#and i said that i knew because i observe him observing

[bjwmastermind-writes]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. ��Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[22ayla21]

Reader breaking up with Mydei when she hears his people criticizing her and saying she doesn’t suit their prince, believing that she’ll drag him down and that she could cause a rift between him and his people who refuse to accept her,

Mydei however refuses to accept that as a reason for breaking up and tells her he refuses to let her go.

The Unbreakable Vow

She left to protect him and not sever the connection with his people, but he won't let her go so easily.

She left without a word.

She left only an icy emptiness in the rooms where her voice had rung out just yesterday, where her laughter, warm and vibrant, seemed to have seeped into the walls forever.

Mydei felt it immediately. Something inside him snapped, not just disappeared, but was torn out by the roots, leaving a ragged, bleeding wound.

He searched for her.

Anger, hot and blind, flared in his chest with every step. Not at her—he knew she wouldn't leave him just like that. It wasn't in her nature. She held onto him as tightly as he held onto her.

And when he found her, standing on the edge of the observation deck, where the wind whipped her hair, he understood—she was waiting for him.

"Why?"

His voice was quiet, but a storm raged within it. She didn't answer right away. She just looked into the distance, avoiding his gaze, as if trying to read an excuse for her actions in the gray haze.

"I heard them."

She spoke calmly, but he saw her shoulders tremble.

"They say I'm dragging you down. That I'm not your equal. That I'm a weak link, capable of ruining your life."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"And they're right, Mydei. I'm not like them. I'll never be able to become like them. They won't accept me, and one day you'll have to choose between me and them. I don't want you to be torn apart."

She waited for his silence. Waited for him to turn away and leave. To accept her decision, no matter how bitter it was.

But he stepped forward.

"Do you really think that of me?"

She turned sharply, and her gaze met his eyes, full of fury and... pain.

"Do you think I'll let some cowardly gossip decide who I love?"

His voice was low, almost bestial.

"Do you think I'll let them dictate who is worthy to be by my side?"

He stepped closer, and she felt his palms grip her shoulders—firmly, but not roughly, as if he feared she would melt into the air.

"If they don't accept you, then they'll leave, not you. If they don't see that you're my strength, not my weakness, then they were never my friends."

She froze, and he continued:

"You left because you thought you were protecting me. But you didn't even ask what I want."

His gaze held so much firmness, so much unwavering certainty, that her heart faltered.

"I want you."

These words sounded like a vow.

"You are mine. And I don't care what others say."

She felt a lump rise in her throat, tears clouding her eyes.

"I love you," he said, and there wasn't a shadow of doubt in his confession.

And then she understood: there was no force capable of breaking the thread that bound their hearts. Because Mydei would never allow it to happen.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 3

Words: 9k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to disappearances, kidnapping, threats, and emotional angst. Care. Comfort.

Tommy meets your brother when he shows up at the betting shop looking for you. You meet Ada looking for help with a little problem and find a champion in Polly. Tommy surprises you completely.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The betting shop was unusually quiet when an unfamiliar young man walked in. He wasn't hesitant, like many who weren't regulars there, but he wasn't charging in like a fool either. His approach was measured, like he knew he didn’t belong but had decided to walk in anyway. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Slim build, shoulders squared in a patched coat that had seen too many winters. The young man's eyes were sharp, locked on Arthur, who leaned back behind the counter, watching him like this was all a bit of theatre.

"You lost something, lad?" Arthur asked, grinning around his cigarette.

The young man’s jaw tensed. His voice was tight and controlled, but steady. “My sister.”

Arthur’s smile faded—not with guilt, but with interest.

“Ah. That one.” He stood, stretching like he’d been waiting all morning for something to liven the place up. “Bit late for all that, eh?”

The younger man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Tommy watched from the back office doorway, caught the way his hand hovered near the inside of his coat. He was armed. Brave but stupid.

Tommy stepped out then, made his presence known.

Arthur lit up. “This one’s yours, brother. Came to collect what’s left.”

Tommy said nothing at first, just studied the stranger. Young. Angry. Focused. But the lad wasn't reckless. He wasn’t here to posture, the way John Boy did more and more these days. No, he was here because someone he loved was gone, and nobody was giving him answers.

"Name?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Rory." The young man met and held Tommy's gaze. "Rory Flynn."

The surname matched the girl’s—his girl’s—file he’d already had drawn up. But now, standing in front of him, the boy wasn’t just a name on paper. He had her eyes—same shape, same quiet fire behind them. The sharp, observant way he took everything in was familiar too, saying very little but missing nothing.

But Rory Flynn reminded him of someone else. Tommy couldn't immediately place it.

Tilting his head, he studied him for a beat longer. "Who's your father?" he asked. 

Rory’s gaze dropped for just a moment. "He died in the way in France. 1916."

Their father had died in the war then. “Name?”

"Malachy Flynn." 

There it was.  Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but inside, recognition tightened his chest. He remembered Malachy Flynn. Their father had been older than him by at least a decade. They hadn’t served side by side. Flynn was in earlier, already a sergeant when Tommy was still green. The name Malachy Flynn meant something. Tommy had heard it in the trenches. Flynn died a hero, pulling two younger soldiers out of a crater after a shelling. He could’ve saved himself but chose not to. 

“I knew your father,” Tommy said in a lower tone as the boy blinked in surprise. “He was a good man.”

In that moment, the something shifted between them—something almost like understanding. He understood the boy in front of him better. He was his father’s son.

"My sister’s been gone two days," Rory said in a tight voice, cutting to the chase. "She was supposed to be… delivered to your brother. No one’s seen her since.”

Arthur gave a low whistle, but Tommy raised a hand. Quiet. Let him talk.

"Our mother’s worried sick," Rory added, his expression cracking just enough to show the truth of it. “She doesn’t know who to ask, who to trust. So I came here.”

Tommy stepped closer, arms loosely crossed. “And your stepfather?”

The boy's gaze hardened, but he didn't answer.

And that was answer enough. Tommy watched him try to control his emotions, mostly suceeding. The kid wasn’t just worried—he was plotting something. A pistol hidden in the lining of that patched coat or maybe a cheap folding knife meant for a throat that had made a deal no decent man would’ve dared. Tommy recognized that look. A young man with nothing left to lose, trying to change his world with a single, violent act. It was foolish, but he respected it.

“You plan on killing him?” Tommy asked bluntly.

Rory’s gaze returned to his. Some intense emotion flashed there before his expression was guarded again. “He deserves worse.”

"Why?"

"For wanting my sister out of his house," Rory said tightly. "She's a temptation to him, see. He wants her more than our mother."

Tommy filed that bit of information away. He recalled her telling him that their stepfather wanted her gone. Now he knew exactly why. She wasn't another mouth to feed and she helped the household earn money. No, the man just wanted her. While was a good, decent young woman, he couldn't do that without resorting to rape. No, now him offering her up made sense. Once the Shelbys soiled her, she was fair game to him.

As he returned his attention to her brother, he realized the boy wasn't bluffing. This was a brother who cared more about his sister than himself. And that meant something. The young man had more honor than many of the men Tommy had dealt with this week.

He exchanged a glance with Arthur, who shrugged, then grinned. “You’ve got your hands full now, don’t you?”

On the one hand, the boy let him know that, so far, his plan was working. No one outside the family knew where she was. Not the local blokes who’d heard about the wager and were sniffing around for gossip. Not the old women who watched from behind their curtains on Gray Street, waiting for her to come walking back home in shame.

She’d disappeared.

And in Small Heath, disappearing meant one of two things: death or Shelby. The right people were wondering. The wrong people were staying quiet. That was exactly what Tommy wanted. She wasn’t just gone—she was untouchable. Hidden. Held. And the longer she stayed out of sight, the louder the message would ring when Tommy was ready to speak it.

But the rest of the conversation? The situation was too delicate, too exposed, to continue it there. The last thing Tommy needed was a scene in the middle of the betting shop. Too many eyes and ears. Word about the girl couldn’t get out—not yet.

Tommy straightened, smoothing the front of his waistcoat with a slow, practiced motion. “Walk with me,” he said, already turning toward the hallway that led to the back office.

Rory didn’t move. “I came to speak to Arthur.”

Stopping mid-step and turning back, Tommy eyed him with a glint of steel behind his eyes. “You’re speaking to the man in charge.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle behind the counter, clearly enjoying the moment. Mostly because he was still pissed at Tommy for the entire affair. “He is, y’know. Always has been.”

Rory’s spine straightened, but Tommy saw the hesitation. He didn’t trust this. Didn’t like being led somewhere less public. Smart.

But Tommy didn’t ask twice. He met the boy’s eyes, voice low and final. “If you want answers about your sister, you’ll come with me. Now.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with challenge. Rory’s hand hovered near his coat again, and for a second Tommy wondered if the lad would actually try to be brave enough to draw on him. But then—a slow nod. Rory stepped forward, lips pressed into a grim line, eyes burning with controlled fury.

Tommy turned without another word, the sound of Rory’s boots following close behind. And just like that, the game moved behind closed doors—where Tommy always played best. 

Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them in the back office, Tommy voice was calm, final. “She’s safe.”

Rory's demeanor didn't change. He barely moved. When he spoke, it wasn’t with the blind deference most gave the name Shelby. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, sharp.

But Rory didn’t flinch. “You’re a powerful man, Mr. Shelby. But I'm just supposed to take your word for it? That she’s safe, that she’s unharmed, that she’s not—” He cut himself off, swallowing the emotion before it could break the surface.

Tommy could see it—the fight between pride and fear, fury and helplessness all crashing together in someone too young to carry that much weight, and yet doing it anyway. This wasn’t about challenging authority. It wasn’t about standing up to the infamous Tommy Shelby just for the sake of pride. Here was a brother asking the only man who might know the truth if his sister was still the same girl who’d left their doorstep two nights ago. And now he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why am I talking to you?” Rory asked, voice sharp but not disrespectful. “Why isn’t it Arthur telling me she’s safe?”

Tommy let him talk on.

“Arthur made the deal.” Rory’s hands twitched at his sides, as if even his body didn’t know what to do with the storm building in his chest. “And now she’s gone. You’ve got her then. And I’m supposed to believe she’s just… being looked after?” There was a beat of silence, heavy, still. Then he added—“You turning her out? Passing her around behind those big gates like she’s…” He couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say it out loud.

Tommy’s face didn’t change, but inside, something coiled tight. The boy was bold, reckless, and about three seconds from pushing too far—but not wrong for asking or for being afraid. The lad knew how the world worked. And worse, he knew what the Shelbys were capable of. 

In a softer voice, he finished with, “You’ve got no reason to lie to me. But I’ve got every reason not to trust you.”

Rory Flynn wasn’t a fool, nor soft either. He’d walked into a lion’s den armed not just with a weapon, but with the kind of quiet conviction Tommy rarely saw in men twice his age.

Stepping away from the desk, Tommy crossed to the cabinet near the wall. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a short glass, then set it on the edge of the desk without pushing it forward. A gesture, not an invitation.

“She’s not being turned out," Tommy said. The boy's gaze searched his, looking for the lie. “And she’s not being passed around. Your sister’s not a message. She’s the punctuation at the end of one.”

Rory’s brow furrowed slightly, not getting the answer he expected.

“Your stepfather made a wager," Tommy continued. "That debt was collected. You know what she walked into—and who made it happen.”

Rory nodded stiffly.

“But I made sure she was protected,” Tommy added. “From Arthur. From your stepfather. From every bastard in Small Heath who now thinks she’s someone they can have a turn with.”

“Why though?" Rory's voice broke through the weight of it all. “You don't know us.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment. “Because your sister deserves better than what the world would’ve given her.” Another beat. “And maybe... I wanted her for myself.”

Rory’s first reaction was a flash of anger, sharp and instinctive, the kind of response any brother would have when hearing a man like Tommy Shelby admit he’d taken something that wasn’t his to take. Disbelief, drawn across his brow as he blinked, probably had the lad wondering if this was a twisted test or a joke he wasn't in on. Neither lasted. Rory's mind was impressive for his age. Tommy could see it behind his eyes as the weight of the situation settled in. His sister had been plucked out of a world that treated her like currency and was now in the hands of the most dangerous man in Birmingham.

Rory visibly didn’t like it—not by a long shot— but he understood the value in that. In a world as ugly and unforgiving as theirs, maybe it wasn’t the worst place for her to be.

He straightened just slightly, holding Tommy’s gaze. “So then what?” he asked, voice rough. “You planning to keep her locked up forever?” The worry hadn’t left. But neither had the fight. Not for blood. Not for vengeance. But for his sister.

Tommy held Rory’s stare, unflinching. The lad wasn’t backing down. More than most men in Small Heath, this one had the guts to ask a question that would’ve earned others a bullet.

“No,” Tommy said finally, voice low but sure. “Not forever.” Stepping around the desk, slow and deliberate, he kept his tone measured. "She’s not my prisoner, Rory. But right now, she can’t be seen. Not until the people who gambled her away learn their lesson. And not until she understands she’s safe here. With me.”

Tommy watched more emotion cross his young face, the way he wanted to argue—but didn’t.

“When this is over,” Tommy said, choosing each word carefully, “she won’t go back to the life she had before. I won’t allow that.” A pause. “And she won’t want to.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

“You came here today prepared to do something stupid if you didn’t like the answers," Tommy redirected their conversation back to Rory himself. “You're armed. But you didn’t. You asked questions instead. You listened. That’s more than most.” There was no mocking in his tone, no challenge—just an observation. A truth. Tommy would be truthful in turn. “She’s not your concern anymore. But she will be taken care of. You have my word.”

For a moment, Rory didn’t move. He stood there bravely, like he was trying to be a man in a room where boys didn’t last long. But something in him cracked, just slightly. He looked down—not in submission, but to keep himself from saying too much. Tommy admired the boy's control.

When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “She’s still my sister, sir.”

The words landed full of weight that didn’t need to be shouted. Fear, pride, and the guilt for not being able to stop any of it. She was still his sister. And no matter who claimed her now—that wouldn’t change. But there were conditions the boy needed to understand. 

Tommy looked him in the eye, the edge returning to his voice like a blade slipping back into a gloved hand. “You can’t say anything, Rory. To anyone.”

The younger man’s brows drew together, the fire in him flaring again.

“To anyone,” Tommy repeated, voice low, steady. “Not your mates, not your foreman at the factory, not the neighbor who always has something to say. And not your mother.”

Rory stiffened. “You can’t expect—”

“I do.” Tommy’s tone cut through the room like a gunshot. “Because the minute anyone knows where she is, the point of all this falls apart. The lesson ends."

The words hit hard—because they were true. And Rory knew it. But he wasn’t done. “Can I at least see her?” he asked, voice low now, more pleading than angry. “Or let my mum? Just to know she’s not… hurt. Scared.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Rory’s mouth opened, protest rising, but Tommy cut him off before the words came. “She’s under my roof. That means she’s under my protection. And she stays hidden until I decide otherwise.”

Rory shook his head, frustration bubbling over. “And I'm supposed to what? Just give her up?”

Tommy’s voice lowered again. “No. But if you tell your mother, and she tells someone else—intentional or not—we’ve got a problem. And if this becomes a problem…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished but understood. “You’re a good brother, Rory. So be a smart one, too.”

Tommy turned slightly, as if the conversation was over—but then paused, glancing back at Rory with something like recognition. “Your stepfather isn’t worth the noose.”

Rory’s posture stiffened again. The flash in his eyes said it all—he’d been thinking about it. Planning something. 

“I’ve seen lads like you ruin their lives trying to settle scores that weren’t theirs to carry.”

Rory didn’t speak, but he was weighing Tommy's words.

“You want to punish him? Fine.” He held Rory’s gaze. “Make something of yourself. Become a man he’ll never be, like your father. Protect your mother. Look after your sister when the time comes.” He let that settle before adding, “But don’t end up in a grave over a man who already buried himself.”

Rory stared at him, the weight of it landing heavy—but not wasted.

Tommy stepped back behind the desk, nodding to the glass he hadn’t touched. “Drink that and go home.”

The boy's hand shook slightly. Still, he took pains to try and hide it. Knocking it back, he did as Tommy wanted and walked out the door. 

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tommy remained still for a moment, eyes lingering on the space where the boy had stood. 

Rory Flynn.

The boy was wasted on the factories. That kind of fire—controlled, not reckless—didn’t belong behind a grinding machine or buried under soot and orders. The boy had walked into a Shelby stronghold, armed and alone, and hadn't flinched. Had spoken with conviction, not desperation. He had the look of his father—Malachy’s grit, that quiet backbone. But more than that, he had the one thing Tommy valued most in a man: purpose. Even if it wasn’t quite shaped yet. And that made him valuable.

Loyalty born from blood is dangerous. But loyalty born from debt? From earned respect? That was something Tommy could build on.

Tommy reached for his cigarette case and lit one slowly, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. He'd keep an eye on Rory Flynn. There were uses for a lad like that. It wouldn’t just be strategic for Tommy—it would be personal leverage cloaked as kindness. His girl might not trust him now—probably didn’t—but if her brother was safe, fed, and rising under the Shelby name, it would chip away at her resistance more effectively than any locked door or quiet threat. It would show her that he wasn't just keeping her—he was looking after her people. That meant something to a girl like her.

She was fiercely loyal, just like him. If she saw her brother being taken seriously, being respected, she’d start to question her own resentment for the man who took her. She might not forgive him—not yet—but she'd feel tethered in a way Tommy could work with. Bringing Rory in gave her a stake in the Shelby world. And if she had something to lose inside it, she’d stop thinking so hard about running from him.

Better still, it gave Tommy a way in. A reason to have her near without forcing it, to speak to her under the veil of family concern. It made him look like a protector—not just of her, but of the people she loved. And that kind of power was far more effective than fear.

Because eventually, fear fades. But debt? That lingers.

***

You heard the commotion before you saw it the next morning as you carried your breakfast tray downstairs, just to get out of that room. A baby fussing, a door swinging open, and the kind of voice that carried through hallways like it belonged there. It wasn’t Polly. And it wasn’t one of the house staff. No, the young woman stepped cautiously into the corridor just in time to see a you coming through the front hall, a babe perched on her hip, and confidence radiating from every inch of her like she’d never once been told no. The stranger stopped mid-step when she saw you, arching a brow as if she’d just walked into the most interesting scene in Birmingham. 

“Well,” the woman said, eyeing her with open curiosity. “You’re definitely not one of the housemaids.”

You panicked, unsure what to say. You were supposed to be hiding. Panic rose as you just stared at the lovely young woman.

She shifted the baby higher on her hip, adjusting the wool blanket around him. “I’m Ada. Arthur’s sister.”

Of course. The Ada. The one Polly mentioned with half pride, half exasperation. The one who’d married a communist and kept her spine straight about it. Ada tilted her head, looking you over with a keen eye—not cruelly, but thoughtfully. Then a devilish excitement flashed in her eyes. You'd seen Tommy react the exact same way.

“You’re the girl, then?” she asked casually, as if they were talking about nothing more serious than a new dress Polly had brought home. "The one from Gray Street?"

Heat crept up your neck. “I… suppose I am.”

Ada grinned. “Well, I’ve been dying to know who managed to stir up this much Shelby drama and still be breathing after two days. You're all anyone's talking about. The girl Arthur won... You’re not exactly his type.”

The baby gurgled in her arms, waving a tiny hand, and Ada bounced him gently with an ease that didn’t match the sharpness of her words. Her face softened as she looked down at him, and for a moment, the sharp edge of her Shelby wit dulled. The baby was beautiful—rosy-cheeked, dark lashes, that innocent glow untouched by everything swirling around him.

Ada looked back up at you. “You don’t have to look so terrified,” she said, with a kinder smile this time. “I’m not here to drag you off and parade you through Small Heath. I wouldn’t want to face down that lot either if that was done to me.”

Out of all the Shelbys you'd encountered so far, Ada seemed to be the kindest. And you were grateful for that. You woke up with a headache, an ache in your lower back. Sharp cramps signalled it was time for your monthly and your lack of supplies there left you somewhere between panic and despair. As if your situation wasn't bad enough. It had taken a little while but you'd finally talked yourself into seeking out Polly to let her know of your latest situation and begging for her help.

Her expression shifted, brow knitting slightly. “Truth be told, I came here to ask Polly what the hell was going on. Last thing I heard, you were delivered to Arthur for the night and then…” She made a vague motion with her hand. “Gone. Vanished. Like smoke. And now here you are—in our house. Looking like a ghost someone forgot to let out.”

Before you could answer—before you could even figure out what to say—Polly’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Ada.”

Ada turned, smirking over her shoulder as her aunt descended the stairs with that familiar tight-lipped look that warned of no-nonsense ahead. “I was just talking to your guest,” Ada said lightly. "Or should I say Arthur's guest?"

Polly shot her a glare as she reached the bottom step. “She doesn’t need your commentary. And you—” her sharp eyes flicked to you, then softened just a touch, “—shouldn’t be running around the house."

"I'm sorry," you told her, watching the older woman's knowing gaze drop to the tray in your hands. You'd hoped to avoid that. You'd barely eaten anything. 

Shaking her head, Polly took the tray and carried it just inside the kitchen.

Ada raised a brow. “So why is she here?"

Polly didn’t answer right away when she returned. She looked at you for a long moment—not coldly, but carefully, as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth in front of you or send you out of the room first. “She’s here because your brother made a decision,” Polly said finally, her voice clipped, measured. “And now we all have to live with it.”

Ada's gaze shifted from Polly to you and back, the baby shifting in her arms. “What does that even mean?”

Polly cut her niece a steely look. “It means Tommy stepped into something Arthur started and decided he could fix it by making it worse.”

Ada blinked. “Tommy?”

Polly nodded. “Tommy's the one who settled the debt.”

Heat crept up your neck again, but something colder lingered underneath—shame, confusion, and the terrifying sense of being spoken about like you weren’t standing right there.

Ada’s gaze landed on you again, but her amusement was gone. Just realization. She adjusted the baby gently, then said, softer now, “I didn’t know.”

“None of us did,” Polly replied, eyes never leaving Ada. “Not until it was already done. He's hiding her here.”

To Polly’s astonishment, Ada didn’t argue. She didn’t huff or scold or lecture the way Polly expected. Instead, she stood there in the middle of the hall, baby on her hip, brow furrowed as she actually thought it over. The silence stretched a beat too long before Ada finally said, “Well… from a certain point of view…”

Polly blinked. “Ada.”

“No, hear me out.” She gave you a small, sideways glance—not unkind, just curious again. “He didn't send her walking home in shame the next morning over a stupid wager she wasn't even a part of. He's hiding her here and there are worse places to hide. I should know.” She shrugged, bouncing the baby again gently. “I mean, it’s twisted. But it’s Tommy. And for him?” She gave a small, incredulous laugh. “It’s almost… romantic.”

Polly stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Do you hear yourself?”

Ada's smile was impish. “I wouldn’t have expected it of him. That’s all I’m saying.” She turned her gaze back to you, a little spark of amusement in her eyes. “You’ve clearly shaken something loose in that cold, dead heart of his.”

You didn’t know what to say—was this a compliment? From the look on Polly’s face, even she wasn’t sure how to take it.

"Why does everyone think she’s missing then?" Ada asked.

"Because that’s what Tommy wants them to think," Polly said, and there was warning in her tone. “So you’re sworn to secrecy.”

Ada’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. “Of course. Shelby rules.” Then her gaze shifted back to you, her voice gentler. “What about her family?”

It was the same question you’d been asking yourself over and over again for the last two days. They must have been worried sick. Your mother probably hadn’t slept. Your brother… God, Rory. He could be doing anything right now. Searching the streets. Demanding answers from men more dangerous than he realized. The thought of him searching for you in vain cracked something open inside you. You tried to blink the tears away before they could fall, but it was too late. Both Shelby women saw.

Ada’s expression softened instantly, and even Polly’s sharpness dulled. “Oh, love…” Polly murmured, stepping closer.

Pressing your lips together, you tried to keep your voice steady. The wave of emotion hit you fast. The weight of being taken, hidden, claimed—and forgotten by the world you left behind—was suddenly too much to hold in. You were scared and angry now. You were grieving. And now, finally, someone realized it.

Polly didn’t say another word—she just gently placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you, guiding you down the hall like a mother ushering her child out of a storm. “Come on, love. Let’s not fall apart in the foyer.”

Ada followed without question, as Polly ushered you into the sitting room. She waved you toward the sofa while Ada settled into an armchair near the fireplace, the baby now babbling softly against her shoulder. 

Polly’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked you over, her arms folding across her chest. “You didn’t eat this morning.”

“I’m not sick,” you murmured, a little embarrassed. “It’s just… it’s my time.”

Ada gave a soft “Ah,” nodding in understanding.

Polly, however, straightened slightly, her expression immediately shifting to one of disapproval bleeding on concern. She shook her head and you weren't sure who she disapproved of - you or Tommy.

“I'm sorry," you added quickly. "I wasn’t exactly… prepared.”

Ada snorted softly, adjusting the baby’s blanket. “Well, if there’s any silver lining, that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, almost too casually. “At least we know you’re not pregnant.” 

The words hit the air and settled there, a truth no one wanted to say but couldn’t ignore. And you were grateful for that considering the last two nights.

Polly’s jaw tightened, her mouth a thin line. “Same clothes since she got here. No proper supplies. No privacy. No explanation. Just dropped into this house like she’s one of the bloody spoils of war.”

You looked down at your lap, fingers curling in the fabric of the dress you'd been wearing since your ordeal started. You couldn't even bringing yourself to mention you had no draws on top of it all. You were ruining a small towel you found to use until you could ask for help.

Ada shook her head. “This isn’t how it should’ve been handled.”

"It shouldn't have happened at all." Polly’s voice softened then, but didn’t lose its edge. "All this so your brother could strike more fear in the hearts of all those in Small Heath."

Polly looked at you then—really looked. Not just as someone Tommy was hiding here, but as a young woman dropped into something too big, too fast, and too cruel.

And in that moment, you saw it clear as day: Polly Gray had just decided she was going to look after you.

Whether Tommy liked it or not.

***

Tommy stepped through the front door later than usual, the scent of rain and coal smoke clinging to his coat. His boots echoed in the hall, the kind of sound that announced his arrival. The low murmur of voices drifted in from deeper in the house—John Boy and Finn, unmistakably, and Polly holding court in that no-nonsense tone she saved for family. The scent of supper wasn't lingering in the air, letting him know just how late he was.

He shrugged out of his coat, and laid it across the chair by the entry—his movements automatic and his mind was elsewhere. 

Tonight, his thoughts weren't on the Garrison, nor on business. 

They were on her.

He didn’t like the feeling. It was a crack in the armor he wore every waking hour. But it was there all the same, threading through him like the last drag of a cigarette he hadn’t meant to enjoy.

His conversation with her brother made it worse. Rory Flynn walked into the betting shop, ready to draw blood if it meant finding his sister. He’d held his nerve, asked the right questions, listened when it counted. Seeing the boy’s loyalty—his quiet devotion to his sister—unsettled something in him. It reminded him of what he was holding onto. 

Exhaling through his nose, he started toward the stairs. The truth was simpler, but much harder to admit. He just wanted to see her. And he didn’t like how much that mattered.

Polly caught him before he could make it farther. “Ada’s been by,” she said without preamble, arms crossed like she was bracing for his reaction.

Tommy stopped. “What did she see?”

“Everything.”

He sighed. “She saw her?”

Polly gave him a sharp look. “She found her before I could stop her. Ada won’t say anything. She actually seemed charmed by the whole thing.”

Charmed. Christ.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sore from a day spent putting out fires at the Garrison—men needing reminders, deals needing to be reinforced. From trying to keep his focus on business all day and failing.

“I’m going to wash up,” he muttered, brushing past her. "Have my supper brought up."

“Don’t stomp in like you own the place,” she said, her voice low and clipped. “I'll send something for her too. She's not eating.”

Tommy paused mid-step, one brow lifting. “What?”

Polly’s expression didn’t flinch. “She’s not eating. Said she's not feeling well today.”

The words hit harder than he expected. He didn’t show it to Polly, but the truth of it pressed in just beneath the surface. She wasn’t eating. And that meant this game he’d started—this lesson for Small Heath, this cold, calculated plan—was wearing her down more than he’d accounted for.

He set his cap on the sideboard, slow and deliberate. “Send supper up then, Pol," he said. "And laudanum. She'll eat. I'll talk to her."

“Then mind your tone, Tommy.”  Polly watched him for another beat, she could always see right through him. After a moment, she stepped aside to let him pass. 

He didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t need to. Because now, as he climbed the stairs toward his room, that single detail—she’s not eating—settled into him, heavy and unwanted, coiling in that quiet part of his chest where concern lived, the place he rarely let anyone touch.

Tommy had built an empire by knowing what men valued. He hadn’t stopped to consider how often women like her weren’t valued at all. And now here she was, pulled out of one world and into another, not asked—just taken. Her brother's visit, the details about her relationship with her stepfather, ran through his mind. His girl's life had been far from easy. And just so he could have her, just so he could impose his will on the people in Small Heath, he'd gone and thoughtlessly made her plight worse. What had he thought? That she’d be grateful? That she’d look at the Shelby name like it was a lifeline instead of a collar?

The tension in his head grew, a culmination of business, family, guilt, and the uncomfortable realization that he’d miscalculated the one thing he thought he’d handled precisely. 

When he reached his room, he opened the door quietly. She was already in bed. Not asleep��he could tell by the way her breathing changed, the slight tension in her shoulders. She was lying on her side, facing the wall, hands wrapped around her abdomen like she was holding herself together. 

Stepping inside, he closed the door gently behind him, and studied her in the dim light from the lamp on the bedside table and the fire the maid kept up in the fireplace. Polly had said she wasn’t eating. Said she wasn’t feeling well. And now that he really looked—the way her body curled in slightly, the faint clench of discomfort in her posture—it didn’t take him long to work it out. She wasn’t ill. She was in pain. 

Pain had been a companion to him many times in his life, particularly during the war. But this pain wasn't the kind she could explain to a man like him. A woman's pain. It hit him then—the silent panic she must’ve been living with, knowing what he might expect from her, unable to say a word without fear and shame burning her alive. Of course she wasn’t eating. Of course her anxiety was through the roof. She was miserable. And worse—she was bracing for something she didn’t have the means to refuse. 

Tommy stood there for a long moment, staring at the girl he’d dragged into his world, knowing full well he was the last person she could admit that kind of vulnerability to. And he hated that, more than anything. Because he hadn’t just made her his. He’d made her afraid.

She shifted slightly beneath the covers, just enough to catch him in the corner of her eye. Her gaze met his for a second—just a second—and that was all he needed. It was there. The tension. The guarded fear. The unmistakable flicker of dread. Not the kind that came from the threat of violence or cruelty. The kind that came from not knowing how to say something you shouldn’t have to say. From being a woman stuck in a man’s world, afraid he might ask something of her that her body simply couldn’t give tonight.

Tommy’s chest tightened. He was right. And that look in her eyes twisted something deeper than guilt. It was shame. And it didn’t belong to her.

He crossed the room slowly, keeping his movements careful. No swagger or sharpness. When he reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t touch her. Didn’t sit. Just stood there and kept his tone low and even. “You’re alright. I’m not here for that.”

He watched the emotions in her eyes shift—not into trust, not yet—but into something softer. Something closer to relief. 

As he turned to pull the armchair away from the corner, his hand brushed against soft fabric—a small bundle of Ada’s old dresses draped neatly over the backrest. Tommy paused, staring at them. They weren’t folded like someone had forgotten them. They’d been placed there with care. His jaw tightened as the realization sank in. She’d only had the one dress. Since she’d found herself in his world, she'd been used like a bargaining chip and told nothing, given nothing. He’d been so caught up in deals, territory, strategy, and her silence—he hadn’t noticed. She’d been wearing the same thing, day after day, too proud to say a word, too uncertain of her place to ask for more. 

Pulling the chair forward slowly, he sat down, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t like all this said about him. Didn’t like that she’d gone without because he hadn’t made time to think about her comfort. Only her presence. Only her usefulness. He was so used to having everything handled for him once he made decisions. He took for granted that the girl would request what she needed and that Polly and his house staff would provide it. Careless.

She'd been surviving, and he—the man who claimed to have rescued her—hadn’t even noticed she needed something as simple as a change of clothes. And now, here she was, in pain, curled up and too afraid to tell him. He exhaled slowly, voice low as he spoke—not to her exactly, but into the quiet. “This isn't going to happen again.”

And he meant it. Because if he was going to keep her, he’d damn well start acting like she was worth keeping right.

His voice, when it came, was low—steady but softer than she was used to hearing from him. “Supper’s on its way up.”

She shifted slightly under the covers, still not facing him, but he knew she was listening. 

“You need to eat,” he added. “Not because I said so.”

Quickly, he cleared his desk of the few items on it. It would work as a makeshift table. Moving the armchair next to the chair at the desk gave her a seat. It would work.

“After you’ve eaten, I’ll give you something for the pain. Laudanum,” he explained as he walked back to the bed, his tone even, steady. “I won’t hide it from you. You’ll see me pour it. You’ll know what it is. Can you sit up?”

She swallowed hard, taking a breath that trembled just slightly before she carefully rolled onto her back. Tommy’s eyes swept over her in the simple white nightgown she wore—a soft, modest thing Polly must’ve set aside for her. His gaze lingered only long enough to register what he needed to: no blood, no visible distress. It eased something in him.

She had what she needed, then. Polly had seen to that.

He moved closer to the bed, one hand extending toward her, the other already steadying her shoulder. “I’m going to carry you over to the desk,” he said quietly. “Supper’ll be easier that way.”

Her eyes widened just slightly—not in fear, but surprise. Like she couldn’t quite believe he would.

“Hang onto me,” he added.

Her arms wrapped gently around his neck, tentative at first, like she was still waiting for some trick or test. But she didn’t pull away from him. 

Tommy lifted her with ease, careful with every step as he crossed the room to the armchair he’d moved by the desk. She weighed nothing. And yet, somehow, he’d never carried anything that felt so significant. Easing her down gently into the chair, he adjusted the cushion behind her back before pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucking it around her legs.

When she looked up at him, there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The beginning of trust mixed in with the surprise. "Thank you,” she whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, smoothing the blanket one last time before stepping back.

The knock at the door came softly, and a moment later the maid stepped in, carrying a silver tray neatly arranged with two covered plates, a teapot, and a small glass bottle—the laudanum with a small empty glass. If she thought anything of Tommy Shelby taking supper at his desk, with a girl tucked gently into an armchair beside him, she didn’t show it. Not a flicker of surprise, not even the briefest glance between them. Shelby business was Shelby business. She moved efficiently, placing the tray on the desk and uncovering the plates—sliced roast, buttered potatoes, greens, a bread roll each.

But Tommy’s eyes weren’t on the food. He caught the subtle flicker in his girl’s gaze—the way it locked onto the small dropper bottle, amber glass glinting in the light. She didn’t say anything, but her hands tensed in her lap.

The maid finished setting the table, gave a small nod, and slipped out without a word. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. 

She stared down at the plate in front of her, then glanced sideways at him. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Tommy didn’t push the food toward her. Didn’t sigh or scold or tell her she needed to try harder. He just leaned forward, his voice low, calm. “You have to.”

She blinked, unsure, her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the blanket.

“Otherwise,” he continued, tipping his head toward the laudanum, “that’ll hit you like a punch to the gut and you'll feel worse than you do already.”

A pause.

“A little food first. Then the medicine.” Tommy watched her carefully, giving her the truth—not an order, not a demand.

And for a moment, he saw her shoulders drop, just a bit. He hoped she saw he wasn't trying to control her. He was offering help. And maybe—just maybe—she believed that now.

Tommy reached for his fork, slicing into the roast as if this were just another evening—ordinary, unremarkable. “It won’t be much,” he said, nodding toward the laudanum. “Just a little. No more than I gave Finn last summer when he broke his arm falling off the wall outside the Garrison.” He smiled at the memory. “Cried like a baby. The laudanum knocked him out cold after that. He slept like a prince.”

He felt her gaze on him as he took his first bite, still wary but not frozen anymore. Her fork inched toward the plate. Slowly, cautiously, she followed suit—a small bite at first, testing herself. Then another.

Tommy didn't react or try to praise her. He just kept eating, giving her time to do the same. Once her posture relaxed, he said, “Your brother came to see me today.”

Her fork paused mid-air. Her gaze met his—wide, searching.

“Rory,” he added. “Turned up at the betting shop.”

She swallowed, lips parting like she wanted to ask something, but the words didn’t come.

Tommy filled in the silence. “He wanted answers. He wanted you. He didn’t care who I was or what it might cost him.” He looked directly at her. “That’s loyalty.”

Her eyes began to shine, but she blinked quickly, holding herself together. She took another bite, listening with new hope shining in her eyes. 

“I told him you were safe. That you were being looked after. And I made sure he understood he’d see you again, just not yet.” He paused, then added—more quietly this time, “He reminded me a lot of someone I used to know.”

She looked up at him then, brows knitting faintly. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the distance, one hand still loosely holding his fork.

“Your father,” he said, finally. The words came slower than the others, like he’d turned them over in his mouth before letting them go. “I didn’t put it together until today.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on the edge of the desk, his voice quiet but firm. “Not until I saw your brother. The way he stood. The way he spoke. That edge in his voice when he talked about you—like there wasn’t anything in the world that mattered more. That’s when it hit me. He looked just like your father... Malachy Flynn was one of the few men I knew in France that I’d call decent. Quiet, steady, older than the rest of us. He wasn’t trying to be a hero, but he died like one,” Tommy continued, his voice rougher now. “I knew him. Not well—not in the way men know each other in peacetime. But well enough in France.”

He looked at her, and this time, there was no distance in his eyes. Only memory. She was making an attempt at eating something so he carried on. Maybe she thought if she kept eating he'd have more to say.

A pause, and then—“Your brother's got that same fire. That same kind of bravery that doesn’t need noise to be felt. That’s how I knew who I was looking at.” He continued, something like respect in his voice. “He’s his father’s son. I see his strength in you too.”

He didn’t say it for comfort. He said it because it was true. But as soon as the words left his mouth, Tommy saw the way she reacted—subtle, but real. Her eyes dropped, not in dismissal, but in disbelief. As if no one had ever told her she was strong before and meant it. 

Her fingers tightened slightly around the napkin in her lap, her shoulders rising with a slow breath that trembled just enough to give her away. He watched the flicker of emotion pass through her—a flash of something close to pain, maybe even grief—like the truth of who her father had been, and what she had lost, was only just settling in now. She blinked rapidly, lashes wet but holding back. No tears. Not yet. But her lips parted like she wanted to respond, say something—thank you, maybe. Or I didn’t know. Or I wish I remembered him better.

Instead, she gave the smallest nod.

And for Tommy, that said more than any words could. She’d heard him. And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

Her voice, when it finally came, was soft. Fragile. “Is he okay? Rory?”

Tommy nodded. “He’s fine. Angry, worried. But fine. Taking care of your mother.” And then—just to make sure it sank in—he said, gently, “I just wanted you to know you haven't been forgotten."

He didn’t mention the stepfather. He didn’t have to. Because the way she looked at him in that moment—a flicker of trust blooming behind her tired eyes—told him she already knew.

“I’m worried about Rory,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady as she dabbed at her mouth with the napkin from her lap.

Tommy looked up from his plate, knowing where this was going.

“I’m afraid he’s going to…” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish.

Tommy knew what she was going to say. The moment Rory stood in the betting shop, shoulders tense, hand hovering near his coat pocket—he knew. Just like he knew that fire wasn’t going to burn out on its own.

“Sean O’Grady,” Tommy said flatly.

She nodded, her fingers curling slightly in the napkin. “He’s not the type to just let things go. And Rory—he doesn’t care what it costs. Not if it means protecting Mum or me. He hates him.” Her voice cracked just a little on the last part.

Tommy leaned back in the chair, his gaze meeting hers. “He’s already planning something,” he muttered. “Even if he doesn’t know what yet.”

She held his gaze, fear creeping into her expression. “If he does something stupid—if he goes after Sean—”

“He’ll either get himself killed,” Tommy finished, “or arrested.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t a peaceful kind of silence. She looked to him, eyes searching. “I have no right to ask you for anything but... Can you stop him?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll talk to him again. I’ll find a way to keep him from doing something that can’t be undone.”

She nodded slowly, but the worry didn’t vanish—it clung to her like fog. But, something in her eyes softened when she looked at him. Like she believed him. That he had the power to fix the world she'd been pulled from, and maybe even the one she’d been dragged into. It wasn’t worship or naïve. It was hope, shining just behind her tired eyes like a candle he hadn’t expected her to light again. And it had his heart squeezing in his chest.

A look like that was dangerous to a man. Not because of what it demanded, but because of the emotions it stirred. What wouldn’t a man do to have a woman look at him like that? Like he could work miracles. Like he might be something more than what the world had carved him into. Tommy held her gaze with an unfamiliar ache curling in his chest. He hadn’t set out to earn her trust.

But now that he had a glimpse of it, he’d do whatever it took to keep it.

Tommy shifted in his seat, glancing at their plates. They’d eaten most of the meal. It would do. The moment had grown too heavy, and she looked tired—like the weight of the day, the pain in her body, and the emotion in her chest had all fused together. So, he reached for the small medicine bottle, uncorking it with practiced care.

“Alright,” he said gently, pouring a measured dose into the small empty glass Polly sent along with the bottle. “Just a little. Enough to take the edge off and help you rest.”

She didn’t protest, just watched him in that same quiet way. He handed her the glass and waited, eyes on hers as she took it. No tricks. No pressure. In that moment, she trusted him, swallowing it down with a slight grimace because of the bitterness. She handed the empty glass back with a soft “Thank you.”

Setting it aside, he rose from his chair. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Her eyes fluttered slightly, already dulled by the slow creep of laudanum, but she nodded.

He stepped toward her, careful and unhurried. “Arms around me, love,” he said softly.

She did. Lighter than she had been before, her body already relaxing, she melted into him as he lifted her—gently, like something precious. As he carried her across the room, he felt the faintest sigh against his neck, and for one brief moment, it felt less like an obligation and more like something sacred. He laid her down, pulled the blanket up over her with quiet precision, then stood there a moment longer, just watching. 

Still not knowing what to do with what she’d just given him. But knowing damn well he wouldn’t let anyone—especially himself—ruin it.

She was already fading on him by the time he finished at the washbasin, shrugging out of his shirt and unfastening the rest of his clothes. The laudanum had dulled the edge of her pain, and it showed—she wasn’t curled up anymore, wasn’t holding herself tight like she might break open. She lay on her side, eyes half-lidded, facing him. Watching him without fear or dread.

Just… watching. As if she didn’t quite know what he was yet—a threat, a protector, a man who’d claimed her or someone who might one day earn the right to be more. But there was no flinch in her gaze. No recoil.

He let out a slow breath as he crossed to the bed and stretched out beside her. The sheets were cool against his skin, the sound of rain whispering against the windows. It was a cold night and the air was heavy. It was one of those nights that settled into your bones if you let it. He looked at her once more—eyes barely open now, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks—then reached out and pulled her gently toward him. She didn’t resist him.

She came easily, her body soft with sleep, her head resting near his collarbone, one hand tucked between them like she wasn’t sure it belonged. He held her close, his arm curved around her back, his other hand resting lightly against her hip. Not to claim or to control. But to keep her warm, close.

To keep her.

And as the rain deepened outside, and her breathing evened out against his chest, Tommy Shelby—a man who never slept easy—let himself rest.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle

[allhandsonhotch]

Yes, Coach! | A.H

pairing: married!soccer mom!reader! x soccer coach! hotch

warnings: reader is married.. her husband sucks tho! i hate my husband final boss. mentions of cheating, comparing incompetent husband to hotch? mentions of what shitty fathers do to their daughters. daddy issues in kids. pre relationship pining (if you close one eye and squint) reader wants hotch bad. i think that’s all? lmk if i missed anything! not proofread bc im lazy.

word count: idk this is so long tho

The early morning sun beamed on your face as you dragged your husband through the soccer field.

Your daughter Luci clinging to your other hand as she happily skipped towards her team, oblivious to the tension between her parents.

Brian— your husband was a pity excuse for a man in your opinion, he thought the world turned because he spun it— he thought he painted the stars with his ass and he couldn’t be a worse father if he tried. You practically had to force him off of the computer to get him here and he complained the whole way there.

You’d gotten into a fight that morning as well, you caught him talking to his secretary in a way that went far beyond professional and you (reasonably) had called him out on it.

Brian never cared though— he always thought you didn’t have the courage to find better yet every time he threw cash at you to get you off his back— you pocketed it in hopes of collecting enough to take Luci and leave him.

He was a lawyer, a very well off one and when you asked to have a job he’d told you no. Plain and simple he just said no. Of course it wasn’t his call but you were just 22 at the time, he was 45 you just assumed he’d had a reason to want it that way but as you grew up you realized it was nothing but an excuse to keep you helpless.

You set up one of the folding chairs you’d been forced to carry by yourself, feeling eyes on you from afar. “Sit here— im gonna take her to her team.” You spat, damn near shoving him into the chair and walking her over to her team. As you approached the team, you raised your sunglasses to rest on the top of your head, making direct eye contact with him. 

Aaron Hotchner.

In all of his coaching glory.

When you couldn’t get Brian to coach Luci’s team, he had— alongside his colleague David, who you now knew as a famous author/ FBI agent.

His son Jack was Luci’s age, they went to the same school and you knew enough about him to know just how many people felt the same way you do.

He was your favorite fantasy. In your head he was perfect— a real man. He had everything Brian didn’t. He was a good dad— enjoyed helping out and he even brought the half time snacks.

“Luci! How are we feeling today?” Aaron’s enthusiastic voice boomed, once you stepped up to him. Luci giggled and wrapped her arms around his leg, your apologetic smile earning a chuckle from him. “I wanna play!” Luci cheered before running off to run drills with Jack and the other kids who’d gotten there early.

“How are you feeling today coach?” You chirped, which made Aaron roll his eyes. “Like it’s 7 am and I cannot wait for this to be over..” He said, his voice stoic. “Of course it’s Mr. FBI who gets stuck coaching little kids soccer..”

That made him grin, his tired eyes meeting yours once again. “Well it’s not like anyone else wanted to..” He chuckled, his gaze flickering over to Brian who was most likely texting his secretary.

“I could barely even get him here..” She groaned. That got his attention and his gaze snapped from Dave over to you.

Aaron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. He had that way about him—quiet, observant, always noticing the things people tried to hide. His eyes flickered back to Brian, who was still glued to his phone, oblivious to the way his wife stood here, exhausted and exasperated, practically begging for someone to just see her.

“He doesn’t seem very invested,” Aaron said carefully, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Brian’s only invested in himself and his barely legal secretary.”

Aaron didn’t reply right away. He just studied you, as if trying to decide how far he could push before he overstepped. He must have settled on just enough, because his voice was softer when he finally spoke.

“You deserve better than that.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, like it wasn’t just an empty platitude but a fact—one that he believed, even when you struggled to.

You forced a smile, shifting your weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, well… I can’t exactly afford to leave him— not yet anyways.”

Aaron’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else. But before he could, Luci called out to you from across the field, waving wildly.

“Mommy, look!”

You turned just in time to see her send the ball flying into the net, her little face lighting up with pride. You laughed, clapping your hands. “Great job, baby!”

Aaron smiled at her enthusiasm, then looked back at you. “She’s got a good support system. That counts for a lot.”

You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure if he meant Luci or you. But either way, the weight of his words settled deep in your chest.

It was then that you wondered if maybe—just maybe—someone did see you.

You smirked, tilting your head as you let your sunglasses slide back down over your eyes, shielding the way they lingered on him. “You think so, Coach? That sounds a lot like a compliment.”

Aaron huffed a small chuckle, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. “Just stating the truth.”

“Well,” you drawled, shifting your weight onto one leg and allowing your hip to jut out just slightly, “I don’t hear it very often. So maybe you should keep talking.”

His eyes flickered to you, then briefly over to Brian—who was still hunched over his phone, completely uninterested in his own daughter.

“You’re married,” he reminded you, voice low but firm.

You let out a breathy laugh, tapping a manicured nail against your chin. “Legally, yeah. Happily? That’s debatable.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. You could tell he was trying to stay neutral, but you saw the way his fingers flexed against his arms, like he was holding something back.

“Still,” he said, meeting your gaze, “It’s a line I don’t cross.”

You stepped closer—just enough that he’d notice, but not enough to cause a scene. “You ever think about it, though?”

His eyes darkened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence between you was heavy, charged. You knew he was fighting something—whether it was you or himself, you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if to clear it. “You should go sit down,” he muttered, nodding toward the field.

You grinned, leaning in just slightly before you turned on your heel. “Sure thing, Coach.”

As you walked away, you swore you could feel his eyes on you. And that? That was a win.

After a little while of watching the game you decided to move your chair closer to where Aaron was so you could watch Luci better and get away from your no good husband who hadn’t even acknowledged that you were back.

The second half of the game started, and for a while, you let yourself actually enjoy watching Luci play. She was fast—small but determined, her little legs carrying her across the field with everything she had. You caught Aaron watching her with something close to admiration, his arms crossed as he called out encouragements.

Then came the moment that made your heart swell. Luci went for the ball, trying to pass it to Jack, but another kid bumped into her, knocking her down. It wasn’t a hard fall, but she sat there for a second, fear written all over her face.

Before you could even react, Aaron was already moving.

He crouched beside her, his voice gentle but firm. “You okay, kiddo?”

Luci pouted, looking down at her scraped knee. “I fell.”

Aaron smiled, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. “Yeah, but you’re tough, aren’t you?”

She sniffled, then nodded.

“You wanna know a secret?” he asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

Luci’s big eyes widened. “What?”

Aaron’s expression turned serious, but there was a glint of something playful in his gaze. “The best soccer players fall all the time. It just means you’re trying your hardest.”

That got a small giggle out of her. “Really?”

“Really.” He stood up, offering his hand. “Come on, let’s show ‘em how tough you are.”

Without hesitation, Luci grabbed his hand, letting him help her up. She wiped her eyes quickly, then ran back into the game like nothing happened.

You felt something catch in your throat.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Jack came up beside Aaron, looking up at him with a grin. “You didn’t tell me that secret.”

Aaron ruffled his son’s hair. “Didn’t need to, buddy. You already know you’re tough.”

Jack puffed out his chest, clearly proud.

Your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with Brian sitting just a few feet away, ignoring all of it. You swallowed, blinking a few times before looking at Aaron again.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned to meet your gaze and for the first time all morning you had to tear your eyes from his.

You watched as Luci dashed across the field with renewed energy, her eyes constantly searching for the ball, her little legs moving as fast as they could go.

She practically lit up when Aaron spoke to her, the way she smiled up at him when he praised her, or even when he simply acknowledged her presence. It wasn’t the kind of admiration a child typically had for a coach—it was something more, something pure and you found yourself upset that you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

She adored him— in a way you were kind of scared of.

As Luci ran past you, her face flushed with excitement, you caught her eye and waved. “You’re doing great out there, lovey!” You cooed at her.

She barely even glanced at you. Her eyes were locked on Aaron, who was standing on the sideline, coaching Jack on positioning. “I’m gonna score, Momma! Watch me!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

Your heart softened, the words sticking in your throat. You hadn’t seen her this alive in a while. Luci had always been a bright kid, full of imagination and energy, but there was something different about her when she was playing soccer and Aaron was around. He had a way of drawing out her best qualities—the things she sometimes got too shy to reveal.

You could see the way Aaron’s eyes softened as he watched the team, the way his face, usually so composed, broke into a small but genuine smile.

Luci and Jack scored goal after goal together and he watched with eyes full of pride. Luci thought they were for her but you knew it was mostly for his son Jack.

The thought made you sad— she hadn’t looked over at Brian the whole game, she didn’t even care that he was there.

You swallowed hard, a mixture of sadness and something else settling in your chest. You were happy that Luci had found something so fun that she adored but the thought of her forming an unhealthy bond with her soccer coach did frighten you a little.

Luci adored him. She looked up to him, trusted him, and believed in him in a way she never did with Brian. And, if you were being honest, you couldn’t blame her.

The realization hit you harder than you expected. For all the times Brian had failed, Aaron had stepped in—not just as a coach, but as a role model, as someone Luci could turn to without hesitation.

And as you watched them now—her running to make a play, him giving her a thumbs-up from the sideline—something inside you stirred. Luci’s adoration wasn’t just something normal; it was deep— it ran so incredibly deep that you didn’t know what you were going to do when the season ended.

Later, as the game wrapped up and the kids started to gather around for the final huddle, you leaned against the fence, your arms crossed as you watched Luci chatter excitedly with the others. Aaron was kneeling, talking to the kids about teamwork and how proud he was of all of them. Luci was practically glowing as she stood beside him, her eyes fixed on him like he was the most important person in the world.

You smiled softly, but there was a slight pang in your chest. All the parents— minus Brian of course made the tunnel for the kids, your hands reaching up and resting against Aaron’s as if they belonged there.

Once you all pulled away, Aaron gave everyone a high five and walked over to pack up the cones on the field while the parents started to leave.

Your eyes never left his frame besides to check on Luci who was playing with Jack.

You’d never been able to deny the kind of man Aaron was. He was strong, compassionate, and quietly self-assured, never forcing attention but always commanding respect.

Your gaze softened as you noticed Luci nudging Jack, her eyes wide as she whispered something to him. Aaron caught her at the corner of his eye, and his lips tugged upward into a soft, knowing smile.

You didn’t realize you’d been so obvious until you felt someone stand next to you. It was Aaron, of course.

“You know, she really looks up to you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He glanced at you, a little surprised, then nodded. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s crazy about you,” you added, keeping your tone light, but there was a tenderness in your voice you couldn’t hide.

Aaron’s gaze flickered to Luci, his expression softening as he watched her laugh with Jack, her whole face alive with excitement. “She’s got a lot of love to give if you let her..” he said quietly, his tone a little different than before, less professional and more personal as he glanced over at Brian who seemingly hadn’t noticed the game was over.

You could tell he meant it. His voice had a warmth to it now, a little more genuine than it had been earlier, when he was still trying to maintain that distance. The way he looked at Luci wasn’t just as a coach—it was something more.

“She loves you,” you repeated, your voice almost a whisper now.

Aaron shifted slightly, his gaze still on Luci. “She’s a special kid,” he said, his voice thick with something that sounded almost like affection.

There was a pause between you, the air thick with something unsaid. You felt the warmth of his words settle in your chest, but there was also something else—something that made your heart flutter. It was hard not to notice how much Aaron had come to mean to Luci, how much he’d become a part of her world.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a life where it wasn’t just Aaron coaching Luci—where maybe, just maybe, he was part of your life in a bigger way.

But just as quickly, you pushed the thought away.

Aaron looked back at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a way that made you feel like he saw more than just the surface. You swallowed, trying to keep your composure.

“I think she’s lucky to have someone like you around,” you said, your voice soft but steady, the guilt evident in your voice as you thought about every time you’d begged Brian to show her an ounce of care— Aaron had, and he was a stranger.

Aaron’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he cleared his throat, his usual stoic expression falling back into place. “I’m just doing my part,” he replied, but there was a slight edge to his tone now—something that told you he wasn’t entirely convinced by that statement.

You smiled, but this time it felt more sincere. “Well, we’re both lucky to have you around, Coach.”

Aaron didn’t say anything for a moment, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t just about the kids, about coaching, or even the game. It was about you, too.

He’d seen you every week for the past month, 4 nights a week. You were the only parent who helped run drills when Dave wasn’t there— you cheered on every kid, not just your own and when he asked you’d bring half time snacks.

Every conversation, every glance, every time you had unintentionally made his day better with your careless flirting and witty remarks.

“Come to lunch with me— this week, there’s this place by the office I’ve been wanting to try and—” His words caught you off guard but your expression didn’t waver, in fact you smirked, holding up your left hand to flash your wedding ring.

“Well as a very smart man reminded me— I’m married…” You trailed off, your tone playful as you stared at him, dropping your hand back down at your side.

Aaron’s eyes rolled for a moment before he spoke again. “Could’ve fooled me— here I thought you were flirting with me all this time.” He grinned and something about it told you that he didn’t do that often.

“Oh I was!” You giggled, using your hand to cover your mouth as if you were a child telling a secret. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not very happy in my marriage..” You whispered childishly.

“So you’ll come?” He asked hopefully which made you grin and nod. “Text me?” You smirked, before calling Luci and Jack over.

“Momma can we play at Jack’s house?” Luci asked innocently, her little voice tugging at your heartstrings like it always had. “Maybe next time— Daddy probably wants to go home and—” Luci pouted and you had to try your hardest to remain in control.

She had the tendency to use her cuteness to get what she wanted from you. “Next time okay?” You smiled sadly, grabbing her hand.

She grumbled, her expression dropping slightly. “I wish Jack’s dad was my dad too.” She frowned and just like that your heart had shattered. You sent Aaron an apologetic frown and picked her up.

“We’ve gotta go honey— say bye to Jack and Coach Hotchner..” You said shakily and reluctantly she did, and the two of you walked away, leaving Aaron and Jack behind and you hoped that someday you wouldn’t have to.

[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.”

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

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? 😌

Taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick

@arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi

@natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07

@nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01

@somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274

@vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread

@shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix

@luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues

@pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah

@muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii

@www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l

@aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots

@l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese

@damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1

@darksidescorner @geminis93

@1800-get-alife

@hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife

@dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss

@may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii

@nina-from-317 @kavimoo

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💀😭

[sturnsblogs]

ENOUGH

Nerd!Chris X Mean!Girl!Reader

—

Chris never wanted to come to this party.

You knew that.

He wasn’t the type to enjoy loud music, meaningless small talk, and the overwhelming press of bodies in a crowded room. But he came anyway—for you. Because you wanted to go. Because you had looked at him with those eyes, pouted those lips, tugged on his hoodie with a soft, “Please, baby?”

And because Chris was Chris—because he always did whatever you wanted—he gave in.

Now, he stood quietly behind you, holding your hand while you talked to your friends, sipping his drink, listening. That was all he ever did in these situations—listen, observe, stay close to you like he belonged there, even though he knew he didn’t.

But your friends?

They noticed.

“Oh my God,” one of them groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “You’re so lucky your boyfriend actually lets you go out. My ex used to throw a fit if I left him home alone.”

Another girl giggled. “Yeah, but, like… I don’t get how you do it. Chris is so… quiet.”

“And awkward,” the first girl added, taking a sip of her drink. “Like, no offense, but he’s just standing there.”

Chris’s fingers twitched against your palm.

You should’ve said something.

You should’ve told them to shut up.

But instead—

You laughed.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “Yeah, he likes stupid things like studying… and Star Wars. Who even likes Star Wars?”

The words came out so easy, so casual.

Chris’s grip on your hand loosened.

The air shifted.

Your stomach sank.

You had hurt him.

You had never seen it happen in real-time before, never watched the moment where Chris shut down—his entire expression closing off, his lips parting slightly like he was about to say something, then deciding against it.

Still, his voice was soft when he tried to defend himself.

“I mean… a lot of people like Star Wars,” he murmured.

Your friends giggled. “Oh, shit, he speaks.”

Chris exhaled, adjusting his grip on his drink. “I—”

But before he could finish, you snapped.

“Chris, stop,” you hissed, turning to him with an exasperated sigh. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Silence.

Dead, suffocating silence.

Chris just stared at you.

Your friends immediately looked away, pretending not to be there, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed you completely humiliate the one person who had never once humiliated you.

Chris blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle.

“Ohhh. Okay.”

You frowned. “Chris—”

“No, no,” he cut you off, voice suddenly cold. “I get it.”

Your stomach twisted.

Chris took a step back, letting go of your hand completely. “You love when I let you copy my homework. You love when I drop everything just to be with you. You love when I sit there for hours and help you study, even when you fucking whine the whole time.”

Your face burned. “Chris, don’t—”

“But the second your friends start laughing at me, suddenly I’m embarrassing?” His tone was sharp, filled with something unfamiliar.

He was mad.

Chris never got mad.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was furious.

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

Chris scoffed, shaking his head again. “Nah, I think you did.”

And then—

He turned around and started walking away.

Your heart dropped.

Chris never walked away from you.

You chased after him immediately, shoving through the crowd, pulse pounding in your ears.

“Chris, wait—”

But he didn’t stop.

“Chris, please,” you called again, reaching for his arm.

He ripped it away from your touch.

The motion was sharp, dismissive—something Chris had never done to you before.

You froze for half a second before rushing ahead, cutting him off just before he reached the front door. “Can you just listen to me?!”

Chris’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, for the first time ever, Chris snapped back.

“Oh, now you wanna talk to me?” he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Now that your friends aren’t watching? Now that you don’t have an audience to laugh at me?”

Your throat felt tight. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

Chris huffed a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Sure felt like it.”

You inhaled sharply, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I— I just got caught up in the moment, okay?”

Chris snorted. “Right. The moment.”

You swallowed hard, searching his face for anything—some sort of softness, some sign that he was willing to just let this go.

But there was nothing.

Just anger.

Just hurt.

Chris scoffed again, shaking his head. “You do realize I don’t have to be here, right?”

Your heart pounded. “Chris—”

“I didn’t want to come to this stupid party. I never want to go to these stupid parties. But I always come anyway, because you ask me to.” His voice was rising now, more frustrated, more emotional. “I follow you everywhere, Y/N. I do whatever you want. And you couldn’t even stand up for me? You couldn’t just— I don’t know—not join in on them making fun of me?”

Guilt flooded your chest.

“Chris, I—”

“No, you embarrassed me,” he cut in, pointing at himself. “You humiliated me. And you know what’s funny?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I should’ve fucking expected it.”

Your breath hitched. “Chris—”

“Because that’s just who you are, isn’t it?” He let out a slow, bitter exhale. “You’re fucking rude, Y/N.”

Your stomach dropped.

Chris never talked to you like this.

His voice was cold, detached, like he was just now realizing something. Like he was just now putting all the pieces together.

“And you know what?” He let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. “Sometimes, I wish I had a girlfriend who was actually nice to me.”

Your body stilled.

You felt it in your chest—in the deepest, most fragile parts of you.

Chris didn’t take it back.

He didn’t soften, didn’t reach for you, didn’t say he didn’t mean it.

He just stared at you, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line.

And for the first time ever—

You weren’t sure if he even wanted you anymore.

—

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @slvtme0utt @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill

[demigodsanswer]

Little sequel to this, because I wanted to write about how much Annabeth loves her babies.

~

Annabeth let herself steal one final moment of privacy with her husband. An hour ago, she'd made him pull over into the JFK parking garage, manipulate the mist, and get knee deep in the passenger seat after her flight. Now, they were outside their apartment door, and she could already hear the familiar, lovely chaos coming from inside. But right now, it was just her and him, in the quiet of the hallway, and she wanted to savor it.

They kissed slowly, her back against the outside wall of their unit, Percy's hands on her hips, her arms over his shoulders. It wasn't lazy, but it wasn't frantic or desperate. There wasn't any desperate pulling at clothing or hair tugging, just the comforting and familiar movement of his lips on hers.

On the other side of the wall, she could hear her older girls chasing each other around, and the occasional intervention of their aunt, who, at seventeen was to be idolized in every way. While Stella was a good babysitter, she knew Sally and Paul were in there somewhere too, probably making dinner and keeping an eye on the baby.

"I think we should go inside," Annabeth said, breaking the kiss and running her hands through his hair.

"Okay," Percy said softly, before seducing her into another kiss.

"C'mon Max," she heard Paul say as their front door opened. They barely tried to pull away from each other, but Max forced them apart, bounding into Annabeth and tugging on his leash the moment the door opened.

"Oh!" Paul said, "that's why he was pawing at the door. How was your trip?" He asked her.

Annabeth was sitting on the hallway floor rubbing her dog behind his ears while he licked her face.

"It was good," she said, "yeah are you a good boy? Yes you are! Were you good for Daddy while I was gone?" She asked the dog.

"He was maybe the most well-behaved," Percy said. "Trouble makers, all of your kids."

Annabeth just smiled as Nella's voice started to ring through the hallway, a loud and welcome "Mommy!"

Soon, her almost-three year-old was crashing into her, and Annabeth pulled her into a tight, tight hug, trying to squeeze two weeks of love into her baby girl in a single embrace.

With Percy's help, she did manage to get up off the floor, Nella still in her arms. Nella clung onto her tight; a few weeks before Annabeth left, Nella had a dream that Annabeth died, and all Saturday she'd held onto her mom much like she was doing now.

Nella proved to be a sensitive, easily overwhelmed little kid, much like Annabeth herself had been. But where Annabeth had a single dad who could barely pull his head out of his research to notice she was in tears, Annabeth was absolutely unable to put her daughter down as she desperately clung to her, as if her mother might disappear again any moment.

By the time they got into the threshold, Nella was crying into her shoulder. Annabeth just rubbed her back and tried to sooth her, but the chaos of her homecoming turned the apartment into cacophony. Max was still barking, Sophia was bossing her aunt around, while Sally tried to set plates for dinner and get pots off the stove. Nella pressed her hands over her ears and cried harder.

Annabeth looked at Sophia, who was setting up the couch for Annabeth to feed Olivia (if Nella had inherited all of her sensitivities, Sophia had inherited her bossy, control freak nature), and Olivia was just looking at her, quietly observing the chaos with her big owl eyes. She was, without a doubt, their quietest and most well-behaved child.

With her other two girls sufficiently, if temporarily, occupied, Annabeth slipped back into the hallway to find a moment of calm.

For a few moments, she didn't say anything or shush her. She just rubbed her baby's back, (avoiding her hair as she was incredibly tender headed), and bounced her as if her three year old were still a fussy baby. She felt Nella relax against her, her hands coming off her ears, and her tears slowing down.

"There we go," Annabeth said in a calm tone. Nella lifted her face off her shoulder and Annabeth wiped away her tears with her thumb. Nella had inherited Sally Jackson's wide, deep brown eyes. In fact, with the exception of her dark black hair, she seemed to resemble Sally more and more every day. Annabeth liked to see that their mortal sides also came through, especially Sally Jackson's influence.

"Do we have words right now?" Annabeth asked her.

Unlike Sophia, who learned how to speak at eight months and had not stopped for a waking minute since, Nella often went into long periods of quiet, especially after a big emotional melt down. Paul thought she might be autistic, but Annabeth and her father had been the same as little kids. Although when she told Paul this, he just exchanged a glance with Percy that she didn't understand.

Nella nodded. "I miss you," she said. Annabeth pulled her in for another hug.

"I missed you too," Annabeth promised, giving her another squeeze. "Can we go back inside now so I can say hi to your sisters?"

Nella nodded, apparently out of words.

The apartment was quieter when she came back in. Max had calmed down, and Sophia had been corralled to the coffee table with a handful of colorful lego. Nella scurried to the couch, ready to cuddle up next to her as Annabeth sat down with her big breast feeding pillow.

"Hi Stells," Annabeth said, as her sister-in-law, an unbelievable seventeen years old now, handed Annabeth her baby. She'd missed all of her kids and equal amount, but there was something primal in her that felt the unnatural absence of her infant daughter. Her monkey brain seemed calmed by the small weight back in her arms. She opened her shirt and undid her nursing bra without concern or shame around her in-laws. After three kids, her nipples were a non-event.

Stella tried to ask Annabeth about her trip, but when Sophia sensed conversation, she sat on Annabeth's other side, and started to talk about her two weeks. Not to be out done, Nella found her words, and started to do the same. Usually, when the kids started trying to have two conversations with her at once, she put a careful end to it. But now, she just relaxed back in the couch, comforted by their little voices.

"Come on, ladies, time to get ready for dinner," Percy said, finally, shuffling the older girls away from her and into the kitchen.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Sally said in a soft tone to give Annabeth a break from loud voices, before she also started crying and covering her ears in the chaos.

"So happy to be home you can't even imagine," she said with a smile, as she switched Olivia to the other boob.

"I bet," Sally said. "Percy did a good job, but they all missed you."

Annabeth smiled. "I know." She had no doubts about Percy's ability to take care of their family without her, but she liked to know her absence was felt. Annabeth looked down at her little baby, big gray eyes staring up at her as she suckled. She had a family who loved her, missed her when she went away even for just a few weeks. She had three little girls who looked like her, acted like her, and who had needs like she had. And they all knew they were loved, and missed, and cared for. She had a dog!

Annabeth felt herself tear up, and Sally reached for a tissue from the box on the side table. "I'm sorry," she squeaked out, "I just really missed them too."

Sally just smiled and gave her a little squeeze.

Percy slipped onto the couch on the other side, and Sally carefully passed her back to her husband.

"You alright?" He asked, his lips pressed to her temple in a gentle kiss.

"Just overwhelmed," she confessed. "And so happy to be home."

Percy tilted her face towards his to give her lips a kiss this time. "We're so happy you're home."

Olivia pulled off the boob, and Percy scooped her up to burp her. Annabeth redid her shirt, before saying: "Where is my Sophia hug?"

It was her oldest's turn to run into her arms. "We got the good Parmesan cheese, the kind Daddy has to grate himself," she told her.

"Oh really?" Annabeth said. "And how many handfuls did you eat?"

Sophia held up five fingers.

Annabeth laughed. "Did you leave any for the rest of us?"

Sophia shook her head, but Annabeth knew it was a lie. Annabeth flipped her daughter upside down and wiggled her until Sophia was cracking up with laughter. When she turned her upright again, Sophia's blonde curls were sticking up in every direction, and she was still laughing hard.

One kid laughing, one snacking, one sobbing. Her and Percy's kids indeed.

~

Ask me about my good mom Annabeth agenda. You think that sweetheart isn't loving those babies with her whole heart and soul?

[yeorisanaxox]

. ₊˚ෆ xoxo, sincerely yours ♡₊˚ \\ Jung Wooyoung : Valentine's Special SMAU

11.0 the moment we all waited for

At the same time you clicked your phone off, wooyoung reached over to unbuckle your seatbelt before throwing his door open and slamming it shut, rattling the entirety of the car. Your heart leaped in your throat as you swallowed nervously as you watched him through the dash walk over to your side and open your door, and hold his hand out for you to take.

Staring at it like it was something foreign object as it awaited for you to. You eventually do while also feeling confused as hell by his brief change in mood. His hand remained soft as you always remembered it to be as he helped you out of his car and closed the door behind you. 

He didn’t let go after that either. 

Not even after you climbed the flight of stairs to your dorm and surely not after you unlocked the door with your key to go inside. 

He pulled you along with him as if this was his home, and you can almost say that it was since he spent many days here after classes and was here to help you unpack move-in day back in freshman year. He was more here than he was his own dorm so it made sense that he moved around so freely. 

As he brings you to your room where your makeup still sprawled all over the vanity and curlers left on the floor. A bad habit of yours whenever you were done with them, you left them on the ground to cool off on the carpet and often tripped over them after coming in from classes. 

Wooyoung sits you down on your bed by your shoulders and shortly follows by sinking down in front of you, taking one of your ankles in his hands and reaches to undo the complicated knots of the string-laced heels you were wearing, pulling them apart in a rather roughly manner yet while his touch against your skin remained gentle.

Up til this point he still hasn’t said a word. Nor has he looked you in the eye. Making you begin to worry if he was actually angry at you for ghosting him.

Wooyoung has always been such an open book. When it came to his thoughts and emotions, he’s never been leery in expressing them because he believed it was better to not hold them back. Even in the times where he didn’t say anything, you liked to think that you were one in the same. Both always knew what the other was thinking and were able to gauge the other’s feelings by just observing. 

But in this instance you couldn’t read him. 

His gentleness in how he handled you said one thing while the aggressiveness in him when he finally got your shoes off and tossed them aside like they were a nuisance said another. You watched him as he rose back to his feet and walked behind him to your vanity, where he ripped the drawer open and fondled around until he found what he was looking for. 

Your hairbrush. 

Not even bothering to close the drawer back, he walks to you again, specifically behind, and you feel your hair being taken off your back and the bristles of the brush begin to glide through your hair. Noting how he was being extra careful on the parts that had tangles.

You couldn’t do it anymore. The silence, that you normally wouldn’t mind if the tension wasn’t there, making your palms all sweaty and squirm in your seat. The battle of uncertainty plaguing your mind with if he did’s and if he doesn’ts.  

“I’m sorry wooyoung!” You blurted out. 

At the same time his movement with the brush halted and another brief silence followed before you felt him pet the back of your head with his hand. 

“For what? You didn't do anything wrong.” The confusion in his voice being equally the same as the furrow between your brows as you turned around to face him. 

His eyes were already on you and a frown drawn on his lips. 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

Causing him to look at you as if you just asked him if aluminum foil could be put in the microwave. Putting all his weight on one foot and hand on his hip, 

“Why would I be mad at you, y/n?” As he tilts his head.

You shrugged nonchalantly before responding, “Because you haven’t said anything to me since we left until now and the way you just abused the fuck out of my vanity drawer tells me you are.” Twiddling with your thumbs. 

Unable to deny it, he sighs loudly instead and runs his fingers through his hair before sitting down next to you and places a hand on top of yours to draw your focus to him. 

“I’m not mad at you, y/n.” He made sure to look you in the eyes, hoping that his sincerity could be seen. And it was, causing an ease to wash over you and silence your turbulent thoughts. 

That being out of the way, he continues on, “I’m mad about what happened tonight but more so at myself.” His jaw tightens and a vein protrudes on the side of his neck as he swallowed thickly, letting out a rough breath. 

“Seeing you in the same situation as back then and getting hurt by the same people–” he paused mid sentence withsomething flickering in his eyes. He looked away from you but you caught what looked like disappointment wash over his face as he hung his head. 

“I wasn't there to protect you tonight after having promised myself years ago that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you like that ever again.”

That’s then when it hit you– like a tidal wave. All those days came rushing back of when he stayed glued to your side like he was meant to be there and held your hand extra tight whenever you walked up and down the hallways, glaring at anyone who dared to look in your direction. 

He was the first one to volunteer to be your partner in any project so that you wouldn’t feel ostracized when no one picked you and was your shield during dodgeball games so no one could purposefully attack you. 

Which made you think one thought deeper into your already scattered thoughts. Is that why he never had a girlfriend? Nor ever went on dates for that matter despite flirting with other girls and them showing clear interest in him, but always turned them down because he felt obligated after what happened that day… in protecting you? 

You had thought with the incident being fresh, he just felt on edge about leaving you alone while at school. But never did you think nor wanted him to make it his life mission to be by your side. 

And just like that, the small second you felt touched by your best friend for wanting to look out for you and making sure that you felt alone, was all swept away and interchanged with nothing but guilt as you came to the conclusion of what if this whole time you were the reason why he never got to experience the world of dating…

But that wasn’t the heartbreaking part. It was when he turned back to you and you saw how his eyes were glossed over. Making everything inside you feel like it was shattering into pieces at the sight of him being this close to tears. 

For as long as you’ve known him, wooyoung has never cried in front of you. Nor rarely showed him being vulnerable as he’s always been the strong one in your relationship. The shoulder to cry when you needed it. So to see him like this was entirely new to your dismay and a different side of him that you definitely wasn’t prepared to witness.

But for his sake, you quickly blinked away your own tears that tried pricking your eyes and cooing at him silently. You scooted closer to him as inhumanly possible that not even a pen could be wedged between you and took his cheeks, and cupped them in your palms. Wooyoung's lips trembled as he tried mustarding up the best smile he could as your thumbs swiped under his eyes to wipe any tears before they could fall. 

Reminding him of how he’s always done with you. 

“I failed you, y/n.” The pain in his voice made the ache in your chest worse. 

“How could you have possibly failed me when you didn’t even know that I was there.” You spoke to him in a soft and warmly manner in hopes to ease his conscience.

Not sure how effectively it was working but taking the way he leaned into your palm as his pearl eyes stared back into yours, sparkling slightly from the warm hued light of your lamp, you could only assume that it was. 

“Why weren’t you?” His tone being in the exact same manner.

The question that you fumbled through your mind all night to find the answer to but still failed to come up with one. Other than– ‘oh nothing major. Just the same girl who made my life hell back in high school, turns out she did it because she had a crush on you too hahahahahahaha crazy right?’ 

That would’ve been easier to say in your opinion as that quite literally was the case but knowing that so much transpired in between those lines, you knew it would require a lot of explaining than just dropping that little bit on him.

You came to yourself after realizing that you drifted away in your thoughts and wooyoung was just sitting there with a puzzled expression like he was trying to get in on whatever was going on in your head. ‘Sorry,’ you muttered bashfully and pulled away from him to create a little gap between you. 

“Y/n I need you to be honest with me because as of lately I’ve been feeling like no one is telling me the truth anymore or I’m only getting bits and pieces of the puzzle.” He starts by turning his body to face you, noticing his demeanor changed too. 

You gulped nervously as knowing just what he was going to ask. Wooyoung may have been a lot of things but a fool was never one of them. It was only but for so long he’d allow someone to bush something under a rug before calling them out on it. 

“What happened between you and giselle back in high school? Because it seems like everytime she comes around, you start acting weird.” 

That’s where he chose to start and you’re somewhat thankful as it seemed to be the only thing you had a direct answer for.

“I was never sure for the longest time.” You started by letting out a huff. “All I know is one day we were friends and everything was all good and dandy, and then next thing I know we just stopped speaking. 

I couldn’t figure out if it was something that I had done or if maybe she had something personal going on at home at the time and didn’t feel comfortable in talking to me–  and then bam,” smacking your hands together theatrically, “showed up to school to find out everyone was calling me a homewrecker. She included.” 

Now that you were saying it out loud, it made you think back to what yuqi had told you and how it was starting to make more sense now that Giselle and the rest of their friends made the rumor up because how else was she able to jump on the hate bandwagon so quickly when it had only just started circulating that day and not even making the effort to confer with you first to see if it was true.

The signs had always been in front of you.

“You said you weren’t sure before— meaning you are now?” He inquires and you nod in response. 

“You remember that day in the courtyard when I was helping you pick up the light machine?“ He nods eagerly for you to go on. 

“Well after I left because—”

“Of your supposed allergies.” He raises a brow but you didn’t miss the way his lip twitched to keep himself from smirking. You shoved him as you felt a warm blush spread over your neck. 

“You and I both know you don’t have allergies. But I didn't want to call you out in front of Giselle.”

“Thanks for that.” Causing him to wave his hand around like it was nothing but motioned you to continue. 

“Right— so when I had left, I came back to the dorm and out of nowhere yuqi showed up-” The reaction that came from him happened so quickly and was like what you had imagined seonghwa reacted when he found out wooyoung spent $500 worth of bubbly on his card. 

He shot to his feet as a scowl took over his features, “Why was she here?! And she better not have laid a single finger on you!” He glowered while pointing a finger at you as to say ‘tell me the truth right now.’ 

“Of course not! Or did you forget who my roommate is?” 

As bubbly and free spirited Belle was, when it came to her friends and boyfriend, she became the living definition of ‘give them hell.’ If it weren’t for yuqi running out, there was no doubt in your mind that belle wouldn’t have ripped her head off. 

“And she was actually here about Giselle. In a nutshell, she told me—” you paused mid sentence, suddenly becoming afraid to say the next part. 

After everything she put you through, you still couldn’t figure out why you held such regard for her feelings towards him. On one hand you thought it was maybe because you felt they were still valid as much as you didn’t want to care or if it was because you were worried what this would mean for their friendship moving forward.

To let it be ruined over something as stupid as a rumor that happened years ago, you didn’t want to be the one responsible for that. 

Especially when you had already let it go. 

“Earth to y/n,” he snapped his fingers in face to bring you back from your thoughts. “What did she say?” 

Looking up at him, you saw how his eyes were pleading, desperate to get the truth. But what if it hurt him? 

“Wooyoung, you have to promise me something first,” you reached out for his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, “I won’t tell you how to feel but promise me that when I tell you, you will come to your own conclusion and not make a rash decision over something that happened years ago.” 

“What did she say?” He enunciated each word slowly, sending a chill down your spine. 

Taking a deep breath, “she told me that the rumor was fake, that her, Giselle, and their other friends made it all up because they wanted to make me look bad in front of you.”

You watched as his face contorted with confusion, “In front of me—why?”

“Giselle had a crush on you, Wooyoung. And to my understanding, still does. Back then she thought I knew about it when I didn’t and accused me of it to her friends. So I guess what they were trying to accomplish that by telling everyone I was a homewrecker, that you would be disgusted by me and stop being my friend.” 

As you finished, you felt as his hands slipped from yours, causing butterflies to then erupted in your stomach, and not the good kind. He was quiet for a while, while staring off at something behind you before finally coming through, 

“You mean to tell me the reason you got bullied back then was because she liked me?...”

He lets out a laugh of disbelief before doubling over on himself like you had just told him the funniest thing. That was far from the reaction you were expecting him to have as you stared at him like he was some mad man, watching his movements as he stood back to his full height, wiping a tear from his eye. 

And that’s then when you saw it. 

Something darker, nearly turning his already dark eyes to pure black– he was heated. 

“Wanna know something funny? San actually told me the same thing a few days ago. And honestly I didn’t want to believe it at first. Not because I thought he would ever lie to me but because I was finding it hard to believe that someone who was supposed to be your best friend would do something like that to you.

And the fucking cherry on top being because she liked me.” He scoffed another laugh and turned away to walk towards the door. 

Something in you panicked, causing you to leap up to stop him from taking another step. Hand on his forearm, “wooyoung wait—”

In a blink of an eye, wooyoung did some kind of move that abled him to slip himself easily from your grasp and instead maneuvered you around him so that your back was now pressed against your room door as he towered over you and leaned in closer. 

“What did you mean by not making a rash decision?” His breath fanned against your cheek, sending yet another chill down your spine. 

“I just meant that I didn’t want you to think that by me telling you, that I was trying to turn you against her and to not be rash in letting this ruin anything between you.” 

A frown then settles on his lips, making you feel bad for being the one who caused it. 

“How can you make me promise something like that? Do you have any idea how it feel that day to watch you get ganged up— how it fucking tore me apart to see you cry like that.” His hand raises to your cheek and gently swipes over it with his thumb as if the tears from back then were still there. 

“I will never forgive something so disgusting and so inhuman.” He grits through his teeth and raises his other hand to join your other cheek.

“You didn’t deserve that.” He murmurs before leaning and rests his forehead against yours. 

This felt nice despite the vulnerability surrounding it. His warmth wrapped around you, feeling like a giant hug, causing you to hum with content.

Standing like this with him made you forget about everything; from the party and the events that led up to it. His presence always had that effect on you and you couldn’t be more thankful for how he’s been there for you throughout the years. 

Feeling him then as he pulled back just a tad, you watched as his eyes flickered down to your lips, causing your heart to race behind your chest as he slowed began to lean in. 

Hearing the girls' voices in the back of your head from all the conversations you had about this moment, you knew you couldn’t let him do this as bad as you wanted to kiss him too. Not before finding out what you meant to him first. 

Your hand reached towards his chest, stopping him from leaning in any closer. The look on his face was a mixture of embarrassment and sadness flashing in his eyes. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’ He murmurs and pulls away from you entirely, taking him warmth with him. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you to, wooyoung. I just think it’s best we talk about us first and not act upon this out of impulse because we’re in a sensitive moment.” You stated truthfully while tilting your head to meet his eyes again. 

Wooyoung stares at you for a while before he once again steps closer to you, taking your hands in his and raising them just below his chin. 

“The only thing that you need to know in this moment is that I have been crazy about you since that first day I sat next to you in 7th grade. 

The way your eyes shined with so much purity when you lent me that sparkly pink pencil and it made my heart swell when you let me keep it though it was your last one. 

How safe you made me feel when I was getting bullied at the time and all you had to do was simply hold my hand to calm my fears. To this day I still find it so cute and how it was so brave of you to get all mouthy with the bullies despite knowing how scared shitless you were. 

How it still feels like cartwheels in my stomach whenever you give me the best advice known to mankind and then follow it with telling me you love. Whether you mean it romantically or not, it still manages to make me blush like an idiot. 

And seeing you get hurt for the first time awakened something in me so passionately that I was ready to throw my life on the line and fight to protect the very thing that was becoming more and more precious to me by the day. 

And if you’re still having a hard time processing what any of this means to me, I’ll put it into simpler terms by saying I love you. I always have and I always will.” 

By the time he finishes, you were in full blown tears. Hot as they burned your eyes, you bit your lip to stop them from trembling but to no avail. You were beyond touched, hearing the same man who you shared the exact same feelings for, say that he loved you too. 

Desperately you wanted to let him know of all the ways that made you love him too. How you felt those exact same “cartwheels” when he called you things like pretty girl. How your heart too nearly burst with bliss when he treated you like you were the only girl in his world. And that’s when you realized that you had him all wrong. 

He never had a girlfriend not because he wasn’t capable but because his heart had already belonged to you before you even knew it. And unknown to him, he had yours long ago too. 

You can only let out a choked laugh and think how funny it was the way the universe worked everything out and destined you to be together from the very start. 

“I love you too Wooyoung.” Was all you could say before you leaned up on your toes to finally kiss him. 

He responded almost like it was second nature. Pillowy lips molding perfectly with yours that it sent sparks flying everywhere within your being. Kissing him was far from what you could ever imagine. The way he held you by the hips and pulled you flushed against his body as he titled his head to deepen the kiss felt so entrancing that you couldn’t get enough.

You moaned while wrapping your own arms around his shoulders, hoping that he could interpret through your actions how long you waited for this. Never having a boyfriend yourself because you chose him. And if you could go back in time, you do so again without hesitation. 

And just like that, your stupid mind had to go ruining this moment for you, feeling an uncomfortable churn in your stomach as you pulled back abruptly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You took a moment before finally saying, “Giselle.”

Wooyoung scoffed and leaned back in to start kissing the corner of your mouth, going down to your jaw.

“How can you even think about her when I finally have you like this?” He murmurs against your skin, making you roll your eyes playfully.

He’s right though. You shouldn’t be thinking about her and rather enjoying this moment but you still were.

“She still has feelings for you too Wooyoung. I think it’s only fair that before we move forward that you give her some kind of closure.” 

He sucks in a breath and withdraws himself from your neck to look between your eyes for any signs of wavering. But there weren’t any. 

“Is that really what you want?” He asks to be clear and you nod to show him that you were sure. 

“Besides,” sultry suddenly crept in your tone as your fingers began to play with his long locs, “if you’re gonna be my man, can’t have her thinking she still has a chance with you.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles richly and leaned back in to press his lips on yours.

masterlist || <previous - next>

pairing jung wooyoung x fem reader Genre smau! f2lvrs w crack, drama, slow burning??? mid cursing

Synopsis "Finally confessing your feelings the guy you've had a crush on since middle school. Only one problem... your ex best friend has a crush on him too. In the end, who gets the guy??"

taglist 🏷️

@istansquirrels @miniature-tragedy @domfikeluva @marvolos @santineez @ateezswonderland @zzenkha @bellybellasblog

written by yeorisanaxox. No reposting or translations. Leave a like and reblog w [feedback is much appreciated] ✨

[a-cross-the-universe]

Sharp Tongue

Nagumo Yoichi x f! reader

"Nagumo and the reader are barely more than acquaintances, tolerating each other only for their mutual friends—the Sakamotos. That was until Nagumo made a mistake. A big one."

***

The clatter of chopsticks against ceramic filled the cozy backroom of Sakamoto’s shop. You sat across from Nagumo, arms crossed, watching him twirl his noodles with unnecessary flourish. His usual sly grin was firmly in place, an expression that made your fingers twitch with the urge to flick something at his smug face.

"You know, for someone who claims to be an assassin, you eat like a show-off," you muttered, resting your chin on your palm.

Nagumo’s brown eyes flicked up to meet yours, amusement sparking. "And for someone who claims to be indifferent to me, you sure do pay a lot of attention." He slurped his noodles obnoxiously, deliberately slow, eyes never leaving yours.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "Don't flatter yourself, Nagumo. I'm just making an observation. You could at least eat like a normal person instead of acting like a circus act."

From his seat nearby, Sakamoto let out a low chuckle, not looking up from where he was wiping his daughter Hana’s hands clean from the mess she’d made with her meal. "You two bicker like an old married couple."

"Don't even joke about that," you and Nagumo said at the same time, snapping your heads toward Sakamoto in synchronized horror. Shin, sprawled across the counter lazily, burst into laughter.

"You guys are hilarious," he said between giggles. "Seriously, it's like watching a rom-com with extra violence."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest from being with friends was undeniable. Even if Nagumo was here. You tolerated him for the sake of Sakamoto and Shin, but some days, you wondered how they found his antics even remotely entertaining.

Nagumo leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand, mirroring your position. "Admit it, you’d be bored without me."

You scoffed, pushing his bowl an inch closer to the edge of the table just to be petty. "I’d be at peace without you."

He smirked. "Same thing, really."

Shin hummed. "You know, it wouldn't kill you guys to get along."

You and Nagumo exchanged looks. Then, in perfect sync, you both said, "It might."

Sakamoto sighed, already resigned. "Just don't break anything in the shop this time."

That was asking for a miracle.

Nagumo grinned wider, the glint in his eyes promising trouble. "No promises."

And you knew, for better or worse, your rivalry with Nagumo Yoichi wasn’t ending anytime soon.

***

The training room in Sakamoto’s shop was quieter than usual, the only sounds being the rhythmic shuffle of feet against the mats and the occasional clang of metal as your blade clashed against Nagumo’s.

Sparring with him was supposed to be practice, but somehow, it always ended up being a battle of patience instead. Not because he was stronger—though he was, annoyingly so—but because he spent more time teasing you than actually fighting.

"Your grip is too stiff," Nagumo mused, easily sidestepping your slash. "You should loosen up a little. But I guess that’s hard for someone so… tense." His smirk was infuriating.

You grit your teeth and aimed a quick strike at his side, only for him to catch your wrist with an effortless twist. His grip was firm, not painful, but enough to remind you just how much more experienced he was.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. "Careful, if you keep getting this flustered, I might start thinking you like me."

Your face heated—not because he was right, obviously—but because you refused to let him get the upper hand outside of combat, too. With a sharp inhale, you twisted your body and used your momentum to break free, creating space between you.

"I’d rather stab myself than like you, Nagumo," you shot back, adjusting your stance.

He chuckled, flipping his knife between his fingers effortlessly. "Oh? Sounds like someone’s in denial."

You lunged forward again, this time aiming lower, hoping to knock him off balance. But Nagumo saw through it immediately, twisting at the last second and catching your attack with ease. Before you could react, he used your own momentum to spin you around, pinning you against the wall with his blade resting lazily against your throat.

The sharp, controlled pressure made your breath hitch. He was close—too close. His golden eyes flickered with amusement as he tilted his head, as if debating his next words.

"You know," he said, voice smooth, "if you really wanted me this close, you could’ve just asked."

You almost kneed him in the stomach.

"Get off me, you insufferable flirt," you growled, shoving him back. He moved away easily, laughing, clearly entertained by your frustration.

"You’re improving, though," he admitted, twirling his knife absentmindedly. "Maybe one day you’ll even land a hit on me."

"I will land a hit on you," you huffed, rubbing your wrist where he had grabbed it earlier.

Nagumo grinned, stepping closer again, just enough to invade your space. "I look forward to it, sweetheart."

You glared at him, cheeks burning, but you knew one thing for sure—your battles with Nagumo weren’t just about skill. They were a game, and neither of you were planning to lose.

***

(o´▽`o)ﾉ

I think that’s enough for an introduction. Please let me know what you guys think. Do you think Nagumo and Sakamoto are a little bit OOC? I don’t know.

[hanihazeljade]

Three Days

Three days before Tim loses his shit the wedding

Tim noticed it.

He might be retired but being observant was his one and only talent since he was a kid. It was engraved in him. 

He knows that everyone in this damn house was trying their best to spend his remaining three days in Gotham. And in Tim’s humble opinion, it is fucking annoying.

Like don’t get him wrong, but if he spends one more minute being surrounded by the Waynes, buttering him up to extend his stay in Gotham, he might really just fall off the grid once again and he doesn’t want that.

+++++

Dick has been catering every whim he said out loud, a little bad habit he developed while living in Hokkaido. Now, Tim has to revert back to keeping his mouth shut and a little annoying since he cannot say that he wanted that amazing strawberry crepe that pass through his Instagram feed or that delectable taiyaki that he craves since getting out of Japan, it is winter and taiyaki is a must have.

“Tim, do you really not like this crepe that I bought for you?”

“No.”

“But you just said earlier—”

“No is no, Richard.”

But now, he cannot say it or even just look so hungry looking at his phone, because Richard John Grayson is definitely gonna buy or make it and Tim will never eat it. Because he wants no connection of the hot and sweet taiyaki to any of the Waynes once he goes back to Japan.

+++++

Jason reads him whenever Tim is playing with his phone and Tim will just put on earbuds. In Timothy’s perspective and based on the years that he lived in this house, Jason has always read outloud just to annoy him. How does Tim know that Jason was trying to bond with him? However, Jason was not cowering and just letting Tim to not bond with him. 

So, he invited Tim to a shooting range and Tim is kind off hesitating as he sworn of guns but that is because he has the chance to become Gun Batman and now that he is not in the cape community, he already get rid his sense of justice (he never had in the first place), and he does not care about Batman anymore. So he said yes, and he is please to see that his precision is still at it’s top shape. Maybe he might not be actively throwing batarangs and grapples, he has been playing shooting games and goldfish scooping. Jason is shocked to see that the retired Robin has a better aim than him, after 7 years of retirement, but still not strong enough to handle teh recoil of Alfred’s shotgun.

“How the fuck you have a better aim than me?”

“Arcade games and catching a lot of fish, baka.” 

“I can understand Japanese!”

+++++

Damian tried his best to spend time with Tim everytime the latter has photographing in Alfred’s greenhouse. And throughout the whole time, they are minding their business. Tim is photographing in his space and Damian is painting in his. And in the end of the day, Damian gives Timothy his finished piece with the excuse of trying out new technique or art style, and Tim knew after three paintings, was a bullshit excuse as there were never anything different in each painting.

“Timothy.”

“What is this?”

“A finished piece.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“It clashed with the style of my previous works.”

“Kind of ironic. You embody chaos.”

+++++ 

Bruce is trying his best to spend time with Tim, however the late changes in Cass and Steph’s wedding has kept him busy. Tim truly missed the butting heads between him and Bruce on certain debates and all but he understands that Bruce can finally bring Stephanie in his family after years of wanting to. After all, Bruce could not adopt Steph, so this is a way for him to finally legalise Steph in his family.

+++++

Alfred is there spending time with him in silence when he is editing his photos and answering emails in the kitchen counter and Alfred is there either washing the dishes or preparing a meal and will occasionally put down a treat and beverage mostly just cookie and tea. Tim appreciates it, he likes the tranquility Alfred gave him with the bonus of spending time with him.

“I hope the snack was to your taste, Master Tim.”

“It was Alfred. I will miss it.”

“Well, you could have not.” 

Tim just smiled.

+++++

Cass and Steph occasionally pooped out to drag Tim out of the manor to try something that changed throughout the 7 year leave. He tried the new tanghulu stand in Diamond District, he also tried the new trift shop in Old Gotham, and the new addition in Robinson Park that Ivy reserved only to her trusted people.

“I don’t know how you and Cass can do this in a day.”

“That is a sign of aging, you know.”

“Hey!”

“It’s fine. I love you, still and always.”

“Cass, you're supposed to be on my side!”

+++++

Tim is not lying when he said that he likes the attention that he is currently receiving because he indeed likes it. He loves any attention that he gets. But he is not an idiot, he knows it is temporary, once he comes back for good in Gotham, this newfound attention will dissipate in air. Like his time back then.

Tim knows that he is not gonna settle back in Gotham. Hokkaido is his home now. He loves the peaceful blue sky every morning, not a gray cloud that the polluted city of Gotham could offer him. As much as he loves the service and food Alfred could give him, he rather have to eat out of a takeout box or go out of his house and walk around and talk to the baba that gave him daikon or the jiji that asked him to drink tea and chat with him. Or to go to his part time job at the local coffee shop.

He already settled in Japan and he plans to stay there for much longer.

Tim is leaving and no one can stop him.

[empressdede]

Whispers Of Magnolia - 8

Chapter Eight

Previous Next

A/N: This is a love story set during segregation times. The languages are harsh but please be aware that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible for fictional content. Racial slurs will be used, and some chapters involve really dark content: Death and Non consensual sex. Please read at your own will.

Evangeline had never seen anything like it.

The moment they stepped inside the Bloodline’s palace, she and the other Rollins’ maids noticed the difference immediately.

It was the way the Bloodline’s own maids moved—freely, yet carefully. They spoke in hushed voices, not because they were afraid, but because it was their choice. They only quieted when someone of authority spoke to them directly, not out of fear, but out of respect.

Evangeline had never seen anything like it.

Neither had Rose.

“They look…content,” Rose whispered as they walked behind the others. “I didn’t think people like us could be like that.”

Neither did Evangeline.

But they weren’t here to observe. They were here to work.

And so, they worked.

—

The eldest women were taken to the kitchen, where they were expected to cook for the next 48 hours. Anyone under the age of forty was assigned to clean, which meant Evangeline and her mother were separated.

Lena had cupped her daughter’s face before they parted ways, eyes firm but gentle.

“Be careful, Line,” she murmured. “Just do your work and don’t—” She hesitated. “Don’t go looking for him.”

Evangeline knew exactly who her mother meant.

And she promised.

She promised to be careful.

She promised to behave.

She promised to do nothing that could get her hurt.

So why, as she scrubbed the Bloodline palace floors, could she not stop thinking about him?

—

Three hours into her cleaning and she had yet to see a single member of the Bloodline.

She had half-expected to see him—maybe walking through the halls, maybe catching his gaze for just a second.

But she didn’t.

And maybe that was for the best.

Evangeline tried to push the thought aside and continued scrubbing until her bladder reminded her that she had gone far too long without relief.

She needed to find a restroom.

It took her a while to find someone to ask.

The moment she did, the young man—another worker, by the look of his clothes—told her that the help used the guest house bathroom. He offered to take her there, and Evangeline, knowing better than to deny help, simply nodded and followed.

She shouldn’t have expected anything out of the ordinary.

She should have known better.

Because when she stepped out of the bathroom, he was waiting for her.

Roman Reigns stood against the guest house wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed solely on her.

She froze.

She hadn’t seen him in two months, but he looked exactly as she remembered—tall, powerful, intimidating.

And yet, the first words out of his mouth were gentle.

“Hello, Evangeline.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say.

But she knew better than to remain silent.

So she bowed her head and whispered the only thing she could:

“My Tribal Chief.”

For a moment, he said nothing.

He only watched her.

And then—

“Stand straight.”

Evangeline obeyed, lifting her head slowly.

Roman’s gaze traveled over her face, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause—

“Are you spoken for, Evangeline?”

The question caught her off guard.

Did it really matter? No.

But he still wanted an answer.

Evangeline’s hands trembled at her sides.

She froze, swallowing the lump in her throat before she answered, voice barely above a whisper.

“The Rollins’ son is sweet on me,” she admitted. “So he claims me, so nobody else may speak to me.”

Roman’s jaw clenched.

Before he could say anything, she continued.

“He basically owns me. I cannot fight him on that.”

Silence. Heavy. Thick.

Then—

Roman’s voice dropped lower.

“Was he the one who gave you the black eye?”

Evangeline didn’t answer.

But she didn’t have to. Her silence was enough.

Roman took a step closer. His gaze burned into her, dark and unyielding.

Roman stared at her.

Evangeline didn’t dare meet his gaze for too long, keeping her eyes respectfully low. She knew better. But something about the way he watched her made her feel… seen. Like she was more than just some maid in the background.

A heavy silence settled between them, filled with unspoken words and dangerous possibilities.

Roman exhaled through his nose. “Come here.”

Evangeline hesitated. “I shouldn’t—”

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupted, voice smooth but firm.

She swallowed, her feet moving before she could stop herself.

She stopped just in front of him, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

Roman reached out, slow enough for her to pull away if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

His fingers barely grazed her chin, tilting her face up just enough for her to meet his eyes.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again,” Roman murmured, his voice softer than she expected, but still laced with something dangerous.

Something deadly.

“I’ll kill him.”

Evangeline gasped.

She searched his face, expecting to see mockery or amusement.

But there was none. He meant it.

He meant every damn word.

She opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” she randomly admitted, barely above a whisper.

Roman tilted his head slightly, the hint of amusement flickering across his sharp features. “Did you?”

Evangeline swallowed, unsure if she should answer. But in the end, she decided there was no point in lying. “Yes.”

Roman hummed, taking a slow step toward her. “And do you want me to forget you, Evangeline?”

She froze.

Her heart pounded so loud she swore he could hear it.

Did she?

She should. She needed to.

But what she needed and what she wanted were two entirely different things.

“I—” she started, but the words stuck in her throat.

Roman smirked. “You don’t have to answer. I already know.”

He always spoke with certainty, like the world bent to his will. And maybe, for the first time, Evangeline wished it did.

Because if Roman Reigns willed it, he could take her away from all of this.

She knew it wasn’t possible.

She knew it wasn’t right.

But for just a moment, she let herself imagine it

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him. It felt unnatural to hold his gaze—like she was doing something wrong, something that could get her in trouble. But at the same time…

It felt impossible to look away.

Roman took another step forward, closing the space between them. “You think about me?”

Evangeline’s breath hitched.

She should have lied.

She should have bowed her head, muttered an apology, and walked away.

But she didn’t.

“I…” Her fingers trembled as she fisted them in her dress. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, voice low and commanding.

Evangeline shuddered.

Her silence must have given her away, because Roman’s lips quirked—not quite a smirk, but something close to it.

“I see.” He tilted his head slightly. “What is it you think about, Evangeline?”

Her stomach twisted into knots.

He was toying with her now, watching her squirm beneath the weight of his presence.

And yet…

She couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me like this,” she finally whispered.

Roman arched a brow. “And why not?”

Evangeline hesitated. “Because… I am not yours.”

Roman’s expression darkened.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then—

“Not yet.”

Evangeline’s breath caught.

Her body tensed, but it wasn’t from fear—it was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something forbidden.

She shook her head quickly, trying to rid herself of the warmth spreading through her chest. “I—I have to go.”

Roman didn’t move.

He didn’t block her path.

Didn’t reach for her.

But his voice—deep, commanding—stilled her once more.

“You’re on my land now, Evangeline.”

Her fingers curled against the fabric of her dress.

He didn’t have to say anything else.

The meaning was clear.

He could find her anytime he pleased.

And he would.

Evangeline felt her breath stutter, but she nodded slowly, backing away.

Roman watched her the entire time, his expression unreadable.

Then, just as she turned to leave, he spoke again—

“I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Evangeline didn’t dare look back.

She didn’t have to.

She could feel his eyes on her.

She knew this wasn’t the end.

Not even close.

Lena stood by the long banquet table, smoothing out the tablecloth for the third time. It was already perfect, but she needed something to do with her hands. The grandeur of the Bloodline’s palace still unsettled her, no matter how many times she’d worked in wealthy homes. The difference here was that the people of the Bloodline moved differently—they weren’t just rich, they were powerful. The kind of men who could make things happen with a single look.

And Lena had seen the way that man looked at her daughter.

She didn’t like it.

She turned to Evangeline, who was carefully setting out polished silverware. The girl looked tired—her face void of the usual softness it carried. There were dark smudges under her eyes, a clear sign she hadn’t slept much.

Lena sighed, reaching for her hand. “Line.”

Evangeline stopped, looking up. “Yes, Mama?”

Lena squeezed her fingers gently. “Tonight, I’ll be watching over you.”

Evangeline stiffened. “Mama, I don’t—”

“I know my child,” Lena interrupted, voice firm yet laced with worry. “I see the way you walk on eggshells, the way you look when his name is spoken. And I see the way he looks at you.”

Evangeline opened her mouth to protest, but Lena silenced her with a knowing stare.

“I can’t stop the way he looks at you, but I can make sure you don’t get too close,” Lena whispered. “This world, Line… men like that, they take what they want. And they do not care who they hurt.”

Evangeline swallowed hard, lowering her gaze. “I know, Mama.”

“Do you?” Lena’s grip tightened. “Because you don’t look like a girl who’s afraid.”

Evangeline had no answer for that.

Lena sighed and pulled her into a quick, tight hug before letting go. “Stay close to the other girls. If he calls for you, let someone else go. Don’t be foolish.”

Evangeline nodded, but Lena could see the hesitation in her daughter’s eyes.

She prayed it would be enough.

The Event Begins

The grand ballroom was alive with energy. Chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, casting golden light over the sea of powerful men and their glamorous wives. Laughter and conversation swirled in the air, but to Roman Reigns, it was nothing but noise.

He sat at the head of the long dining table, draped in black and gold, his broad shoulders relaxed as he listened—pretended to listen—to a discussion about expanding business across the South.

But his mind was elsewhere.

His eyes, dark and calculating, scanned the room until they found her.

Evangeline moved swiftly between guests, her tray balanced with precision as she placed glasses of wine in front of each man. She was careful, quiet, her head dipped low to avoid unwanted attention.

Except she had his attention.

She had ever since that night in the guest house.

Roman’s fingers drummed lazily against the table, but his patience was running thin. He was tired of watching. Tired of waiting.

She had already disappeared into the kitchen once, and he decided he wouldn’t let her leave unnoticed again.

Evangeline set the silver tray down on the marble counter, exhaling softly. The kitchen was a brief reprieve from the storm of people outside. She wiped the sweat from her brow and reached for another bottle of champagne to refill her tray.

But before she could grab it—

A shadow loomed behind her.

The warmth of a body too close.

A deep voice, smooth and dangerous, curled around her ear.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Evangeline.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She turned sharply, only to find herself trapped—caged between the counter and him.

Roman stood before her, broad and unmovable, his face unreadable except for the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

Evangeline swallowed hard. “I haven’t—”

Roman tilted his head. “Don’t lie to me.”

She trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze. The way his presence swallowed all the air in the room.

“I—” Her words died on her tongue.

Roman leaned in slightly, enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne—dark, rich, something that made her knees feel weak.

“You think if you stay quiet, I’ll forget about you?” His voice was a quiet taunt. “That I’ll let you disappear?”

Evangeline’s fingers clenched the edge of the counter behind her.

“That’s not how this works, little dove.”

She shuddered at the nickname.

Her silence only made his smirk grow.

“I see you,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. “Every time you walk into a room. Every time you lower your gaze. I see you.”

Evangeline’s breath came quick and shallow.

She needed to leave.

She needed to get out of this room before she did something reckless.

“I have to go.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Roman raised a brow. “Do you?”

His palm pressed flat against the counter beside her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

She was trapped.

Completely at his mercy.

And the worst part?

She didn’t hate it.

Before Roman could speak again, the door to the kitchen swung open.

Jimmy Uso leaned lazily against the frame, arms crossed. His face gave away nothing, but his eyes were sharp—knowing.

“Ma’s comin’,” Jimmy warned, voice casual, as if he hadn’t just walked in on this.

Roman didn’t move immediately. He didn’t really care for the warning either.

He lingered, his dark gaze flicking back to Evangeline, watching the way her chest rose and fell in short breaths.

Then, slowly, he stepped back.

Evangeline exhaled shakily, the weight of his presence lifting just enough for her to breathe again.

Jimmy gave Roman a pointed look. “Let the girl do her job, Uce.”

Roman said nothing.

Instead, his eyes flicked to Evangeline one last time, and with a slow, deliberate smirk, he murmured—

“Go on, then.”

Evangeline didn’t waste a second.

She grabbed her tray and hurried past Jimmy, keeping her head down as she reentered the ballroom.

But even as she slipped back into the crowd.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

Still feel the weight of his attention.

And she knew…

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Ouuuu this is one of my favorite chapters. School is whooping my ass so this is a late ass post, show some love to it anyways. 😭🫶🏾 Thank you to everyone who’s reading!

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[melondecarabia]

˙⟡ 36h observation period (2/3)

leo kurosagi x fem reader 

smut, drama, some angst 

mdni! 

authors note: he's crazy in this one. also sad and angry. every person mentioned by him is catching strays lmao real hater behavior 

tw: leo's villain arc, leo jorking it, leo being unhinged, is he a yandere or just a jealous freak? also mentions of babytrapping 

summary: Leo's time in the 36 hours after escaping the consequences of his own actions. Part two to 24h sugar pill.

9:15 am 

Holy shit shit shit shit shit. 

The view of pine trees and bushes blur as he sprints at full force, Vagastrom as target. 

Leo cannot believe that happened. Hooooooly fuck. 

That fucking homewrecker! Leo can't even eat breakfast without someone fucking ruining it! Damnit! When he gets his hands on that- haaaahhhhh… He slows down, forced by the burning in his lungs and muscles. The cathedral isn't even visible in the horizon anymore, blocked by a dense forest and the distance. For once in his life, Leo is thankful that Alan forces him to go through endurance training at least twice a week. Thanks, himbo. I will hold back one insult today. 

Damn… it feels like he's drinking molten lava with every breath. Leo has to place his shaking hands on his even shakier knees to not collapse as he swallows. No one's around to see him sweat rivers, at least. He might crashout if that happened, especially after… ugh. Whatever. He'll just walk back to his dorm, and pray you don't show up. 

˙⟡

The dorm room Leo lives in is meticulously decorated, so that even with the hard to paint concrete walls and ugly fluorescent lights that he's not allowed to replace, it looks beautiful. There are pristinely arranged books on the glass table that he's never read (and doesn't intend to), and the random pipes in the corner are covered by a closet. Ultimately aesthetic, but boring and cold even with the plush carpet, so Leo is forced to wear both socks and slippers every day to not freeze. Hah. Even your run down, chaotic dorm is better, with it's warm and worn down wooden floors, and cozy atmosphere. Oof, he finally falls down to the mattress. The sound of thumping is still present, even if his breathing has returned to normal already. 

…it was placebo. He knew what the anomaly does beforehand, got hit by it, and just continued to act like a lovesick dork because he thought there would be a clear sign of when it's effects wore off. Honestly, you're an enabler, because- But he made the Pinterest boards months ago, no matter how many bullshit excuses he could come up with right now. One for every room in a house, from entrance to bathroom to kitchen to bedrooms. No no, he started them because he was bored, not because of a crush. But, gradually, with every piece of information about your preferences, the median look became a blend of his and your styles. Ugh! He takes a decorative pillow and strangles it like a maniac. Stupid anomaly, stupid pollen, stupid emo nerd- Knock knock! 

Leo's heart drops down to his ass for a good moment. Is it you? Is it that guy? "Haxs." The sound of low grumbling is a relief. Sho! He doesn't know about all that bullshit! He's oblivious to the fumbling of a century that occurred not even an hour ago! If that information makes it out of that cathedral he'll burn it down himself for fuck's sake. Or get Sho to do it with a dare? Boy's night, like the good old times. 

"Yeah yeah, don't bust down my door, Sho." The mentioned man is wearing the academy uniform, not the Vagastrom one. Low whistle. "Wow, model student Haizono! You wanna become valedictorian or what, dressed up so properly?" Leo already feels better seeing the unimpressed look on Sho's face. He knows it's not judging, or even serious, just… reacting to his banter, as usual. "Yeah, I'll win that Laurel Crown singlehandedly." Chortle, "Mido said we gotta go to undercoverology class, unless we wanna get into trouble." Leo raises an eyebrow at that. Since when has this blondie worried about trouble? "Gotta attend at least once in a while or the teachers get pissy. Less trouble going now than getting bitched at every day." Yeah, uh huh. He'll pass. 

But wait. You know he doesn't go to class. If you looked for him to talk about- ugh, you'd search in Vagastrom, not the campus! "Okay! I'll just change real quick!" Sho looks confused. "Wait, really? The fuck?" And he slams the door to avoid having to explain himself. Leo's luck is turning back! Even if you go to class instead of being dragged around to help others, you have herbology, which is on the other side of the campus. It'll be easy peasy lemon squeezy to avoid you! 

˙⟡

Is Sho hallucinating or was that your hoodie? It's pretty recognizable- also, those clothes were not something Leo wears like, ever? What the hell happened yesterday? He knows you and Leo went to some mall for a mission, but Leo didn't come back to the dorm in the evening. Maybe he showed up late? But- you know what, he'll be better off not caring. He stretches to shake off boredom, and hopes it won't become his problem. 

10:45 am 

So fucking boooooooriiiiiing. He takes back the idea of it being easy to avoid you. It's actually difficult difficult lemon difficult, but it's preferable torture to being forced to talk about that. It's was just too easy to play house, especially when there's a specific kind of torture he wants from you. Snort. A glance to the side reveals Sho is just about to fall asleep, eyes blinking one at a time. Leo's eyes fall on the still cold water bottle, and if anyone would've seen the look on his face, they would've made a swift exit to avoid getting involved. He takes the bottle, and uses it to slowly move aside the hair covering the about-to-be-victim's neck. 

All of the class whips around to look at Sho flailing like a ragdoll, after hearing the man make a sound not unlike a dying seagull. 

"WHAT THE FUCK???" As soon as he came back to his senses, Sho shot a glare that definitely cursed at least 20 of Leo's ancestors. "Haizono, Kurosagi, what-" And the bell rings, interrupting the geezer before he could say anything further. Leo shoves his phone in the pocket of your stolen hoodie, which is worn under the uniform blazer as quiet laughter still shakes his chest. "Keep sharp, Haizono!" He uses the mocking tone of the teacher to make a jab at Sho, who grabs the water bottle in vengeance. "Oh you're not running, stupid bi-" 

˙⟡

He didn't get his revenge. The blond is still smoldering in petty indignation as Leo arranges his ashen hair back to perfect dishevelment, after the thrilling chase. "Still mad? Sucks to suck, Sho." It's so funny to see him seethe. "Uh huh. Sucks that you'll have sand in your bed by evening, dickhead." It's an attempt to sound mad, but there's a clear amusement lacing the words. Whether or not he'll actually go through with the threat? Hell no. He's pretty sure he still sees Sho shimmer on sunny days after dumping glitter in his pillow case four months ago. "Hah. We should go to the beach though, I heard of this spot-" 

And the comfort of distraction is ripped away along with the rest of that sentence. "Huh? What-" A hand shuts his best friend up, as someone passes by the bathrooms. "As I was saying-" He can tell you're talking to Ishibashi from the formal language. You don't usually use that tone, but his best guess is that you only use it with freaks like that. Tri-vision, discount mad scientist, Lucci, and probably Ice Queen, but that's only speculation because of the guy's 'sophisticated' cave dweller tendencies. Scoff, sophisticated his ass. Dude doesn't leave his room, and keeps shooting you booty calls under the guise of seeing you as a servant. Leo bets that albino rat has a tailored maid costume hidden there, specifically made for you. Freak. 

"Haxs." You're already at the end of the hallway, talking about schedules or whatever boring stuff that includes having to account for being on time to meetings. Lick. He snatches his hand back from the smirking traitor's mouth. "Ew, what the fuck?" He wipes the spit on the offender's blazer. "What's up with you and her?" Ugh, the crossed arms show that the himbo's attitude has already infected him. "Nothing. Unless you want glitter in your bed again, shut up." The threat works, but a look of slight disappointment stings Leo. "If you did something stupid, I won't help you. Anyway, I gotta go prepare for lunch hour. Have fun with whatever you're up to." 

11:02 am 

Dickhead. Food truck that, food truck this. And jumping to conclusions like that? He should jump off a- nah. He's better than that. At least with Sho, that is. Anyone else? Fuck 'em. 

It's not lunch time yet… Should he go to the campus store, or the cafeteria? Nah, the hall is always crowded and noisy. And since he's avoiding you, he'd sit alone anyway as Sho's always busy. The only other person he'd even entertain the idea of sitting with would be Lucci, but he doesn't even look the cafeteria's way. So, campus store it is. You always go to the food truck when you're not busy with missions or whatever, and then eat it with either dumb and dumber in the cafeteria or with that green tea bitch and dogboy on the balcony, with Leo often invading the spot next to you. He should also pick up something for this acid reflux that keeps coming back. Leo feels bad for your braincells, they've experienced great and tragic loss in your time spent with those idiots. Deep breath. The scent of your shampoo still lingers on the fabric of the hood. He can feel his muscles relaxing. 

˙⟡

Strawberry? Nah, tastes too artificial. 

Sho's nice, reliable, and goes along with his moods. But he doesn't know shit about Leo. 

Sour apple? Nah, not even close to sour. 

Never takes anything Leo says seriously. Doesn't even really get mad when he does something stupid, pissed? Yeah, but not mad. It won't get brought up later. Forgotten, and automatically forgiven. 

Mango? Maybe, if there are no other options. 

But when nothing's taken seriously, things start to get uncomfortable. Feelings start stagnating like an abandoned pool. Old insults fester like a putrified wound. New arguments feel better than that. 

Cherry? He's only tried it a few times, but it's already his favorite. 

Leo keeps pissing you off on purpose. He makes a backhanded comment? You return it. Extra chili snuck into your food? Salt in his lunch. Equal annoyance is given and received. Conflict is resolved right then and there, even if you have to pull his teeth for it. Arguments are settled in their own difficult way, but that's more carthartic than never talking about it. Maybe some things get joked about later, but not with resentment. 

Yeah, cherry soda and chili tuna onigiri sounds good. He grabs the bottle, balancing it with the food container and acid reflux tablets. Oh, that guy. The first year from Jabberwock, the one you visit the diner for? He's pretty tall… do you like that? Leo's pretty short, after all- but it's adorable, right? Tall guys are just inconvenient, can't fit in showers, or even a bathtub, or an airplane, or- yap yap yap, doesn't fucking matter. 

He fucked up. Leo did kinda know the pollen wore off, before even an hour passed. But it was just so easy to stay in that groove of doting and clinging! Yes, you didn't entertain certain things, but you didn't make him go back to Vagastrom either. You could've called Sho or Mido, but didn't! That means something. You let him stay! You have a high tolerance for whining, so therefore, Leo's not making this shit up. You like him at least a bit, just enough for him to sink his claws into and not let go. 

Oh yeah. He can salvage this situation. Not all hope is lost for sappy date nights and steamy makeouts, or that already fully planned wedding, with a month long honeymoon to Italy. 

˙⟡

Ren is so over this. Why the fuck is that influencer guy smiling like that? He could literally feel the death stare drilling into his skull just seconds ago?? What the fuck why is he giggling like a fucking haunted doll??? Hurry up cashier man, he's gotta escape NOW. PLEASE. 

11:33 am 

The onigiri wasn't quite as hot as he had hoped it would be, but became edible enough with the help of his trusty spice bottle. The remaining cherry soda washes away the last grains of rice stuck in his teeth. It's a sweet flavor, but sour enough to not get sick of it anytime soon. Or ever, it's really good. Maybe he could get a sponsorship from the company? Worth a try, at least. 

'Thank you for your order! Purchase confirmation will be sent to your e-mail.' Mhm, first step, check. Some Mortkranken students pass by, and one of them flinches at the sight of Leo like a timid deer hearing a twig snap. Leo sends the most saccharine smile he's got, and the NPC pales at the gesture. Hoho, he'll send that request this evening. Dude didn't think he'd get away with that shit, did he? Dumbass. 

˙⟡

Pretty much only shy people sit alone at lunch in this portion Darkwick. Leo's not shy by any stretch, and neither are you, really. You were for a while, when he first met you. It's a part of getting cursed and thrown in the middle of a 50/50 deadly or just bitchy battle royale in under 24 hours, though. Starting out without a spine like a worm, but eventually turning into a beetle, instead of a fragile butterfly. Sure, pretty damn easy to kill as far as anomalies are involved, but not completely defenseless against fellow humans or insults. 

On your first meeting, you barely looked Leo in the eye. Nothing really remarkable, even easy to target for entertainment, if it weren't for you already gaining the favor of both the Frostheim ghouls and himbo in a few weeks time. Pretty impressive, honestly, and even more impressive that you didn't just give up and die after getting almost dropped to your death by that tulpa. 

You could've died back there. That could've been your final day, and it would've been Leo's fault. In that timeline, where you died, Leo wouldn't even feel bad for it, would he? Maybe it would've been an inconvenience, a severe scolding from Cap and some detention from Darkwick staff, but no real remorse for it, huh? Maybe he'd even rag on Sho for having a useless stigma, or something, but already forgetting your name after a month. Would his friendship with Sho have stayed strong, or get eroded by time and new circumstances, like now? 

But that timeline isn't this one. You didn't die, you survived, and grew even stronger. You started making direct eye contact, then standing up for your friends with conviction of steel, and by now, started going on duo missions with Leo, with only minimal complaining out of habit. Leo hates change, but that personality flip was more than welcomed. Finally, a real friend that calls out his bullshit, and doesn't talk behind his back! Everyone knows him as a popular influencer, and a smaller group knows he's a toxic cunt, but only you consistently defend him. Not when people justifiably complain about getting blackmailed or insulted, but when someone thinks he's just an airheaded baby bitch who can't fight. Yeah, Sho defends him too, but noticeably less. When he does, he's either looking for a fight, or just plain doesn't like that person. And sure, Leo can handle it, but fuck does it feel better when someone stands up for him. After all, there's only two people in his life he can talk to without worrying about getting backstabbed or ignored. It's the reason he's sitting alone right now, as well. 

This plan has to work. He chews on a well manicured nail, and tastes the bitterness of clear polish. It has to, or he'll go off the rails like sharktooth Chucky from Sinostra. He'll eat Bonnie first, out of spite. 

1:42 pm 

"Hmmm… that sounds delicious as well, so it's quite difficult to choose. What do you recommend?" Mr Beans On Toast and Mr Beans For Brains are standing right in the hallway where his class is. Fuck. The chances of you showing up just just shot up like 800%. Why the hell are they here anyway? You and the two professional dickriders have artifact studies next, not enigmatology! "Uhh, well, I usually go for the shoyu chicken. You should ask her too, since I don't eat in ramen restaurants that much." They're talking about you now. Leo knows, because no other person that has a pussy talks to Fuji, or gets within a 10 meter radius of the dude out of anything but obligation or accident. He sends a final look around the corner. You're going out with them today? Have you already told them about yesterday and this morning? Shitfuck, he can't risk being seen by them, they'll definitely snitch on the spot if you ask. Fuck it. Leo's been a teacher's pet enough for the day, he can go back to his dorm already. 

"Kaito." That tone sends a shiver down his spine, even if it's not his own name you're saying. Wait, you're here? He has to haul ass, now. "Remedial class? Again? I told you to study more." Fuck, that should be him! Fuji clearly doesn't appreciate the privilege of getting scolded by you, if the whiny excuses are anything to go off of. If he was the one getting told off, he'd piss you off even more. So much so, that you'd have no choice but to bend him over and spank him for every minute of class missed… these pants feel uncomfortable. At least your hoodie covers it up. 

˙⟡

Leo's already outside, leisurely strolling towards Vagastrom, when his phone buzzes. 

Sho: yo leo 

Sho: (y/n) asked if ur alright 

Sho: i said yea 

Leo: ok 

Sho: u need to tell me what happened bro 

Leo: no im not telling shit its nothing 

Leo: and stay out of it. i have 5 bags of glitter on hand. dont even try. 

Sho: ok damn 

Yeah, don't even try. Leo can't have anyone intervening on this delicate situation right now, especially not him or Cap. No one else either, or he'll break the record of a 3 day streak of not doxxing anyone as retaliation. He shoves the phone back in the hoodie's pocket, and hustles even faster as an ominous, but a bit too familiar cackle of a certain redheaded gambler rings out. Not today, Satan. 

7:58 pm 

Aaand posted! His muscles relax in relief as the screen of the sticker-covered laptop turns black, freeing Leo from the filming and editing process of a new video. A slight moan escapes, as he stretches out on the queensize bed like a cat. Damn, I'm a hard worker. He takes a moment to shut his eyes, to find some relief from the slight burning caused by being continuously flashbanged by bluelight. At least that's over, and now he can doomscroll as a treat! Let's see… Ugh, his algorithm is fucked up. Seeing all the wedding and family influencers right now isn't salt in his wounds, but the whole fucking spice cabinet. Ooh, a bouquet like that though? He saves it, before switching to another burner account. You know, the one where he follows everything your friends post about you? Yeah, that one! Nothing's really been posted though… Hotarubi's vice captain had an iced matcha latte, yada yada, oh. Fuji's post. Now, Leo is painfully aware that the romantic relationship with you that he posts on social media is fake. Leo himself specifically told you to not think anything of it, even if he changed his mind by now. Every picture of you two holding hands, or going on cutesy cafe dates was for content. But come on. This definitely feels like cheating! He glares poison daggers at the digital picture of you and the two idiots, sitting side by side, holding overstuffed ice cream cones. And he recognizes the logo imprinted on the waffles. Because it's from a popular date spot. Where he wants to take you. 

Does that mushroom-headed little bitch think Leo is a cuck? That he'll stand by as these dickheads make moves on you? Fuck no. Time needs to move a whole lot faster right now, he thinks, as the burning feeling of jealousy itches under his skin, like the marching of a million fire ants. Anticipation of getting to fulfill his plan starts to physically hurt, and it's as though he's possessed, with every position taken feeling uncomfortable, when the thought of you with anyone else takes over. Ragged breaths shake his ribs, as he swallows and focuses on the faint cracks of the ceiling. 

A shuddering breath calms him down slightly. Soon. As soon as you're his real girlfriend, life will be perfect, and this suffering will be worthy of that. He can cling onto you like a boa, and not let go, ever. He can put trackers on you. No onewill take you away, and he'll get his happy ending no matter what. Each day starts in bed next to you, and ends the same way. Taking baths together, shopping for groceries, going out for dates. No second will be spent apart, he daydreams, as his thighs start to rub together. Mhm, you'd come home from work on weekdays, and get greeted by Leo and two children. Your children, because he'll knock you up as soon as possible. Even before the wedding, as his hand ghosts over the front of his pajama pants, you'd be tied down even without a ring. A satisfied sigh is conjured when his hips are no longer covered by fabric. A moan, when his hand finally wraps itself around the flushed shaft. Each year, you'd have two vacations, as the first stroke rips out a gasp. One with the whole family, and the other? Just you two, a squeeze to the weeping tip. A whole two weeks, consisting of eating good food, taking photos, and sensual fucking in whatever destination you'd landed in. He doesn't even need lube right now, with the amount of precum his fantasies provoke. Each snippet of delusion is accompanied by a slapping sound, and the fire of jealousy is replaced by an intense heat in his lower stomach. 

A white light and ringing noise fills his senses, as a burst of cum shoots out to stain his shirt with a long, high-pitched moan. Or rather, your shirt that he was wearing before running off. Ugh, it's all over him, from hips, to stomach, to his hand. Sigh. He needs to calm down at least a bit. You're not really interested in anyone, he grits his teeth, which unfortunately includes himself. 

You probably wouldn't like it if he babytrapped you. In fact, you might hate him for even attempting, and leave him. Which, clearly, wouldn't be ideal. He'll just propose after a year, and then marry you right after graduation. Wedding night though? A devious grin breaks his afterglow serenity. It's free real estate. 

10:03 pm 

Leo: have it ready by tomorrow, before 1 pm. any later? those posts will guarantee getting blacklisted from every school and workplace imaginable. do you understand? 

Mortkranken Creep: Understood 

Man, this blackmail shit is easy. Leo can practically hear the guy shaking in his cheap sneakers, even over text. He spits out a wad of minty froth in the sink, and grins at the mirror to see his teeth shine. Perfect! The lights of the bathroom are off with a click, and he practically skips over to his bed. His meticulous skincare routine is done, and he even used a special face mask in preparation for tomorrow. All that's left to do is sleep well, fetch his extra fast delivery packet in the morning, and visit that gooner schmuck in the noon. Then? His plan is as good as accomplished, and he'll be wearing a cute apron and tight leggings in four years time. For now, Leo cozies up in the Egyptian cotton-covered duvets, and breathes in the scent of your shampoo that still lingers in the hoodie he's wearing. He can't wait for tomorrow. 

9:16 am 

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Where the fuck is that packet? Leo is currently shaking like a cocaine-addicted chihuahua, pacing near the mail building. If the definition of insanity is repeating an action, expecting the end result to change, Leo needs to be locked up in a mental ward. For other reasons as well, but whatever. The kimchi in his sandwich crunches with an unnecessarily aggressive bite. You sent a text this morning, asking if he's alright. Leo had to chew on his pillow to not giggle like a maniac, though Alan still looked at him weird when they crossed paths in the common area. But that doesn't matter in any capacity, as the notification of 'Your packet has arrived! Please pick it up as soon as possible!' appears with another refresh. The piece of sandwich still in his mouth almost chokes him, as Leo almost lets out a villainous laugh. 

Just before rounding the corner, he freezes. Fuck fuck fucking fuck, you and carrot top are right in front of the mail building! Another cautious peek. Whatever that guy said cannot be that funny. Obnoxious fucker, leave already! This is so unfair. 

˙⟡

Leo starts manifesting a painful death on Haru, who just wanted to tell (y/n) about the new hats he bought for Peekaboo. "Come visit soon, and you'll see how cool they are! One's a bucket hat, and the other is an orange crocheted wig! We'll really look like father and son, right? Gyahahah!" And he waves the honor student goodbye, gleefully wishing luck on her exam next week, before entering the mail building. 

While waiting for his packet to be found in the back, the usually stuffy and honestly quite hot temperature inside drops to a spine-chilling freeze. Haru turns to sneak a subtle look at the person who just entered. Kurosagi seems pretty harmless, but currently? He gulps, and prays the Vagastrom first year would blink. A thick layer of sweat appears, and Haru prays for the mail cats to work faster. That stare has him scared for his life. 

12:59 pm 

Target located. The Mortkranken student, who had the unfortunate luck of gaining attention from Leo, is shuffling nervously on a park bench. Getting closer… "Boo!" The dude doesn't even scream, but jumps up like a prisoner in an electric chair at the feeling of two hands slapping down on his shoulders. Leo can't help but snicker at the sight of the student gasping for air. "Wha- what." Trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, the student turns to Leo. "K-K-Kurosagi, you-" "Oh, quit the stuttering. D-d-do you have what I need or not? I'm not here to talk about the weather." He's a busy man, can't you see? Probably not, with those overgrown, greasy bangs. Tch. This loser's a certified creep. He used the anonymous confessions board to post a degenerate fantasy about stealing your clothes and marrying you, as if he had any chance. Pathetic.

"Yeah. Here. It's, uh, supposed to last for 4 hours, with one-" Leo snatches up the small pouch, causing the guy to flinch back. "Uh huh. If it doesn't work, or causes any weird side effects, everyone on campus will know you jack off to the honor student daily. Have a nice life!" The ashen haired man skips off with a saccharine mockery of a goodbye, and starts to head on over to the cathedral. It's Friday, and it'll be a very long weekend. 

[22ayla21]

Can i request Phainon x Reader where they both tries to court each other but they both are so bad at it they didnt realize the feelings are mutual😭 everybody knew except them because of how bad, confusing, and questionable their way of flirting is or maybe they're too focused on their own effort and becomes oblivious to the other's attempts or maybe they both are too oblivious.

Mutual, but Meaningless, Attempt at Courtship

Everyone around understood that they loved each other, only they themselves didn't see it.

Everyone around knew. Everyone saw. Everyone except the two of them.

Phainon was majestic, brilliant, like the rising sun over Amphoreus. His charm and charisma made him the center of attention in any society. However, when it came to courtship, he turned into a complete disaster. The problem wasn't just that he tried to appear too casual, but that his approach was... well, let's say, enigmatic even for the most patient observers.

You, in turn, were no better. Your hints were barely perceptible, your glances cautious, and your actions too subtle to be taken as anything more than friendly concern. As a result, the whole situation turned into an endless whirlpool of misunderstanding and missed opportunities.

Every time Phainon tried to take a step forward, he did it so confusingly that it seemed to you he was just playing or teasing you. He might deliberately look away when you met his eyes, and then accidentally pass too close, touching your hand or shoulder, and act as if nothing had happened. Once he even said he "accidentally" ended up at your favorite resting spot, although it was obvious it was staged.

You, in turn, also didn't notice his attempts at courtship, because you were too busy with your own—no less strange and clumsy. At some point, you decided that the best way to attract his attention was through care, but in the end, it looked like you were treating him like a friend or even a younger brother. You left tea for him with notes like "Don't forget to rest," but never wrote anything that hinted at a romantic subtext. You tried to be closer to him, but every time he looked at you with a hint of interest, you turned away or pretended not to notice.

In the end, it looked like two people with obvious sympathy for each other were doing everything they could to reject any hints of mutual feelings.

Those around them were tired of watching this theater of ridiculous courtship. In their presence, you could put your hand on Phainon's shoulder, look him in the eyes, take a deep breath... and instead of saying something meaningful, mutter:

"You... look pretty good. I guess."

And he, in turn, with a smug smile, would toss his hair back, shake his head, and say:

"You also look... well... quite human."

And that was it. The conversation ended there, because both of them went into their own imaginations, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

At some point, even the children noticed it. They watched as Phainon tried to show off his strength by lifting heavy objects, and you just shrugged, like, "So what," because you could do the same thing. Or how you tried to act more refined in his presence, but he didn't even notice, because he was too focused on his own attempt to impress.

At some point, people around began to bet on who would be the first to realize their mutual feelings. But week after week, month after month, it continued in the same vein.

"Do they even realize they love each other?" they whispered behind their backs.

But the answer was obvious.

No. They didn't understand.

[aventoru]

party 4 u

warning(s) : oikawa is annoying and comes to regret it, reader cries from frustration a bit, fluff at the end tho

“hey, great party,” oikawa comes up to you from behind, yelling over the music. you turn around to face him with the usual smirk on his face. “thanks,” you mumble, trying your best to remain cool and collected. “how did you manage to pull this off?” he observes the large crowd.

in truth, you only threw this party as an excuse to invite (and now meet) him. your best friend, being a hardcore shipper and #1 supporter of your delusions, decided to do ask a friend of a friend for a favor. but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“just…connections,” you respond vaguely to avoid accidentally spouting something you shouldn’t. “wanna go for a swim?” he invites, gaze fixed on the massive pool outside. “sure!” you reply a little too enthusiastically. but you couldn’t help yourself. who would deny a chance to spend more time with their crush?

you two head outside, away from the flashing lights and sweaty bodies and towards the cool water.

“(name), why did you throw this party?” oikawa asks once you both are in the water, leaning against the ledge.

“what do you mean?” you stared straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact.

“what i mean is, you’re a busy student in the middle of exams. don’t you have midterms to study for?”

“i’ve been studying so i’m partying to destress. and also…” you trail off, hesitating.

“also?” he presses.

you finally turn to face him and the look in his eyes tells you he knows. there was no point in hiding it now.

“fine. i knew you would be visiting this week for a competition,” you admit, praying he doesn’t notice the immense heat radiating from you body out of embarrassment.

“so does that mean?” the slightest hint of a smirk displays on his lips as he cocks his head to the side.

“yeah, you know that i've been waiting for you,” you finally said. you boldly rested your head on his shoulder to replace eye contact with another kind.

“wow, who knew you liked me that much?”

“shut up,” you feel your cheeks heat up at his teasing. it was annoying, but he was right. you did like him that much. enough to throw a whole party just for him.

"but who doesn't like me? like have you seen all the models and influencers line up just to take a picture with me?"

why is he bringing this up now? does he always have to be this annoying?

"just imagine how crazy the internet would go if i got together with them? and don't even get me started about my fans. anyone would be lucky to date—"

seriously, just how far is he going to take this joke? because it's getting old. fast.

“you could've just rejected me, you know? you didn't have to go this far to make me insecure,” your frustration bubbles up in your voice as angry tears rush down your eyes. you can't believe he had the audacity to mention other people right now after you expressed your feelings to him.

the brunette’s smile immediately drops as he realizes the damage his teasing has done. “(name), i’m so sorry. i really didn’t mean to—” he profusely apologizes in a state of panic, his playful demeanor long gone. “forget it, i literally confessed to you and your response is to dismiss me completely? i’m getting out of here,” you snap, already wading through the waters to leave.

“no, wait,” he hurriedly catches your hand, “i like you too.”

“i don’t care anymore,” you try yanking your hand away, “just let go of me!”

“(name), please i—” he pulls you into a hug. you soften, temporarily relaxing in his hold but the tears don’t stop. “i won't tease you like that again,” he says, guilt running through his veins. oikawa releases his hold on you to cup your face, wiping away your tears.

“i like you a lot, okay?” he reassures, “and i’ll make it up to you.”

“how?”

“by doing this.” he pecks your lips.

“one’s not enough,” you begin smiling through the kiss and he does the same.

so oikawa kisses you again. and again. and again. now that he’s seen your tears, he has no choice but to kiss you and tell you he loves you.

masterlist

[dungeondevoured]

It was still odd to see Haruhime being so. Assertive. Bell was convinced she was supposed to be more subdued than this - part of him confused, but part of him also oddly. Proud. Pleased. He was happy she was more confidant, regardless of his confusion.

"If you don't sleep I'll be able to sneak around you and you won't know." Bell added. He didn't know for sure that he could outsneak Hogni, but what he did know was that you became less alert if you didn't rest enough. And Hogni clearly didn't rest enough.

Bell watched Hogni go, though, uncertain what, if anything, to say. So he just watched him, observing as the man walked away, to his own room down a hallway. Meanwhile... Haruhime went up.

"...Up is good..." He said quietly to himself. Up was good. Up meant out. Up meant safe. Meant being out of reach of most ground-dwelling creatures.

"I should be good for... a while. Still alert." Quiet, tensing ever so slightly because he hadn't been on this level before and wasn't confidant what to expect. They lived here, and they were comfortable, and weren't tense - but he knew better than to relax just because you knew a place. "Probably look around. Get a... a mental map. A new one. Get to know it again." And maybe sneak in a few patrols, if possible.

Haruhime walked over to Hogni, her tail swishing a little with subdued agitation, and grabbed his arm. "If your other tasks all pertain to taking care of Bell, we can step in. You don't have to keep yourself awake longer to make sure he's situated. I'll show him to his room, so please, go rest."

Hogni seemed to struggle with himself--ultimately, he wanted to be the one to help Bell, but she was right. He didn't have to be the only one. He gave a small nod, then Haruhime smiled and let go of his arm, quietly dismissing him.

"Now...if you would follow me, I'll show you where the bedrooms are. You can look around and even take a rest if you too are tired." She started leading the way out of the kitchen. Reaching the entryway, they would see Hogni disappearing into a room on the first floor while she started ascending the stairs.

[justinefrischmanngf]

it is EMBARRASSING how much i lose my mind when people notice things about me