and millions of people across the vast multiverse can only ever dream about and wish for.

At last, the two of you reach the entrance, feeling like that round went by much faster than it should’ve.

“Do you wish to keep practicing, or would you like a break? Or, go back to the cabin?” Miguel asks.

“Hmm… How are you feeling?”

“I personally… Would be okay if we return to the cabin, but what about you?”

“Me, too,” you say, moving your feet a bit to ease some tension in them. “I’m kind of tired of wearing the skates.”

“Understandable,” Miguel answers. “Come on, I’ll help you get off the ice rink.”

Along with helping you get out of the ice, Miguel also helps you remove your skates, despite your refusal out of embarrassment, before he returns both pairs. A few minutes later, you’re back on your way to the cabin.

“That was a lot of fun,” Miguel softly starts after a few minutes of silence. “Thank you for indulging me by joining me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.” Miguel looks at you, carrying the tote bag with books.

“Are you kidding? I loved it!” Smiling, you eagerly continue. “After my initial nervousness, you helped me get over it and simply enjoy the learning experience. For some reason, I thought it was going to be scarier. Maybe that’s why I never actually tried it in the past. I can’t remember if I ever even told Peter that I’d like to learn,” you say, silently trying to remember if there was ever a time you shared that with your boyfriend. “Either way, I loved it. Thank you for suggesting it in the first place, and for teaching me.”

“Always,” Miguel answers with a sweet smile on his face, more than happy that you enjoyed it as much as he did despite how random it was.

“Hey! What are you guys up to?!”

The sudden number of voices startle you both, directing your attention towards them. Hobie, Pav, Margo, Noir, and Penny wave at the two of you.

“Heading back to the cabin!” Miguel answers once he realizes it’s them.

“We’re having a bonfire! Wanna come?!” Hobie yells.

“When?!” you ask.

“… Now!” they all reply, waving you over.

“Are you up for a bonfire?” you ask Miguel, turning to look at him.

“We have marshmallows! Andddddd hot dogs!” another voice says in a singsong voice. Peter Porker.

“Are you interested?” Miguel asks.

“Roasted marshmallows. That’s something I haven’t had in a long, long time.”

“Well, how can we say no to that, then?” Miguel answers with a grin.

“Are you in, or not?!” the group yells.

“We’re in!” Miguel and you yell back in unison.

Half an hour later, Miguel and you sit next to each other toasting marshmallows with mini chocolate bars and graham crackers to make s’mores.

“Dang, how much longer are you guys toasting your marshmallows?” Gwen asks, looking at both of you. “It looks like your marshmallows are going to be burnt.”

“I like mine toasty,” Miguel answers.

“Me, too,” you reply. “Another minute, or two.”

“I think those are beyond toasty,” Gwen responds, but Miguel and you shrug and continue on.

Two minutes later, you’re both assembling your s’mores at last.

“Just perfect,” you mumble, gently squeezing the sandwich and watching the chocolate drizzle down the marshmallow.

After taking a bite, Miguel hums in approval. “It’s great. Nice little dessert after skating.”

“Agree. An unexpected dessert, but so, so good,” you answer.

“You guys went skating?” Hobie asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, eating your s’more.

“I didn’t know you guys know how to skate,” Miles says with interest, earning a few head nods in agreement.

“I don’t — Or, well, I didn’t, but now I have a little bit of experience. Miguel taught me today,” you reveal with a small smile.

“And Dulzura did amazing,” Miguel adds, looking at you with a warm smile — one that seems to be reserved just for you, as far as the spider gang is concerned.

Glances are shared amongst your friends, curious as always. It’s no secret that Miguel and you hold each other in high regard, or that you occupy a place in the heart of the once stoic man. You even have your own nickname, which none of them are even sure where or when it came to be. One day, they simply heard Miguel address you as such and noted the level of comfort and familiarity you had with it, meaning the nickname had had to be a thing for some time.

“Thanks to you,” you answer. “You made it fun and not so scary.”

Smiling at each other, Miguel and you continue to eat your s’mores before you become aware of teasing noises from your friends.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“Nothing,” Miles answers, giving a warning look to the others, but Hobie Brown has other plans.

“You guys are under mistletoe,” Hobie says with a half smirk.

That simple statement makes your heads snap upwards, finding the plant innocently hanging over the two of you from a tree. Neither of you noticed it earlier, somehow, but it’s there — hanging so effortlessly above the two of you, a Christmas symbol for many and one with several meanings, such as peace, goodwill, love, and even fertility. And of course, there’s that one tradition when two people happen to be below it that involves…

Slowly, Miguel and you look away from the mistletoe and at each other once the realization dawns on you. The respectful distance between you suddenly seems shorter, much shorter. Gazing into each other’s eyes, you both sense the continuous teasing, but also curious energy radiating from your friends. Will you kiss?

“I — Um,” Miguel starts, his brain failing to form words.

“Wow, um, we didn’t — didn’t see it earlier,” you stammer, still looking at Miguel before you look away to face your friends. You offer a small smile. “It’s just a silly tradition, right?” you ask, turning to look at Miguel again.

“Yeah — Yeah, it’s an old tradition,” Miguel quickly replies, still looking at you.

“And besides, you know — Miguel, he — We must be respectful of each other. And I mean that for everyone,” you continue, stopping yourself just in time before stating that Miguel isn’t open to physical touch, much less a kiss. “Including you all. So, yeah.”

“If you say so,” Hobie answers before he takes a drink, slightly shaking his head in either disbelief or amusement, who knows.

“In my universe, the ancient Greeks used mistletoe berries to treat some medical conditions, and even as a way to promote fertility,” Margo shares, shifting the focus from you and Miguel.

You exhale softly and take a drink, glad for the distraction Margo has provided. Slowly, you glance at Miguel to gauge his reaction now. You find him staring at the bonfire, what’s left of his s’more forgotten for now.

“Hey,” you whisper, catching his attention.

“Hey,” he replies in a whisper, turning your way.

“You okay?” you ask.

Miguel nods, slowly smiling a bit. “Yes, thank you.” He pauses and looks at his s’more. “I know what you did there, so thank you.” You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. “Without bringing up my physical touch thing, you steered the conversation away,” he explains, whispering. “Thank you for time and time again respecting my boundaries.”

You smile slowly and nod. “Always. I’m not pushing your boundaries over a silly tradition,” you answer, not quite believing the ‘silly’ part, but saying it in hopes of easing any discomfort.

“I wouldn’t say it’s silly,” Miguel gently counters, informing you indirectly that perhaps… He isn’t opposed to participating in the tradition and would kiss you, if the circumstances were different; those being Miguel’s boundaries with physical touch and a worry of disrespecting each other. “It's a fun, old tradition. As long as there's no disrespect.”

“I agree,” you confess. “I said that for you. I didn't want the situation to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Miguel answers, realizing that that means you'd be open to the tradition, too. “So you… You participate?”

“In the past, yes, but only with Peter,” you share, looking at the bonfire's flames briefly.

“I see,” Miguel responds.

A few seconds later of debating, you watch Miguel lift his hand with his index finger out towards you.

You stare at his finger and then look at him, wondering. Slowly, you raise your own finger to the same height as Miguel's, leaving a few inches of separation.

Smoothly, Miguel moves his finger closer and closer until there’s barely an inch of space left. A second later, his finger moves the rest of the way and ever so gently, presses against yours at the top.

You watch in silence, smiling sheepishly and leaving your finger in place until Miguel slowly retracts his own, about thirty seconds later. Smiling to yourselves and ignored by your friends, who are too busy talking about some celebrity from another universe, you continue to enjoy your s’mores with the silent yet mutual understanding of what that gesture shared between you symbolizes: a kiss underneath the mistletoe.

-♡-

Hours later, Miguel and you are back in your own cabin after the bonfire. After showering to wash away the scent of smoke, dinner was cooked and eaten. Out of nowhere, you surprised Miguel with a little self-care moment that involved matching headbands and treating yourselves with gentle skincare before unwinding with Christmas movies and snacks in the living room; finishing the day in a relaxing manner.

“Good night,” you softly say with a smile once the last movie is over and you've both cleaned up the living room from your activity.

“Good night. Sleep well,” Miguel answers, reciprocating the smile. He enters his own bedroom once he sees you enter your own and heads to the en suite bathroom to do his routine. Once done, Miguel steps out of the bathroom and begins to prepare his bed to sleep, ensuring that your sweatshirt is near him.

He slips off his top and places it at the end of the bed before climbing on it and laying down. Staring at the ceiling, he sighs softly and begins to reflect on the day, thinking to himself how much he enjoyed spending the day with you. Rolling on his side, Miguel smiles to himself as he fondly recalls the day’s activities like the cooking, watching the movie, the relaxing self-care, and the ice skating. It’s then that his thoughts shift to that moment at the bonfire, but before he can reflect on it, he hears a noise coming from his bed.

Already laying on your bed, you’ve barely tucked yourself in when you hear a semi-loud noise from Miguel’s bedroom. The loudness startles you so much you immediately climb out of bed and walk to Miguel’s room.

“Miguel?” you call out, pushing the door open without thinking about asking first. “I’m turning on the light.” Once you locate the light switch, you flick it and freeze at the doorway when you find Miguel’s bed, and him on it, partly on the floor while the other half remains in place. “Are you okay?” you ask, rushing to his side to help him as he begins to move.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just a scratch, I think,” he answers as he maneuvers himself to stand up.

“How did that happened?” you ask in shock, offering your hand just in case Miguel needs help. A second later, Miguel accepts it. You clasp hands, securely, and pull him up before releasing his hand.

“I heard a noise and next thing I know, I’m falling,” Miguel answers, shaking his head in amusement.

You look at him, finding a smile on his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t say anything while it was happening. I would’ve probably cursed out of surprise.”

Miguel chuckles softly. “I did, internally. It happened so fast,” he says, crouching to inspect the damage. “Seems like the base and this side of the headboard cracked.”

“Surely it was broken before we arrived,” you state, crouching next to Miguel to look at the situation. In doing so, you notice the sweatshirt you gave Miguel earlier this week for his sleep, still clinging to the half hanging mattress. “It seems the owners failed to catch this.”

“It appears so,” Miguel answers in amusement as you both continue to look at the broken bed.

You sigh softly just as you notice that there are several spots on the wall where the paint has chipped off, right about where the top of the headboard lines up. Your mouth parts slightly as you realize what the reason must be for that.

“Oh,” Miguel quietly mutters, his gaze on the wall, too. He hadn’t noticed that before until now, and now that he does, his cheeks flush as he realizes.

“Umm... You said you got a scratch?” you ask, shifting the conversation.

Miguel turns to look at you, his cheeks still red. “It’s probably nothing,” he says, lifting his bicep to check. “I think I hit it against the nightstand in my attempt to catch myself.”

“Here, let me see,” you gently request.

“It really is nothing,” Miguel answers, standing up.

“It doesn’t hurt to check,” you reply, keeping your eyes on Miguel’s face because he’s shirtless.

“Alright, alright,” Miguel murmurs softly before he shows you his bicep, which immediately earns himself a frown from you. “It’s not that bad.”

“There’s blood,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll find a first aid kit. Please sit down… “ you trail off and look around the room, searching for a chair or something for him to sit on. “There,” you gesture once you locate a wing back armchair near the dresser. Without giving Miguel a chance to decline your help, you head to his bathroom in search of the kit. Thankfully, you find one under one of the sinks. “Alright, I found one.” You announce, leaving the bathroom and walking straight to Miguel, who is sitting on the chair just like you asked him to.

“It’s truly fine, Dulzura,” Miguel insists just as you kneel at his side. He looks away for a few seconds, finding it unnecessary for you to give him this much attention to the point you’re on your knees. “It’s just a small scratch.”

“I said that to you many months ago. On Father’s Day when I hurt myself, remember?” you say, opening the first aid kit and looking for the right supplies. “It was just a scratch and you still tended to it.”

“That’s…” he starts, but trails off because he was about to tell you that that situation was different.

“Please… Just let me,” you gently say, looking up at him.

“I — Okay,” Miguel answers, staring back at you and finding it impossible to refuse your care and attention any longer. He swallows softly, his maroon eyes gazing over your face. “Alright, thank you… Thank you, Dulzura.”

You smile sweetly at Miguel before you begin checking the wound. “It’s pretty long,” you state. “May I…?” You look up again, referring to touching him.

“Yes,” Miguel replies quietly.

You nod before gently cleaning the bit of blood present. Your fingers touch his skin respectfully, always polite of Miguel’s boundaries.

Miguel looks away a few seconds later and stares at the broken bed while you continue to work. He flexes the fingers from his free arm over and over again, feeling your fingers on his skin and trying not to think about how pleasant your touch is.

“All clean,” you murmur. “Luckily, it’s not a deep scratch, but it’s still good to make sure.” You search through the kit to find some kind of ointment, something to alleviate any discomfort and help boost the healing process before turning to face him again, the situation reminding you of last year, when you tended to much worse injuries on Miguel’s body. At that, your face softens and your gaze sweeps over Miguel’s torso, easily spotting those old scars. The itch to trace them suddenly overwhelms you, a need to physically feel them to assure yourself they’re truly only scars and no longer wounds in need of attention.

Of course, you don’t; doing so would be far too intimate and would disrespect Miguel’s boundaries. Internally, you tell yourself to focus as you begin to softly apply the ointment to Miguel’s scratch. You focus on that for a moment before your gaze strays away for a few seconds, despite yourself, to Miguel’s physique, noting and remembering details of Miguel’s body; his tan skin, the scars that were once wounds tended by you, the scars that were already there before, the multiple lines defining muscles from years of physical activity, and the soft trail of hair leading down to Miguel's —

You swallow and look away, scolding yourself for noticing silly things. Instead, you focus on how the ointment melts into Miguel's warm skin as you apply it, his warmth seeping into your own.

“Looks good. It should heal quickly,” you say, clearing your throat and reluctantly removing your hand from Miguel.

Miguel glances at you as you begin to place everything you used back in the kit. “I'm sure it'll be good by tomorrow morning. Thank you, I appreciate it, Dulzura,” he says, offering you a warm smile.

“Always,” you answer looking up at him again, reciprocating the smile. Standing up, you turn to the bed, the sight of it reminding you that Miguel can't sleep here now.

At the same time, Miguel looks at it. He stands up and approaches the bed, pulling the comforter off before he grabs a pillow. “I need to set up the couch,” he states, pulling a blanket, too.

“The couch?” Your eyebrows raise as you think about the couch and how uncomfortable it is already compared to a bed. You imagine it'd be triple the discomfort for Miguel due to his build. “That's not gonna be comfortable for you,” you say. “Have my room instead. I'll take the couch.”

“Wha— No, no, no. That's kind of you, but no way.” Miguel shakes his head, speaking firmly while holding the bedding in his arms. “I'm not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“I'll be fine. It'll be far more comfortable for me than you,” you argue.

“Dulzura, thank you, but no. I'm not taking the bed and letting you sleep on the couch. I'm a gentleman,” Miguel softly, but firmly continues to decline.

“But—” you start, trying to convince Miguel.

“Please, no buts. You sleep on the bed. I wouldn't even be able to sleep knowing you're in the living room.”

“I've slept in the living room at the penthouse before. Many times.”

“This is different, you know that,” he replies with a small smirk. “I appreciate you trying to accommodate me, but there's no way I'm doing that.”

Huffing, you follow Miguel to the living room and watch as he begins to set up his pillow. You suddenly think of something, but you're not sure Miguel will be comfortable with that idea. He might even find it inappropriate. With a sigh, you dare voice your idea. “What if — Um…” You trail off, building up the courage. “If you're comfortable with it, would you be okay with just, you know,” you continue, shrugging to downplay the offer. “We could share,” you finally say, quickly.

Miguel’s eyes widen slightly and you almost swear he clutches the blanket a little tighter. “Share… Share what?”

“You know,” you reply, gesturing to your room. “I wouldn’t mind. I’m comfortable with you because you know, you’re… You’re a gentleman,” you say, softly. “And I trust you, one hundred percent. Wholeheartedly.” Clearing your throat, you look away, afraid you’ve pushed too far with your offer, even if it’s out of kindness. “But, well… I know maybe you’re not at that level of comfort with me, which is understandable,” you quickly say, not trying to guilt Miguel into it. “Whether it’s because we — you know. Us being a man and a woman. Not that I think a man and a woman can’t lay tog—” you stop rambling and sigh. “You know what I’m trying to say. Or, because we would be, closer and we might touch, so…” you trail off again, realizing you probably look like a fool in front of Miguel with your rambling. Maybe you should’ve just kept the idea to yourself. “I understand if you don’t want to, that’s what I’m trying to say, however, if you wish to, that’s an option. It’s up to you.” You gently conclude, deciding that’s the best way to explain it. “I’ll be in the room, if you need something, or if you — You know.” You nod at Miguel. “So, yeah… Good night.”

“Thank you. Good night,” Miguel answers softly, feeling like a deer caught in headlights due to your offer to share the bed.

You walk back to your room and stand next to your bed for a few seconds, almost in a daze. For some reason, you discover that your heart is racing. You finally climb back into bed after shaking your head as an attempt to clear your mind and based on the silence that follows, you assume that Miguel has decided to sleep on the couch after all. Turning on your side, you pull the covers higher over you, preparing to go to sleep after Miguel’s bed breaking. Several minutes later, you hear Miguel’s footsteps.

“You awake?” Miguel whispers.

“Mhm. Still awake. Is everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, I just…” Miguel trails off. He’s not sure if you can make out his figure in the mostly dark bedroom, but he looks around shyly. “It turns out, I don’t fit on the couch.”

“Oh,” you softly respond. “Your legs?”

“Yeah, they’re hanging off the couch, so… I was wondering…”

Smiling softly, you turn on the lamp on the nightstand closest to you. You find Miguel standing near the doorway, still shirtless. “I can imagine. Do you want to bring your pillow, or are these okay?” you ask, gesturing to the free pillows on the other side of your bed, unused.

Miguel’s body relaxes, as if he was worried that your kind offer was no longer on the table. “Those should be fine, thank you.”

You nod. “Alright, then… If you need nothing else, you can — You know.”

“Right,” Miguel answers shyly, his cheeks feeling hot as he moves around the bed to the other side. With his long strides, it doesn’t take Miguel long to reach the empty side of the bed. He looks at it and then at you, noticing an equally shy expression on your face.

Noting the shyness in Miguel, you offer a warm and reassuring smile to encourage him, which seems to do the trick.

Gently pulling the covers on his side of the bed, Miguel climbs in, careful not to disturb you too much. He lays on his back before pulling the covers up again. Once settled, he turns to face you, giving you a small smile. “Thank you, and I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience. Please… Don’t hesitate to tell me if I make you uncomfortable,” Miguel gently says. “I'll get off the bed, no questions asked.”

You chuckle softly. “You’re forgetting I’m the one that offered and also what I told you. I trust you,” you murmur.

“I trust you, too,” Miguel whispers. “I just… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in the aspect that you mentioned earlier.” He looks away for a few seconds. “In that you’re a woman and I’m a man, but also because you’re like me,” he says, turning to look back at you with a sheepish smile. “We’re not used to sharing a bed. I don’t want to disturb your sleep and rest because you don’t have the bed all to yourself.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” you answer with amusement. “But, I appreciate your concern for my beauty sleep.”

“Not that you need it,” Miguel answers without thinking, still wearing that sheepish smile.

You hum, your cheeks feeling warm suddenly. “Oh, thank you,” you whisper, looking away.

Of course, Miguel notices your shy reaction to his words, inspiring a blooming warmth and fuzzy feeling in his chest. “Always,” Miguel whispers, still grinning.

You clear your throat and pull the covers slightly higher to hide your face. “Good night, Migs,” you whisper, turning off the nightstand lamp.

“Buenas noches, Dulzura [good night],” Miguel murmurs, still watching you. “Dulces sueños [sweet dreams].” Miguel turns away and closes his eyes, laying next to you.

Trying to fall asleep, thoughts of your current position comes to mind for the two of you. Is this strange? You’ve both laid next to each other before, even shared a blanket and pillows, but that was different. All those times, it’s been on the living room floor, not a bed, and for some reason, the bed makes it more… Intimate.

It's not strange, right? Best friends have sleepovers and share a bed all the time.

Rolling to your other side, facing away from Miguel, you decide it’s normal. It’s totally normal… Except, the last time you shared a bed was with Peter, your Peter, and that was years ago. The thing is, you don’t find it uncomfortable, even if he’s a man and you’re a woman. Instead, you find Miguel’s presence next to you new, yet insanely pleasant. His body warmth seems to call to you, to move closer and take a dip in it. You close your eyes and try to ignore it, certain that you’re simply immensely exhausted from the fun day you both had and now having strange thoughts.

Next to you, Miguel opens his eyes and stares into the darkness. There’s some distance between you two and yet, the combination of your personal hygiene items and your very own scent embrace him, like a blanket of constellations welcoming him home. He suddenly remembers that he left your sweatshirt in the bedroom and realizes that if he had stayed in the living room, he would’ve already gone back to retrieve it, but being here with you now, within hand’s reach, he has no need for it since he's next to you, his sleep remedy.

Minutes later, Miguel hears your breathing slow down, signaling your slumber and promising his to come. Focusing on the gentle sound, Miguel rolls on his side, facing your back. Despite the darkness, he can make out your figure, so close, yet with a respectful distance still in place. Once more, Miguel’s fingers flex; close, open, close, open. They itch, to reach and touch.

Miguel slightly shakes his head, ignoring the strange need. He closes his eyes and focuses on your breathing again, finding it easy to find sleep, as always, with you near him.

-♡-

When Miguel wakes up, he’s immediately aware of a pleasant presence next to him. It’s soft, warm, and their scent — Miguel wants nothing more than to bury his face into them and further inhale that lovely essence. Still half asleep and with his eyes closed, Miguel moves closer to the presence, allowing himself to be lulled in this moment of vulnerability.

“Mmm,” Miguel hums in appreciation once the scent is closer, once the warmth feels like it’s become his own. His arm tightens around said presence; wanting it closer, closer, closer.

His eyes slowly open, needing a moment to adjust to the bits of light streaming through the windows’ blinds. With his brain barely waking up, it takes Miguel several seconds to realize: his arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

As the realization dawns on him, Miguel’s arm remains around you, even when his mouth slightly parts in surprise at his own actions. Despite the shock, Miguel doesn’t remove his arm right away. He leaves it there instead and gazes at you, at your sleepy face.

Miguel drinks in the sight of you, one that’s not entirely new to him for he’s had the absolute pleasure and privilege of witnessing so many times before. Still, for some reason, in this moment in this little cabin in the middle of a forest with snow all around, the sight feels different. There’s your eyelashes and the way they brush against the top of your cheeks, your lips, the peaceful and almost innocent-like look on your face, and how utterly and unquestionably endearing, lovely, and beautiful you look.

Miguel continues to observe you, almost in a trance, even as you stir. He watches you exhale softly, snuggling further into the pillows before going still again.

It’s then that it dawns on Miguel that he ought to remove his arm from you. It’s not appropriate, is it? He’s a gentleman. He was raised to be one, and so, Miguel reluctantly removes his arm from you, instantly missing everything about it from the softness to the warmth of your body.

As if sensing the absence of his touch, you stir again and this time, Miguel can tell you’ll be waking up. You hum softly, eyes fluttering before they focus on the man next to you. “Miguel,” you murmur sleepily. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Dulzura,” Miguel murmurs. “Did you sleep well?” He asks, wondering if he disturbed your sleep at some point during the night.

“Mmm, yes. I did,” you answer, covering your mouth to yawn. “I slept very well.”

“That’s a relief,” Miguel says. “I was worried I… I don’t know. Kicked you in my sleep, or something.”

That makes you snort softly. “If you had, I wouldn’t be in bed right now. Probably.”

“Not funny,” Miguel responds in a slightly playful way, yet he’s not amused with the idea of you being hurt, especially by him.

“There was no kicking, or anything,” you assure him.

Except Miguel did have his arm around you when he woke up, but you’re not aware of that innocent fact.

Remembering that, Miguel clears his throat. “… I need to tell you something,” he says, sitting up to give you space.

“Oh… Is something wrong?” you ask, worried you possibly did something to offend him during your sleep. Your brain quickly goes through the worst scenarios, like you getting too close to him, or saying something inappropriate.

“Not exactly? It’s something I did,” Miguel continues, watching you sit up as well. “I just want to be honest.”

You nod, clasping your hands together and waiting.

“I didn’t kick you,” Miguel starts. “But… When I woke up, I had my arm — around you — around your waist,” Miguel confesses, his cheeks red. He curls his fingers around the bedding, waiting for your reaction and finding surprise, but no negative emotion.

“It was?” you ask softly, thinking. Somewhere during the night, you vividly remember feeling the weight of it, yet you were more asleep than anything. “I felt it during the night.” You announce quietly, trying to recall the short blurry memory.

Miguel’s eyebrows shoot up. That means he held you for far longer than he thought. “I’m sorry,” Miguel states a few seconds after recovering from the news. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what got to me.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “You don’t have to apologize. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Really. In fact,” you pause, looking away out of embarrassment and a bit of shame. “I may have… Touched your arm, too.”

“I don’t mind,” Miguel quickly admits because he recognizes your emotions and he doesn’t want you to feel like that. Besides, the truth is that he doesn't mind one bit that you touched him. In fact, he hasn’t minded your touch on previous occasions when physical contact has been needed or has happened out of spontaneity. “It's the truth. And it's only expected.” Miguel continues, reassuring you so you stop feeling negatively when it was him who clearly initiated physical contact during his sleep. “I did have my arm around you, so, it's only expected you would touch it. And there's no reason to be… Embarrassed about it,” he gently adds, giving you a warm and soft smile when you look at him again.

You smile back and nod, slowly feeling less embarrassed about it. “I’m glad you don’t feel upset,” you reply, unclasping your hands.

“Not in the slightest,” Miguel answers reassuringly. “And you…?” Miguel asks, just to be certain.

“No, not at all,” you reply. “Not at all.” You glance at the windows, noticing the sun’s rays. “We should get ready for the day. We’re looking after Mayday today.”

“Right,” Miguel answers, remembering. “I almost forgot.” He sighs softly, feeling good about being honest with you regarding what happened and relieved that you both handled it so well. With the day ahead of you two, Miguel decides to move on from the moment for now and start the day by leaning back to stretch.

Next to him, your gaze moves over to Miguel, landing on his chest before it dips to his abdomen. It’s impossible not to notice the way his body moves, or how the sunlight caresses his bare skin. You look away, remembering it’s incredibly rude to stare, just as Miguel climbs out of bed. You find yourself staring again as he stretches once more, his back popping and back muscles rippling.

Again, you look away and finally get out of bed to start the day. The two of you quickly make the bed before you head into your respective bathrooms to get ready.

An hour later, both Miguel and you find yourselves in Mary Jane and Peter’s home.

“We seriously cannot thank you enough,” Peter B. says as he carefully hands Mayday’s backpack to Miguel since you’re already holding his daughter’s hand. “Mary Jane and I appreciate it so much.” He says, exhaustion visible on his face.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Miguel asks, voicing your own thoughts.

“No, no. We’re good, thank you. You offering to take Mayday with you for the day, having her have a day out means so much to us. Mary Jane and I have hardly left the house, which means so has little Mayday,” Peter answers. “Mary Jane is still recovering and with it being cold, we don’t want to take Benjamin out either. I’ve gone out to get groceries and the such to distract Mayday a little, but that’s nothing compared to our routine from before. Today will make her so happy.”

You offer him a smile, gently patting his shoulder. “We’re happy to help, and if you need something else, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Thank you,” Peter answers, smiling despite his exhaustion. “Thank you so much. If you guys need anything or have questions, or need to bring Mayday back earlier, please don’t hesitate either. We’ll understand.”

“We’ll return at the agreed time, don’t worry. She’s safe with us. You guys do what you need to do with little Benjamin, and take care of Mary Jane. If she needs medical attention or support, the infirmary is always open,” Miguel states, reminding Peter of that resource.

“Thank you, thank you,” Peter sighs. “It means a lot. We’ll keep it in mind, if necessary.”

“Say bye to your dad, Mayday! You’ll be back in a few hours,” you say, still holding Mayday.

“Bye, daddy!” Mayday eagerly says, waving bye.

“Bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Peter says with a smile, walking closer to gently pinch her cheek. “Be a good girl for uncle Miggle and aunt Y/N,” he adds, earning himself a scoff from Miguel at the silly nickname Mayday gave him some time ago.

“Alright, we’re heading out,” Miguel says. “Rest as much as you can, Peter.”

“Thanks, pal. I’ll try. Have fun, guys. Be safe, please!” Peter says, watching you leave with his daughter for the day.

Back to your vacation spot, the three of you step out of the portal and into the cold. You immediately feel Mayday shiver at the change of temperature, so you hold her closer and adjust her puffy jacket to keep her warm. “Gotta keep you warm,” you murmur as you move on to fix her beanie.

“It might be too cold for her,” Miguel says, slinging the backpack on one of his shoulders and stepping closer to help.

“She did shiver just now, so I’m adjusting her clothes to make sure she’s as warm as possible, right, Mayday?” you murmur softly, unable to stop yourself from being so affectionate with her. “Alright, all warm for now.”

“First activity for the day?” Miguel asks to confirm, still carrying the backpack.

“We have Mayday, so, yes,” you reply with a chuckle. “Let’s just hope she likes what we’ve planned for her today.”

Miguel laughs softly as you both begin to walk over the snow. “I’m sure we can figure something out if the day’s activities are not to her taste.”

With another chuckle, you both continue to walk to your destination. All the while, Mayday looks around with excitement, even though it’s just a bunch of snow and trees all around for several minutes until the three of you reach the small and cute village. The three of you look around for a moment to take in the village, realizing it’s one of those villages that goes over the top with Christmas decorations everywhere.

“It’s cute,” you state as you near your destination by following signs.

“Mhm, it reminds me of those movies my mom used to watch when Gabriel and I were kids,” Miguel answers. “Some of which are so… Predictable, but still fun to watch. I guess.”

You snort softly. “What? You don’t like those movies?”

Miguel shrugs as you both keep walking. He looks over at you and then at Mayday, who is too busy looking at everything to pay either of you attention. He can’t blame her, though, he supposes this is like a kid’s dream. For a few seconds, he thinks of his little Gabby and how she would’ve loved today’s activities. With an exhale, Miguel gently pulls himself back to the present after silently sending his child an ‘I love you’. “I just think… Some of them are both predictable and problematic, so I can’t watch them without thinking about that.”

“Do go on,” you press. “Please?”

Miguel smiles. “Well, when I say that, I’m talking about those movies where there’s a successful character in the city. Typically, it’s a woman. She has a partner and it all seems to be going well in her life. For example, she has a big work promotion coming up because she’s been killing it in her career through hard work and she has all these nice things, like a luxurious car and apartment, but then, she goes back to where she came from for whatever reason. Some far away place from the city that she left a few years ago and hasn’t visited in x number of years because she’s been busy, and this is sometimes right after discovering that her boyfriend has been cheating on her,” Miguel says, definitely getting into it.

Now, with her not visiting her parents… I’d be hurt if my kid hadn’t visited in so long, but then again, the parents could also travel to her.” Miguel continues with furrowed eyebrows. “Actually, I had never thought about that. Everybody always judges the person who went away, but the parents could also visit… Hm. Well, anyway.” Miguel shakes his head, trying to focus and not ramble. “She goes back to some small town where it looks like Santa Claus threw up all over the place. Like… Here. Anyway, she gets judged left and right by people that knew her growing up. You know, giving her backhanded compliments. Like, ‘oh, I hear you’re getting a promotion, but your boyfriend just cheated on you, so how successful are you really, then?’ They have that kind of attitude.”

You nod, paying attention and trying not to grin too hard at how passionate Miguel seems about this topic.

“And it’s like, wait, what does that have to do with her romantic life? It’s like they’re saying her boyfriend cheated on her because she’s ‘too’ successful. It’s so annoying. What message is it sending to women and young girls? Not a good one, for sure,” Miguel says shaking his head in disapproval. “Well, she’s there in town and then,” Miguel says with an exasperated sigh. “She runs into her previous boyfriend, probably high school sweetheart, who she loved so much, but when she brought up the idea of moving to the city years prior, he didn’t support it because he’s a small town man. He imagined spending his entire life in that place, which is fine, but the female protagonist didn’t want that life. She wanted something different, so they ended up breaking up because of the woman’s decision to pursue their dreams.”

“As they should,” you add.

“Exactly. As they should,” Miguel affirms. “But then, they run into each other in the present and it’s painfully awkward because they haven’t seen each other since the breakup and old wounds are open. Despite the woman trying to keep her distance, fate, or perhaps due to the townspeople who meddle too much, she can’t seem to escape the man and they’re stuck in this forced proximity for half the movie, and you can tell the guy is still upset over the girl’s decision. Anyway, it ends with the woman apparently ‘realizing’ she’s not happy in the city, never has been. And she decides, just from spending like three days in her old town, that she wants to move back and take on the family business she didn’t initially want to be a part of, and resigning from her job. Oh, and she ends up with the old boyfriend. The end,” Miguel finishes. “It’s repeated so much. How about we make the man realize he’s not happy in his town like he thought he would, and is the one who leaves to go live in the city with his successful partner? I’d like to see that instead.”

“You know… You’re right. I don’t think I’ve watched a movie like that, now that you mention it. There should be one like that,” you answer.

“That’s why I don’t like those especially. The other ones, they’re good,” Miguel says with a chuckle. “Oh, look. We’re here.” Miguel gestures ahead, directing your attention.

You grin at the sight and point for Mayday to look. “Look, Mayday! Over there.”

Expectantly, Miguel and you wait for Mayday’s reaction to the first activity of the day: petting and feeding reindeer. Thankfully, her reaction doesn’t disappoint.

“Reindeer! Santa Claus’s sleigh,” she says grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, mija [my daughter]. Those are Santa Claus’s reindeer,” Miguel replies with a small smile. “Want to pet them?”

“Yes! Can I pet the reindeer? Please?”

“You may, but you must be gentle, okay?” Miguel answers, establishing that boundary immediately for both her safety and the animals’.

You watch in awe, always surprised to see Miguel fall into that fatherly energy so effortlessly, further convincing you that Miguel was meant to be a father in this life.

“Come on,” Miguel says, smiling.

After paying and listening to the instructions, the three of you are in front of reindeer with other people. A worker provides information about them, from how fast they can run and how they differentiate from other deer species along with other interesting information.

With glee, Mayday watches everything from some of the reindeer peacefully eating to others walking, but her favorite part seems to be when she has the opportunity to pet and give snacks to one.

“It’s so fluffy,” she says, gently petting the animal’s head. “Like a dog.”

Miguel and you turn to look at each other, smiling.

“And so cute,” you state, carefully petting the gorgeous reindeer.

“Fluffy and cute,” Miguel murmurs, petting it himself after a few seconds of debating it. He gently pats it with a sigh, once again thinking about Gabby and how she would’ve enjoyed this. Knowing her, Gabby would’ve asked for a book about reindeer to learn more about them afterwards.

“Aww,” you coo softly when you see the reindeer close their eyes and nudge their head into Miguel’s hand, apparently enjoying the petting. “Seems like they like you. Probably because of your warmth.”

“My warmth?” Miguel questions, looking over at you.

“Yeah,” you answer with a shrug as you gently pet the side of the reindeer’s face. “You’re naturally warm. I’m sure they find your warmth… Nice.” Nice? You almost facepalm and wonder why you’re even thinking about Miguel’s body warmth. Feeling embarrassed, you change the subject and gesture to a calf. “Look, a baby reindeer,” you say, successfully shifting the attention, though Miguel glances at you even after the fact.

After another half an hour, the three of you leave with Mayday, who happily carries a reindeer plushie that Miguel bought her on the way out. Together, you walk around the village to see all the decorations and the more you walk, the more it feels like you’re all in a Christmas movie set.

“We’re only missing the love interests,” you joke when Miguel mentions that, too.

“And the meddling friend group who must be running around here somewhere,” Miguel answers with a chuckle. “How about some brunch?” Miguel asks when the scent of food from a diner reaches you.

“Actually… I could eat something right now. What about you, Mayday? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. Can I have waffles?”

Miguel and you laugh quietly at the innocent question.

“We’ll see if they sell some in there, alright? I’m sure they do,” you assure Mayday, taking her hand again to head inside.

Warmth and the delicious scent of diner food immediately welcomes the three of you when you step inside. Looking around for an empty booth, Miguel and you spot a few spider people neither of you were expecting to see here, in this exact universe and location.

“I didn't know other people were coming,” you say once the three of you are sitting at the booth, including Mayday’s plushie by Miguel's side.

“I didn't either,” Miguel answers, glancing at the group and quickly identifying them.

At the same time, Ben Reilly, Malala Windsor, Max Borne, Anya Corazón, and another member you only know as Spider-Canada, turn to look at the three of you.

Making eye contact with them, Miguel and you nod as a form of greeting, receiving nods and hand waves, before looking over the menu and ordering. Thankfully for Mayday, the diner sells waffles, so Miguel orders her some along with a cup of milk.

Once you're all done eating, you take Mayday to the restroom again to wash her hands, only to run into Ben when you walk out.

“Y/N,” Ben starts, looking surprised to have run into you. “How are you doing?” he asks, offering a smile.

“Hey, I'm doing great. We've been enjoying walking around the village. You?” You ask, holding Mayday’s hand, who looks up at Ben with curious eyes.

“Good. I'm doing good. We've also been sightseeing.” Ben answers while scratching his neck, pink dusting his cheeks as he stares at you before turning to look at the kid. He offers an awkward smile to Mayday before looking back at you. “You and Miguel babysitting for Peter?”

“Yes. We offered since Mary Jane and Peter just had — Their baby,” you reply, remembering that their newborn is named Benjamin, just like Ben. You suddenly wonder how Ben feels about that and the fact that Peter looks so similar to him. “So, Miguel and I figured that we could look after Mayday for the day, and give her a fun day here.”

“That’s kind of you and Miguel. I’m sure Peter and his wife appreciate the gesture, and the little kid, too,” Ben states. “Where are you guys staying?”

“We’re staying in a cabin. It’s a few minutes from the village by foot,” you answer. “All my friends rented cabins there, too, so we’re all within walking distance.”

“Oh, you’re not all staying in the same cabin?”

“No, we’re staying in different cabins. Miguel and I are staying in one, and the rest of my friends are in two others.”

“Oh, you and Miguel are in one,” Ben repeats slowly, briefly glancing in Miguel’s direction, who is looking the other way, before turning to look back at you. “Well… I hope that you’re enjoying the cabin.”

“We are, thank you. It’s so cozy. Where are you and your friends staying at?”

“The inn. It’s just down the street,” Ben explains. “It’s a nice place. Cozy.”

You smile, “I can imagine. This place seems so magical. I’m certain that every building and crevice of this village is cozy and welcoming.”

“Uncle Miggle,” Mayday says next to you. “He’s waiting on us. Can we go?”

“We’re going, Mayday,” you answer before turning your attention to Ben. “Well, we’ll see you around, Ben. I hope you and your friends continue to enjoy the holiday trip.”

“Thank you, Y/N. You, too,” Ben replies, smiling again. “See you at work after Christmas!”

“See you!” You reply before Mayday and you both walk past Ben to return to Miguel. “We’re back,” you say once you reach Miguel.

“You guys ready to go?” Miguel asks.

“Yes. Let’s go ahead and pay.”

“I’ve already paid, don’t worry about it, Dulzura,” Miguel answers with a small grin, standing up. He quickly puts on his coat and helps Mayday with hers while you slip on your own.

In no time, the three of you exit the diner only for you to realize that Mayday isn’t wearing her beanie. “Wait, her beanie is missing. It must have fallen off the booth.”

“I’ll go get it,” Miguel states, but you shake your head.

“It’s alright. I’ll go get it. Be right back,” you announce, turning on your heel and walking back the short distance to the diner. Inside, you quickly return to your booth and find the beanie hanging from one side, where Mayday was sitting. You pick it up and head back, running into Ben right at the door while his friends are off to the side, looking at a wall with decorations.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright. Are you okay?” Ben asks, looking you up and down, as if to ensure you’re okay.

“Yep, I’m okay. Sorry, I guess I was moving too fast, I didn’t see you there,” you answer with a chuckle as Ben opens the door for you, allowing you to exit first. As you step out, you hear him chuckle, too.

“It’s alright. It happens sometimes,” he says behind you before he finds himself next to you with a small grin, right in front of the diner’s door. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, no worries,” you answer, reassuringly. “It was more the surprise of running into someone.”

It’s Ben’s chuckling that captures Miguel’s attention while he holds Mayday’s hand for her safety. He turns around when he hears it, finding you next to Ben. For some reason, he’s unable to look away from the interaction, making it the sole reason why Miguel even notices Ben looking up for a single second. Curious, Miguel’s gaze travels upwards, only to find a mistletoe hanging over the diner’s doorway, right above the two of you.

Miguel’s eyes quickly dart back to Ben, who is looking at you once more, and sees an idea form in his head — a light bulb go on.

An idea has formed in Ben’s head and it leaves Miguel frozen in place for a second, just a mere second. His chest fills with a heavy and distressing feeling, spreading like vines. Somewhere in his mind, Miguel is aware that he’s holding his breath, as if he’s bracing himself for something heart-shattering.

The heavy and distressing feeling continues to grow within Miguel, much like the idea in Ben’s head. Miguel’s suspicions are confirmed, or at least he thinks so, when he sees the other Spider-Man reach for your arm.

It’s instinct — pure instinct from somewhere within Miguel — that leads to his free hand shooting out. In the blink of an eye, a string of neon red web travels from him to you, and wraps itself around your torso. Still led by instinct, Miguel tugs you towards him and away from Ben, who was just milliseconds from touching your arm.

One second, you’re next to Ben and the next, you’re flying across the short distance and in front of Miguel, who carefully catches you by your arms, holding you steady.

“Miguel,” you breathe out, shocked. “What happened?”

“I —” Miguel starts, desperately trying to think of a reason for his actions when he can’t even begin to decipher why he’s done what he did. He stares at you, his eyebrows furrowed and chest heaving while he continues to gently hold you by your arms. Miguel searches his brain for an answer. Why did he do that? Why? “I — I can explain,” Miguel says, even though he has no explanation.

“Icicles!” Mayday exclaims next to the two of you.

Miguel looks up, finding icicles over the doorway you were just under, which he hadn’t noticed before.

“Icicles,” Miguel repeats, clearing his throat as he looks back at you, still holding you by your arms. “It looked like one was about to break off and fall on you.”

You look behind you with wide eyes, confirming that there are icicles. “I didn’t notice them,” you confess. “Thank you. Hey, Ben! Watch out for the icicles!” you call out to Ben, who for some reason, looks displeased. Maybe it’s the cold, or the news of icicles, you think to yourself.

“Thanks for the warning!” he calls back, looking at Miguel for a few seconds with that same look of displeasure. He waves bye before he’s joined by his friends.

Miguel sighs, slowly releasing your arms and stepping back. The sinking and heavy feeling in his chest slowly dissipates, and seeing Ben walk away from the diner with his friends, heading in the opposite direction of where you all should be heading next, helps even more.

“Whew, thank goodness you noticed. We should probably tell the owners about it,” you say, looking back at the diner, completely unaware of what just transpired.

“Yeah,” Miguel answers, feeling like he can breath normally again with the distance between Reilly and you growing. “I’ll go tell them. You stay here with Mayday. I’ll be right back, okay?” Miguel says, not wanting you or Mayday to walk past the icicles again.

“Alright, just be careful, please,” you answer softly, a hint of worry on your face.

“I will, don’t worry. I’ll be right back,” Miguel responds before he heads back to the diner to notify someone about the icicles situation. Still feeling off by what just happened, Miguel shortly returns to you and Mayday. “I told one of the workers, so that should take care of it,” Miguel announces. “Should we head back to the cabin, or would you like to go somewhere else?”

“I think with what almost happened, I’d like to go back to the cabin,” you truthfully answer with a small smile. “Besides, we have some fun activities to do with Mayday there.”

“True,” Miguel answers. “Let’s head back, then.” Miguel sighs to himself as you all begin to walk, trying to figure out the mess in his head, but he can’t make anything out of it.

He did a good thing, right?

Miguel subtly glances at you as he asks himself that. What he did was a good thing, or at least Miguel thinks so. Ben was going to try and kiss you because of the mistletoe tradition. There’s no doubt about that in Miguel’s mind; it was obvious and he could smell it from a mile away. And you… Miguel steals a glance at you again just as you tell Mayday something.

You were so oblivious to it, to Ben’s intentions. Miguel doesn’t know how Ben was going to do it. Was he going to tell you about the mistletoe and hint for a kiss, or hope that you offered one instead? Or, was he going to steal a kiss from you without your consent? The simple idea of Ben kissing you without your consent, especially when you don’t carry yourself like that, upsets Miguel. Just yesterday, you were talking about respecting everyone when it comes to the tradition and today, Ben was likely going to disrespect you and your boundaries.

Miguel huffs to himself as you near your cabin, deciding that his actions are justified. He prevented someone from disrespecting you, even if it was only going to be a harmless kiss because of some Christmas tradition. Or at least, that’s what Miguel tells himself.

As the cabin comes into view, Miguel continues to think about the situation and begins to wonder if Ben’s intentions were truly harmless. Didn’t you say months ago that Ben wanted to tell you something, only for it to be about an anomaly report when Ben knows how to make them? That was strange to Miguel back then, how Reilly had only sought your help for something as basic as a report.

And wasn’t there that time at the training sector when Ben only greeted you and completely ignored him despite walking next to you? It was as if Miguel, a man nearly seven feet tall, wasn’t even there. Then, that same day at the training sector, he seemed to be doing a little too much in Miguel’s opinion. It almost seemed like Reilly was trying to impress someone, but doing a horrible job at it — not that Miguel would know any better, but still.

Miguel’s thoughts abruptly halt when he notices you duck before a snowball flies by. He immediately forgets about Ben and turns to find the culprit for the snowball, realizing you sensed it coming.

“Are you okay, Dulzura?” he asks, turning to face you again when he finds no one, a gentle look on his face just for you.

“I’m alright,” you answer, turning around. “I think someone’s playing a trick on us.”

“I think so, too,” Miguel answers, looking at the ground because he has an idea. He crouches and grabs snow before he molds it into a snowball with his gloved hands. “I think I know who threw that one.”

“Right there,” you murmur, noticing footprints coming from an invisible source on the snow. “On your right,” you whisper before another snowball flies your way. You’re quick to dodge it and Miguel is even quicker in throwing his own snowball. It hits something, or rather someone, and when it makes impact, it reveals none other than Miles.

“Attack!” he says, crouching to form snowballs and inciting the rest of the spider gang to come out from behind trees.

Seeing multiple snowballs coming your way, you quickly grab Mayday, who of course, finds the situation hilarious.

“Snow attack!” she yells, still carrying her reindeer.

“I need you to hold on to me, Mayday, okay?” you instruct with a grin. “We’re being attacked.”

“Are we going to win?” she asks as Miguel walks past you, preventing a snowball from hitting you and Mayday and throwing four back in retaliation.

“That’s the plan,” you answer. “Miguel, you, and I must work as a team.”

“And Binx!” she answers, showing you her reindeer.

“And Binx,” you add, wondering at what point did Mayday name the reindeer as you dodge another snowball from Hobie. You quickly collect snow and shape it into balls, launching one after another to different people.

Snowballs fly across the plot of land, some bigger and faster than others. Laughter and comments about winning and defeating fill the air. The snowball fight goes on for some time until Hobie, Gwen, and Pav begin to target you specifically. You run around, swinging from trees to dodge their relentless attack, which only stops when Miguel begins to target them back with much larger and stronger throws, knocking them down.

You laugh to yourself and swing back to Miguel, helping him form more snowballs to defeat the group. It finally concludes with Spider-Ham waving a white flag for surrender.

“Victory!” Mayday exclaims, but not before throwing one last snowball at Spider-Ham’s face.

“Alright, we give up!” Miles states, standing up and brushing off snow from his jacket. “I told you guys not to target Y/N too much,” he continues, looking at the group. “I knew el tío was going to go full on protective mode [the uncle].”

“I think you mean he was going to defend his team,” you clarify, or at least think so, with a small smile as you walk past him. “And I so happened to be in his team.”

“I don’t think I can handle this anymore,” you hear Pav say behind you. “This is like reading a nearly 400K torturous slow burn fanfic on Our Own Archive with the ‘idiots in love’ tag.”

“That’s what it’s called in your universe?” Margo asks. “But, so true.”

“Ooh, can we build a snowman? Please, please?” Mayday asks, tugging your arm and looking up at you with such puppy eyes you forget to ask Pav why he brought up fanfiction.

You glance at Miguel, who shrugs, as if saying ‘why not?’

“Why don’t we build it in front of the cabin?” you suggest.

“Yippie, okay!” With that, Mayday runs ahead of you and picks a spot to begin rolling snow.

“It’s been a hot minute since I’ve built a snowman,” you comment as you both watch Mayday kneel on the ground with her reindeer next to her whilst telling it how to make a snowman.

“Yeah, it’s a been… Years for me, too. I think since I was like fifteen, or so, with Gabriel,” Miguel replies with a fond smile. “Come on. Mayday is going to teach us how to build a snowman, along with her reindeer.”

“Binx,” you say.

“When did they get a name?” Miguel asks. “I missed that development.”

“Somewhere after the reindeer place and before the snowball fight,” you reply with an amused smile. “I found out about it just before the action started.”

“I see. Kids,” Miguel answers with a smile. He turns around to look at the others. “Should we invite them for the baking?”

“I was thinking about that. Maybe some of them will be up for it, if they don’t have plans already. It’s worth asking.”

“Uncle Miggle, aunt Dulz,” Mayday calls.

“Dulz…?” you repeat.

“She’s trying to call you Dulzura,” Miguel states with a smile. “Seems like you have your very own nickname from her, too, hm?” he teases.

“Nothing beats Miggle, though,” you tease back, making Miguel chuckle.

“It’s a noble nickname,” Miguel answers before you reach Mayday. “What is it, mija [my daughter]?”

“I need help,” Mayday replies. “We need big, big snowman.”

Together, Miguel and you help Mayday build a big snowman while your friends build their own things.

“We need another one!” Mayday declares when you've completed the first snowman. “Short!”

“Like you?” You ask, trying to figure out how short.

“No, like you!” Mayday replies with a giggle as she begins to collect snow. And so, a second snowman is built before Mayday requests an even shorter snowman. Of course, Miguel and you oblige.

“Yay!” Mayday happily hugs the tallest snowman. “Uncle Miggle!” She then moves to the second tallest snowman. “Aunt Dulz!”

“Oh, that's supposed to be me” you say amused as Mayday hugs your snowwoman. “Is this you?” you ask, gesturing to the shortest snow person.

“Nope. It's my friend.”

“Your friend? Oh, what's their name?” Miguel asks, equally curious like you.

“Gabby!” Mayday answers with glee.

“Oh,” Miguel softly responds, his chest tightening at the mention of Gabriella by Mayday. It's the first time she’s ever said anything about Gabby and to be honest, Miguel didn't expect her to until much later. He expected that she'd eventually ask who the little girl in the picture frames at the penthouse is on a random day while you both babysat her, not on this winter getaway.

“Miguel,” you murmur softly, gaze softening at the mention of Gabby. “Are you okay?”

“Ye-Yes.” Miguel nods, trying to recover.

“She likes the snow!” Mayday announces before running to pick up more snow with Binx.

“She did,” Miguel breathes out. “She liked the snow. How did she know?”

“Kids…” You trail off, not knowing how Mayday knew of that fact. “They're far more sensitive than we are, and far more aware than we give them credit for.”

Nodding, Miguel watches Mayday continue to play in the snow with the others. After a minute or two, he tries to push the thought away for the remainder of the time in an attempt to enjoy himself and keep the mood light. He watches with a smile as the group has fun and eventually joins you in making snow angels just outside your shared cabin.

Gabby comes to mind yet again, however, when you’re all in the cabin’s kitchen baking cookies. Miguel was concentrated on the task at hand, but when he gazes at you and notes how patient and tender you’re being with Mayday as you teach her how to bake, Miguel can’t help but think about his daughter and how eager she would’ve been to bake with you. He imagines you would’ve been so sweet and patient with her, just the way you are with Mayday.

After baking and decorating cookies, everyone gathers in the living room to enjoy them and relax with the Christmas tree in sight.

All too soon, Miguel and you cook dinner while those who stay to dine with you entertain Mayday in the living room with coloring books. Once dinner is over and the kitchen is cleaned, you put on a Christmas movie while Miguel gathers the snacks, starting the final fun activity for Mayday. Of course, your friends were invited to stay and so they did, which results in a full living room with some people sitting on the floor.

Miguel and you, however, sit on the same couch next to each other and share snacks while the movie plays. You eventually note, close to the end, that Mayday has fallen asleep with Binx close to her chest, exhausted from the day out. A few minutes later, the credits begin to roll and one by one, your friends bid their goodbyes and wish you both a Merry Christmas before returning to their cabins.

“Should we put on another movie? We still have about half an hour before we drop off Mayday,” you say once it’s just the three of you.

“I’m personally… In the mood for Christmas movies, so I’d be happy to watch one more,” Miguel answers with a grin.

“Me, too! Alright, let’s see,” you say, looking to see what options there are. “This one sounds interesting. It says —” you begin but stop when you feel something small fall on you. “What was that?”

“Hm?” Miguel moves to see what fell on you before he feels something light hit his shoulder, too.

You both shift over and find small berries — mistletoe berries, to be exact.

“Berries…?” you say softly before you both look up in confusion only to find mistletoe hanging from the ceiling thanks to spider web and tied with a pretty satin red bow. “I… That wasn’t there before, was it?” you ask, slowly looking at Miguel.

“I think I would’ve noticed it,” Miguel answers. “But, I also didn’t see any of our friends do that, so…” Miguel looks at you, trailing off for a few seconds. “I have no idea how it got there.”

Meeting Miguel’s gaze, you nod in the dimly lit room. You suddenly become aware of the crackling flames from the fireplace and the scent of baking still present. “I don’t know either,” you answer softly, noticing Miguel’s crimson eyes and how they seem to shine because of the flames. You swallow softly, slowly smiling at him out of — something. Amusement? Shyness? Disbelief that you’re both under mistletoe again? A mixture of everything? You don’t know.

Gently, Miguel smiles, too. His gaze sweeps over your face, locking every detail into his memory the way you’d try to memorize every feature about a touching and beautiful work of art; how the fire’s flames cast light on your face, caressing you; the way your eyelashes frame your eyes; and how your eyes look at him with a glimmer in them.

Still smiling at each other, you both chuckle quietly.

“Well…” Miguel starts. “There’s mistletoe.”

“Again,” you say, exhaling softly.

“Again,” Miguel confirms, remembering you’ve now found yourselves under mistletoe twice. He’s also, unwillingly, reminded of that moment with Reilly earlier. Out of instinct, his hand closes into a fist just thinking about it, but he pushes the memory aside, not wanting that bad memory to taint this lighthearted moment.

“It’s everywhere,” you continue, amused, still staring at Miguel.

“It seems so,” he answers, gazing at you.

A few seconds pass and you’re both still staring at each other, unable to look away. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or something else, but you both begin to lean closer without realizing it. Your heads gradually move closer and closer, completely unaware of how the distance is growing shorter and shorter with every breath from your lungs. In that moment, even the crackling from the fireplace ceases and all you can both focus on is each other, almost in a trance.

“Hey, guys!”

Startled, Miguel and you turn to the front door, now fully open thanks to Peter, who has his arms high in the air to make an entrance. He freezes at the sight, eyes widen as Miguel and you stand up from the couch.

“Peter!” you start. “I thought we were dropping Mayday for you?”

“Ah…” Peter trails off, looking between you and Miguel, who is suddenly busy folding a blanket. “Yes, but Mary Jane and I literally decided, like two minutes ago, that it’d be better for me to pick her up since you guys have done so much for us today. I’m sorry if I startled you, that wasn’t my intention.” Peter says before he spots the mistletoe, it adding even more fuel to his thoughts. “Uh… Seems like I should’ve messaged you before showing up?”

“No, it’s okay,” Miguel says, now picking up an empty bowl that had popcorn earlier. “Some of the spider group, who stayed for dinner and a movie, just left.”

“Yeah, you missed them by like thirty seconds or so,” you add.

“Literally, like thirty seconds,” Miguel confirms, for some reason having the need to emphasize that you were both in company of others up until now. “We just finished watching the movie.”

“And Mayday has been asleep for about fifteen minutes or so. She’s exhausted form the day,” you continue.

“Uhuh, I can imagine,” Peter replies, slowly grinning. “I bet you guys had an exhausting yet fun day together.”

“We tried to. I think we succeeded,” you reply with a smile, feeling like you’re explaining yourself when there’s no reason to. Right?

“I would say so,” Miguel adds, coming to stand next to you. “By the way, you have a new family member besides Benjamin.”

“Oh?” Peter inquires simply.

“Binx,” you say, gesturing to the stuffed animal Mayday is still holding on to while sleeping.

“You guys bought her a reindeer plushie?”

“Miguel,” you clarify.

“Dulzura helped Mayday choose, so it was a team effort,” Miguel counters.

“Love the team work,” Peter replies with a full blown grin. “Well, I’ll go ahead and take Mayday, and let you guys rest for the remainder of the night. I imagine you’re both a bit tired after looking after a kid.” He walks past you two and approaches his daughter, picking her up effortlessly and cradling her along with Binx.

At the door, Miguel hands him Mayday’s backpack, too, finalizing the day. “You don’t need help?” Miguel asks.

“Thanks, pal, but I got it from here. You two continue on with your night,” Peter replies, stealing a glance at you and half smirking. “Enjoy the holidays. I’ll see you guys after Christmas at HQ.”

“Say hi to Mary Jane,” you state. “And again, if you guys need something — anything at all — let me know.”

“Yeah, please remember that,” Miguel says, scratching his neck. “We’re here. If we can help somehow, we’d be happy to.”

Smiling, Peter nods. “I know. Thank you, guys. We truly appreciate it. And, thank you for looking after Mayday and Mr. Binx, too.”

“It was a pleasure,” you answer with a smile.

“Any time,” Miguel replies.

“Thanks, guys! I’ll get going now. Have fun and continue to enjoy your vacation!” Peter calls out as he walks out of the cabin. “See you soon!” With his webs, he closes the door shut, leaving Miguel and you alone for the first time since this morning when you woke up in the same bed.

Alone, you both look around before the mistletoe catches your attention again.

The sight of it leaves the two of you rooted to the ground, next to each other. Moments ago, you were sitting beneath it having just learned of its existence and you were staring at each other, laughing about it. It was funny, you internally tell yourselves. Although there is the question of how it got there and by who, but as you both continue to stare at it, you discover that you don’t care to know. It’s harmless and innocent and it’s not like something happened, you tell yourselves, oblivious to that moment, where your heads were inching closer before Peter arrived.

A second later, you yawn softly out of exhaustion. “M’sorry, I guess I’m beginning to feel tired,” you start softly. “Should we quickly clean up and then head to sleep?”

Miguel nods, redirecting his attention from the mistletoe to you. “Yes, or if you wish to go to sleep already. I can clean up on my own.”

“I’m not leaving the cleaning to yourself,” you quickly answer. “We’ll get it done faster together.”

As always, the team effort goes smoothly. Miguel and you leave the living room and kitchen spotless, especially when you remember that tomorrow is your last day in the cabin.

A short while later, you walk into your bedroom donning pajamas. Rubbing hand lotion on your hands, you look up and find Miguel on the bed already. He’s leaning against the headboard while reading a book, lost in the words. Pausing a few steps in, you gaze at him respectfully, or at least you hope so anyway. Miguel’s shirtless once more, apparently not cold, and wearing sweatpants that sit at his waist.

Massaging the rest of your lotion into your skin, you look away and breathe out after seemingly holding your breath. For some reason…

At last, you approach the bed, noting that Miguel has already placed the covers in a way so you can easily slip in. You hum quietly when you’re under the same covers, finding that the bed is warm already, even though Miguel has probably only been on it for a few minutes. Regardless, you embrace the warmth and allow it to embrace you back as you get comfortable.

Next to you, Miguel uses his bookmark and closes the book before he puts it away on the nightstand. He yawns softly and looks down at you, taking note of your sleepy gaze.

“Good night, Dulzura,” he murmurs quietly to avoid startling you. “Sleep well.”

With a small and sleepy smile, you respond. “Good night, Migs. Sweet dreams.”

-♡-

Outside, the heavy snow falls off trees’ branches. Pine cones drop and decorate the ground. Somewhere, wildlife roams the beautiful land that is their home, leaving footprints of their strolls. A silence unknown to most cities is loud in this vast land; no helicopters roam above, no lousy cars speeding off, and there’s no sight or racket from bustling streets filled with beings.

There is silence, a peaceful kind, and with it, a heat.

It’s an inviting, blazing, and amicable heat. The kind you wish to bask in on a cold winter morning until noon. The kind of heat that grows from two individuals’ bodies laying so close together, it lulls you straight back to sleep.

It’s that heat Miguel and you are responsible for as you lay together under the same sheets. Your heads rest on the edge of your respective pillows; your faces merely separated by a few inches.

Slowly and comfortably, Miguel and you wake up at once. With a soft yawn here and a low murmur there, you both slowly open your sleepy eyes and simply embrace the moment. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both very much still filled with sleep, or perhaps it’s due to something else entirely, but the two of you remain still.

Neither of you move an inch; not when you slowly realize your fingers are intertwined and that your faces are so close together, it would make people talk. Minutes pass and with each one, the more conscious you both become. You finally reach a point of awareness that makes you discover something else: the intimate tangle of your legs, with one of yours between Miguel’s.

It’s until then that it truly dawns on you; your unconscious disregard for Miguel’s physical boundaries. A second later, your eyes go wide. “Oh — Oh, I’m so sorry,” you suddenly say, speaking for the first time today. You quickly move your leg away and remove your hand from Miguel’s before scooting away. “I’m so sorry. I just realized.”

With your sudden and too soon departure from him, Miguel sits up and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It’s alright,” he answers, his voice deep from just waking up. “People can’t help what they do while they’re sleeping,” Miguel reassures you, curling his fingers into his palm, the ones that were intertwined with yours just now. He exhales softly, feeling the loss of your warmth and touch instantly, and wishing there had been a warning to prepare himself for it.

“I — I know, but still,” you respond, covering your face with your hands because you feel hot in the face out of embarrassment and regret. “I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

“Dulzura,” Miguel starts, waiting for you to lower your hands so he can see your face. “Dulzura,” he calls again, much more gentler, when you continue to hide behind your hands. “Can you look at me, please?”

Slowly, you lower your hands when you hear the gentle pleading of his voice. “Yes?”

Miguel smiles, lazily. “Don’t worry about it, please.”

“Your boundaries are —” you start.

“Fine,” Miguel gently interrupts. “I’m fine. You seem to have forgotten that my hand was also there, with yours,” he says, pausing when he admits that, feeling an extra warmth rush to his cheeks. “And, my legs were also, you know, tangled with yours, so… I think it’s safe to say, I was more than comfortable,” Miguel admits softly. “So, don’t worry on my behalf. Or, about my boundaries. Please.”

“I…” you trail off, staring at him to gauge his reaction, to see if he’s truly not upset about the unconscious physical touch. With each second, you realize he’s truly okay with it. Miguel was and is comfortable with the much more intimate touching. You nod and give him a small yet sheepish smile after a few seconds. “Alright. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Miguel answers, smiling back. “You’re… Always so considerate. So much, that sometimes you stress yourself too much, Dulzura. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as considerate and respectful as you, you know?”

Smiling slightly, you shrug and look away. “It’s the least anyone can do, to be respectful.”

“And yet, there are some people who lack such quality, so thank you,” Miguel continues before his expression turns more serious. “But, just because I’m alright with it, doesn’t mean I expect you to.”

“Wha—What?” you ask softly, noticing the way he’s serious now when it comes to your comfort.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all. I know yesterday I also—” Miguel starts.

“I’m alright, too, Miguel,” you say, interrupting him now. “I was worried about you. I’m… Personally alright.”

Miguel nods, visibly relaxing when he hears the honesty in your tone. He slowly smiles. “I’m glad we can talk like this.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Talk like this?”

“That I’m able to communicate with you better than I used to,” Miguel explains.

“I’m glad you do, too,” you answer, recalling how Miguel kept a lot to himself in previous years, but how with time, he’s slowly opened up to you.

“Something else to thank you for,” he says, still smiling at you. Staring at you, Miguel thinks about that for a few seconds and how he’d have pages full of reasons to thank you for. He hums and slowly gets out of bed, deciding to start the day. “Now, since we’ve discussed that, let’s discuss something else. It’s our last day here and we leave by noon. How about we go get breakfast at the diner before we head home?”

“That sounds like a great way to end our trip,” you answer, kicking off the covers and climbing out of bed with a clear conscious.

After getting ready, Miguel and you decide to do a few things before heading out. You both pack your bags and make sure all the rooms are tidy, leaving them the way they were before you arrived. Fortunately, the broken bed won’t be an issue with the owners since Miguel notified them yesterday at some point, and they admitted they had noticed strange noises coming from it during cleaning. So, he was assured no charges would be added since it was an issue on their end.

Eventually, the two of you make it back to the same diner from yesterday and have a lovely breakfast together whilst enjoying the over the top Christmas vibes from the village.

“I got something sticky on my hand,” you say softly when you’re both done eating.

“Could it be that shiny thing you have on your lips?” Miguel asks since he noticed that you applied something glossy today.

“It’s a lip oil, meant to hydrate my lips due to the weather,” you answer with a smile, amused that Miguel has called it a ‘shiny thing’.

“Right. Lip oil,” Miguel answers, storing that away in his mind because it’s related to you. “It looks pretty on you.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a shy smile. “But it’s not that, it’s something else.”

“Maybe it was from passing me the salt and pepper,” Miguel says, thinking about earlier when his eggs needed a little more seasoning. “It felt weird when you handed it to me. Too many people touch it.” At that, you make a playful little face and mouth ‘yuck’, which makes Miguel laugh. “You should go wash your hands. I’ll pay and then go wash mine before we head out.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick,” you say, slipping out of the booth and heading to the restrooms, remembering the way from yesterday.

After seeing you make it to the restroom, Miguel heads to the register to pay. It doesn’t take him very long, considering there’s no line of customers, so he’s soon headed to the restroom to wash his hands. A minute later, he walks out and spots Ben Reilly leave your side and head his way, to the restrooms. For an unknown reason, Miguel gets a bad feeling, which only grows when he notices Ben wipe his mouth.

“Miguel, hey,” Reilly greets him as he reaches the restroom area.

“Hey, Ben,” Miguel answers, staring a little too closely at Reilly. It’s that, however, which allows Miguel to notice that Reilly has something shiny around his mouth. Something like a lip gloss, or a lip oil. Miguel swallows, his hands curling into fists at his sides at the sight. “Doing well?” he asks.

“Yeah, today has been a great day so far,” Reilly answers, briefly looking over his shoulder before facing Miguel again with a grin.

“That’s great. Glad to hear it,” Miguel responds, wondering why Reilly’s grin irritates him so much suddenly. He wishes he could wipe it off.

“I hope you’re doing well, too,” Reilly says, still grinning.

“I am, thank you,” Miguel replies without a smile on his face. “The past few days have been great with Dulzura, that’s my nickname for Y/N,” Miguel clarifies with a little smirk. “And with our other friends. We’re going home today to celebrate Christmas, but we definitely enjoyed our stay. This place is great,” he adds for some reason, noticing the grin disappear off Reilly’s face. Finally.

“Oh. You guys are going home,” Reilly says, clearing his throat. “To celebrate Christmas together. That’s great. So great for you guys... Well, I’m glad you enjoyed your stay. Happy Holidays to you.”

“Happy Holidays to you, too,” Miguel replies with a nod, watching Reilly slip inside the restroom with a frown on his face after wearing that frustrating grin. He huffs, annoyed with Reilly before he walks straight to you, thinking about the shiny stuff on his face. He pushes the thought away, but it comes back to him when he spots you reapplying your lip product, and mistletoe hanging from the ceiling just a few feet away from you. A sinking feeling washes over Miguel as he unwillingly connects those two facts with Ben and the shiny stuff on his face.

“Hey, you took a moment there. You alright?” you ask when you notice him, putting away the lip product into your pocket.

“… Yes,” Miguel answers, inhaling deeply and trying not to think too much about the reason why you just reapplied the product to your lips.

“I ran into Ben and what’s her name,” you start as you both exit the diner. “Everyone calls her Spider-Canada.”

“Spider…” Miguel trails off, not remembering her name in this moment. “Yeah, Spider-Canada. She was here, too?”

“Yes. Her and Ben were having breakfast. I ran into them while waiting for you.”

“Oh, that’s good for them,” he answers, swallowing. He glances your way as you both walk back to the cabin, noticing that you seem relaxed, a little too much, despite what may have just happened between you and Ben. He wants to ask and yet, at the same time, he doesn’t. What if you kissed and it was non-consensual from you? What if Ben disrespected you? He wants to know if Reilly has done that, but at the same time he doesn’t because he’d be upset.

He’d be upset that Ben disrespected you like that.

That’s the only reason he’d be upset; the sole reason for the sinking feeling Miguel carries with him all the way to the cabin.

Right?

Despite his curiosity, Miguel doesn’t dare to ask if something did happen. Not even when you’re both back home in Nueva York and done making plans regarding the cooking for Christmas Eve.

-♡-Christmas Eve-♡-

On the first morning back to Nueva York, Miguel surprises you with pancakes and other sides like fruit for breakfast. You both enjoy the meal at the dining table while talking, though you can sense that something has been on Miguel’s mind since yesterday right before you left the other universe. It made you wonder if Miguel had changed his mind and wanted to stay longer at the cabin, but when you asked if he was unhappy to leave, he answered no and seemed to mean it.

The rest of the day went smoothly once you arrived home, but still, you could tell something was, and still is, bothering Miguel. With the day ahead, you decide to give Miguel space regarding the matter, especially when he seems his normal self when he’s engaging with you or cooking. You figure he will share with you whatever is on his mind, at his own time.

At around noon, Miguel and you launch into action and begin prepping for the festive dinner.

Tamales with different fillings, and pozole [hominy] are cooked. Fruit is chopped and the dry ingredients are gathered for the ponche before it's all added to a pot with water to boil [hot fruit punch]. The champurrado is carefully prepared by Miguel, who tells you about his mom’s recipe [Mexican beverage]. Buñuelos [fried dough fritter]are also made, filling the kitchen with the sweet scent of piloncillo syrup [a type of cane sugar]. Since it’s one of your favorites, Miguel also cooks tinga with your help [Mexican dish]. For another dessert, you bake one of Miguel’s favorite cakes.

Hours later, you’ve both showered and dressed in more appropriate clothes for dinner to celebrate Christmas. With happy and joyous Christmas music playing from Miguel’s record player from the living room and the table set, you have dinner together, officially making it the third year you’ve done so.

Thinking about that, you chuckle at yourself and how nervous you were that first year.

“What’s so funny?” Miguel inquires with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile.

“I was thinking about the very first time I came here — to your home,” you answer, grabbing your glass and drinking. “I don’t know if you knew, but I was nervous about coming here.”

“I could tell,” Miguel responds, lowering his fork and recalling that moment from three years ago. He smiles fondly at you, feeling tenderness for you. Who would’ve thought that you’d be here three years later, having dinner with him again? Miguel clears his throat, suddenly feeling a knot begin to form. “When Lyla told me that you had been sent to deliver food and asking about my whereabouts, she mentioned you looked nervous. And, when you arrived, I could tell. You apologized for coming here before you explained that the Morales’s had sent food with you.”

You smile slowly and nod. “I was the chosen one. For some reason.”

“And I’m… I’m thankful you were,” Miguel softly answers. “I’m thankful you came that night and that you accepted my invitation for dinner. That was the first year I celebrated the holidays here in my universe after not doing so for many years. It was the first time I wasn’t alone on those days since Gabriel passed away. It meant, and still continues to mean, so much to me.”

You look away, feeling your eyes water. After clearing your throat, you look up and nod. “It meant so much to me that you invited me to stay. That you showed me the holographic tree and how holographic ornaments are designed. And, how you invited me the next day for the recalentado,” you answer [Mexican/Latin tradition].

Miguel smiles. “And we’ve kept it a tradition, haven’t we?” he whispers, a tear slipping down his face.

“We have,” you whisper back, a tear of your own running down your cheek.

“Don’t cry, Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, reaching over the table and offering your special gesture; his pinky finger. When you wrap yours around his without any doubt or questions, Miguel reciprocates. “Please, seeing you cry, makes me want to cry.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, wiping your eyes with your free hand, but a few more tears roll down your face out of nostalgia. Things have changed since that night three years ago, for the better.

“I know,” Miguel murmurs, raising his free hand to your face to gently wipe the tears away. He clears his throat, another tear slipping out of his eye. “We've come a long way.” He smiles again, thinking about three years ago. So much has happened and changed since then. He's smiled, laughed, and cried with you. He's made memories he'll carry, cherish, and protect for the rest of his life.

When he thought he was meant to be alone, in walked someone who didn't give up on him; someone who has had the patience of a saint with him; and someone who extended their hand and kept it offered until he was ready to accept it, or at least, a pinky finger.

“We really have. Three years later and we're here,” you answer. Three years ago, you visited the penthouse for the first time and now, you have a bedroom upstairs. There are reminders and personal touches of yours all throughout the space, like the gallery wall in the living room and the mugs from your universe in the kitchen cupboards. “Thank you for trusting me,” you murmur.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” Miguel murmurs back.

With a tender smile, you respond. “Never.” You smile at each other, tears still brimming in your eyes. “Let’s finish dinner. Everything, as always, turned out so delicious. And we still have the Christmas show to watch, don’t we?” you ask excitedly, trying to lighten up the mood.

“We do. It’ll start in a few hours.”

“I wonder if you’ll be part of it again,” you answer, making Miguel chuckle.

“Maybe. I’d be surprised if I am for a second year in a row,” Miguel answers, noticing your pinkies are still attached. “Either way, I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m certain I will,” you answer, giving Miguel’s pinky a squeeze before slowly and reluctantly releasing his finger.

“You up for tinga?” Miguel asks, following your attempt to lighten the mood.

With no more tears shed, you continue to have dinner and enjoy the amazing food you both cooked. After the Christmas holographic show, which did include Miguel once more, you find yourselves in the living room, your usual hangout place. Sitting on the ground, you stare at the Christmas tree’s lights, admiring the beautiful tree and feeling the Christmas spirit. You’ve been talking about your short vacation, recalling each moment from the ice skating to the snowball fight you had with the spider gang.

It’s all lighthearted and fun, but of course, talking about the trip reminds Miguel of the whole thing with Ben from yesterday — about whether you kissed. Miguel has tried his best not to think about it and he’s been successful, or so he thinks, but the thought has come back thanks to the conversation.

And he must know.

Did Ben kiss you?

“Dulzura,” Miguel starts, trying to find the right words. “I know you’re a strong woman. That you can take care of yourself and have no need for someone to physically help you, but…”

“What is it, Miguel?” you ask, curious as to where this is going. One moment you’re talking about the trip and now the conversation has shifted to something completely different and unexpected.

“You would tell me, even if you can take care of yourself, if someone… Took advantage of your kindness, right?”

“Wh— What do you mean?” you ask, confused. With furrowed eyebrows, you shift your body to face and look at Miguel better.

“If someone… If someone was to take liberties with you,” Miguel answers, unsure if he’s using the right words or if he sounds crazy right now. “Like, kissing you without your consent.”

That makes you raise an eyebrow. Where is this coming from? You nod regardless. “I… Yes, I would if that happened. I would confide in you if such situation took place.” You blink a few times, still trying to understand why Miguel has brought this up.

“If that happened,” Miguel repeats, now uncertain if Ben did anything at all, or if he did but with your full consent.

“Why are you asking me this?” you inquire.

Miguel sighs, running a hand through his hair and deciding to be honest. “I ran into Ben at the diner yesterday, too. At the restrooms. I noticed he had something like lip gloss on his mouth and then, when I went back to you, you were reapplying your lip oil. I also noticed there was mistletoe near you, so… I couldn’t help but think that you guys…” Miguel says, trailing off.

“Kissed,” you finish, everything clicking in your head with Miguel’s confession. “No, we didn’t.”

“Oh,” Miguel replies, relief running through his body. “I was worried he had and that it hadn’t been with your consent,” Miguel continues, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Ben can be… A little clueless sometimes, and impulsive. So, I was worried he had kissed you in the name of mistletoe without your permission.”

Suddenly, you realize this is what has been bothering Miguel all along since yesterday. You smile and shake your head, understanding now where Miguel is coming from, and feeling something warm and fuzzy bloom in your chest at the fact that Miguel has been worried about you being in an uncomfortable position due to a man.

“He didn’t kiss me, but he did kiss Spider-Canada. I still can’t remember her name,” you pause, frowning and trying to remember. “I was under the mistletoe with him at some point and he was just about to tell me about it when I stepped away to look for you. When I looked back at them, Spider-Canada was already next to Ben, right under the mistletoe, so they kissed once they gave each other clearance to do so. She was wearing lip gloss, or something of the sort, which Ben tried to wipe off, but he ended up spreading it all over instead. That’s when he excused himself to go to the restroom.”

“I see,” Miguel answers, smiling slowly and finding the situation somewhat funny now, though Ben’s attitude still seems a bit annoying to him. “I’m glad it was consensual,” he continues, telling himself that he’d be saying the same thing, even if it was you in Spider-Canada’s place.

“Me, too. So yeah, no kisses for me.” You chuckle. “Except you know…”

Miguel raises an eyebrow, wondering if he missed something along the way.

“The one you and I…” you say, trailing off.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Miguel answers shyly, his cheeks feeling warmer suddenly. “Just that one.”

“But thank you for thinking about me,” you continue. “I appreciate your concern.” You sigh softly. “And I would’ve told you if something like that happened to me. You’re my… Best friend, after all.”

“And you’re mine,” Miguel answers with a small smile. “I’m glad you’d feel comfortable sharing that kind of situation with me. I know you can take care of yourself, but still. I would — I would defend and stand up for you, or stand next to you and help when you request aid. Whichever way you prefer, I’ll be here for you. Always.”

“Same goes to you,” you reply, touched by his words. “Always.”

Smiling, Miguel sighs. He’s glad that he finally asked you about the situation and relieved that nothing happened. For your safety and well being, of course! With that out of his mind, he thinks about the trip again and how much he enjoyed getting away with you, even if it was just for a few days. “Can we do this again next year?” Miguel asks. “Take a getaway trip, and then come back and celebrate Christmas at home?”

“If you'll have me and I'm still around, it's a yes from me,” you answer, staring at the lights.

“I'll have you,” Miguel quickly responds, holding back from saying that he’ll have you every Christmas, every single one until his last one, if you allow him to. “So, you better be here.”

You laugh softly and turn to face Miguel, smiling. “I'll do my absolute best to be here.”

“Good,” he answers, turning to face you, too. “Or, I’ll go and find you. Wherever you are.”

Chuckling, you continue to stare at Miguel. “Likewise, solecito [little sun].”

At the nickname, Miguel feels his cheeks grow warm. It’s been over a month since you gave him the new nickname and since then, you’ve used it a few times here and there, but no matter how many times you’ve said it, Miguel still feels over the moon each and every time he's heard it. He smiles at you, a fuzzy and fluttering ****feeling stirring in his chest. It's familiar, yet somehow it’s stronger here in this moment.

“Should we… Stay here and maybe watch a movie?” you ask, gesturing to the living room that looks absolutely cozy and magical due to the decorations.

“If you want to,” Miguel answers. “I don’t mind. Staying, that is.”

“Hmm,” you hum, thinking. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

“It’s settled, then,” he states. “I’ll be right back. Wait for me here.”

You watch Miguel stand up, wondering where he’s going, but you don’t have to wonder for long because two minutes later, Miguel comes back from upstairs with pillows and blankets. Smiling, you help set up since you’ll be spending the night in the living room, together.

Once settled, and after you've completed your night routines, Miguel and you decide on a movie to watch, but an hour later, you've both fallen asleep next to each other.

-♡-Christmas Day-♡-

Snowflakes swirl down from the sky, adding to the already thick white blanket that covers the city of Nueva York. Inside the penthouse, the fireplace is still on, keeping the space warm and toasty. The Christmas tree and other festive decorations are still on, creating a lovely and welcoming ambiance. Everything looks the same, except for the gifts beneath the Christmas tree that were left during the night by each of you at different times.

“It’s Christmas time!”

Miguel and you startle awake by the loud voice of… Lyla, of course.

“What time is it?” you sleepily ask, rubbing one of your eyes.

“You didn’t have to startle us like that,” Miguel grumpily and sleepily says, sitting up with a huff.

“But it’s Christmas time! All the families in Nueva York are waking up right now, so you guys should, too!” Lyla eagerly says. “Plus, I really want to see what you got each other for Christmas. It was soooo cute seeing you guys wake up in the middle of the night to put your gifts under the tree. Like, so adorable. I took photos, of course.”

“Lyla,” you mutter. “Please tell me you didn’t because I’m sure we probably don’t look good in them.”

“Yeah, that’s unfortunately the truth. You guys look like you’re sneaking around, which I guess you were to avoid waking each other up? But anyway… Open the gifts!”

“I think we both need coffee first,” Miguel says looking at you rub away the sleep from your eyes, looking so sweet and endearing.

“Mhm,” you confirm. “A cup. Or, two.”

Miguel chuckles deeply before he yawns. “I’ll make it for us. If you want to lay down for a few more minutes, go ahead. I’ll bring it over here once it’s done.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking up at Miguel as he stands up.

“I’m sure, Dulzura,” Miguel answers, looking down at you with a soft and sleepy smile. “I’ll get it.”

You nod and watch him head to the kitchen to make the coffee. With a yawn, you lay back down and close your eyes.

“Isn’t he so sweet?”

You open your eyes again, finding Lyla laying on her stomach in mid-air next to you. “What?” you ask, sleepily.

“Miguel. Isn’t he so sweet? Letting you sleep a few more minutes while he makes coffee for the two of you?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. “It’s very sweet of him.”

“I think he’d make a great husband,” Lyla continues, smiling. “Don’t you think?”

“He would,” you respond, sleep fading away due to the conversation. “He really would.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If he ever marries, that woman will be lucky,” she continues, raising an eyebrow at you.

“She would,” you answer, slowly sitting up again.

“Anywayyyy,” Lyla continues, checking her nails before glancing at you. “Something I thought about just now. Well, my duty here is done. I’ve woken you two up.”

“I thought you wanted to see what we gifted each other—” you say, but are interrupted by Lyla.

“I see everything, unless deactivated, so no worries. Merry Christmas,” Lyla says with a little smirk before disappearing.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh and shake your head, putting thoughts of Miguel marrying away. You glance at the windows, noticing the falling snow. With a smile, you stand up and walk to the windows to take a closer look, finding everything covered in snow.

“Una blanca Navidad [a white Christmas],” Miguel states from behind you, finding you in front of the windows. He pauses for a moment to take in the sight of you before approaching.

“A white Christmas,” you repeat with a smile, accepting a mug when Miguel offers you one. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Always,” he answers. “We definitely need it since someone rudely woke us up. Wait — where's Lyla?”

“She's already gone. She said she can see everything unless deactivated.”

“Lyla,” Miguel mutters, shaking his head before drinking from his mug. He turns to gaze at you again, smiling when he remembers. “Want to open the gifts?”

“Yeah, why not?” you answer with a smile, gesturing to the tree.

With your mugs, you both approach the tree and carefully sit down on the ground.

“Alright, let me see which one I want to give you first,” Miguel says, looking at his carefully wrapped gifts. He picks up a box and hands it to you. “Let’s start with this one.”

“And you with this one,” you answer, accepting his gift to you and handing him his from you. Looking at the box, you smile when you see ‘Dulzura’ written in Miguel’s neat handwriting on a name tag, along with a cute bow.

Together, you unwrap the first gifts together, revealing new music records for each other.

“Seems like we had the same idea,” you say, looking at the different artists’ names.

“Great minds think alike,” Miguel answers with a soft smirk, thankful for your gift. “Thank you for the new records. I’m more than ready to listen to them.”

“Always. I hope you like them,” you respond with a smile. “Thank you for mine, too. I have no doubt I’m going to enjoy them.”

With a grin, Miguel nods and hands you another box. “I hope you do. I went back to the record store you took me to on my birthday. Mr. Stanley asked about you,” he says, accepting another gift box from you. “He asked where… Um.” Miguel pauses as he gently begins to unwrap the box. “Where I left my girlfriend at.”

“He asked me where I left you at, too,” you reveal with a chuckle. “I went earlier this month to pick up a few things from his store.”

“I did, too,” Miguel shares with a smile. “Told him I was picking up some gifts.”

Finally opening the gifts, and being completely fine with the fact that you’ve both casually accepted someone’s assumption of a romantic relationship between you, you both pull out sweatshirts.

“Hey!” Miguel says with excitement as he unfolds the sweatshirt to see the full design, revealing Spider-Woman merch from your universe. “Merch of my favorite Spider-Woman,” he says with a smile. “I love the design and how soft it is.”

Unfolding yours, you find that the sweatshirt is also merch of Miguel with Spider-Man 2099 on it. “And I got my own of Spider-Man 2099. How did you know I’m a big fan of him?” you playfully ask.

“I had a guess,” Miguel answers with a soft smirk. “I hope you like the design and color though. If you don’t, we can return this one and get another one.”

“No, no, I love it! Thank you, Migs,” you reply, touching the fabric. “You’ll be seeing me wearing it often, that’s for sure.”

After exchanging a few more gifts like books, cute fuzzy socks and pajamas with one of your favorite characters on them for you, and a tool set for Miguel among other gifts, Miguel and you each have a box left.

“Here,” Miguel gently says, offering his gift, the most vulnerable of all. “I hope you like it.”

“For you,” you respond, handing him your last gift for him.

At the same time, you accept each other’s final gifts and begin to open them. From the size alone, it seems that whatever you've gifted each other is small and delicate. When the paper is off, jewelry boxes are revealed, making you both look up at each other with equal surprise and amusement. The latter fades, however, when you each open the box and find a similar, if not the exact, gift.

Carefully, you take the bracelet out of the box to admire it. Much like the one you’re giving Miguel, the bracelet is simple except for a single knot in the middle.

“We got each other the same thing,” Miguel states softly in astonishment. With gentleness, he takes it out of the box before looking at you. “Well, mine is meant as a matching…”

“Matching bracelet,” you finish, pulling out the one meant for you out of a pocket from your pajamas's bottom. Your plan was to surprise Miguel with matching bracelets before wearing your own.

“You…?” Miguel starts before he pulls out a bracelet from his sweatpants’s pocket, having the same plan as you. “I got mine from here — this universe, I mean.”

“And I got mine from my own,” you answer in awe.

Silently, you slip on the bracelets you already had, the ones meant for yourselves, before slipping on the ones you’ve gifted each other. Seconds later, you extend your hand out and so does Miguel, your wrists side by side now wearing two bracelets that are fairly similar except for the thickness.

Miguel chuckles as he continues to stare at both your wrists, finding it amusing yet again, but mostly endearing. “What a coincidence,” he murmurs, that of everything you could’ve gifted each other, you both went for matching bracelets. And not only that, the matching bracelets are the same in design with its single yet elegant knot.

“Truly,” you answer with a smile. “But I love the gift regardless. Thank you, Miguel.”

“Always,” Miguel replies, still smiling, before he thanks you for his.

“Merry Christmas,” you tell him.

“Feliz Navidad, Dulzura [Merry Christmas],” Miguel responds with a smile. “Do you want to have breakfast now? I can cook something for us and then, we can put together the puzzle I gifted you. Seems like it’ll keep us busy.”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan,” you answer, picking up the puzzle he gave you. You stare at the picture on the front, admiring it since it’s a pretty puzzle of flying butterflies colored in a way that makes it look vintage. “I’ll help you!” you offer, standing up eagerly to have breakfast with Miguel.

The two of you walk to the kitchen together, the matching bracelets safe around your wrists.

“Wait, really?” Lyla asks, appearing near the tree and watching you enter the kitchen. “You guys didn’t even ask about the knot and the significance.” She huffs. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later, I guess. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, though,” she says with a smirk before disappearing again.

You spend the rest of the day together in the comfort of the penthouse, the very same place Miguel once found cold and desolate, but now feels like home because of you. Time is spent on the puzzle, café de olla is drank, and amazing food is reheated and eaten. Talks about New Year’s Eve comes up with both Miguel and you looking forward to it and knowing that no matter where you spend it, you’ll be together to welcome the new year and everything it has to offer; adventures, personal growth, laughs, special moments, and memories to cherish for years to come.

And perhaps, Miguel thinks to himself later that night as he lays in bed alone while playing with his bracelets, the year to come will be the year he finally says goodbye to those physical boundaries of his.

Miguel rolls on his side, facing the empty spot next to him. Mindlessly, he caresses the cold and empty spot with his hand before his fingers find your sweatshirt, tugging it closer almost instantly. Miguel sighs and closes his eyes, your scent much closer now. For a few seconds, he remains like that before he grabs a pillow to slip your sweatshirt onto. At last, Miguel pulls the pillow close, to his chest, and hugs it.

Embracing the pillow, Miguel thinks about you sleeping in the next room, so close but much farther away than the last few days at the cabin.

Miguel sighs again and hugs the pillow closer, wondering. Could this upcoming year, be the year he finally crosses that final line when it comes to his physical boundaries with you?

The mere idea of it makes his heart race, but not out of anxiety like in previous years before you, when people tried touching him to offer comfort. No, Miguel’s heart races out of excitement at the possibility. It’d be so much progress for him, and Miguel knows it. It’d be another step forward in his healing journey.

And… It would also mean, that at some point, at last, Miguel might finally be ready for something you’ve been ready for a while. He recalls now, how nearly a year ago, you made that clear to him with a sudden confession made out of exhaustion.

It was the day your apartment complex caught on fire. You were already here at the penthouse, showered and free of the smell of smoke, but you were exhausted after hours of helping tenants evacuate the building, and Miguel could see it. He made you breakfast so you could eat something before you went to sleep and it was afterwards, when you were going upstairs to the bedroom, that you stopped at the doorway of the kitchen and dining area.

He wondered then if something was wrong before you thanked him for his kindness and the fact that he had respected your choice of declining backup. You thanked him for helping you transport your belongings to this dimension and for offering his home. And then, you said something that Miguel knows you would’ve kept to yourself had you not been so tired.

“… offering me to stay here and trying to make me feel at home,” you said that day, your voice wavering. “It means so much to me and I wish — I wish I could give you a hug — a really tight one — just to emphasize with more than words — how much it means to me.”

That confession, made out of your exhaustion, messed with Miguel so much. He remembers the effect it had on him after you apologized for revealing it. He wondered then, what would it be like to embrace and be embraced by you? To feel your warmth? His hands itched to touch and before he knew it, he was rushing upstairs, but he found you already fast asleep and that rush calmed at the sight of you peacefully resting at last, in his home.

It stayed with him, that confession. And it had such an impact on him that day, that Miguel made his special gesture for the first time ever.

The pinky hug.

Miguel swallows, holding the pillow wrapped in your sweatshirt. You expressed that day your wish to embrace him, meaning you've been ready for it.

But is Miguel ready, too?

Miguel asks himself that before he surrenders to his sleep, lulled by your lovely and familiar scent. Somewhere in his slumber, he murmurs something.

“Yes.”

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A/N: hiii my lovely pookies!!

Very quickly (because if you read this far, I've already taken an hour or so of your time), I want to say thank you for reading yet another chapter! This is now the second Christmas I’ve spent writing this fic, which is insane, actually. I know I probably sound like a broken record (I’m an emotional/sensitive person, so I just, yeah 🥲), but anyway, thank you so much if you’ve stuck around to read this fic that was meant to be 4 chapters, and for spending another year with me! For those who joined this year, thank you, too! 🥹❤️

I look at where this story is now and I find it unbelievable, yet so fulfilling. I have written many things over the years from fanfic for other fandoms to personal works since I was about 14yrs (wait, the way I started this fic when I was 24, and I'm now 26...? 😭), but to this day, this is by far my top favorite project.

A big reason for that is due to you lovely readers! I'm incredibly thankful that so many of you are still reading this fic despite the slow and/or super long updates sometimes; the slow and torturous slowburn that this fic is; and the lack of romantic and physical love right now that often repels/discourages many readers because of the need for instant spice.

So, thank you for supporting this fic! It has been a privilege to be here and to share my writing. I look forward, God willing, to completing this fic in 2025 and giving it a satisfying and well deserved ending, which will most definitely make me sob my eyes out, but in a happy way ((:

To conclude, thank you for your kindness and love, and for being a safe space for me!! Also, Happy New Year!! I hope that this year treats you with love, kindness, and patience, and that you experience nothing but great things!!

I love you all!! Pls take care and I'll hopefully see you for the next chapter! 💕💖🥹

Alondra❤️

p.s. how normal are Miguel and Dulzura about each other? 😅 And what do we think about Miguel's thoughts at the end? 😌

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Bonus Message ... because I meant to write this on an earlier chapter, but since I posted the last 3 chapters in a weekend (oh, who is she?), I forgot to. A lovely new reader caught some symbolism I was really excited about in chapter 18 (beach episode) regarding the mention of butterflies and birds, and since I mentioned butterflies in this chapter, I figured it would be ok to mention it here, too.

As some of you may recall, both Miguel and Dulzura have had encounters with birds when they're at the cemetery. As one reader guessed in the past, these birds represent Gabriel and Peter (Dulzura's Peter), visiting and listening to them.

In chapter 18, Dulzura visited Peter's grave with Miguel, and they both saw a bird (same color as before for her) before it fluttered its wings and flew off.

After doing little research, birds can oftentimes represent freedom and spirituality. Due to that, I decided to convey Gabriel and Peter's spirits/souls through birds. In the end, this bird (Peter) fluttered its wings and flew off after chirping for a bit and staring at M and D, symbolizing Peter's true departure. Why? Up to that point, Dulzura had always gone to the cemetery alone, but that day, Miguel went with her and formally 'met' Peter. The happy chirping for M and D before the bird flew away symbolized his happiness, approval, and acceptance of them -- allowing Peter to fully move on knowing Dulzura is in good hands 🥺

As to the butterflies that flew over Peter's grave as M and D were walking away, these symbolize M and D. Butterflies symbolize rebirth, personal growth, transformations, new beginnings, etc. M and D are individuals who have gone through a rebirth after the losses and pain they have experienced. Together, they're forming a new beginning/life.

As to the puzzle in that chapter that they put together while discussing the possibility of love and having children, it symbolizes them piecing a future together.

And that's it! Thank you for reading that, if you did. I was really excited about the symbolism in that chapter just to forget about it lmao💀😭

[cassandrarebornanew]

Redacted HC bc I said so

FL Gang

this is so long I’m sorry

Dear knows everyone. They are that one person who can unironically say “oh I know a guy” to almost every situation, no matter how strange. Dear also draws their nightmares. I have a hc (from someone else I just can’t find the op) that they have selective mutism, so instead of trying to tell Lasko / family / friends, they just show them. They don’t have a huge amount of nightmares, but they are really good at drawing. Lasko is learning to dance, and his teacher is (drumroll pls)……… Dear! They can 100% dance, don’t tell me otherwise. Lasko was put forward for a really big modelling gig when he was in uni, but he didn’t go for it. He’s absolutely model quality, he just didn’t have the self confidence for it. Dear’s helping him get past this tho, and he’s thinking of maybe putting himself forward for a few smaller photoshoots. It’s unlikely to happen soon, but Lasko’s warming up to the idea that it doesn’t just have to be a pipe dream.

Huxley hates the stereotype that all Earth elementals are good at keeping plants alive, and that they like having house plants. He loves nature, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t like keeping plants inside, it seems wrong to him. Damien used to grip his wrist when he was worried that he would lash out, so he ended up with some pretty severe bruising.

Huxley noticed this and started holding Damien’s hands instead and this means they’ve just gotten into the habit of holding hands all the time, even though Damien’s broken the habit completely. In return, Damien founded a tiny community garden less than 30 seconds away from their house, where Huxley tends to the plants like they are his children.

Gavin is a master at painting his nails. He then transferred those skills into painting Freelancer. They don’t know about it, but he wants to have as many drawings and photos of them as he can. He and Dear have given each other pointers to make their art super accurate.

Freelancer makes amazing cookies. They cannot make anything else, but their cookie baking skills are so incredible they once baked a metric shit ton and sold enough to pay for a new phone. Freelancer and Gavin have a system where they each book one night (from about 7:30) a fortnight and no questions asked, they don’t do anything other than spend time with each other. This could be a date night, where they dress up. Or this could be a relaxed evening, where they wear the nicest of their pyjamas and paint each others nails and do skincare.

Freelancer has dyscalculia, and they bond with Huxley because he has dyslexia. They help each other out, no judgement, because they know how crippling it feels to have someone characterise them as stupid because of it. This is why (to me) some of the people [see: f-ing idiots] in the Redactedverse see Huxley as a dumb jock - nonetheless, he passed all his exams with much higher grades than expected. Damien and Dear are the resident cooks. Damien can cook like a chef, and he has an instinct for when the food is about to (or already) burn, which is why he immediately noticed the buns being burned in the second Friendsgiving vid. Dear on the other hand, cooks like it’s for a family - warm food, guilty pleasure food, home food. They are also good at baking, but leave to cookies to Freelancer and the muffins to Huxley (yes he makes muffins). Dear’s specialty is meringues. Their mother taught them the family recipe, and the gang are now hooked on the things.

The entire gang goes to Pride marches together. Dear and Gavin combine their skills to paint everyone’s nails, makeup if they want. They also bust out the face paints and will paint everyone’s respective flag like it’s a mural. Huxley gets his across his chest, Damien spiralling up his right arm, Lasko’s coats his forearms and along his hands and fingers, and Freelancer gets theirs twining around their waist. Dear does their own, and it starts on their eyelids and floats off. Some people say it looks like tears, or humming bird wings. Gavin gets his on his back like a pair of massive wings. Sometimes he makes them stretch out slightly when he knows Freelancer is looking.

Lasko and Damien will get into debates for the fun of it. The others have tried to take part, but the two of them speak so fast you’d think they’re about to break the sound barrier.

Freelancer and Dear are the Dancing Queens (gender neutral lol) of the group, and are never afraid to break out some moves, even in public, much to Damien’s chagrin and Lasko’s embarrassment.

Huxley is the strongest, given that he’s the biggest, and he has the most leverage with those long ass arms. Dear comes second, with Damien then Freelancer and Lasko (in that order) coming in hot behind them. Huxley obviously goes on a lot of hikes + gym. Dear started going to the gym regularly with Damien, but they were already very in shape from frequent hikes and other things; I get lean muscle vibes from them. Freelancer has a really fast metabolism, so they are more than happy to just go on a few runs every now and then. Lasko isn’t the fittest (as we heard in the hiking audio lol) but he’s decided to go on more hikes with Dear, as we heard. Gavin got disqualified from the rankings after he picked up the couch with a single hand - Damien was still on it btw, and he nearly set the thing on fire - and everyone remembered he doesn’t have quite the same limits that the rest of them do. He secretly wanted to get out of the rankings anyway, for reasons unbeknownst to us, so he wasn’t too torn up about it.

Things they are alarmingly good at:

Huxley - photography - he uses those retro Polaroid cameras for the nostalgia feel, and pins the best ones on the wall. The majority of the photos are of Damien let’s be honest

Damien - speed chess - Huxley will sit next to him and watch as he plays and plays and wins every time, and if he doesn’t win, he will play the game back as many times as it takes to see where he went wrong

Gavin - shit posting - he has an account that posts once a month, and it’s the most random stuff, but it goes viral every time. The “then perish” response? That was him

Freelancer - flower … lore? Is that the word? - they know all the symbolism behind each one, and how to make the most meaningful bouquets

Lasko - random fact recall - he, in the middle of a ramble, will drop random ass facts that no one knew about. Dear pays 110% attention (instead of 100% lol) once they noticed, and remembers as many as they can

Dear - fancy writing - they know how to imitate fonts like a computer, and will gladly do so on command. They also have a wicked cursive script, but no one can read it lmao

Let me know if you want me to do any more :)

[thistlecatfics]

Omg nobody has asked for post Azkaban Sirius in therapy yet??? Well I am asking now!!

Haha no one asked because it’s a doozy!!! And I’ve been sitting on this for weeks, and I keep thinking about it and writing nothing. 

Here are some scattered thoughts (which obviously includes some discussion of suicidality and alcohol):

(also ugh sorry the formatting is getting messed up? oh well)

Safety

Assessing for suicidality which he’d probably feel super insulted by

EXCEPT also it’s nice to finally have a space to talk about those thoughts

My boy is definitely experiencing some SI, judged to be at low-to-moderate risk for attempting because of the protective factor (wants to live for Harry, will endure any suffering for Harry) mixed with the major risk factor (heavy substance use making impulsive behavior more likely) (and the fact that Grimmauld Place abounds with lethal means.)

He does not want to safety plan, and so we’d have to do some sneaky safety planning instead. 

Maybe he's self-harming too - I could imagine when he tries not to drink he ends up self-harming. Harm reduction around potential infection risk and monitoring for any escalation but also giving him so much nonjudgmental, non-freaking out support and understanding.

Alcohol (and other substances) 

Harm reduction - like please drink water, please eat, maybe no drinking before a certain time of day. What kind of deals can we make about that? Definitely no trying to tell him he CAN’T drink. That’s stupid, and he’d just stop going to therapy or just start lying. 

Psychoeducation - yes this is making your depression worse not better. This is the brain. This is alcohol. This is the impact. No, you are not special. Your brain reacts to alcohol just like everyone else’s, potentially with even more severe depressive impacts given we don’t know the long term implications of Azkaban. I’m not going to tell you to stop drinking but I’m also not going to join you in any fiction that this is making you feel better overall. 

Animal assisted therapy and getting the fuck out of the house

Buckbeak!!! Also other animals. Sirius is like the number one candidate for animal assisted therapy in my opinion. I have no specialized training in it, but I’d get some for him. 

Are there small ways he can leave the house? Balance safety and risk? What about even the roof? (Though obviously assess for suicidality in terms of encouraging rooftop jaunts.)

We’re working on finding small ways of accessing safety

Grounding in space and grounding in the body are both very unsafe!

If we’re going to engage in any form of grounding or mindfulness, I think it would be using the senses to notice Buckbeak (smell/sight/feel etc). 

If we can build some trust, I think somatic movement might help too though I can see him saying no to that at first. 

Using animagus form as a coping tool

Being a dog >>> killing yourself or drinking to the point of passing out. 

Sooo angry and resentful at the therapist - a safe place for those feelings

Depending on how much time we have, rupture and repair cycle with the therapist might be really healing.

He doesn’t have a lot of outlets for his anger (other than Snape’s occasional visits and depending on how you read his relationship with Remus potentially Remus too), and so being able to tolerate that anger in the therapeutic space would be really important – while also setting clear boundaries. (Personally, I welcome anger, but I have no tolerance for specific demeaning language or slurs directed at me. I’m not worried he’d do that, but I do think making that boundary clear can make it clear how much other behavior is ok in therapy. 

Harry as motivator

Motivator for living, motivator for participating in therapy

While he is stuck in the house, we are not doing any trauma processing. We’re just working on building some safety and coping skills and having a space to vent. We’re only getting into the past/family stuff if he wants to vent about something, but otherwise I’m not even prompting him to go in that direction at all. 

Maybeee we work on beliefs around usefulness and needing to be of service to justify his existence in the world! 

He’s going to believe James and Lily’s deaths were his fault, and I’m going to say they weren’t, and then I’m going to say we can disagree and that’s ok. 

Definitely the type of sessions where I need to lie down afterwards because of the sheer scale of unsaid but deeply felt pain.

[wtfforged]

how are your shapes so good. does it just come to you naturally or do you have some super secret resource or what? i love your shape language and i'm gonna try to improve mine so if you have any tips that would be greatly appreciated 👍although i get youve been drawing for a while and this stuff can kind of just be ingrained into you so if you cant really think of any thats fine too. love your art!!

HI THANK YOU i went on a super rant so im gonna hide it all under a read more lol

it does come a bit more naturally to me just because i dont really understand how to draw things WITHOUT breaking them down into shapes (especially since i was drawing robots for so long lol), but i also think my artstyle just naturally got more shapey as i tried to have more fun with art and especially as i started incorporating what i enjoyed from artists i like. an obvious example would be oda's art throughout one piece since i genuinely do think my art took a big positive turn as i started reading it lolol. i have so many screenshots of panels i enjoyed or thought looked cool cause he really is just a master at it all- i especially like the way he uses the line of action, shapes, motion, and expressions, and try to study them a lot. i also looked at some of my favorite artists, like bucketofrobots, monstyra, estridd, aciescoutex, or onebadnoodle to name a few who inspired me. Dont tattle on me btw this is our secret.

so first tip is just See how others be doing it. but that can be for literally anything in art not just shape- thats just how i started. im a very monkey see monkey do kind of person

second tip! is literally to break stuff down into their simplest shapes and action lines. which sounds redundant tbh when i type it out but i mean it. simplify things down to their bare components- especially with the parts you want to emphasize in mind- before you build on them (if you build on them at all ofc). heres some examples of some of my sketches when i do make them, and some with outlines for ones that i wasnt super clear/clean about. i literally will block out and break down the forms into simple shapes, even using lasso tool like in the second image first (especially if i really dont know what to draw pose-wise). sorry a lot of these i was playing with perspective but those or drawings where i have a very specific or difficult pose in mind are just the only pieces where i actually have a sketch layer instead of just jumping right to coloring my sketch which is what i do most of the time

and when i say "parts you want to emphasize", im thinking especially with motion or certain parts of a characters design, like really pushing those shapes so that its visually clear What Is Going On. for example, in the 1st sketch above, i wanted to emphasize that zoro was like, sliding in and about to unsheathe his sword in a really cool combat-y pose. or in the 2nd sketch, the character is supposed to be sort of mid-jump so i left some space around him and exaggerated that movement, as well as his thing being that he has cool giant punch-y gauntlets and is probably about to punch some baddie, so i put that right in the camera. and the third is the same, i wanted to exaggerate the running movement as well as the creepy hand since those are important to that character. and here in this fourth image below i wanted to emphasize one character being too pushy and overly friendly, while the other is very uncomfortable about it, so i really played with one leaning into the other and the other leaning away, etc etc you get the idea for the rest of the examples that i redlined.

im sorry if this doesnt make much sense or is hard to read because its too wordy. im not very good at wording stuff right especially with explaining my thought processes. im a bit too much of an instinct type person so it feels like when i explain stuff i just go "and then you go bwaaahhh! and booom! and babam!! and thats how i do it".

so if this sucked heres a post by EtheringtonBros thats kinda similar to what im saying, and a youtube video from fourleafisland that also, is kinda similar to what im saying and has very good points!!!!!!

thank you again!!!!!! sorry this was so long. hell i even wish it was longer just bc i really wanted to include some aforementioned oda screenshots but i got embarrassed of how many of them were just zoro and gave up on searching and i didnt wanna take much longer on this cause im already late to gaming with friends help. just open the manga yourself and look at whenever he draws sanji or luffy. theyre both extremely shape.