#can you tell that one was my favorite to write

[dduane]

A homebrew Iliad project

I've been fiddling with this for a long time.

Backstory: I've been dabbling in various depths of the great wine-dark sea of the ancient Greek classics since I was about seven or eight. (Might have been earlier, but I have no data to confirm that.)

I know Greek mythology like the back of my hand. (...Insert here the inevitable sound of Scotty whacking his head into an Enterprise bulkhead.) I know... a lot. And—leaving all the other stuff I know about that no one here is gonna care about one way or the other—I've read the Iliad and Odyssey probably about twice a year for the last fifty years or so. Or maybe more.

To my grief, I don't have enough classical Greek (or good enough Greek of any kind) to do any kind of respectable new translation of the work. That's far beyond my scope, or my level of scholarship. But I can sure as hell do... a retelling? A restatement? I have a number of favorite translations to use as guides, and the Perseus digital library... and, you know, dictionaries. And I'm not afraid to use them. :)

...And I'm a storyteller, and have no shame about the possibilities inherent in going where lots of others of my tribe have gone before—in restatement or in fiction. So let's just call this "a homebrew version of a work that hasn't been out of 'print' for thirty-five hundred years" and leave it there. (Is this ὕβρις? Yeah, seems likely enough. Whether this is going to be a manifestation of the downfall of the Greeks, or of the Geeks, remains to be seen.)

Anyway: my plan is to start publishing books (i.e., chapters) of this homebrew Iliad in the Fic Foundry writing website that will be opening up at last sometime over the next couple of months. The first few books will be open-access: after that they'll go subscription. They'll come out at irregular intervals (because there'll be paying work going on as well. [resigned sigh: So what else is new.])

When starting a project like this it seems like it might be wise to, in a general way, set out the goals.

Ease of accessibility. Lots of people have never read this story, or have experienced it only in one kind or another of paraphrase. (Yeah, well, here comes another one.) For maximum accessibility, I think this means what I want to do is a prose retelling. Nor am I going to get too hung up on anachronisms in the prose style. I'm reaching for the around-the-campfire sound, a little; or the story told after dinner, in episodes (and let's not throw the beef bones at the bard, she's doing the best she can).

Fidelity to the source material. This is an old, old story that both ascends to surprising heights of feeling and amazing depths of cruelty. There are things in it that some modern readers are not going to like at all: particularly the graphic gore and violence of what is repeatedly described as "the world's greatest war story". But these aspects of the Iliad, and the frequently callous, cruel and misogynistic understructure of its story, come with the territory of the original. I will in appropriate ficcer's style add trigger warnings where I think they're needed.

Completeness of the story. The temptation is always going to lurk for an adapter to decide what's important and what can be thrown out. I'm hardly immune. But it's my intention to leave the structure as intact as possible. Some people will disagree with my choices. (shrug) People have been disagreeing about ways to handle this work for centuries. What'll a few more be, among friends?

...So that's the plan. When this material starts to be ready to appear online, I'll let people here know where they need to go to access it. And after that... we'll see how things go.

I'll start this story as its first tellers did, and ask the Goddesses of epic storytelling to stand by me and lend a hand telling this one. At the end of the day, it all comes down to one angry young man: Achilles, only son of King Peleus. Achilles was completely possessed by a bitter rage that brought a whole host of troubles down on the great army of the Greeks. That unquenchable fury sent many a strong man’s soul to the Underworld, and left their bodies feeding the dogs and the vultures, while Heaven’s intentions moved inexorably on toward the Gods’ final goal...

[kaiyunsim]

nice guy —

pairing : best friend!jaehyun x gn!reader

summary : when you tell jaehyun you like someone, of course he wants to help as your best friend. the thing is… he likes you too.

warnings : angst !! some fluff.

a/n : this makes me realize i write for jaehyun a lot

[19.99 masterlist]

— wc : 4.5k — not proof read —

jaehyun has always been there.

he’s the friend who waits for you when you’re running late, even when he could’ve left ten minutes ago. the one who texts, let me know when you get home, when you’re out late, even though you never do. he still asks every time.

he knows your coffee order by heart. picks up your favorite snack without you having to say a word. when you’re cold, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders like it’s second nature.

and maybe, in a way, it is.

jaehyun has always been there, and you’ve never really questioned why. you don’t think about how he always seems to notice when you’re tired, how he never complains when you drag him along on errands or beg him to help you with schoolwork last minute. you don’t wonder why he never says no.

you just assume that it’s just how jaehyun is.

so when he’s listening to you ramble about lee sohee, it doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t want to hear it.

“sohee looked so good today,” you sigh, flopping onto his bed. jaehyun is sitting at his desk, flipping through a textbook, but you know he isn’t really reading it. he always says he can study with you around, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? “like, unfairly good.”

jaehyun hums, but it’s noncommittal, like he’s waiting for you to continue. so you do.

“i think we had a moment, too. we locked eyes across the room, and he smiled at me. well, he was probably just smiling in general, but it felt like it was at me, you know?”

jaehyun flips a page, gaze still on the book in front of him. “maybe,” he says.

“ugh, you don’t get it.” you groan, rolling onto your stomach. “he’s just so. i don’t know. he’s so cool, but not in an unapproachable way? like, confident. effortless. he makes my heart race, and i feel like such an idiot around him.”

jaehyun’s hands tighten around the textbook. it’s subtle. so subtle you don’t notice.

“you’re not an idiot,” he says.

“you have to say that. you’re my best friend.” you nudge his knee with yours, grinning. “but anyway, what do i do? how do i make a move without making it obvious that i’m, like, completely into him?”

jaehyun finally looks up, meeting your gaze. for a second, you think you see something in his eyes. something quiet, something hesitant.

but then he smiles, and it’s gone.

“just be yourself,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

you groan again, dramatic. “you’re so unhelpful.”

jaehyun laughs. it’s quiet, almost fond. “sorry.”

you huff, rolling onto your back again. “ugh, whatever. i just hope he notices me.”

jaehyun doesn’t say anything to that. doesn’t say, i notice you. doesn’t say, i’ve been noticing you.

he just turns the page of his textbook, gaze flickering back down, and pretends like this conversation doesn’t hurt.

—

the next day, you’re standing outside the lecture hall, waiting for class to start, when you spot sohee across the courtyard.

you freeze for a second, suddenly hyperaware of how you look. is your hair okay? do you seem too eager? too casual?

sohee is talking to some friends, laughing at something one of them said. and then, as if he can feel you staring, he looks over.

and he smiles.

it’s not anything dramatic. just a quick, easy curve of his lips, but it makes your heart stutter anyway.

you don’t even realize you’re grinning back until he gives you a small nod before turning back to his conversation.

you exhale sharply. okay. that was something, right?

you’re about to text jaehyun about it when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“you look weird,” jaehyun says, amused. “what’s up?”

you roll your eyes but don’t deny it. “sohee just smiled at me.”

jaehyun doesn’t react right away, but then he tilts his head, pretending to be impressed. “wow. smiling? revolutionary.”

“shut up,” you grumble, but you’re still smiling. “it felt like a moment.”

“hmm.” jaehyun crosses his arms, leaning against the wall beside you. “or maybe he was just being polite.”

you swat his arm. “why do you hate love?”

jaehyun snorts. “i don’t. i’m just saying, you might be overthinking it.”

“or maybe you just don’t understand romance.” you nudge him with your elbow. “when’s the last time you even liked someone?”

jaehyun looks away for a second, like he’s thinking.

but you don’t notice the way his fingers twitch, the way he inhales slightly like he’s about to say something before stopping himself.

“dunno,” he finally says, shrugging.

“see? you have no right to judge me.” you cross your arms, triumphant. “i’m gonna make him fall for me.”

jaehyun smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah?”

“yeah.” you nod firmly.

and jaehyun doesn’t say anything else.

the thing about jaehyun is that he always notices the small things.

like how you get nervous whenever sohee is around, fidgeting with your sleeves or fixing your hair. how your mood instantly lifts when sohee acknowledges you, even in the smallest ways.

how you never seem to notice when he’s the one looking at you.

he wonders, sometimes, if you’d ever realize. if it would ever occur to you to ask why he’s always there, why he always drops whatever he’s doing just to be around you.

probably not.

jaehyun exhales, tilting his head back against the couch.

he should stop hoping.

a few days later, you’re in jaehyun’s room again, scrolling through your phone while he’s half-heartedly working on an assignment.

“sohee’s been liking my posts more,” you say casually, but there’s an unmistakable excitement in your voice.

jaehyun glances at you. “and?”

“and maybe that means something.”

“or maybe he’s just tapping buttons.”

you throw a pillow at him. “why are you like this?”

jaehyun laughs, catching it. “fine. maybe he’s secretly in love with you and just waiting for the right moment to confess.”

“exactly.” you grin.

but for some reason, the thought stings a little less when you’re sitting next to him like this, feet nudging against his under the blanket, like you always do.

you don’t realize when it happens, but jaehyun starts answering your texts a little slower.

he doesn’t show up outside your class as often. doesn’t immediately agree when you ask him to hang out.

and you don’t think much of it. until one day, when you’re excitedly telling him about a conversation you had with sohee, and he just nods, looking distracted.

you frown. “are you even listening?”

jaehyun blinks, then shakes his head slightly. “yeah. sorry. you were saying…?”

“never mind.” you hesitate. “is something wrong?”

jaehyun smiles, but it’s not the usual one. the bright, easy grin you’re used to. this one feels… tired.

“nah. just thinking.”

you stare at him for a second, but he doesn’t elaborate.

and you don’t push.

that night, jaehyun lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.

he knows he can’t keep doing this.

and for the first time, he wonders if maybe… it’s time to step back.

—

jaehyun picks up on the first ring.

“hey,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

you wince, glancing at the time, 2:14 a.m. “were you asleep?”

there’s a rustling sound, like he’s shifting in bed. “nah,” he lies. “what’s up?”

you hesitate. you know he was sleeping, know you should probably just deal with this on your own, but—

“i need your help,” you admit, dropping your head onto your desk. “my essay’s due tomorrow, and i haven’t even started, and i have no idea what i’m doing.”

jaehyun sighs, but it’s not annoyed. more like resigned. “you’re unbelievable,” he mutters, and you can picture him shaking his head, running a hand through his hair.

“please,” you say, dragging out the word. “you’re, like, the only person who can get me through this.”

there’s a pause. then a quiet chuckle. “yeah, yeah. send me the prompt.”

relief floods through you as you hurriedly copy-paste the assignment details into a text.

“you’re the best,” you say, meaning it.

jaehyun just hums.

then twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at your door.

you didn’t even ask him to come over.

you open it to find jaehyun standing there in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair slightly tousled, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. he looks exhausted.

you grin, stepping aside to let him in. “you didn’t have to come in person, you know.”

he shrugs, dropping his bag onto your desk. “figured you’d work faster if i was here.”

he doesn’t say, figured you’d need me here. but he doesn’t have to.

you don’t even think about how he must’ve been exhausted, how he could’ve said no. you just shove your laptop at him, launching into a dramatic retelling of your struggles.

jaehyun listens, nodding, clicking through your half-finished document. then he sighs, flipping the laptop back toward you.

“okay. first, your thesis makes no sense.”

“wow,” you say dryly. “thanks.”

jaehyun smirks. “just being honest.”

you roll your eyes but don’t argue. instead, you scoot your chair closer to his, shoulders nearly brushing.

jaehyun stiffens for half a second before forcing himself to relax.

this is normal. this is fine.

so why does it feel different?

an hour in, your head is buried in your arms.

“i’m gonna die,” you groan. “just let me fail. i’ll live in a cave or something.”

jaehyun nudges your foot with his. “you’re not gonna fail. you just like being dramatic.”

you lift your head just enough to glare at him. “easy for you to say, mr. ‘i wrote my essay a week in advance.’”

jaehyun snorts. “hey, that just means i’m smarter than you.”

you shove his arm, and he laughs, soft and warm.

for a second, everything feels normal again.

but then your phone buzzes.

your fingers twitch automatically toward it. jaehyun watches the way your expression shifts. the way you bite back a smile just from seeing sohee’s name.

jaehyun looks away.

sohee had been texting you all week.

harmless things. questions about class, jokes, the occasional saw this and thought of you message with a blurry meme attached.

but you overanalyze everything. you stare at the screen too long, rereading his words, wondering if there’s something more there.

“do you think he likes me?” you’d asked jaehyun once, excitement bubbling in your voice.

you hadn’t noticed the way his smile faltered.

hadn’t noticed the way he’d shrugged a little too stiffly before saying, “dunno. maybe.”

hadn’t noticed the way his hands curled into fists under the table.

now, he watches you type back, fingers moving fast, a grin tugging at your lips.

you’re supposed to be writing, but you’re texting sohee instead.

jaehyun knows he shouldn’t care. knows he shouldn’t feel this way.

but it’s late, and he’s tired, and suddenly, it’s all hitting him at once.

two hours in, your head slumps onto his shoulder.

“wake me up when it’s done,” you mumble.

jaehyun snorts. “not how this works.”

you groan dramatically, but you don’t move away.

jaehyun stays completely still.

he tells himself he’s just letting you rest. that it doesn’t mean anything.

but the truth is, he’s scared that if he moves, you’ll realize how fast his heart is beating.

another hour passes, and somehow, miraculously, he finished the essay for you.

you let out a victorious cheer, stretching your arms above your head.

“finally,” you breathe. “i literally would’ve died without you.”

jaehyun smiles, but it’s small. tired.

you turn to him, beaming. “you’re such a good person, jaehyun. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

jaehyun laughs, but it feels hollow.

he already knows how this story goes.

he doesn’t wait for you to ask him to stay.

“you should get some sleep,” he says, standing up, stretching before patting your head.

you blink. “wait, you’re leaving?”

jaehyun grabs his bag. “yeah. you don’t need me anymore, right?”

it’s meant to be a joke, but something about it makes you pause.

you don’t ask him to stay again.

and he doesn’t offer.

when your phone buzzes later that night, you reach for it instantly, half-expecting jaehyun’s name.

but it’s sohee.

can’t sleep. you up?

you hesitate before replying, but then your screen flashes with another notification.

this time, it is jaehyun.

but it’s just a simple: good night.

no teasing. no extra words.

just that.

when you wake up, his message is still unread.

later, when you text him thank you again!! i owe you sm with a dozen heart emojis, he lets his phone sit on his nightstand.

he’ll reply in the morning.

or maybe he won’t.

—

sohee asks you out on a wednesday.

it’s after class, the late afternoon sun turning everything gold, and you’re still half-distracted, stuffing your notebook into your bag, when he says your name.

you look up, blinking. “huh?”

he shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i was just thinking,” he says, casual, like this isn’t about to change everything. “we should go out sometime.”

you freeze.

for a second, you think you misheard.

but then sohee smiles, and it’s that smile. the easy, charming one that made you notice him in the first place.

your heart stutters.

he’s asking me out.

you’ve been waiting for this. analyzing every interaction, every text, looking for something, anything, to tell you that sohee sees you the way you see him.

and now, here it is.

your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. “you mean, like—”

sohee laughs, light and teasing. “yeah. like a date.”

you should be over the moon. you should be throwing your arms around him, texting your friends in all caps, feeling the rush of everything finally falling into place.

instead, your brain does something stupid.

your first thought isn’t yes, or finally, or holy shit, this is happening.

it’s i have to tell jaehyun.

and then, just as quickly, your mind says wait.

you haven’t spoken to jaehyun in two days.

it’s not like he’s avoiding you. he’s still in class, still in group chats, still there. but it’s different.

he doesn’t text first anymore. doesn’t immediately reply when you do.

he’s fine.

laughing with his friends, slinging an arm around woonhak’s shoulders, joking with taesan like nothing happened.

like you never stayed up until 3 a.m. working on your essay.

like he never sat next to you, close enough to feel the warmth of your shoulder against his.

like he never used to be the first person you told everything.

now, you’re standing here, sohee looking at you expectantly, and all you can think is:

why isn’t jaehyun here to see this?

sohee tilts his head. “so?”

you blink. “huh?”

he chuckles. “do you wanna go out?”

do you?

the answer should be obvious.

you swallow, forcing the hesitation out of your voice. “yeah,” you say. “yeah, i’d like that.”

sohee grins.

“great,” he says, as if it was never even a question.

you text jaehyun that night.

nothing big. just a simple hey.

he doesn’t reply.

you stare at your screen, watching the message sit there, unread.

it’s fine. he’s probably busy.

you set your phone down.

pick it back up.

open your messages again.

still nothing.

okay, you tell yourself, rolling onto your back. it’s not a big deal.

but something feels wrong.

normally, you wouldn’t have to wait. jaehyun would’ve already sent back a sarcastic what do you want or a teasing wow, you miss me?

but now, silence.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to expect his presence until it’s gone.

like muscle memory. like reaching for something that isn’t there.

you unlock your phone without thinking, scrolling through your notifications.

sohee texted, something about movie times, making plans, being excited to see you.

your lips curl into a smile, but your fingers hesitate before replying.

you check your messages again.

still no jaehyun.

—

you see him the next morning, laughing with taesan outside the lecture hall.

you hesitate.

it’s not like you need to talk to him. but something inside you itches, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your ribs.

before you can stop yourself, you walk over.

“hey,” you say, stopping a few steps away.

jaehyun glances at you. “oh. hey.”

his voice is easy, neutral.

too neutral.

taesan nods at you before turning back to jaehyun. “dude, i swear, if you actually pull that off, i’ll—”

“you’ll what?” jaehyun shoots back, raising a brow.

taesan huffs, shoving his shoulder. jaehyun just grins.

you stand there, watching them go back and forth, waiting for something.

for him to turn to you. for him to say something, anything, that feels like him.

but he doesn’t.

you clear your throat. “so…”

jaehyun finally looks at you.

you shift your weight. “did you see my text?”

he blinks.

then, casually, “oh. yeah. sorry, i forgot to reply.”

he forgot.

jaehyun, who never forgets anything.

something tightens in your chest. this gut feeling that won't leave.

you force out a chuckle. “wow, can’t believe you’re ignoring me now.”

“not ignoring you,” he says easily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “just busy.”

he says it like it’s nothing. like it’s normal.

maybe it is. maybe you were the only one who ever thought it was something else.

when you leave, you expect a text from him.

nothing big. just a 'btw, i was kidding' or a 'you good?'

but it never comes.

—

the date with sohee should be the only thing on your mind.

but that night, as you lie in bed, scrolling through your messages, the only conversation you keep rereading is the one that isn’t there.

“hey,” sohee says, nudging your knee under the table. “you okay?”

you blink, snapping back to the present.

you’re at a café, your coffee untouched, sohee sitting across from you with that effortless confidence, like he belongs wherever he is.

you should be paying attention to him.

you should be happy.

“yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

sohee grins. “want me to bore you to sleep?”

you laugh, but it’s not as easy as it should be. your hand twitches toward your phone.

you resist the urge to check. you wonder if jaehyun is waiting for you to text first.

if this is some weird game where neither of you want to be the one to cave.

you stare at the empty space where his name should be.

you think about how easy it would be to just message him.

to just say, 'hey. i miss you.'

but you don’t.

instead, you smile at sohee and try to pretend everything is fine.

— a few days pass.

sohee cancels on you last minute.

it’s not a big deal.

really.

it’s just one date. just one night.

but you still sit there, phone screen glowing in the dim light of your room, rereading his message over and over.

sohee [7:12 PM]: hey, something came up. might not be able to make it.

you exhale slowly, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

you [7:14 PM]: oh okay. no worries!

it’s fine. it’s fine.

but your stomach is tight, fingers gripping your phone just a little too hard.

it’s stupid to feel this way. plans change. people get busy.

but you can’t shake it. the feeling of being second.

an afterthought.

without thinking, you tap out of the chat, scrolling down your contacts until your thumb stops on a familiar name.

you hesitate.

then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call.

the phone rings.

once.

twice.

three times.

your stomach twists.

jaehyun always picks up on the first ring.

always.

except now, he doesn’t.

you don’t know why you expected him to.

he’s been distant for weeks now, ever since…

your throat tightens.

you don’t want to think about it.

but for the first time, you wonder, when was the last time he called first?

when was the last time he was the one waiting on you?

you shove the thought away, locking your phone.

it doesn’t mean anything.

you see jaehyun the next day, and he looks tired.

not just the kind of tired that comes from too many late nights.

a different kind. something deeper.

you hesitate before stepping forward. “hey.”

he looks up, gaze flicking over you, unreadable. “hey.”

you shift your weight.

“can we talk?”

he exhales through his nose, rubbing his eyes. “do we need to?”

the words hit you harder than they should.

your fingers curl at your sides. “yeah,” you say. “i think we do.”

jaehyun watches you for a second. then, finally, he nods.

you end up outside, the evening air cool against your skin.

jaehyun leans against the railing, arms crossed, waiting.

you don’t know how to start.

you don’t even know what you want to say.

so you settle for, “sohee canceled on me last night.”

jaehyun doesn’t react.

he just hums, like he’s waiting for you to get to the point.

you hesitate. “i called you.”

this time, something flickers in his expression.

“yeah,” he says, voice flat. “i saw.”

your stomach twists. “why didn’t you pick up?”

jaehyun exhales, pushing a hand through his hair.

then, quietly—

“you only come to me when you’re upset.”

you blink. “what?”

he shakes his head, looking away. “i can’t keep being the one you run to when someone else lets you down.”

you open your mouth, then close it.

your heart pounds. “jaehyun, it’s not—”

“it is,” he says, voice sharp. “every single time. i’m the one you call when you’re sad. when you’re stressed. when you’re alone. but when you’re happy—”

he laughs, but it’s hollow.

“when you’re happy, i don’t even cross your mind.”

your throat feels tight. “that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

he tilts his head, looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

like he’s trying to figure you out.

and the worst part is that you don’t have an answer.

you never thought about it. never realized how much you relied on him.

how much you expected him to always be there.

you swallow hard. “i don’t want to lose you.”

your voice is quiet, but it feels like shouting.

jaehyun’s gaze softens, just for a second.

but then, just as quickly, he shakes his head.

“then stop looking for me only when you need something.”

and for the first time, he walks away first.

—

everything feels off.

it’s not something you notice all at once. it creeps in slowly, like the way the air feels heavier before a storm.

it’s in the empty space next to you when you walk home. the silence in your messages where his name used to be.

it’s in the way you find yourself reaching for your phone, expecting a notification that never comes.

jaehyun is gone.

not literally. he’s still there, somewhere, existing in the same world as you. you still see him in passing, laughing with his friends, leaning against doorways, shoving his hands into his pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

he looks… fine.

and that stings more than you want to admit.

because if he’s fine, then why aren’t you?

you tell yourself it’s just habit.

you got used to him. that’s all.

but habits don’t make your chest ache when you see him talking to someone else.

habits don’t make you stay up at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation, every look, every moment that should have told you something you refused to see.

habits don’t make you feel like something is missing.

like someone is missing.

and then it hits you, all at once.

you miss him.

not because you need something. not because you’re sad, or upset, or lonely.

you just miss him.

you miss his stupid jokes. the way he always knew what you were thinking before you said it. the warmth of his presence, steady and solid like he was always meant to be there.

and a thought comes to mind, you never even thought about sohee.

not once.

it takes you too long to do something about it.

but eventually, you do.

and it’s not hard to find jaehyun.

he’s outside, leaning against the side of the building, scrolling through his phone like he’s waiting for something. or maybe someone.

you swallow hard, nerves crawling up your spine.

you almost turn around.

almost.

but then he looks up, and his eyes land on you.

he freezes.

for a second, neither of you move.

then, slowly, he straightens.

“…hey.”

it’s not cold, but it’s not warm either.

you hate that.

you take a breath. “hey.”

jaehyun tilts his head, watching you carefully.

waiting.

you nervously lick your lips, shifting your weight.

you should say something.

apologize. explain. tell him you were stupid, that you get it now, that you know it’s too late but you see him now, the way you should have before.

but none of that feels right.

so you just say—

“i miss you.”

jaehyun doesn’t react right away.

you force yourself to keep going.

“that’s all.”

you exhale, stepping back. “i just thought you should know.”

then you turn, forcing your feet to move, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

one step.

two.

three—

a hand wraps around your wrist.

stopping you.

your breath catches.

slowly, you turn.

jaehyun is staring at you.

his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough that you feel it.

your throat goes dry.

“that’s all?” he asks, voice quiet.

you hesitate. “what?”

he exhales, shaking his head, something unreadable in his eyes.

“you miss me, and that’s all?”

your stomach twists.

he’s waiting for something.

something more.

you don’t know if you deserve to give it to him.

but you do anyway.

you take a shaky breath.

“no.”

jaehyun’s fingers loosen, but he doesn’t let go.

you swallow, looking down.

“it’s not just that i miss you,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “it’s that everything feels wrong without you.”

jaehyun doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“i was an idiot,” you say, words spilling out now, too fast, too real. “you were always there, and i never saw it. but i see it now.”

jaehyun exhales, shaking his head.

“took you long enough.”

your lips twitch. “yeah.”

a beat of silence.

“can i make it up to you?”

jaehyun narrows his eyes.

“depends.”

you blink. “on what?”

he sighs, pretending to be annoyed, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“you owe me so much boba.”

you snort, shaking your head. “deal.”

you bump shoulders with him, just lightly, testing.

jaehyun doesn’t pull away.

and this time, when you start walking, he stays right beside you. where he always belonged.

—

tysm for reading :>

series taglist : @somber-reads @saritahwang

bnd taglist : @bxnedo

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz @the0p @mon2sunjinsuver

[p1astr81]

Just read sidelines and oh my god it was so good! I need soft and sweet Oscar in my life! Could you write a part 2 that is just like sweet fluff, full of pampering her and maybe a teenie tiny bit of smut if you are up for it? You don't need to add the smut if you do not want to of course! Hope you have a nice day!

why thank you so much for the compliment! of course I can write some fluffy oscar!!😊 as I’ve said, smut isn’t my strong suit so bare with me here.

warnings: smut, fingering

Not a week went by without Oscar taking you on a date. To dinner, the beach, the movies, a night in where you molded clay into silly monsters, a science museum—because Oscar picked up on your strange fascination with space and gems.

When you questioned him on why he was taking you on so many dates, he said, “to make up for all the shitty ones,” with a stupidly adorable smile on his face.

You recalled one time, when he heard you on the phone with your mom about how you were craving lobster. It took all of three minutes for him to book a reservation at the restaurant ten minutes away.

“I can’t wait until Monza. I love Italy. I’ve never been, actually. But I do love pasta, and it’s Italy, so it has to be good.” You rambled while you carefully split another leg of the lobster. You looked up at him. “You’ve been to Italy. How’s the pasta?”

With a soft smile, he replied, “it’s good.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t even thinking about the pasta, or the food sat right in front of him. You were so mesmerizing to look at while you rambled. The light caught your eye just right, giving it a sparkle as you talked with passion. He didn’t understand how any guy could feel any different.

Oscar’s staring panicked you, though. “What is it? Have I said something wrong?”

He chuckled. Shook his head. “No.” His voice, soft.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

He hummed. “You’re cute when you ramble.”

Your face turned a wild shade of red. “Shut up and eat your food.” You mumbled, trying to hide your face.

Another time came to mind, when you returned from the gym.

His apartment had basically become yours. You walked in one day, heated, annoyed, and ready to complain. “Someone tracked water out of the pool area and-“ you stopped short at the sight on the table. A giant bouquet on the table. An arrangement of your favorite flowers. You gasped. “Oh, Os.”

He wore a shy smile, standing at arms length. “Do you like them? The florist said that the flowers might clash but I just thought… well, they’re your favorite so…”

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, squeezing tightly. “My god, it’s so gorgeous.” Misty eyes met his. “Thank you.”

His brows scrunched. “Hey, don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

You blinked a couple times. “I don’t know. It’s just so sweet. I think I’m pmsing.”

His eyes momentarily went wide. “Oh. Okay. Do you need anything?”

“A good cuddle, maybe?”

He happily obliged.

And then there was that time when work went late. And you came home to an unexpected dinner.

The mood was set with candles strictly lighting the place. Blankets stacked on the couch with the untold promise of a movie night. Dinner was already made, steaming hot on the dining room table. You expected to just reheat leftovers, so the gesture of receiving a fresh, warm meal meant more to you than words could describe.

Oscar emerged from the bathroom, smiling when he saw you. “Hey,” he greeted softly.

Palms encasing his face, you kissed him. “Thank you.”

He could tell in the way you held yourself, and the way you spoke that you were beyond exhausted.

You did cherish him, too.

On the weekends you couldn’t join them, you hid love notes around his luggage. Sat on top of his clothes. In the pocket of his jeans. Stick ‘em to the keyboard of his laptop.

And you surprised him one weekend. Flew in the morning of the race. Got in touch with Lando so he’d grace you with passes. Oscar won the race, and you were the first thing he saw when he got out of the car. His celebration on top of the car was short as he rushed to your embrace.

Perhaps your favorite time, was when you surprised him by putting on his race suit from the year prior. Shockingly, it turned him on.

He tore the suit off of you, threw it to the ground like it wasn’t worth thousands of dollars.

He swept you off your feet, literally. Picking you up only to toss you onto the bed seconds later.

“Didn’t think it would lead here.” You laughed, out of breath.

A choked gasp tore through your throat when he slipped a hand under your bra and palmed your tits. He left hot, wet, open mouthed kisses all over your exposed skin. “Looked so good. In my color. My name. My number.”

Oh. It was the possessiveness of it all. How, just by slipping on a piece of fabric, you’d branded yourself with him.

A jolt of pleasure shot through you as two fingers plunged into your pussy. He didn’t even let you adjust, just went straight to pumping his fingers in and out of you at a quick, measured pace. Each curled stroke of his fingers pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

You moaned into his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted. “Yes, fuck, don’t stop,” your nails dug into his arm.

Oscar was dizzy at the sight of you, growing rock hard in his pants. “So, so pretty like this.” He praised, kissing each of your cheeks. “Squeezing my fingers so well.”

Your head bowed forward, face now hidden in his shoulder. “Osca-ah“ you gasped out moans when a third finger found its way to your clit. “Oh, shit.” You cursed, head falling back to the pillow, mouth open in a silent moan.

“C’mon, baby. Cum on my fingers.” He pressed harder on your clit.

“Oscar!” A moan, a gasp, a scream, whatever it was, it was music to Oscar’s ears as he felt you paint his fingers with your release. You arched up into him, tits now in his face. He took it as an invite to latch onto one of your nipples. “Fuck! Oh, shit!” You cursed, and it was quickly followed by a mewl. “Too much, too much!” You pushed his face away, legs making a feeble attempt at pushing him away.

He took his fingers out of you, now covered in you, glistening. He cleaned them off in his mouth, then reached out to offer you a taste. You dodged his hand, a noise of disgust. He chucked and licked the last little bit off.

Your eyes trailed down to the very obvious bulge protruding out of his pants. “I think it’s your turn then.” You laughed.

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

Oh Mahal, please have mercy on me this one time...

-"Dain being Dain" That's not a warning, that's a fucking inviation for me!😍

-It didn't even begin and I'm already screaming. LOOK AT THAT DRESS!!!!

-"The last thing you want is to see him again and you will gladly sit this one out, preferably in your office, swamped with work." Oh come on Ragna, just marry already.

-OMG DÁIN HIIII😍

-"You don’t feel like explaining how hard it is for you to take your smoking pouch, the one adorned with Ereborean embroideries, knowing whose hands have touched it before it was given to you." Owwww my heart!🥺

-"Thorin throwin’ a tantrum about the way his tunics are supposed to be folded!" So nice we got context on that!

-"it must have been a lot because it looks like the Night Singer wasn’t invited that night… and everyone was counting on a grand farewell concert!" I would DIE of shame... I don't know how Ragna manages to stand on her feet, I would pass out of embarassment.

-"LITTLE DÍS AND I" AWWWWW

-"She tells me her brother has been going through our latest treaty and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with it." Well, shit... Whatever, TWO MORE WEEK OF NEGOTIATIONS😍

-Thorin: *locks himself in his chamber, cries, griefs, wishes nothing but to love Ragna the rest of his life* Ragna: "If the King Under the Mountain wants war, war is what he is going to get!" Two idiots in love indeed!

-"You are going into battle and you are not planning to show up on the battlefield empty-handed." oh the dramaaaaaa

-"The very elaborate hairstyle with dozens and dozens of braids that will drive any dwarf mad as soon as he tries to decipher their hidden meaning?" Wait, braids have meanings??? Somebody sent me info on this I must know!!!

-"Now you are ready for war. And you intend to win it." You idiot! JUST MARRY ALREADY

-"THE RECLAMATION DAY" Love that. Is my favorite headcanon. Durin's day turning into a Reclamation celebration. AAAAH

-"Seriously, this dwarf-woman could single-handedly solve the population problem in Erebor."🤣🤣

-"Lord Dain who is currently busy reenacting the latest battle with the Orcs. Instead of his legendary war hammer, he holds a roast lamb leg in his hand." He gives off Merida's father vibes and I LOVE IT.

-"The raven crown rests on his head, gold against the silky dark mane of his hair, giving him a truly regal look" HOT

-"But then the King turns to face you and smiles directly at you" FUCKING FINALLY. I WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS SHIT

-"You see it in the way his perfectly styled and festively braided hair falls down his wide shoulders that are covered by a black fur-lined cloak adorned with intricate golden embroideries" I forgot how to breath. Can anybody send a doctor to my house??

-"You see the King, but you also notice the dwarf beneath his royal mask. The dwarf who once looked at you the same way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…" AAAAAH @lathalea I LOVE THISSSS NEVER STOP WRITING I BEG OF YOU

-"Slowly you open your eyes. Before you can recall where you are, you see a pair of deep blue eyes resting on you, and a face that has become very familiar to you during the recent nights." MY BREATHING HITCHED!

-"Every time the sensual dance of your bodies start, each place on your skin Thorin touches turns into a burning hot metal that can be shaped in any way he likes; when you run your fingers along the peaks and valleys of his muscular body, you can almost feel the lava running through his veins, its temperature rising to impossible levels as you continue your ministrations." This is so poetic and also very "dwarvish-written", as if it was narrated by someone who values the mountains and all subtances of the earth more than anything. And I love it!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It enhances my delusion that I'm a dwarf reading other dwarvish tales💝 @lathalea saying thank you will never be enough!

-"Thorin’s voice rumbles in his chest like the sound of a distant rainstorm bringing relief to the sun-scorched earth." I WILL PASS OUT. STOP IT WITH THE AMAZING DESCRIPTIONS OF THORIN'S ATTRIBUTES❤️‍🔥

-"You feel so small, so fragile in his embrace, and yet completely safe and at ease." This. This is what love is about 💝

-"There is no place for a king, nor a trade advisor in here, all the titles and duties are forgotten. The only important thing in this world at this very moment is the way he holds you close. You imagine that this is how a lover would hold the lady of his heart if he didn’t want to let her go. And you don’t want him to." Aaaaah!! I adore their love story! If there are 100 Thorin and Ragna fans, I'm one of them. If there's only one fan of Thorin and Ragna, that's me. If there are no fans of Thorin and Ragna left, that means I'm dead. I won't say sorry for my dramatic statement hahaha

-"'My feet are cold,' you warn him, but he only chuckles in response and then his leg covers yours. His feet are pressed against yours, giving off enormous warmth." AAAAH YES. I WAS HOPING WE WOULD GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS. It annoyed me when Dwalin repeated that only having lovers meant no cold feet bothering at night, because I think that's the nice thing about being with someone you love. To share warmth and endure cold nights. I used to have a boyfriend who would caress all parts of my body until I no longer had cold skin, so it annoys me when people complain about cold feet. Share more warmth with your partner! Such a simple thing but these details make me love this fic.

-TWO PIECES OF THE SAME ROCK. OH, STOP IT WITH THE DWARVISH WRITING OR I WILL CRY.

-"the way his heart beats, strongly, steadily, as if it was beating only for you" AAAAAAH I WANT A THORIN😭 Can I get a loving Thorin for Christmas, pretty please?

-AWWWWW THEY ARE SO CUTE. PLEASE MARRY ALREADY!

-"He looked at you in that special, intimate way. How dare he?! Then smiled at you with that disarming smile of his. Outrageous! And you replied with a smile in turn. You didn’t bat your eyelashes at him by any chance, did you? Ragna, you silly girl, weren’t you supposed to ignore him?! Weren’t you supposed to be over that cold-hearted Thorin Oakenshield, the great king and the brave warrior who has a rock for a brain? Ah, well." I love how I go from silently screaming and pulling my hair at their encounters to laughing out loud. This is so well written

-"You look up and see Lady Dís" I GASPED SO LOUDLY

-Dís' description 🥹

-"Your cheeks should not burn, and yet they are. Traitors." For some reason I'm laughing so loud at this. Lol just admit it already, Ragna! There's no point in further denying that you love him!

-Oh Mahal I love that Dís felt the need to help her brother lmao these two idiots can't be left alone to solve their problems

-She… did… not… just… No. Stop searching for hidden meanings, Ragna! She has no clue what happened between you and her brother in the Iron Hills!" AAAAAH I'M SCREAMING (silently, it's too early in the morning yet to let my emotions unfold freely😭)

-"He had his chance with you and he ruined it!" WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I want to break something

-“There’s enough space for the two of us,” I identify as Brazil's natural wonder

-"'What a shame we are in a hurry,' you hear his voice and then his hand disappears." I gasped. Kill him, Ragna!

-"A great scepter is a mark of a great king, isn’t that how the saying goes?" I am a waterfall

-"'Shhh…' he whispers, pulling out slowly only to sink into you to the hilt equally unhurriedly, all the way in." Ragna has a level of solf control I can only dream of having because if he had done this to me I would have alerted everyone all the way to the Misty Mountains

-"Effortlessly he lifts your other leg, holding the full weight of your body in the air as if you were as light as a piece of parchment." WHAT A STRONG DWARF. GIVE ME MOREEEEE. I CAN'T TAKE IT WHEN THEY ARE SO STRONG AND MUSCULAR❤️‍🔥

-"A storage rack just behind his back constricts his movements; they are short, quick and incredibly precise, just at the angle you like. Thorin is a very observant lover - during your nights together he quickly learned what gives you the most pleasure and now makes a good use of his knowledge" I am officially a body of water, bring a photographer and turn me into a natural wonder

-"Thorin’s face is buried in the hollow of your neck, his hair spilling in soft waves over the bare skin of your chest," His hair😍😍

-"he grins and leans into your lips, sealing it with a slow, sensual kiss that makes you almost forget who you are and where you are." Aww. This is what love is about, I believe ❤️‍🩹

-"You brute! My bodice is ruined!" "You wonder if kissing your king until he loses his breath and falls unconscious to the floor is a crime against the crown." LOL

-"Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, is kneeling. In front of you. And your heart is beating fast," and mine has totally stopped

-"you can only follow the movements of his nimble fingers as he intertwines the torn straps together, pulling them through all the loops. He works quickly and efficiently, with a small frown of concentration on his face," I WILL PASS OUT. THIS IS SO HOT WTF

-"It is only when that person is his queen." I AM SCREAMING LOUDLY

-"You forget that I have a younger sister. Dís has been plagued with wardrobe malfunctions for as long as I remember" AND IT GOT EVEN HOTTERRRRR. Oh Mahal, dwarves with sisters who know how to treat women>>>>>

-"You know we would agree on your terms without you sweetening the deal.” “I also know about how many families with the little ones live in the Iron Hills. More than in Erebor" I was smiling so brightly at this and suddenly my face turned grim. Lmao @lathalea what are you doing to me?

-I SHARE THE FEELING OF RAGNA'S PANIC

-"A hunky male falls on his knees before you and all you can think of is popping out babies for him" I LAUGHED SO HARD. Lol been there done that, Ragna. No shame here

-"Thorin speaks business, but his tone is not at all business-like." 🥺I love him. HE DID THIS PURELY OUT OF GOODWILL, SHUT UP RAGNA'S BRAIN

-AWWWWW I LOVE HIM AND I LOVE THEM THEY ARE SO CUTE

-“If you require education in this matter, my lady, I will be more than happy to tutor you tonight in my bedchamber,” I gasped so loudly that I bet if I was hidding in Smaug's treasury he would have found me and eat me

-“Do you think that’s a wise negotiation strategy, my lady? Talking about milk and breasts while I’m so close to the latter?”🤣 I laughed so loud

-"As soon as you leave that door, there will be no Thorin and Ragna, but a king and an advisor." I will cry

-"A day of draining negotiations for a few fleeting moments of passion. Is this a fair price, Ragna? Deep down in your heart, there is the answer waiting for you, but you don’t want to hear it. Not yet." OMG. RAGNA JUST ADMIT ITTTTTT

-“I truly hate this part.” OWWWWWWW I AM SCREAMING SO MUCH

-"It is time to put all those confusing, maudlin thoughts away, bury them deep down in your heart, along with every other thing he makes you feel." Oh yea I bet that will work

-“Don’t you?” I swear I'm shaking. I feel Ragna's anxiety through the writing lol

-“Yes, yes, sure. But hasn’t this thought crossed your mind?” Dís, you are not being subtle at all 🤣

-“Is he such a coward that he sends his own sister to speak for him?!” I SCREAMED AND LAUGHED SO LOUDLY. Off with all subtleties, I see.

-"If gaze could kill, the whole Erebor would be now preparing for Captain Dwalin’s funeral."🤣🤣

-"As he does so, his grin widens, and then you hear a sound of a goblet being forcefully set on a table, somewhere in a distance, among the cheerful noise of the feast" OH THE DRAMAAA

-"The face of the ruler of Erebor comes into view yet again. This time, his massive, fisted hand rests on the table. His jaw is set, an unmistakable sign of anger, and there is a deep shadow over his darkened eyes." THE JEALOUSY OF DWARVES❤️‍🔥

-"I’ve seen that glance only once, five years ago in the treasure chamber, and it ended in battle." I SCREAMED

-RAGNA I WILL KILL YOU AND KEEP THE KING FOR MYSELF IF YOU DON'T STOP BEING AN IDIOT

-"Damn you and your stupid heart." I AGREE

-“I need to put an end to this mess once and for all.” FUCKING FINALLY. I punched my desk so hard

-"And then you follow your king one last time." LAST TIME??

-This chapter was a mess and I loved every second of it

-OMG LATHALEA I HATE YOU THIS IS SO GOOD

-Highlight of the chapter:

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 8/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: Dain being Dain, anger, angst, smut, not-so-short chapter

You can read the other parts here:

The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ... For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your support and help and especially for the gown 🤩 💙 Gwen picked an amazing gown for Ragna for this chapter and you can see it here. 💙 Do you want to see how Ragna looks? @grunid made this art to show us all how she looks in the Iron Hills. Isn't she lovely? Thank you so much, Grunid! 💙

💙 And this is a commission by the talented @sipulisipsi showing Thorin sitting in his study and looking at Ragna's map. Thank you everyone for reading, supporting us and joining in for the ride. I give you the penultimate chapter of Thorin and Ragna's story (aka idiots in love). Enjoy! 💙

* * * All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 8/10

The Iron Hills, next morning after you receive the invitation from the King Under the Mountain

You are facing Dain Ironfoot, the lord of the Iron Hills, in his study, clutching the cursed invitation from King Thorin II Oakenshield in your hand. The King of Longbeards himself had the audacity to invite you to the Durin’s Day Feast, the most important event of the year in the kingdom. Or, in fact, in all the seven dwarven kingdoms. But that’s not everything. Durin’s Day is not only the first day of the dwarven year. On this day, five years ago, Erebor was reclaimed by its current king (and your ex lover) and his company, so the celebrations will be even more festive than usual. Every dwarf you know would beg for a possibility to attend this anniversary feast, but not you. Oh, no. You’ve had enough of the arrogant, overbearing, cold-hearted king. In fact, you’ve had too much of him, and too much of the heartbreak your acquaintance with him has caused you. The last thing you want is to see him again and you will gladly sit this one out, preferably in your office, swamped with work.

“My lord, I’m sure you understand my reasons. My presence is required in the Iron Hills, I simply can’t leave the…” you offer yet another argument from the sizeable arsenal you prepared. Unfortunately, today Lord Dain is not in the mood for listening to them.

“Yer goin’ with me and the rest of our delegation to Erebor, lassie, and that’s final!” Lord Dain stomps his foot as he stands in front of you, the pair of wild boar tusks in his moustache pointing at you.

“But there are preparations for the winter to be supervised and…” you protest.

“Master Gorm will take care of them, just like he did last year, and the year before that!” Lord Dain says adamantly. “But I need to be preparing for the negotiations with King Thranduil, there are only five weeks left!”

“Come now lassie, ye’ve been preparing for it for months now! There’s no one else under these bloody hills who would know more about treaties with those pointy-eared tree shaggers than ye!” You huff in indignation at this blatant flattery, but deep inside you admit it is good to feel appreciated by the ruler of the Iron Hills.

“If we are to have a chance of signing a profitable treaty with the Woodland Realm,” you state, “I need to study the last agreement between King Thror and King Thranduil, I think that the White Gems...” “Ye can study it all you want when ye’re in the saddle on the way to the Lonely Mountain!” he furrows his brow and tilts his head slightly. “What is it, lassie? I know how much ye like the Durin’s Day celebrations! Don’t ye want to see what they look like in Erebor? Don’t ye want to dance and sing and be merry?” “I…” you start. Well, he has a point. If it was any other year, you would be counting days until the feast by now, nibbling on honey roasted almonds, trying on new dresses, choosing the right jewels and most comfortable dancing shoes. But this year it is different. “I think I’d prefer to celebrate it here…”

“It’s because ye’ve never seen a Reclamation Day Feast in Erebor! There’s so much food, wine, mead, and ale that ye can eat for a week! There’s the dancing too, I know how ye like it! And Bombur’s gravy is finger-licking good! Even me bonnie wife’s gravy doesn’t taste that well, just don’t tell ‘er I said that, lassie! Me back is too old for me to sleep on the doormat again!” he winks at you conspiratorially.

“My lips are sealed!” you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “But I’d rather watch my weight this year. I’m already having problems fitting in my dresses!” you try to joke back, but there is a shadow of truth in your words. During the last few weeks, since a certain someone left, you may have been eating a bit more than usual. One of your friends is a baker and she makes delicious chocolate cakes! A chocolate cake is always there when you need it. It won’t leave you. It won’t judge you. And it offers comfort, almost like his embrace once did. Damn it, Ragna. Don’t you dare think about his strong arms around you.

“... what I’m sayin’, lassie?” Dain’s voice brings you out of your musings. “Me cousin invited you! Ye know which one, the handsome king, not the toothless one! If Nain and not Thorin were to invite ye, that’d be a completely different story!”

You sigh. It’s time for yet another argument.

“I have been suffering from migraines recently and I’m afraid traveling would only make them worse,” you try a more personal approach. The last thing you want is sharing your health problems with your boss, but right now you don’t see any other way.

“Fer Mahal’s sake! It’s because you smoke Old Toby’s like a chimney! I told ye so many times already! Try the Bree Blend!” “To be honest, I’m trying to cut down on smoking pipeweed,” you say, looking away. You don’t feel like explaining how hard it is for you to take your smoking pouch, the one adorned with Ereborean embroideries, knowing whose hands have touched it before it was given to you. Thorin’s gift. The only thing you have to remember him by. Except for that stupid bead gathering dust in the darkest corner of your bedroom. Your throat constricts for a moment. Are you going to cry now, Ragna? Stop moping around and pull yourself together! Lord Dain is talking to you!

“... some herbs or somethin’! Ragna, lassie, I need ye there with me! I’m not risking trade relations with Erebor only because my head advisor does not want to see the king!”

“H-how do you know?” your eyes widen and you feel the heat in your cheeks. Damn, have you been that obvious that even Dain noticed it?

“Only a blind man could have missed the lightnings coming from yer eyes on the last day of the negotiations! And Thorin was in such foul humor afterwards, I tell ya!” he shakes his head, giving out a chuckle at the same time. “Do you know that he threw a servant out of his chambers only because the poor boy folded his tunics not the way the king preferred? Imagine that! Thorin throwin’ a tantrum about the way his tunics are supposed to be folded! Ha! Like some feckin’ dandy!”

“Who would have thought…” you let your voice trail off, but in his excitement Dain seems not to notice it.

“Whatever happened between ye, it must have been a lot because it looks like the Night Singer wasn’t invited that night… and everyone was counting on a grand farewell concert!” he winks with a cheeky smile, but you don’t smile back and look away, feeling the moisture gathering in your eyes. No, these are not tears, not at all, there is something stuck in your eyes for sure.

“Forgive me, Lord Dain, but I truly don’t think King Thorin II will be happy to see me.”

“What are ye talkin’ about, lass? Haven’t ye noticed that this invitation is the King’s personal request?!” he points at the parchment you hold in your hands. “Even I haven’t gotten a fancy piece of parchment like that and I’ve known ‘im since we were beardless pebbles running butt-naked through the corridors of Erebor!”

“Oh,” you manage to form a not so quite eloquent response, trying to process two crucial pieces of information. One - this invitation is supposed to be a great honour, coming from the King himself. Great. Two - your imagination shows you a vivid image of the aforementioned king sprinting happily through the mountain, naked as Mahal created him. Lord of Stone, have mercy on you and your befuddled brain.

“You said something about our trade relations with Erebor being at risk?” you quickly change the subject.

“Yes, and that is why ye have to go to Erebor with me, lassie, and help me out of this latest mess!” Dain leans towards you and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Lady Dís visited me some days ago…”

“Lady Dís? I wasn’t informed of her visit,” you admit. You have been working so much these days that you wouldn’t have noticed anyone visiting, to be honest.

“It was an… unofficial visit. I’d rather it stayed between us, lassie.” “Of course, my lord. I won’t tell a soul,” you say, intrigued by this new fact. “What was the reason for her visit?”

“How should I…” Dain scratches his head, his forehead creased. “We’ve always been great friends, little Dís and I. She tells me her brother has been going through our latest treaty and doesn’t seem to be satisfied with it.” “That’s his problem, not ours. The treaty has been signed!” you snort, clearly remembering every single clause of that cursed agreement.

“Yes, but its effective date is not until one day after Durin’s Day, the day of the first shipment from Erebor. To make matters worse, he’s been sending me angry letters! It doesn’t look good, lassie, not at all!” Lord Dain’s face is contorted in anguish as he raises his voice. You have never seen him so agitated before. “I don’t know what we’ll do in Erebor without ye! I worry my cousin may change his mind and reopen the negotiations. If ye’re not there to make him see some sense, we’re doomed! That sly fox, knows that we’ll do everything to get those weapons! He’s holdin’ us by the balls, lassie! By our own hairy balls!”

Thorin Oakenshield. You grind your teeth in anger. What a bastard. What a heavy-handed, bull-headed, stubborn mountain goat of a king! Of course! You should have expected this! You refused him, and now his male pride is suffering, so he will do everything to make you see him one more time! He is probably already planning to offer you even more as an addition to his proposal, even more extravagant chambers, jewels and two dozens of servants to make you agree to spend your nights in his bed.

Liquid fury is running through your veins. If the King thinks he will change your mind this way, he’s sorely mistaken. He should be lucky he’s not in the Iron Hills at the moment, because you’d go to him and shout into his face what you think of him, so loudly that every single person in the Iron Hills would hear it. You would be louder that all of the Night Singer’s performances put together!

A growl escapes you as you clench your hands into fists.

“I will go to Erebor with you, Lord Dain,” you hear your own voice.

If the King Under the Mountain wants war, war is what he is going to get!

And so it happens. You are going to Erebor after all. Perfect. Just perfect. Not only you will have to face the King Under the Mountain along with his grunts and frowns, but also you will have to mollify him. At the same time, you would have to act professionally and pretend that nothing ever happened between you. Easy peasy, right? It’s not like you feel that dull ache in your heart every time someone mentions his name, or even the name of his mountain. And it’s not like his face haunts you in your dreams, along with the memories of his deep, alluring voice, his captivating gaze.

Face it, Ragna. You are in deep trouble and you are heading for a catastrophe.

***

Three weeks later, Erebor, The Durin’s Day Feast

You are going into battle and you are not planning to show up on the battlefield empty-handed.

The most lavish gown you have in your arsenal, you know, the burgundy and silver one with a soft tulle skirt and intricate flower embroideries adorned with diamonds? Check.

The fact that the gown has low slits that almost indecently expose your most enticing curves and is designed to reveal the most skin in the history of dwarven fashion as you move? Check.

Oh, and have you mentioned that the elements of its bodice and arm pieces are made of sapphire-encrusted silver and are placed strategically to accentuate the strengths of your figure? Check.

The very elaborate hairstyle with dozens and dozens of braids that will drive any dwarf mad as soon as he tries to decipher their hidden meaning? Check. A dazzling gem-studded choker around your shapely neck to bring out the color of your eyes? Check.

Of course you haven’t forgotten about a bit of rouge on your cheeks and lipstick in a sinfully vivid color to draw attention to your sensual mouth, have you? Of course not. Check.

Now you are ready for war. And you intend to win it.

***

Dain was right. The feast in the Main Hall of Erebor is spectacular. It’s everything he said, and more. Tons of delicious food, countless jugs of ale, mead and wine, music that makes you want to dance as soon as the official part ends, and many, many cheerful guests from all the dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth, celebrating the Reclamation Day.

There is one little problem, though. You are bored to tears. You don’t know who in their right mind came up with the brilliant idea of seating you between two dullest guests at the feast, but you’re not thinking very warmly about that person right now. To your right sits the ancient Master Stenfast (Lord Dain’s Mining Advisor, the one who loves very looong and very boooring speeches), and he’s already napping over the wild boar roast, his longest beard braid stuck in a gravy boat. To your left, Lady Kolga, an ancient dwarven matron who came here all the way from the distant Red Mountains, keeps educating you in the intricacies of her family tree. Fortunately for her (not so fortunately for you at this moment), she was blessed with four children, and each of them had children of their own, who, in turn, had… yes, you guessed it, tons of cute little pebbles. Seriously, this dwarf-woman could single-handedly solve the population problem in Erebor. Now however, you are stuck with her, listening to all the anecdotes about her great-grandchildren, her grandnephews and great-grandnieces, each and every single one of them being a special gift from Mahal himself. Fascinating (no, not really). What’s worse, you have to appear as if you were actually listening to her. You force yourself to nod or say “awww!” in all the right moments even though in your mind you’d rather sit next to a warg female (because everyone knows they are even more fiercer than males). At least, she would bite off your head quickly and not torture you with lengthy tales about her latest litter of fierce pups.

Trying not to follow in Master Stenfast’s steps (now you’re not wondering why he dozed off, even he couldn’t withstand the onslaught of cute facts about all those babies), you pinch your thigh under the table in an attempt to stay awake. You try to ignore the familiar but unwelcome pressure in your temples telling you that you should expect yet another headache soon.

With a sigh, you let your gaze move around the hall, wishing you could sit with that group of tipsy Blacklocks already singing a rather naughty drinking song; or together with those warriors recounting their battle tales; or maybe even next to Lord Dain who is currently busy reenacting the latest battle with the Orcs. Instead of his legendary war hammer, he holds a roast lamb leg in his hand. When he delivers his final blow to the imaginary orc, a big chunk of meat lands in the nearest gravy boat, sending droplets of the brown sauce across the table. Quite a few of them land on the face of the dwarf sitting beside him. It’s Dwalin, the Captain of the Erebor Guards, you have met him already during your previous visit to Erebor. Now half of his face, including his tattooed forehead, is dripping with gravy, and his impressive black moustache is drooping sadly as he gives out a growl.

You can’t stop yourself from chuckling and try to look the other way, pretending the source of your merriment is somewhere else, when you encounter a pair of sparkling blue eyes. A pair of eyes that you recognize at once. Oh, Mahal. It’s him. The dwarf you have been avoiding to look at through the entire feast. Thorin. The King Under the Mountain. Your heart flutters the same way it did when you met him for the first time. The raven crown rests on his head, gold against the silky dark mane of his hair, giving him a truly regal look, but Thorin is chuckling too, apparently just as amused by Dain’s shenanigans as you are. But then the King turns to face you and smiles directly at you, and there are the crow’s feet ringing his eyes that you’ve always found so charming. You can’t stop yourself from admiring all of his features. The first thing that strikes you is that Thorin’s signature frown is gone from his forehead, and his thick eyebrows look darker than you remembered. Perhaps it’s because his face seems to be slightly less tanned than it was when you saw him last (no, Ragna, you are not going to think of that night now!). Your eyes slide along the prominent ridge of his nose (no, Ragna, you are not going to recall how it felt to trace its shape with your fingers!), all the way to his perfectly groomed moustache and beard (no, thinking about how pleasantly bristly his beard feels against your skin when you kiss doesn’t help either!). Damn it, Ragna, let’s face it. He’s devilishly handsome and you can’t deny it. Also, it looks like the King Under the Mountain has made an effort to look his best on this special day. You see it in the way his perfectly styled and festively braided hair falls down his wide shoulders that are covered by a black fur-lined cloak adorned with intricate golden embroideries, the pattern of the royal line of Erebor. He emanates prosperity, majesty, and raw male power. You see the King, but you also notice the dwarf beneath his royal mask. The dwarf who once looked at you the same way he looks at you now, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…

***

Slowly you open your eyes. Before you can recall where you are, you see a pair of deep blue eyes resting on you, and a face that has become very familiar to you during the recent nights. Thorin’s face. There is a softness about his features that you have never seen before, his eyes filled with warmth and something else that you can’t quite understand…

You realize it’s the middle of the night and you have dozed off in his bed after an evening filled with passion. Both you and Thorin lay on your sides, facing each other, your clothes, the quilt and furs completely forgotten. You recall what happened before. As soon as you touched, your desire for each other kindled a fire so strong that it could be used to melt iron in the forges. Every time the sensual dance of your bodies start, each place on your skin Thorin touches turns into a burning hot metal that can be shaped in any way he likes; when you run your fingers along the peaks and valleys of his muscular body, you can almost feel the lava running through his veins, its temperature rising to impossible levels as you continue your ministrations. This time has been exactly the same. When you both reached your diamond peaks of ecstasy, the heat between you was barely bearable. You fell on the bedsheets, your body filled with bliss, and the last thing you remember was a thin sheen of sweat covering Thorin’s skin, making him look as if he was glowing in the candlelight.

Now, his eyes are set on your face, and you notice a slight curve of his lips, a shadow of a tender smile hiding in the darkness of his thick beard. You blink a few times to chase the last wisps of sleep away and smile back at him, still feeling the sweet exhaustion in your limbs. No words are needed, not now, the silence is more than enough. Nothing else matters, just you and him, him and you, the merciful silence, and the echoes of rapture still lingering between you. These are the secret moments you share in the small hours of the night when the hills around you are asleep, oblivious of your happiness. Yes, Ragna, even though your mind is still hazy from your slumber, you feel that warm sensation blooming in your chest, and you allow yourself to bask in it just for a few evanescent moments more.

Thorin’s cerulean gaze caresses your face and then his hand reaches out to brush away an unruly lock of your hair. Tickled by this movement, your nose tingles and suddenly you sneeze. Only then you realize that the air around you chills your skin. “Come here,” Thorin’s voice rumbles in his chest like the sound of a distant rainstorm bringing relief to the sun-scorched earth. “Let me warm you up.”

His arms reach out towards you, but you are faster than him. In a blink of an eye you move towards him and turn, pressing your cool back against the pleasantly warm skin of his massive chest. You start wondering whether indeed liquid lava flows in his veins instead of blood; this is exactly what you need right now. Thorin wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you even closer to him. You feel so small, so fragile in his embrace, and yet completely safe and at ease. There is no place for a king, nor a trade advisor in here, all the titles and duties are forgotten. The only important thing in this world at this very moment is the way he holds you close. You imagine that this is how a lover would hold the lady of his heart if he didn’t want to let her go. And you don’t want him to. You want this moment and this warmth between you to last for as long as you are able to breathe. Oh, Ragna. When have you grown so sentimental? Damn it, Ragna’s brain. Stop overthinking everything. Right now, you don’t care.

“My feet are cold,” you warn him, but he only chuckles in response and then his leg covers yours. His feet are pressed against yours, giving off enormous warmth. Soon, you can barely remember that you’ve felt chilly barely a moment ago.

“Better?” he purrs into your ear and you let out a satisfied hum in response.

The way his skin feels against yours, the way your bodies fit together like two pieces of the same rock, the way your body relaxes as he envelops you with warmth, with closeness, with the smell of pine needles, the way his heart beats, strongly, steadily, as if it was beating only for you; every single thing you experience in that very moment makes that warm sensation in your chest bloom into a flowery garden. A tiny piece of you tries to tell you something, to warn you perhaps, but you don’t care. There is only the closeness, the warmth, and the silence. Only you and Thorin. And you don’t want it to stop. As he holds you tight, you feel how your hearts beat in the same rhythm, how you breathe in unison, as if you were one. You and him, in a cocoon woven of perfect silence. Surrounded by the warmth of Thorin’s embrace, you slowly drift off back to sleep.

“You are my own private furnace,” you manage to mumble before slipping deeper into slumber. As you are about to enter the realm of dreams, you hear his chuckle, as if from far away, and then his voice, as he murmurs into your hair, “Always at your service.”

Or maybe it’s already a dream…

***

SHUT UP, Ragna’s brain! Forget about his eyes, his embrace, his alluring voice! It’s all in the past! Have you forgotten why you came to Erebor? You do your job, bend that arrogant king to your will, secure that bloody treaty once again, and get back to the Iron Hills as soon as possible. Preferably, first thing in the morning.

This is when Thorin Oakenshield, the ruler of Erebor, his eyes still set on your face, lifts a chalice to his mouth, discreetly saluting you with a toast, and then his lips sensually wrap around the edge of his cup. Uh-oh. Your cheeks are burning, your heart is galloping like a startled pony and you answer with a slight nod, secretly hoping for the ground to swallow you whole.

He looked at you in that special, intimate way. How dare he?! Then smiled at you with that disarming smile of his. Outrageous! And you replied with a smile in turn. You didn’t bat your eyelashes at him by any chance, did you? Ragna, you silly girl, weren’t you supposed to ignore him?! Weren’t you supposed to be over that cold-hearted Thorin Oakenshield, the great king and the brave warrior who has a rock for a brain? Ah, well. No use crying over spilt ale. Think, Ragna, think, you need to turn your misstep into an advantage.

“Is this seat taken?” says a pleasant voice to your left, startling you.

You look up and see Lady Dís, the king’s sister, pointing at the empty chair next to you. Lady Kolga is not there any longer, probably offended by your lack of interest in her tales (finally!).

“Please, sit down, my lady,” you reply politely, even though your mind is full of completely different thoughts. Thorin, King of Erebor, the second of his name, smiled at you. Now you are deliberately looking away from him, but you can’t shake off the feeling that his gaze is resting on you even now. You catch yourself curling a stray lock of your hair around your finger. Yes, you are nervous. And annoyed. What business does he have to smile at you that way after everything that happened? Is he thinking that his alluring smile is all the incentive you need to jump back into his bed? Or perhaps he is so full of himself that he thinks he has won and you came here to beg him to take you back? HA! Fat chance! Isn’t it obvious you were forced to come to Erebor by his machinations? You never even wanted to see his face again! Seeing it in your dreams is enough of a torture! That bloody…

“Lady Ragna?” you finally hear Lady Dís’ voice.

“I’m sorry, my lady, you were saying?” you scold yourself inwardly and focus your full attention on her. There is no doubt about her lineage, judging by her profile, she is clearly a member of the line of Durin. Her dark, wavy hair is adorned with a multitude of beads and several diamond pins. A thick, elaborately pleated braid on the side of her head goes all the way to her waist and you can bet that many dwarves dream of touching her silky hair just like many dwarf-women sigh at Thorin’s mane. Lady Dís looks at you with a small smile, her eyes blue, but not ice-blue like her brother’s. They are slightly darker, like the sky on a summer evening, giving off an impression of warmth.

Thorin’s sister smiles a bit wider, the corner of her lips curling up in amusement, “I asked you how you liked the feast?”

“It is very…” you take a look around for inspiration (no, not looking at HIM!). “It is very grand. And the decorations are breathtaking! I have never been at a feast like this before. It’s an honor to be here,” you bow your head slightly.

“My brother will be delighted to hear it!” she replies.

What, what, what?!, you scream internally.

“How nice of his majesty,” but this is what you say.

“Thorin has been working very hard to make sure that the anniversary feast becomes a memorable event. He especially wanted to impress our guests from the Iron Hills,” she tilts her head slightly.

Your cheeks should not burn, and yet they are. Traitors.

“The food and the beer have surely impressed Lord Dain,” you point at the lord of Iron Hills as he drunkenly tries to impress everyone around the table with another tale of his epic endeavours.

“Dain is easily impressed,” Lady Dís chuckles. “But I believe my brother has been looking forward to seeing all of his Iron Hills guests at this feast.”

“There aren’t many who would decline such a polite invitation,” you reply, trying to keep your voice calm. You are telling the truth. As far as you know, you are the only dwarf in the entire Rhovanion who would rather spend this evening at home, as far away from Erebor and its king as possible.

"I’m glad you decided to come,” she speaks to you, but her gaze is directed at her brother, the only person in here that you would rather not look at right now.

Lady Dís continues, undeterred by your silence, “I haven't seen him that serene in a long time. Since the reclamation of Erebor he has always been so busy that I worried he had completely forgotten how to loosen up.” her voice trails off. She casts you an enigmatic glance and then pops a berry into her mouth.

“His majesty clearly cares deeply for the well-being of all of his subjects,” you offer, trying to sound polite, and hoping that Lady Dís doesn’t notice your embarrassment. You wish you could get Thorin’s tantalizing smile from a few moments ago out of your head.

“Yes, he is very caring, especially when it comes to his family,” she casts another glance towards the head of the table where her brother sits. Once again you force yourself not to look in that direction, but you still feel his gaze on you.

“I would never have guessed!” you can’t stop yourself from saying, and then add quickly, trying not to leave the wrong impression, “I didn’t have many opportunities to get to know his majesty better.”

“I can imagine,” she replies, taking a raven-shaped pastry from a nearby platter. “My brother is not the easiest person to know and I heard that you were quite busy,” she makes a small pause to bite on the pastry, “with the negotiations.”

She… did… not… just… No. Stop searching for hidden meanings, Ragna! She has no clue what happened between you and her brother in the Iron Hills!

“Indeed,” you take a sip of water, trying to buy yourself some time and avoid betraying your emotions.

“I guess it is different in the Iron Hills. Here, in Erebor, my dear sons, those rascals, made sure that everyone knows the delightful stories of how their uncle raised them, basically single-handedly. They mostly do it to annoy him or to charm the girls they meet in the tavern,” she chuckles. “But if I believed every word they say, I’d be convinced he popped them out too, not mentioning the breastfeeding!”

Saying these words, she winks at you and somehow this gesture makes you think of her cousin, Lord Dain.

Suddenly, you feel at ease and can’t stop yourself from laughing, “This is most definitely not the story we have ever heard in the Iron Hills.” “Unfortunately for my poor brother, it is quite popular both here and in Ered Luin,” she grins and fills her goblet with wine. You try not to wrinkle your nose. Dorwinion wine still doesn’t agree with you.

“Unfortunately? I would think he would be proud of such great feats!” you joke, allowing yourself a bit more freedom. Dís seems to have more in common with her cousin Dain than with her cantankerous brother.

“I see you know something about him after all!” she laughs. “Normally, it would be true, but these tales have made him a… well, sort of a target in recent years.”

“A target?” you frown.

Lady Dís doesn’t say a word, discreetly gesturing towards the head of the table. Your frown deepens, but you look in that direction only to see a dwarven matron, none other than the fecund Lady Kolga, accompanied by two young ladies, barely of age (probably her great-granddaughters, or was it great-grand nieces?), making acquaintance with the king who has just gotten up from his chair. These maidens are very well-dressed, very pretty, and very lovely. Very. You clench your hand into a fist. The King bows at them courtly and kisses each of them on the hand. You grind your teeth and suppress an angry snort. The young ladies respond with giggling and blushing. And have you mentioned how cutely they smile and how graciously they move? You take a fork and forcefully stick it into a piece of meat on your plate. Looking at that sickly sweet scene makes you nauseous.

Thorin’s sister leans towards you and whispers with a small smirk.

“Lady Kolga would be very happy if one of the girls caught my brother’s eye. Since Erebor was reclaimed, she’s been presenting young ladies to my brother every year at the Durin’s Day feast. I believe she wants to join her house with the line of Durin,” Dís takes a piece of cheese from a nearby platter.

“You mean to say… he is searching for a queen?” your voice trembles slightly as a ball of ice forms in your stomach and your throat tightens. Why do you even feel this way?! You are not supposed to care about whatever he is planning to do with his pathetic kingly life, not any more. He had his chance with you and he ruined it!

Lady Dís looks at you in a way you can’t quite decipher, and replies slowly, “I really couldn’t say. But with our kingdom reclaimed after all these years, he deserves to be happy. Luckily, there are quite a few decent women searching for good husband material, here in Erebor.”

***

“Ragna…” he presses you against the wall, his scorching lips covering your neck with hungry kisses.

“Mahal, Thorin,” you stifle a moan as his hand covers your breast. You can clearly feel its heat through the soft fabric of your gown. “It’s so cramped in here.” “There’s enough space for the two of us,” his warm breath wafts over your earlobe, making you shiver in delight.

Your searching hands find his belt and unbuckle it quickly. It falls to the floor with a clink.

“We don’t have much time!” you warn him, feeling the thrill of anticipation.

“The afternoon council session will not start without us,” his lips move to your bare shoulder, “and we are busy,” his hands free your breasts from the confines of your bodice, “discussing the details of that new clause.” When his tongue swirls around your already stiffened nipple, a small whine escapes your lips.

“We will be caught…” you protest faintly, your hands sinking in the dark sea of his hair.

“No one will find us here,” he catches your other nipple between his lips and as he tugs at it slightly, a jolt of pleasure runs through your body.

“Someone… someone will hear us,” you let out a half-whisper, half-moan, knowing how difficult it is for you to be silent every time you are with Thorin.

“We will be quiet.” He assaults your lips with an ardent kiss, stifling another of your moans as he presses his whole large body against you while his impatient hand runs down your body, readily finding its way under your skirts. If anyone would have told you that at one point in your life you will be busy quenching your carnal desires (a) with the king, (b) in the middle of a busy day filled with very important negotiations, (c) in a broom closet, you would have laughed at them.

But now you don’t care about the tight space you have found yourselves in, barely enough for you to stand in front of each other, nor about the shelves around you filled with fresh linen, rows or corked bottles, bars of lye soap and cleaning equipment. No, what matters is that you want to moan in pleasure, as loudly as you can, because his fingers, oh, Mahal, his pleasantly calloused fingers of a warrior have just found their way to the secret mound between your legs.

“You are full of surprises today, Ragna,” he murmurs huskily between the kisses as his thumb circles your ruby nub, sending a shiver straight to your core.

“Am I?” you chuckle, pulling his head towards you and kissing him back with passion, your tongues engaging in a dance, intertwining, caressing, parting and meeting yet again.

“Are you going to tell me that you have simply forgotten to wear your undergarments today?” he purrs. “Oh, have I? I haven’t noticed. How silly of me,” you chuckle again in satisfaction, seeing his dilated pupils and his rapidly rising and falling chest.

“You are driving me crazy, woman,” he covers your lips with his in anticipation of your moan that comes just after his fingers delve swiftly between your slick folds and into your core. Your legs almost give way beneath you, but he holds you steadily as he continues his ministrations.

“That’s good…” you breathe into his mouth, your hand cradling the back of his head. As the growing haze of desire clouds your mind, you thrust your hips against his palm, demanding more of the pleasure he gives you.

“What a shame we are in a hurry,” you hear his voice and then his hand disappears.

You gasp in protest, but then you notice where it has gone. Your impatient hands join his, quickly unfastening his trousers that barely contain his hardness. Thorin lets out a groan when you wrap your hand around his manhood, feeling the thrill of excitement when your fingers refuse to meet around his member. You run your hand along his impressive length, back and forth, and then gently swipe your thumb across his tip, making him groan. A great scepter is a mark of a great king, isn’t that how the saying goes? The king in question, unaware of your thoughts, doesn’t waste time. He pulls you up slightly against the wall and hooks his arm under your knee, lifting your leg.

“Ready for another round of negotiations?” he rumbles. “I’ve been ready since the morning,” you catch his lower lip playfully between your teeth and wrap your arms around his neck.

This is when he enters inside you. Deliciously hard. A moan escapes you, but Thorin’s lips are there again, muffling the sounds you make.

“Shhh…” he whispers, pulling out slowly only to sink into you to the hilt equally unhurriedly, all the way in.

“What if…” you gasp as quietly as you can, “What if someone comes…”

“I will make sure you come first,” he growls and thrusts faster, lifting you up the wall slightly. Oh, Mahal, what an amazing feeling this is. Instinctively, you move your arm to the side for balance and hold on to a shelf beside you. If you know anything about your lover, you are in for a ride. And you want it. You want more. You need it.

Effortlessly he lifts your other leg, holding the full weight of your body in the air as if you were as light as a piece of parchment. You wrap your legs around him, supported by his strong arms, arching your pelvis towards his loins. Thorin growls in approval, a distant thunder of desire, and then kisses you ravenously, his teeth grazing your lips. You take his kiss, the promise of things to come, and respond with yours, hungry for more of him.

Your body melts under his ardent caresses, liquid heat floods the pit of your belly at the fervency of his kisses, as you feel the need, the unsated yearning in his every movement. And then he thrusts inside you, and you find yourself taken over by the storm of your joined passion. The rain of his kisses washes over the skin of your neck, cleavage and breasts, the lightnings of his thrusts hitting just the right spot, and you feel the rumble of his sinfully deep voice with all of your body every time he says your name.

“Ragna… Ragna...”

He thrusts. You tighten around him. He continues. You arch into him. He pushes hard inside you once more, and then again, conquering every piece of you with every swift stroke, every powerful movement of his hips he makes. But you need even more than that.

A storage rack just behind his back constricts his movements; they are short, quick and incredibly precise, just at the angle you like. Thorin is a very observant lover - during your nights together he quickly learned what gives you the most pleasure and now makes a good use of his knowledge, sucking at your neck and biting it as he enters you fully once more.

“More, Thorin, more…” you demand. More. This is the only word on your mind now. Everything else is drowning in a haze of lust. More. More. More of him around you, inside you, within you. You want all of him. Everything he can give you, and more.

He lunges into you, and again, and more, more, more. Your heels push into his lower back, spurring him, your nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, as close as you can get. More. Your bare breasts press against his rock-hard chest under the fabric of his tunic. His strong hand squeezing your buttock. More. More. More.

The storm of your passion is raging around you, inside you, with impossible strength and you don’t know how much more you can withstand. There is something you want to say, something important. The words escape you when Thorin lifts your leg, rests it on his broad shoulder, and then leans forward again and pushes into you even deeper than before. New sensations fill your veins with fire as he fills you completely. But you know you can’t stop now, not yet. You have to go on. Faster and faster. More and more. You want to take everything that he gives you, and more. Yes, this is what you like, and he knows it. Faster. Closer. Deeper. Harder. Wilder. More intense. Your muffled moans intertwine with his groans. He squeezes your bottom once more, feeling you tense around him as you approach the apex of your passion. Yes, more. More. Everything is so intense, so vivid, so ecstatic.

“Come to me, Ragna,” he murmurs into your ear as he pounds into you continuously, just at the right angle. “Your king commands you.”

You feel the familiar shivers of ecstasy building up inside you and you know you can’t wait any longer. You need to let go. Besides, who are you not to obey your king?

“Thorin!” you throw your head back, moaning his name as your whole world explodes. Your body tenses and then a wave of intense ecstasy washes over you, drowning you in complete rapture. Breathe, Ragna, remember to breathe.

You feel his bearded cheek prickling against the skin of your neck, and then he murmurs something incomprehensible, presses into you once more with a low growl, and joins you in the realm of bliss.

An eternity passes, or maybe just a few heartbeats as the haze of passion starts slowly disappearing from your mind. Your both legs are once again wrapped around Thorin’s waist, but now your muscles are shivering with exhaustion. His stone-hard body is pressed against you as he supports your weight, his strong hands still holding you firmly. You hold on to him tightly, only then noticing how quick, how ragged is your breathing.

Thorin’s face is buried in the hollow of your neck, his hair spilling in soft waves over the bare skin of your chest, his hot breath fanning your breasts.

You place your hand at the back of his head and say, pressing your cheek against his hair, “Why aren’t all the negotiations so pleasant?” He gives out a low chuckle and lifts his head, sparks of joy dancing in his eyes.

“Because you are not conducting them with me,” he grins and leans into your lips, sealing it with a slow, sensual kiss that makes you almost forget who you are and where you are.

You let out a sigh of pleasure and tighten around him, causing him to growl. “I see that you are interested in another round of negotiations,” he smirks and kisses you again, this time more passionately, and you respond with equal eagerness. The truth is, you can never get enough of Thorin, and you don’t want to. Now, your world consists of his eager lips and yours, his exploring tongue and yours, his…

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

A sound of passing footsteps in the corridor outside your hideout instantly pulls you back to reality, and you meet Thorin’s surprised gaze. You both freeze, holding your breaths, but the sound quickly disappears in the distance. Thank Mahal.

Thorin’s face is slightly flushed, a shadow of a haze darkens his ice-blue eyes, his lips are parted and slightly swollen, a clear proof of your recent endeavours, but a small satisfied smirk curls up the corner of his lips, and hides in his beard. That is how King Thorin Oakenshield looks now, and it might be all your doing. With your legs still firmly wrapped around his waist and his arms holding you effortlessly in place, you reach out your hand, sinking your fingers in his lush beard, noticing that his beard braid has been ruined probably as much as your hair. Thorin’s lips brush tenderly against yours as he presses a soft kiss on your lower lip, and then his nose rubs against yours, his beard tickles your cheek. You hope none of Lord Dain’s advisors is going to see you in that scandalous position, completely disheveled… Shit! Dain! Advisors! The negotiations! Damn it!

“Thorin! We are already late!” you exclaim.

“We will continue this matter in the evening,” Thorin grunts and reluctantly loosens his hold on you, pulling out of you carefully, letting your legs touch the floor. Already now, you know that you are going to miss his hands and other crucial parts of his warrior’s body until the evening. Those blasted negotiations! You’d rather spend the rest of the day in bed with Thorin than in that musty old chamber.

You can barely stand, your legs still shivering slightly, but you do your best to make yourself presentable as fast as you can.

“I will go out first,” you say matter-of-factly, placing a small kiss at the corner of Thorin’s lips as he fastens his tunic and straightens it. It is much more crumpled than before, as if someone fisted its fabric in their hands repeatedly, and there is a small tear in the fabric over his shoulder, but you can’t remember doing it at all. The only thing on your mind is the blissful soreness between your legs.

Thorin only nods in response, fastening his belt, the satisfied smile never leaving his face.

“You will wait a few moments and then go after me, if the corridor is empty,” you instruct him, rearranging his fur-lined cloak on his shoulders to conceal the torn tunic. You can’t stop yourself from running your hands twice along the powerful line of his shoulders, but then you notice his gaze resting on you heavily. “And stop looking at me like that!” “Like what?” now he grins. What an annoying piece of dwarf! He is lucky he is so good when it comes to bedsport!

“Like I was a piece of roasted venison and you haven��t eaten anything for a week!” you try to frown convincingly, even if the only thing you want to do is to kiss that smug grin off his face.

“I can’t help enjoying the look of your shapely… venison,” he flashes his teeth in a wide smile and his gaze slides down your neck, and below.

You put your hand over your breasts barely covered by your torn chemise, and gasp, “You brute! My bodice is ruined! How am I supposed to leave this place now?”

“We can stay here until the evening,” he offers with a mischievous glint in his eye. You wonder if kissing your king until he loses his breath and falls unconscious to the floor is a crime against the crown. Ugh, that smart assy, goatish, ruggedly handsome dwarf! You have your duties to fulfil and he is not helping. “And then we will be discovered, and... we’ll be the talk of the whole Iron Hills!” you huff, resting your fists on your hips. “Would it be such a bad thing?” Thorin lifts his eyebrow and his gaze rests on you, searchingly. He has to be joking! What kind of a question is this?! “No, not bad at all!” you retort. “The negotiations will be ruined, and Lord Dain will probably have my head for ‘unprofessional conduct’!”

“Very well, then. We can’t have that happening, can we? Allow me to help you, my lady,” he grins playfully and kneels in front of you. Before you can protest, his hands start fiddling with the torn fabric and straps.

You hold your breath. Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, is kneeling. In front of you. And your heart is beating fast, so fast. But… But he can’t kneel. Not like this. He is the king. He is not supposed to kneel in front of his subjects. He is not allowed. No, wait, it’s the other way around! You are not allowed to stand when the king is kneeling. No, you have it all wrong, the court protocol says… Oh, Mahal, you can’t think straight when his hands cover your breasts, his fingertips tracing your voluptuous curves teasingly, and then returning to the mutilated layers of fabric. In complete confusion, you are unable to say a word, you can only follow the movements of his nimble fingers as he intertwines the torn straps together, pulling them through all the loops. He works quickly and efficiently, with a small frown of concentration on his face, but you can’t ignore the fact that he is still kneeling. This is when you finally recall. There is only one occasion on which it is proper for a king to kneel in front of a standing person. It is only when that person is his queen.

You sway. “Hold still, it’s tulle. It can tear even more,” he warns you quietly, clearly focused on his task. “How does a warrior know so much about fabrics and mending dresses?” your eyes widen in surprise as you desperately try to focus on something else than kneeling kings. “You forget that I have a younger sister. Dís has been plagued with wardrobe malfunctions for as long as I remember,” his fingers bind two more straps together.

“It seems that I am not the only one full of surprises today, your majesty,” you reply teasingly.

Thorin replies with a small chuckle.

“Speaking of which...” you continue. “About that new clause for the treaty, may I ask how you came up with that offer of 100 milk goats? You know we would agree on your terms without you sweetening the deal.” “I also know about how many families with the little ones live in the Iron Hills. More than in Erebor,” a shadow passes over his face. “There are many skilled blacksmiths, artisans and metallurgists among those mothers, are there not?”

“Yes, that is true,” you confirm, wondering how he managed to get that piece of information. Your usual iron ore production and processing slowed down recently as a result of this situation. When the trade agreement with Erebor is signed, you will need quite a few more skilled ironworkers. You and Lord Dain have already spent quite a few sleepless nights thinking about a solution for this problem and not finding any.

“I’m guessing that at least some of those mothers would gladly return to their work if they knew their husbands could stay with their pebbles and care for them instead. They wouldn’t need to make frequent baby-feeding breaks at work nor worry about losing milk.” he tilts his head up, gazing at you enigmatically. “Wouldn’t you be happy with such an arrangement as well?”

WHAT?! There is no need to panic, Ragna. Really, no need. Thorin, the King Under the Mountain, the renown warrior, the sensual lover, is kneeling in front of you and asking your opinion about breastfeeding, babies, and introducing goat milk into their diet. Shut up, Ragna’s ovaries! Shut up!

“I… I suspect so,” you admit weakly, cursing yourself for your burning cheeks, and averting your gaze. Pathetic, Ragna.

“You see it for yourself, then. You need those goats more than we do,” Thorin responds in a softer tone, his long fingers resting lightly on your waist, unmoving.

You clear your throat, still unable to look into his eyes, “Thank you on behalf of the people of the Iron Hills, your majesty. Your gesture is quite… thoughtful.”

What happened to your inner armor, Ragna? A hunky male falls on his knees before you and all you can think of is popping out babies for him, just because he is simply helping you with your dress and talking business? Have you forgotten that he tore it himself in the throes of passion? Seriously, girl, you need to get a grip on reality. As fast as possible.

There is a short pause before the king replies.

“There is no need to thank me. I’m doing it in the best interest of our both realms. You secure your iron production, we produce more weapons for you using that iron,” he says.

Thorin speaks business, but his tone is not at all business-like. It is… softer. Tender, somehow. Through the fabric of your dress, you can feel his thumb moving slowly in small circles. You try to gather your thoughts, not able to understand what he means. What it all means. Suddenly, everything becomes too difficult to process. Surely, it is not possible that he has made a gesture of goodwill (A dwarf? During ruthless negotiations?! Unheard of!) and now he is making up reasonably sounding reasons behind his decision, is it? Right. He is probably doing it to confuse you, yet again, with all his talk about enabling women to work, playing on your maternal instincts. He is, isn’t he? Or maybe… No, no maybies, Ragna! Don’t be a silly cow!

“Well, thank you anyway,” you hear yourself say. Your hands reach out to the top of his head, smoothing down his hair and straightening his crown. It is cold against your skin, the complete opposite of his touch. Your gaze meets his, and you can’t deny that there is something softer about his eyes. A smile appears on your face, and Thorin responds with a smile of his own, his face brightening as your fingers run through his hair. And he is still kneeling before you. Still holding you close.

“We need those milk goats, that is certain. It has only been five years since the threat of a dragon disappeared from our doorstep, and it turns out that the dwarf-women of the Iron Hills are eager to have more babies than just one,” you giggle nervously, trying to cover your confusion with talking. “Would you believe my friend Katla had her fifth child two months ago? Fifth! How is it even possible?”

“If you require education in this matter, my lady, I will be more than happy to tutor you tonight in my bedchamber,” Thorin says with a neutral expression on his face, as if he was discussing weather, but you notice that cheeky glint in his eye.

“You are impossible!” you pat his sinewy shoulder playfully. “I’m trying to tell you that five little children require quite a lot of milk and breastfeeding them is not easy, especially if you want to work!”

There it is, that glint in his eye again.

Thorin’s hands move under your breasts, “Do you think that’s a wise negotiation strategy, my lady? Talking about milk and breasts while I’m so close to the latter?”

“Thorin!” you cover his wrists in a playful attempt to stop him. “I swear, I don’t care if you are a king or not! If you don’t stop distracting me, we will never get out of here, the negotiations will fail, and we will die of starvation in this broom closet!”

He gives out a short chuckle and then presses a hot kiss against the curve of your breast, making you gasp.

“Ah, but it would be a death worthy of a king. I can already see my tombstone: ‘Here lies Thorin son of Thrain, died in the arms of the most alluring woman in the whole Rhovanion’!” a smile appears on his face, that special kind of smile that makes him somehow look much younger and carefree.

“You have no shame, Thorin Oakenshield!” you sigh, trying to pretend you’re not giggling, and failing miserably. “We need to go, they are waiting for us!”

“As you wish, my lady,” he gives you another tantalizing smile as his hands swiftly cover the previously bare parts of your body with layers of fabric, and then secure the bodice in place.

“There, it should hold,” he says.

“It’d better hold, for your sake and mine. I wouldn’t like to shock the revered council members with the sight of my naked bosom if this dress decides to give up on me,” you warn him. “If it does, I will take the full responsibility,” he grins and takes your hands in his, enveloping them in his warmth. “But something tells me it will be a pleasant sight for everyone after hours of looking at numbers.” “Thorin, you are incorrigible!” you chuckle as he stands up to tower over you. “Perhaps tonight, in my bed, you can show me how dissatisfied you are with my behavior,” Thorin places a kiss over your knuckles. “I swear, you are the randiest king in the history of Arda!” you shake your head, unable to stifle a laughter. “You have not complained so far,” he places another kiss on your other hand and casts a seductive glance at you from under his eyelids. “In fact, if memory serves me well, you have been quite enthusiastic about my endeavours.”

“That’s it, I’m going!” you exclaim with a chuckle, feeling the heat of your cheeks. Your hands slip out from his grasp and you turn towards the door. You rest your hand on the door handle and are about to pull it down when Thorin takes you in his arms once more, his hard body pressing against yours.

“Ragna…” he murmurs just before his lips descend on yours, kissing you with an ardour that leaves you breathless. You return the kiss with equal intensity, as if it could make everything else disappear, the negotiations, your titles and duties, the mountains around you; everything except his strong embrace.

When your lips finally part, you both chuckle like a pair of teenage dwarves caught getting up to mischief. Something blooms in your chest, something warm as morning sun and sweet as caramels.

“We should…” you finally say, a part of you protesting against exchanging the warmth of his arms for a cold, soulless negotiation table.

“We should,” Thorin adds with a nod, the merry sparks gone from his eyes.

He moves his hand to your face and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it with a sigh, schooling his face into the impenetrable, emotionless mask of a king. You don’t have to read his mind to understand what is happening. As soon as you leave that door, there will be no Thorin and Ragna, but a king and an advisor. There will be no passionate kisses, no tender caresses, no flirty banter, only rows and rows of numbers, dry facts, and long, convoluted clauses. A day of draining negotiations for a few fleeting moments of passion. Is this a fair price, Ragna? Deep down in your heart, there is the answer waiting for you, but you don’t want to hear it. Not yet.

Thorin’s cerulean gaze lingers on your features. When he brushes his thumb against your cheek, a hint of sadness curves his lips. It is surprising that only then you notice how a slight tremble runs through your body under his gentle touch, how your cheek leans into his palm, silently hoping for more of this reassuring affection that is soon to be gone.

His mouth opens once more and you hear him say, “I truly hate this part.” Your hand covers his over your cheek, and you are drowning in the depth of his gaze, while your heart replies, “Me too,” but these words never reach your lips. In moments like these, you can almost fool yourself, almost let yourself dream away and pretend there is something more between you than the nights you spend together. When you leave your hideout, once again you try to steady your fluttering heart and force yourself to face the truth. It is time to put all those confusing, maudlin thoughts away, bury them deep down in your heart, along with every other thing he makes you feel.

Thorin, your lover, your warrior, your king.

***

Yes. You know a good husband material when you see one. Even if your heart denies it.

And now, Lady Dís is looking at you expectantly. Right, you were talking. About Thorin. The King of Erebor. And those pretty, hopeful ladies around him.

“Oh. Of course. I see,” you bite your lower lip. Take a deep breath, Ragna, that stabbing pain will go away soon. That’s it, a deep breath. Nice and slow. “Who wouldn’t like to have a king for a husband?” you try to joke, hoping your smile doesn’t look like a forced grimace.

“You are right, there are some fortune hunters among these accomplished ladies. But there are also those who appreciate a man who has already proven himself to be a great father figure,” she replies, her gaze darkens for a moment, and then she looks straight at you. “Don’t you?”

You choke on the water you have just sipped.

“Don’t I… what?” you clear your throat, attempting to act oblivious to her meaning.

“Mahal knows Thorin has his flaws, as any other dwarf, but wouldn’t you say he is a good husband material?” Lady Dís rephrases, narrowing her eyes slightly and smiling even wider than before.

You hesitate, dozens of thoughts running in circles through your brain.

“My lady, this is my king you speak of, your brother,” you try finding your way out of this conversation. “I’m not in a position to…”

“Yes, yes, sure. But hasn't this thought crossed your mind?” she adds after a moment. “Not even once?” And then a revelation flashes through your mind. You cast a glance across the table. Thorin is looking at you intently, a smile dancing on his lips, so evident that even his beard can’t conceal it. Your eyes move back to his sister’s face and you can barely contain your emotions.

“Is he such a coward that he sends his own sister to speak for him?!” you are doing whatever you can to keep your voice low, your anger rushing through your veins. And of course this is when your head starts pounding. Perfect timing.

You expect Lady Dís to stand up and shout, to look offended, maybe even throw you out of the feast for your disrespectful words, but she only laughs and shakes her head, “I can see why he is so smitten with you, Lady Ragna.” “I’m sorry, but you are mistaken, Lady Dís,” you rise from your chair, trying to hold on to the last shreds of calm in your mind. The last thing you need is to make a scene and ruin your chances of saving the treaty. That damned treaty.

“Ooooh, have I heard that right?” a male voice booms behind you. “Someone finally had the guts to tell ye, Dís, how wrong ye are?”

“Dwalin,” Dís grunts, clearly unamused by his appearance.

The large and very muscular dwarf appears between you.

“Do you remember me, m’lady? Dwalin, at yer service!” he bows deeply, almost theatrically. When he straightens up to his impressive length, you notice that his moustache is freshly brushed and there are no signs of the gravy accident from before.

“Of course I do, Captain Dwalin,” you greet him. He takes your hand and presses a long and fervent kiss to your knuckles.

“Dwalin. You are embarrassing Lady Ragna,” Dís says calmly, but you can see her jaw set and her hand crumpling a handkerchief. If gaze could kill, the whole Erebor would be now preparing for Captain Dwalin’s funeral.

“Surely, I’m not!” he protests, holding your hand and kissing it again with an amused spark in his eye, making you chuckle. “I’m only showing my admiration to the lady who was fearless enough to face you!”

He winks at you and then, for a moment, he casts his glance behind you. You don’t need to look to know that he is looking towards the head of the table. As he does so, his grin widens, and then you hear a sound of a goblet being forcefully set on a table, somewhere in a distance, among the cheerful noise of the feast.

“Thank you, Captain Dwalin, but I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Lady Dís and I… we were simply discussing some theoretical ideas,” you explain, trying not to look in the direction of that clinking sound, the direction you have been avoiding throughout this conversation.

“Theoretical ideas?” Lady Dís’ huff is directed at you, but her eyes are set on Dwalin and you can clearly see the signs of a gathering storm in them. It’s not the first time you see someone from the line of Durin trying to cast lightnings of anger at someone, and you suspect it’s not the last time, not tonight.

“Yes, my lady. Theoretical. As in things that do not exist in reality,” you look at her pointedly, trying to ignore your headache. Lady Dís raises her brow, but before she speaks, you turn to Dwalin.

“And now, Captain Dwalin, please be a gentledwarf and ask me to dance!”

It turns out that the Captain of the Erebor Guards, Dwalin son of Fundin, is quite a decent dancer. It doesn’t take you long to leave most of your fury behind, even though the sting of disappointment is still piercing your heart. Until now, you never thought the King himself, that brave warrior, would send none other his sister to convince you to get back to his bed, bluntly trying to play on your jealousy. What a coward! And now his arrogant majesty is sitting there, at the head of the table, smiling at you, waiting for you to jump into his lap! Not a chance!

“Sooo…” Dwalin spins you around with a grin on his face and then catches you in his arms, continuing your dance.

“So?” you tilt your head to look at him sideways.

“You and Thorin, huh?” he grins even wider and winks at you conspiratorially.

“Excuse me?!” you stiffen.

“Y’know…” he moves his eyebrows up and down quickly and lowers his face towards yours.

“No, Captain Dwalin, I have no idea what you are insinuating,” you reply coldly. If this is another ruse to make you change your mind and visit the King in his chambers after the feast, you’re going home. Now. That cursed treaty be damned.

“I’m simply sayin’, m’lady, he’s been awfully moody since he returned home,” he lowers his voice.

This is when you make another turn around the hall and catch a glance of the King Under the Mountain. The smile is gone from his face, a deep frown in its place. The King’s stormy, narrowed eyes are resting on your dancing figures, following your every move, piercing you like a point of a sword.

At that moment, you realize something. Dwalin’s hand is splayed on your back, the other one holds your hand, and his face is close to yours, you can almost feel his whiskers tingling your cheek.

You can feel his overbearing majesty’s disapproval all the way to where you are now. What business does he have staring at you like this? Are you not allowed to have some fun? Are you forbidden to dance? Outrageous! You are going to show him what you think of his behaviour.

You make a graceful turn in Dwalin’s steady arms, and burst out in giggles, throwing your head back.

“Captain Dwalin, tell me, please, when has your King... our King,” you correct yourself, “not been moody?” “Well… Y’see, m’lady, he’s been more moody than usual!” he replies, moving his face even closer to yours and whispering into your ear, but you notice that his eyes are set somewhere above your shoulder.

And then you make another turn among the dancing couples, and you are facing the same person Dwalin has been looking at. The face of the ruler of Erebor comes into view yet again. This time, his massive, fisted hand rests on the table. His jaw is set, an unmistakable sign of anger, and there is a deep shadow over his darkened eyes. Thorin Oakenshield takes a deep sip from his goblet, but his scrutinizing glare never leaves you.

“Are you asking me, Captain Dwalin, to mollify his temper?” you move your face closer to his. Now it is your turn to wink. “Aye!” he nods with a happy grin.

“And do you think that dancing so closely with me is going to make him happier?” you continue, resting your hand on Dwalin’s impressive shoulder. “No,” he flashes his teeth, happy as a dwarfling who just got his first pony. “The opposite, m’ lady. It’s going to make him even more jealous!”

“Jealous?” you feign a surprised look. “What may he be jealous of?” “Me dancing with his favourite diamond under this mountain! I’ve seen that glance only once, five years ago in the treasure chamber, and it ended in battle. There’s no sayin’ what this thick-skulled warg is goin’ to do if he keeps gettin’ all riled up like this!” In other circumstances, these words would sound like blackmail but one glance at Dwalin’s grinning face along with his mischievous tone of voice settle your worries. “So you are telling me he thinks I’m his property, as if I were a pig he bought from a farmer on a market day?” you say, not forgetting to laugh ostensibly once again. “He invited me to his kingdom himself, making sure I wouldn’t refuse him. Now I’m here, just as he wanted! As he forced me to! I did as he wished, so tonight I’m going to do what I like and enjoy myself with whomever I like.”

“As you should, m’lady,” Dwalin nods with a snigger. “Even if Thorin has a wee bit different opinion on this matter.” You let him twirl you around once, and then you face the tattooed warrior once more.

“He doesn’t own me, Captain Dwalin. I’m not his trinket to do as he pleases with. And he has no right to get angry at me while he is busy kissing the hands of every single maiden in his damn mountain!”

Dwalin’s shoulders shake with badly concealed laughter, “He may be kissing them on their hands but it’s not them he has been spending every single night with in the Iron Hills, from what I hear…” Your damn, treacherous cheeks are burning again, “If you are trying to convince me he’s been abstaining from female company, save yourself the energy.”

“I’m not sayin’ he has been chaste as a maiden!” Dwalin protests as you move through the hall to the sound of music, and then takes a look around the chamber and lowers his voice even more. “Since Erebor was reclaimed, there may have been some… fleeting trysts, a meeting or two from time to time, but never in the night. And never two weeks in a row! I think that could count for somethin’.” “Count for what? Him finding something he liked? What a great achievement!” you reply, anger boiling inside you. You pull closer to Dwalin, both of your fisted hands resting on his shoulders. “And you tell me he sees me as a diamond and wants me to be here, as a part of his treasure. As a possession." "If he saw you as a possession, he’d have ordered you to come here, and wouldn't allow anyone to touch you, not even dance with you, I know that, m’lady. But he is just sittin’ there and looking at you,” the warrior leans forward and spins you around. Everything is a blur, you can’t distinguish the faces of everyone around you any more, tears of anger welling in your eyes.

“Because he’s a piece of bastard, so full of himself that he thinks I will come crawling to him, begging him to take me back. But he can keep sitting there and brooding for as long as he likes, he can die with that frown on his face for all I care!” you raise your voice in fury, your cheeks suddenly wet. “M’lady…” Dwalin’s eyes widen for a moment and then he just stops dancing, and pats your back gently. You are both standing in the middle of the hall, and he quickly moves his face towards yours, so you are shielded from the prying eyes. You curse your temper and your momentary weakness and discreetly brush away the tears. “Thank you, Captain Dwalin,” you whisper words of gratitude, only now noticing how close your faces are and how it has to look for the other guests. Damn it. The last thing you need is more gossip, this time about you and the Captain of the Erebor Guards making out while dancing. “Think nothin’ of it, m’lady,” he takes your hand in his and kisses it with reverence. You dare to cast a glance at the place at the head of the table, only to discover that the seat is empty. The King is gone. And then the music stops. The dancing couples cease to spin. You feel as if the eyes of everyone were turned directly towards you. You see a movement in the corner in the eye. Gold against black. That fur-lined cloak resting on his wide shoulders, trailing behind him like a stormcloud. The cold glint of his crown in the candlelight. The King Under the Mountain is leaving the feast.

A wave of murmurs ripples through the Main Hall as soon as his majestic silhouette disappears through the door leading out of the stone chamber. Damn it. Damn it all. The stupid treaty, the feast, the damn the King. Damn you and your stupid heart. You’ve had enough of this constant torment.

A fiery mane of hair suddenly fills your vision, along with golden beads and two boar tusks, merrily pointing up.

“Well, well, well, it looks like yer little moment of affection disturbed the king!” Lord Dain grins from ear to ear, a mug of ale in his hand, his cheeks red as rubies. “Who would have thought!” “I’m sorry, Lord Dain, but I need to leave,” you state firmly, ignoring his words, ignoring the stares everyone is giving you. To make matters worse, your headache is increasing. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Let me walk you back to your seat,” Dwalin offers.

“You will have to excuse me, Captain Dwalin,” you take a step back. “I need to put an end to this mess once and for all.”

And then you follow your king one last time.

* * * The Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

Please let me know how you liked this chapter!

Read it? Like it? Reblog it! Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78 @anyaspidergirl-blog @tschrist1 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @xmly-xo @justfollowtheroad @kirenia15 @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain

[carbonfiction]

Hello 🥰🥰

Popping in to say, I love your writing 💜

I’m very new to falling in love with Frank Castle, seeing him introduced in Daredevil season two and I’m just swooning.

Thinking about him coming home, all banged up, but that’s nothing new. Your first aid kit has gotten pretty extensive. And he likes how soft your hands are, cleaning cuts, applying butterfly bandages. Jokes that maybe you should “kiss it better”, rolling your eyes and telling him that he’s barely stopped bleeding, but he doesn’t care, pulling you into his lap and telling you that you’re his favorite kinda medicine…and man is so handssyyyy

Hi hello welcome!! Thank you so much, im so so glad you enjoy my stuff! <3

Honestly the swooning of him in Daredevil is so real bc our man is looking fiiiiiine- shabby and sad in that uniquely frank way, but visually.. So goddamn beautiful anyway. Truly missed seeing him so much.

But you are SO right! He absolutely is softening the blow of him coming home hurt by trying to joke or get touchy. Hands grabbing at your waist beneath your clothes or drifting until his thumbs sit beneath your bra. Even while often bleeding from somewhere and bruised black n blue.

Yet it never ever stops you from letting him tug you close; even when you grumble at him for it.

Because Its those moments that Frank holds you like your the one bleeding. Standing between his legs or sat perched pretty on his lap.

He’s hurt sure, its visible and Jesus Christ Frank is it real, but it doesn’t phase him anymore- not after everything. You however? He sees the wall you try to build, the breath you take to steel yourself at the sight of him so banged up. Sometimes even limping through the door.

You love him regardless of those nights, how could you not? but he can always see what it causes you, see the hurt you feel for him. Its never pitty exactly, more that same pain from a bloodied bullet wound or a knifes gash that etches on your face. eyebrows cutely pinched and lips softly pouted as you insist on helping patch up.

Frank even watches the way you flinch for him, Visibily a little woozy as you hold the needle and thread for stitches in between trembling fingers. Forehead creased and nose scrunched just slightly, while he just watches, silent. The sharp pull and tug of fresh stitches hurting you more than him.

Yet the care of how you're taking it always shows in the way coos at you, grunted whispers of praise and guidance serving as a distraction to occasional sniffles.

“Atta girl, doin good.”

“Needs another stich, you see that spot right there? Good girl”

“best damn doc around, you know that sweetheart? Fixin me up real good”

"think a kiss would solve that one? No? You sure bout that doc? Heard kisses are the best medicine for that kinda thing.."

“big breaths yeah? Almost done. Proud of you”

"Who needs a hospital when you are this good? Givin em a run for their money sweetheart; ever thought of switchin career paths?"

And after? When blood has poured down the drain and his wounds are cleaned; skin stitched and holes packed? he hold you, like it was all inflicted on your body instead of his.

Large frame always pressed agasint yours in some way. Legs tangled or hands held. Once bloodied and most definetly bruised, but warm, safe. Home for another night, even if those pills he's began to hide helps dull the throb that extra bit.

But you dont have to know about those, no.. Not when hes got the best medicine around in you.

[domoz-writes]

Am thinking about non transmigration au where SY discovers his sexuality via 400k of unposted Mobing...

My thoughts are as such:

Right before the end of PIDW Airplane posts an update that basically says "Hey due to a mix of health and personal reasons I won't be able to post for a while sorry!!"

SY, who is in the hospital with horrible food poisoning isn't happy about this!! Something like this right after a cliffhanger??? Really??? And he's not got a lot else to do In the hospital, so he kind of... accidentally... doxxes Airplane...

He was just looking for an account that he thought that hack author would check since he's obviously not looking at zhongdian, honest!!! But it turns out that this person lives somewhat nearby where SY does and is much cuter than he expected some hack author to be

So he maybe goes to wander around the area (its nearby!! He's allowed to go on walks isn't he!!) And as a matter of fact finds Airplane!! Right on the sidewalk!!!

And starts off with a rather aggressive introduction before realizing that his favorite shitty erotica author 1) has obviously healing electrocution burns, 2) is?? Way too skinny? Like on par with SY himself and hes chronically ill, 3) is standing outside a social services office and 4) appears to be carrying everything he owns with him on his back

He immediately feels so guilty that he pivots from angry ranting to guiltily offering him a place to stay or, he can at least pay for a hotel room?? SQH does a very brief amount of mental calculus on if he'd rather deal with government bureaucracy or getting kidnapped and axe murdered by a crazy fan, shrugs, and chooses the latter.

When SQH point out that he can't pay SY back in any way SY tells him that he can pay him back by writing a better novel!!! SQH teases him about being a devoted fan and offers to let him read some unpublished extras and backstory stuff (like SJ & YQY backstory, that sort of thing). Predictably, SY likes this a lot more and complains that it wasn't in the novel, in turn Airplane laments that if more readers were like SY he wouldn't be in this situation in thr first place.

Related: SQH can't update because his laptop is fried. SY claims "to know a guy". SY does not know a guy, but he has money, so... (the files are fine and saved in like 3 different cloud locations, Airplane already learned that lesson)

But PIDW ended on a cliffhanger! SY doesn't want to wait!!! So he bothers Airplane until he finds out that Airplane actually haS two endings waiting in the wings and he still hasn't decided which one to post. Reason being: he's kinda 80% done with writing a sequel of sorts, but he knows if he posts it it will basically get his zhongdian account nuked and remove his chances of making money from it ever again, because the current readers of PIDW would HATE IT

Sy eventually argues that *he's* a reader and that Airplane should let *him* read it and if he deems it good then it's certainly good enough to post!! SQH finds this very funny because SY is not the average PIDW at all, but decides to allow it

The sequel in question is a slow burn romance from Mobei-Juns point of view that leans heavily into drama and political intrigue. He stands by Binghes side and quietly pines and remains loyal and Binghe slowly discovers that devoted loyalty and understanding is actually the thing that makes him happy (vs empty relationships with his many wives)

(Mobei Jun is written in a very grey-ace way, not understanding the carnal desires of other demons but would do anything for Junshang if asked etc etc)

SY ADORES this book and thinks that if it were posted online it would be his #1 favorite. He really relates to MBJ as a protagonist and Binghe is still the best!! And then he is completely blindsided when the two of them have tender emotional gay sex

Being SY, he absolutely tries to justify this to himself as like, aha,what a clever subversion...! You can tell because this sex scene was way better written then all the ones in PIDW, but obviously they aren't gay (He is too flustered to bring this up to Airplane in person despite having no problem doing so with the het stuff)

The novel ends with, like, Bingge sealing away Xin mo and promising to be just as loyal to his general as MBJ is to him, and is very obviously romantic to the point that even SY can't miss it. So he goes back and rereads it to make sure it was actually meant to be a romance (...danmei) novel all along. And then again just to make sure and he's kinda losing his mind a little because he really related to MBJ in this book and... MBJ had gay sex??

Of course you also have the "and they were roommates" situation going on at the same time. The rituals are intricate. Airplane is aware that's he's giving SY some kind of sexuality crisis but he has no idea how intense! He's genuinely fine having an unrequited crush on SY. Homoerotically teasing him is fun and it doesn't have to go further than that! Hes not really in a place to be doing any dating anyways and bro-cuddles have him covered!

Side note: I like the idea of SY being very proud when Airplane gains weight bc its Physical proof that he's taking good care of his friend and also maybe catering to what he finds attractive

When SY finally gets to the point where he asks about his sexuality, Airplane pretty much gives him the "I don't see a point in labels, I just like who I like" speech.

SY who loves categorizing and labeling things: can you do that?? Is that allowed??????

He then gets pointed to Baby's First LGBTQ resource website, and after determining that he's maybe not gay but maybe is something else immediately jumps into googling "how to date your best friend who is also your roommate"

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Differential Diagnosis

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 3.4k

note: okay, hyperfixations are WORKING. I started watching House MD (I saw a few seasons years ago, but I'd forgotten about it) and this just popped into my head during a night of mystical delirium. I hope it makes some sense; I had a lot of fun writing it.

The mere thought of asking Gregory House for a favor made your stomach turn.

Not because he was incompetent—quite the opposite—but because you knew his corrosive humor and his eagerness to make others uncomfortable all too well. Every time your paths crossed in the past, he found a way to mess with you, point out any personality trait that might make you vulnerable, and laugh it off with his signature mocking tone.

And yet, there you were, standing next to Spencer Reid at Princeton-Plainsboro, trying to convince yourself that this encounter wouldn’t be as terrible as you imagined.

As members of the FBI, the team had the freedom to consult with as many specialists as necessary, even if they weren’t directly involved in the case you were working on. And deep down, you knew there was no one better to help you than Gregory.

You cursed the moment Spencer had mentioned it in front of Hotch because you had to confess to the "friendship"—if you could even call it that—you had with the doctor. Well, more than a friendship, Hotch had sent you because he trusted that you could persuade him. You had asked Reid to go with you so he could explain the medical aspects and, in part, as a kind of punishment for him.

You had already spoken with the hospital director, and she had given you the all-clear to head to his office. When you arrived, House had his back turned, checking something on his computer. His voice greeted you before you could even speak.

“If this is another attempt by Cuddy to get me to take cases for free, tell her my charity quota is already exhausted this week.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you said, crossing your arms.

House slowly turned in his chair, and upon seeing you, a mocking smile appeared on his face.

“Well, well. My favorite FBI agent. What brings you here? Need a consultation, or are you here to arrest me for being too cool?”

You sighed. House was already getting on your nerves, and you hadn’t even been with him for five minutes.

“I’m sure if I were to arrest you, it wouldn’t be for that. We need your help with a case.”

House leaned his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers. He looked curious, like someone who, after hours of boredom, was offered an intellectual challenge. At least you had one advantage: you knew him well enough to read his expressions.

“Are you serious? The United States National Security and Intelligence Service needs Gregory House?”

“Maybe. But if you get too full of yourself, there are always other alternatives.”

“None as good as me, I see. I’m the first one you go to,” he murmured, a mixture of arrogance and mockery in his voice. “Don’t you have other FBI doctors for this? Or perhaps a 'medical council' that includes the entire detective team?”

You took a few steps closer, making it clear you were there for something serious. Spencer followed you cautiously.

“No, House. What we have is... something we can’t solve without your specialized knowledge. And I know this because you specialize in cases that no one else can interpret correctly.”

“And what do I gain?”

Reid intervened in his patient tone.

“It’s a case with complex medical implications. We thought you might be interested.”

House turned his head toward him, assessing him. He seemed as if he had barely noticed his presence.

“And who are you?”

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you said, stepping forward. “He’s my colleague at the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Huh. I’ve heard about you…” House began, as if Reid were some kind of celebrity whose biography he was now trying to recall. “You’re the genius at the FBI, aren’t you? The child prodigy who memorized the Encyclopedia Britannica before he could ride a bike.”

“It wasn’t before I learned to ride a bike,” Reid corrected matter-of-factly.

House burst out laughing.

“Okay, you had my curiosity, but now you have my attention. What do we know?”

You sat in the chairs in front of his desk and slid the files you had brought toward him. Reid, from his spot, waited patiently for you to give him a signal to begin the explanation.

“Several victims have developed severe neurological symptoms before dying. We haven’t found any common toxins or obvious signs of poisoning, but their organs show unexplained deterioration.”

House flipped through the documents with little interest, probably analyzing what Spencer was saying.

“Interesting.”

“At autopsy, we found significant degeneration in the basal ganglia and the substantia nigra of the brain,” he continued. “There was also an abnormal accumulation of proteins in the limbic system, similar to what occurs in prion diseases, but without the presence of prions themselves.”

“Go on.”

“The liver tissue showed massive necrosis, with no signs of viral infection. And the lungs had edema, although the fluid levels were not sufficient to indicate severe heart failure.”

House narrowed his eyes.

“Hallucinations?”

“Yes,” Reid nodded. “In all the victims, the symptoms began with confusion, then extreme paranoia and episodes of aggression.”

House leaned forward slightly, interested.

“How long did it take from the first symptom to death?”

“About a week.”

“Common substances in the body?”

“Nothing consistent with known poisons. No recreational drugs or heavy metal exposure either.”

House let out a low whistle.

“Wow, this is interesting.”

You watched the interaction in surprise. House rarely took anything seriously in the first few minutes of a conversation, and the fact that he was now listening intently to Reid meant he was genuinely impressed. Then again, it was easy to be impressed by anything that came out of Reid’s mouth.

House leaned back in his chair, turning his cane slightly in his hand. His gaze slid from Reid to you and back to the file.

“All right, genius boy, give me a diagnosis.”

Reid squared his shoulders with his characteristic seriousness.

“It could be an atypical variant of Creutzfeldt-Jakob syndrome. The abnormal accumulation of proteins in the limbic system and the degeneration of the substantia nigra could indicate an accelerated neurodegenerative disease.”

House shook his head almost immediately.

“There are no prions. There’s no evidence that it’s spongiform encephalopathy. Furthermore, Creutzfeldt-Jakob doesn’t kill in a week.”

“It could be a case of L-Dopa analogue poisoning, perhaps exposure to a compound derived from MPTP. That would explain the necrosis in the substantia nigra and the neurological symptoms.”

“If that were the case, I’d expect to see rigidity and bradykinesia, not extreme paranoia,” House countered. “And liver necrosis doesn’t fit.”

Reid frowned slightly, thoughtful.

“Paraneoplastic autoimmune encephalitis?”

House snorted.

“And where’s the tumor, Einstein? Did I leave it in my other pants?”

“Some tumors may be too small to be detected in their early stages, especially ovarian teratomas—”

“Oh, right, because I’m sure all the victims had ovaries,” House interrupted, his sarcasm evident.

Reid was unfazed.

“Autoimmune encephalitis may also be associated with thymomas or lung carcinomas.”

House tilted his head, assessing him with more interest than he cared to admit.

“How old did you say you were?”

“Twenty-eight.”

House gave a short laugh. There was something like approval on his face, as if you’d brought him a tribute and he was happy with it.

“Medical specialty?”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Cardiologist? Neurologist? No, wait—infectious disease specialist with a Sherlock Holmes complex?”

“I’m not a doctor,” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard him the first time.

House hated being treated like an idiot, and, to be honest, you were enjoying the situation a little.

He frowned, that signature expression of his, and looked at your colleague again. “Then what the hell are you doing diagnosing?”

“I have PhDs in Chemistry, Mathematics, and Engineering. Also, specializations in Psychology and Sociology.”

“So, no medical degree, but you’re still correcting me.”

“I don’t need an MD to understand pathology, neuroscience, or toxicology,” he muttered nonchalantly, as if it were just another ordinary conversation.

You already liked Reid a lot, and after solving the case, you would make sure to buy him a few drinks just for the simple pleasure of infuriating the most cynical human being in the world.

“Tell me the truth, does the Bureau pay you well?”

“Excuse me?”

“Because I could give you a job here. Then I could fire those three idiots I have under my command, and you’d be enough to keep this department running. You’re more efficient, and while somewhat annoying, your answers are more grounded than theirs.”

“Don’t even think about it. Get your own genius.”

“You’re finally talking! For a moment there, I thought you were going to let your boyfriend do all the work.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. There was no need to inconvenience the poor boy.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Wow, what a waste,” House said with mock pity before turning his attention back to Reid. “Okay, smart-ass, let’s do another brainstorm. Neurotoxins in the environment? Maybe a rare fungus, something that affects the central nervous system and causes necrosis in other organs?”

Reid shook his head almost instantly.

“If it were an environmental toxin, we should have found traces in lung tissue or blood. We did extensive testing, and there’s no evidence of chronic exposure.”

“Okay, how about mitochondrial disease? A rare genetic mutation that only manifests under certain environmental conditions?”

“Unlikely. The progression is too rapid for a classic mitochondrial disease, and there’s no evidence of prior systemic failure.”

House pressed his lips together in approval.

“You were right from the start. I love this case; it’s like an intellectual prostitute to me, and that doesn’t happen very often.”

Although the tasteless joke didn’t amuse you, you were reassured because he had agreed. The pre-arranged conversation was proof enough for you that the case would be resolved in the best possible way; after all, you had two geniuses standing in front of you.

You looked at Reid with a slight smile, grateful that he’d been so punctual with the details and had sparked House’s curiosity. He, as sweet as ever, returned the expression.

“Tell me something, do you always rub your fingertips together before you speak?”

Reid blinked, confused, as you frowned. It was obvious House wasn’t talking to you.

“Sorry?”

House waved a hand.

“You’ve done it three times since you came in. A repetitive pattern. Do you also avoid prolonged eye contact and feel uncomfortable with loud sounds?”

Now it was Reid who frowned. Before you could say anything, your companion spoke:

“Are you implying that I have autism?”

House shrugged.

“Asperger’s, specifically. Although that’s not used anymore because it’s not right to separate the functionally from the non-functionally mentally ill, right?” he laughed to himself. “And I’m not insinuating anything, I’m just observing what you’re doing.”

“I’m not autistic.”

House tilted his head, looking at him almost like an exotic animal.

“Maybe you should get tested.”

Just then, when you were about to point out House’s clear traits of Antisocial Personality Disorder and Narcissism, the door opened and someone else entered the office.

“House, could you stop torturing the interns for a moment? I need your help—”

The voice cut off as soon as the newcomer saw you, and your heart gave a treacherous leap.

James Wilson stood in the doorway, his white coat neatly buttoned, holding a pair of folders. His expression was calm and patient, as if he was already used to House’s games.

In your youth, you had a ridiculous crush on him, back when you had to do some internships at the hospital and had the misfortune of ending up supervising House. That’s when you met him.

Wilson was the kind of man who exuded kindness and confidence, with a sharp yet approachable intelligence. Not like House, who enjoyed making others feel stupid, or Reid, who was simply brilliant without even trying.

It wasn’t one of those extreme, idealized loves, but it was enough to have followed some of his medical lectures with fascination, impressed by his intelligence, his empathy, his way of explaining things clearly. You admired the person he was, how he always looked out for you and became your lawyer when House was getting too unbearable.

And now he was standing before you, after years of that old crush being left in the past… Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because the moment he said your name, your mind seemed to forget how to coordinate words.

“It’s been a long time! I heard you’re working for the FBI now, right?” he politely approached, and you jumped to your feet to take the hand he was offering. “Congratulations! I always knew you’d go far.”

“Huh, thanks, Doctor,” you murmured shyly. The others present could notice the change in your voice, your posture, even your expression.

“Oh, just call me Wilson. Otherwise, you make me feel like you’re my patient.”

“Then thank you, Wilson. How nice to see you again.”

The smile he gave you made you blush, and you unconsciously brought a hand to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. House, never one to miss a juicy opportunity, narrowed his eyes and then smiled wickedly.

“Oh, this is glorious.”

Wilson looked at him, confused.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yes, dear. Turns out you have a secret admirer,” House said, pointing at you with his cane. “How did I not notice this before?

You felt the heat rise up your neck to your face. Spencer, who had remained silent, watching the interaction, now looked at you with something close to surprise.

“House, what the hell are you talking about now?”

“She! Look at her when you arrived. She was insulting me a second before, and as soon as she saw you, she turned into a lovesick schoolgirl.”

“It’s called kindness. It’s hard to practice it with you because you tend to be a jerk who makes me insult you every chance I get.”

Your attempt to divert the subject was useless because, once House got something stuck in his head, it was hard for him to let it go.

“You know, I always hoped you’d like older men and thought I was the ideal candidate, but I see you already had someone else in mind.”

“Did you like Dr. Wilson?”

“No! I mean, I… I liked him, but not in that way. Besides, it’s irrelevant!” you exclaimed, annoyed by Reid’s sudden indiscretion. Sometimes he spoke without thinking.

House smiled with delight.

“Oh, that’s completely relevant. In fact, I think your medical case can wait. This is much more interesting.”

Wilson sighed in resignation and looked at his friend, deciding it was time to intervene.

“House, will you stop bothering her? It’s not her fault that no one wants to treat you with human decency because of your behavior.”

You avoided looking at Wilson at all costs. You knew that as soon as your eyes met his, you’d blush, and that would only give House more reason to be a nuisance.

“For God’s sake, can we talk about the case again?”

House let out a laugh you never, ever imagined coming from him. He was ecstatic about what was happening, completely amused.

“Don’t you want Reid to know that his coworker had romantic dreams about the most smarmy oncologist in the hospital?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, a study from the University at Albany found that nearly a third of young women report having been attracted to authority figures like teachers, doctors, or supervisors at some point. It’s a well-documented phenomenon linked to perceptions of competence, security, and emotional maturity—”

“Reid,” you hissed. You swore you could die of embarrassment any second. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.”

House ignored the comments and leaned toward you.

“Tell me the truth, did you dream of being diagnosed with a terminal illness just so you could spend more time with him?”

“House,” Wilson exclaimed, his tone now stern. There was a second of silence before he continued, “Don’t bother her. Just admit that you’re trying to humiliate her because you’re jealous that your pretty assistant had a crush on me instead of you.”

You immediately raised your head, staring at him directly. There was amusement on his face, and you tried not to burst out laughing—not knowing if you were doing it out of embarrassment, to deny the accusations, or out of genuine amusement.

House looked offended, and even Spencer held back a chuckle. He didn’t want to make fun of you because you were his friend, and there were feelings involved, at least on his part, but he found it endearing to see you so flustered by the situation. Besides, it was hilarious to think of a young woman’s pupils dilating in the oncologist’s presence. He hadn’t pictured you as that kind of person.

“I’m Spencer Reid, by the way. I haven’t introduced myself.”

Your partner’s unwelcome intrusion, in an attempt to lighten the tension, made Wilson burst out laughing.

“James Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You knew he was truly committed to protecting what little dignity you had left when he shook Reid’s hand—because you knew how terrified he was of physical contact with strangers.

When you looked at House, waiting for him to offer you a truce, he waggled his eyebrows up and down, like a provocative little boy. No one was surprised when you gave him the middle finger.

“Are you going to help us or not?”

House tilted his head, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Hmm, I will. Only because now you’ll owe me a favor, and since I know about Wilson, I doubt you’ll refuse to do it.”

Wilson sighed.

“You’re hopeless.”

“You know me well. What did you want to ask me, by the way? Everyone seems to need me these days.”

“Nothing urgent, I can wait,” he murmured. Then he looked at you. “Unlike House, I do have work to do in my department, so I’m leaving. It’s nice to see you again. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Same here. Although I hope we don’t have to call on each other’s services anytime soon.”

He laughed at your joke. Almost as if he wanted to test your limits, he leaned closer and, in addition to shaking your hand, planted a goodbye kiss on your cheek.

House (surprisingly) had the good sense to wait until his friend left the office before he started making exaggerated kissing noises—completely childish, if they asked you.

That was the final straw. You grabbed a tennis ball lying around and threw it straight at his chest: a ruthless and deliberate shot.

“Hey! Didn’t anyone teach you not to hit cripples?”

“And be thankful it wasn’t in the leg,” you exclaimed disdainfully. “Now move your handicapped ass outside. We need to go, and I’ll drag you to the car if necessary.”

“Now I see why you’re not her boyfriend,” he muttered as he stood up, rolling his eyes in Reid’s direction. “She’s just as crazy as my boss, and no one sleeps with that woman.”

You maintained your composure until he limped out the door, clearly pleased with the mess he had made. Once you were alone, Spencer cautiously approached you, testing the waters to avoid triggering your anger.

“That was… interesting.”

“Reid, I swear if you tell the team, not even all the love I have for you will stop me from punching you in the face. And it would be a shame to ruin your best attribute.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on me. I was just an unfortunate listener in this mess.”

“I’m serious.”

“Understood, ma’am,” he said slightly mockingly, raising both hands in a show of sincerity. The two of you then headed for the exit, following House.

There was silence for a stretch of the hallway until, just before reaching the elevator, he decided to speak again.

“But you did like him?”

God knows how you looked at him to make him laugh nervously, half amused and half worried.

“Don’t tempt me, Reid.”

“It was just a question!” he murmured innocently. The elevator doors closed in front of you once you stood next to the man with the cane. “Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t blame him if he had feelings for you. You’re so smart and pretty, it would be silly not to.”

You looked back at him, but this time there was a certain surprise and delight in your expression. Spencer, afraid of your answer, just stared at you with those huge doe eyes.

“Shut up, please,” you laughed.

With that, you leaned against him, defeated, and he allowed himself to give you a sweet hug as if he wanted to console you for the painful scene you had just experienced.

The rest of the case wasn’t any easier to deal with House, but at least you had the company of your own genius to make it more bearable.

[greensagephase]

@thealleydog The way I forgot about the whole Tiktok thing, omg. 😭 That really happened, huh? It was crazy, and I’m glad you guys still have it! The example you gave though, lmao!

Hehehe, this was pretty much a little Hallmark movie for sure with the cabin in the woods and excessive mistletoe (it really kept popping up lol). I was really like, “Let me spoil myself and all NC readers. Tis the season!” And of course, I couldn’t miss the chance to include the one bed trope, one of my favorite tropes of all time, hehe, so you can imagine my giggling while writing those parts! 🤭 And of course, I couldn’t go without there been some physical contact/compromising positions for the giggles and kicking feet. I also included that to convey how accepting they are of each other’s touch and warmth — how they crave it. Yet, their respect and boundaries still in place hold them back and it’s only in their vulnerable state that their true feelings come out. For now. 🥺

But hehe, YES, Miguel took inventory and then started writing poetry about us in his head like it’s a normal thing (won’t be the first nor last time, I assure you) and thinking about how utterly beautiful reader is.

POOKIE, THE CHESTICLES TRYING TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HER FOR YEARS COMMENT!

I’M DEAD!😭😭😭 When I tell you this comment made my whole day! Why do I kinda want to add that to the fic? I could see Peter B. telling this to Dulzura when both M and D are like, having tension, and Peter B. is just like "You're acting like this is new. That man's chesticles have been trying to make eye contact with you for years. It's not news to us", or something like that. 😭😭

But hehe, Miguel wasn’t the only one taking inventory on that morning. Dulzura was definitely taking notice of some things (the freaking happy trail AAAAAAAA), which I can’t blame her for!🤭

Also, YESSSS! The communication is indeed nonviolent in this home and it’s all about understanding, respect, mindfulness, and acceptance!🥹💖 Plus… They craved and sought each other’s touch during the night. Subconsciously, they know they wanted that closeness, so of course, there wasn’t any offense.

Sjkdfjkdfjd, pookie, Pav breaking the fourth wall because of M and D being idiots in love was so funny! As soon as I thought about it, I got so excited to write it as a nod to fanfic readers in general, but mainly for NC readers for reading this slow burn.

Also, yes, they got matching bracelets! The little detail on the bracelets is the Celtic Lovers' knot, symbolic of love, so they’re basically together! 💕🥺 And with Miguel moving forward and making an effort to make more physical contact, well, that will become a reality in the future! Augh, the image you just put in my head of Miguel swinging you off your feet and spinning around laughing in joy — this would make such a lovely scene for the future! 😭

Also, that’s what I’m saying! Miguel would be perfect for those Christmas movies! I would watch every movie with him in it 🤭

Thank you SO MUCH for reading and for showing support to my fic, pookie! It means so much to me! 🥹🥹💖

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💀😭

[idorelyss]

LEILA OUAHABI X EXWIFE.ᐟREADER HEADCANONS

author note. here some headcanons to go along with those text messages since yall loved them so much ❤️ will def be writing a few fics about this.

━ the divorce between leila and you went as smooth as a divorce could possibly go. she signed the papers, moved out of the home you two bought, and agreed with whatever the court decided on. leila always had the mindset of you get whatever you want so even in the case of a divorce, she gave you what you desired. that doesn't mean she stop loving you or tried to move on. never that.

━ leila's new flat is only a ten minute drive away from your place. it doesn't even matter since she is always over your house. one thing that leila refuses to be is a deadbeat parent. marco sees her everyday, she's always taking care of him, making sure he has whatever he wants, and brags about you guys' son all the time. on days where she is too busy to come over, have away games, or international break, leila always calls and talks to marco for atleast an hour. sometimes she does take advantage, having marco help her beg to stay over. you can never say no to your son so you always give in.

━ everybody believes you two are still together because of the way leila acts. she will say "my wife" when talking about you with no shame. people closest to her know that you two are separated, but everybody else? nah. she still posts you for mother's day & your birthday, comments on your posts, and praises you whenever people ask her directly about you.

━ your attendance of man city matches have dropped since the divorce, but that number is not zero. marco loves going to see leila play. he also loves seeing and interacting with all the man city girls, so there are a few select matches where you will show up with marco with him dressed in a leila jersey while you're wearing someone else's. those are the best days for leila. she doesn't care that you aren't wearing her jersey, just seeing you in man city colors reminds her of when you two were together.

━ leila has serious jealousy issues. the moment she gets a small hint of you moving on, she is ready to argue. alongside that, leila will downplay anyone that you try to be romantic with. bragging that she's better, they can't take care of you like she did, they don't got money like she does, can't love you like she do. will and has found people you talk to then proceeded to either convince them that you two are still together or that they are just rebounds. absolutely hates the idea of anyone being a "step-mom" to marco. his only parents are you and her, that's it.

━ she hasn't been romantically involved with anyone since the divorce. she had one hookup, which was literally a week after the divorce, and the woman looked exactly like you. after that, leila just refuses to move on or look at anyone else. she wants you, simple as that.

━ your family still loves her, and she teases you about that all the time. she shows up to the family gatherings with no push back, quite the opposite. your mom & aunts love having her help in the kitchen, your father & uncles love watching football with her, your younger cousins are obsessed with hanging off of her & playing around with her. it's like the divorce never happened when she comes to a party. leila fits into your family like a glove.

━ her lockscreen and homescreen wallpaper is still a picture of marco & you. one that she took years ago; baby marco in your arms as you sit on the beach, smiling softly at the camera. it's her favorite photo of you and marco. your contact in her phone stays unchanged; princesa 💕 stays in her phone.

━ can't stop herself from flirting with you whenever she sees you. if you tell her to stop in a firm enough tone, she will, but besides that, she will sweet-talk you the entire time. also cannot stop herself from touching you. it's nothing crazy, just a short hug most of the time, but that's enough physical touch to satisfy her.

━ sends your gifts all the time. flowers, sweets, clothes, whatever you want or need, she got you. even when you tell her she doesn't have to, leila just shrugs you off. she always has to take care of you.

━ every time she's drunk, all restraint, she has falls away. she spam calls you, and if you don't answer, then she will just spam text you. she will be all up in your phone begging for you to take her back. talking about how she loves you, how she wants you back, how she wants her family back. one time, you blocked her, and somehow, she made her way onto your doorstep an hour later. when she's back sober, leila has no shame. she stands by whatever she said.

━ actually takes family therapy very seriously. despite having a smooth divorce and her being very present for marco, she still has worries on how transitioning from two parents in the same house to two different houses & his parents being apart will go for him. she cares deeply about being a good co-parent with you. neither of you will ever use marco against the other. he's your child, not a pawn.

━ will argue with you over text but refuse to argue in person. leila doesn't believe in yelling at each other and will talk calmly to you whenever you bring any issues you have with her in person. now, over text is a different story. she can antagonize you sometimes.

━ has marco's name and your name tattooed on her back.

[deepspacedandelion]

Caleb - AZ Analysis (NSFW)

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Authors Note: Firstly, this is a long one yall, I’m sorry. Secondly, I used to LOVE reading these a few years ago and I looked it up and only found ONE on AO3 for Zayne😔 so I was like, okay, let me write this for the LADS. Starting off with Caleb cuz if yall can’t tell he a #freak and my favorite LI🧍🏽‍♀️ also, this is not proofread so sorry for any spelling / grammar issues. Next up is probably Zayne or Rafayel. (I definitely feel dirty as hell after writing this yall, what the fudge🧍🏽‍♀️)

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A - Aftercare

Caleb is pretty attentive after sex. He’ll take a quick breather (maybe around 5 minutes) before doing anything; just enjoying your presence, catching his breath, kissing your forehead, all that jazz (while still inside you might I add) before he’d reluctantly peel himself away from you. He’d shove on his pants, and go run you a warm bath and, of course, carry you (*cough* Farspace Deprivation *cough* ) to it, tracing his fingers along your back, arms, and legs, peering into your eyes from time to time and asking if he hurt you. After, he’d leave you to enjoy your ‘alone time’, heading down to the kitchen and getting you a cool glass of water and cooking you a quick meal or a light snack, making sure that you’re clean and well hydrated/fed. He’d probably want to sleep after (unless he’s got something to do) though.

B - Body Part

His favorite body part on you is literally everything, no if, and, or buts about it. But truthfully (lewdly) be told, he loves your eyes (aww🥺), thighs (ooh😏) and pussy (oh!😳). Your eyes express so much to him; he can always look in them and tell exactly how you’re feeling, no matter how hard you try and cover it up, they say the eyes are the gateway to the soul and Caleb loves that. He thinks its so intimate to stare into your eyes. As for your thighs, Caleb loves a little plush. He likes the soft squishy pillows to squeeze the side of his head when he’s going to town. He also loves to lay his head on your lap and let you twiddle with his hair after a long day, falling asleep peacefully every time you do. As for the pussy, I don’t know how many times I have to tell yall how in tune Caleb is with the pussy. He loves talking to her, kissing her, tasting her, hearing her, literally everything. Just like your eyes, its so intimate to be this close with you. Not just connecting on the outside (of your body) but the inside as well.

C - Cum

Caleb loves to cum inside, I think they pretty much all do as I believe they’re all into close intimacy, but I’ll throw yall a bone and delve deeper lol.

Besides cumming inside, Caleb would love to cum on your pussy (strange, I know), on your tummy, or in your mouth. Cumming on your pussy always turns him on, he loves the way it looks and he relishes in what it means; that your pussy is his and here’s the proof. As for your tummy, he just thinks it looks cute; the small dip in your tummy that welcomes the pool of his milky cum is a stark contrast to how… intense he can be when making love. Lastly, as for cumming in your mouth, he enjoys it because it’s basically like cumming inside you. It shows you’re eager for him, you want him in every way like he wants you. He thoroughly enjoys it.

D - Dirty Secret

No surprise that Caleb is a panty sniffer (we’ve all seen the damn picture, which I will so kindly out at the bottom of this post). He just gets off on it. He is absolutely infatuated with stealing a pair of your panties (worn (preferably) or not). Just the thought of being so close yet so far from such an intimate part of you turns him on like nothing else. It’s different from any other scent about you; your shampoo, your perfume, lotion, mouthwash, whatever. It’s different because it’s so… natural and you. It’s not altered or can be replicated, no, it’s unique to you and that’s why he loves it. He loves taking a big ass whiff to ground himself, remind him what he’s doing (quite literally) anything for. He can’t help the aching bulge that grows in his pants every time he does. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, it just does. (It’s not even a secret anymore tbh, I don’t think he’d try to hide it very long)

E - Experience

Caleb is so infatuated with you that he would instantly be put off by another female. Not in a ‘disgusted way’ just in a ‘not interested’ way. It doesn’t take him long to realize that he is literally looking for you in every woman he encounters. “Oh, her perfume is nice. Not as nice as Y/N’s, but it has a nice vanilla smell, very relaxing.” He literally looks for traces of you, big and small, and even IF he does find them, they still wouldn’t entice him. He’d just be reminded of you, and now he’s thinking about you the whole encounter and how much he’d like to see you right now, and oh! Someone else is here…? Sorry, didn’t see you there. With that being said, I don’t think he’d have much experience under his belt; he’s known you since childhood and has been literally obsessed with you ever since, and I highly doubt he’s ever felt that way for anyone before, during, or after you. He may have 1 (at the ABSOLUTE MAX 2, but I can’t really see it) body(ies) but it would just be to experience sex/relieve some stress, not because he actually felt something for them, even so, he’s probably one of those virgins that no one ever expects to be a virgin.

F - Favorite Position

Caleb LOVES cowgirl, he loves to see you take control and get yourself off while using him. Its so sexy to him; he’s always telling you how pretty you look and how good you’re doing, and he LOVES that scoot thing? That you do to hit your G-Spot, really drives him wild seeing you like this, but one of his absolute favorites is “The Anvil (picture below).” He loves the closeness and intimacy of it and the dirtyness too; how he can look into your eyes and moan into your ear, how he can kiss your legs as well as your face, how deep he can get this way, how his body weight is practically pinning you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives you. He loves how wet you sound squelching beneath him every time he pounds into you, how his balls slap your perineum making you feel even better. It also add one to one mind blowing orgasm for him and you.

G - Goofy

Caleb is fairly serious when he’s in the moment. The way he dirty talks is so… sensual and lewd that it’s very difficult to be goofy with him. He takes your pleasure VERY seriously, he’d never want you to go unsatisfied, even if he does. That being said, he’s usually in a pretty serious/focused (on you) headspace majority of the time, but he doesn’t mind if you crack a joke, or smile, or laugh. He finds it endearing. It’s adorable to him, and your happiness and comfort is the top priority, so if you feel comfortable doing so, by all means, go ahead, he welcomes it, but he would never personally do it. He knows how different a woman’s pleasure is compared to a man and how hard it is to get back in that certain headspace once you’re out, so he wouldn’t want to jeopardize that if he could help it.

H - Hair

Caleb’s pubic hair is not very dense in my opinion. Compared to short and curlies, I think it’s a little bit longer and straighter, but ash black though. It’s not too much, it’s actually quite soft so you wouldn’t necessarily mind it, but he prefers keeping it shaved for you and himself. He’s a practical man, he wouldn’t want the pubic hair to get in the way of your pleasure (or his) or to get caught up in his zipper. If you asked him to do something with it (shave it all off, keep it long, trim it, etc etc) be would, just give him 15 minutes, but he finds it easier to just shave it all or keep it trimmed, less hassle.

As for you, he doesn’t care. He loves you just the way you are; Hair or no hair. He’d recommend some stuff for you to do with it if you really wanted to do something more intricate (like designs and trying out a new razor or wax place or something) but he’d personally never outright tell you what to do with your own body and risk making you feel less than desirable to him. But, I personally think Caleb prefers it trimmed. He likes a little hair, liking how natural it is (he literally just loves you in your natural state💀) but still groomed enough not to take away from your pleasure or his.

As for a hairless pussy, he also very much so enjoys this. He loves how soft your skin is and how he can see everything (cuz he’s definitely looking) better.

I - Intimacy

Caleb is pretty intimate. Of his own accord, he probably wouldn’t be lighting candles and throwing down roses petals every time you two get down with the get down, but, he’d definitely make your feel loved and make this feel like something that brings you both closer together. He’d never, in a million years, want there to be a lack of intimacy. He loves you and he is never afraid or ashamed to show that and he’d cherish the same from you. He’d love kissing your lips and all around your body, telling you how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, loves you, and needs you and he’d definitely appreciate the same thing.

J - Jack Off

Caleb jacks off a pretty often, even if he has you. He’d be discreet but he definitely wouldn’t hide it from you and he’d absolutely adore if you offered to help him sometime, but for the most part, he doesn’t want to bother you or overwhelm you with his needs. With his job and worrying about you, he gets tense a bit easily (and its known that he doesn’t like to show certain emotion to mc in fear the she might think she can’t depend on him/tell him certain stuff as to not overwhelm him) so he’d definitely value some frequent relief. On another note though, Caleb is DEFINITELY into mutual masturbation (or just being watched by you in general). He’d be smitten if he got to watch you touch yourself while you watched him touch himself as well, but he’d be itching to touch you, so it wouldn’t last long (he really tries tho).

K - Kink

Caleb is into a lot of stuff (#freak). He’d pretty much be into a lot (if not all) of the stuff you’re interested in as long as it didn’t hurt you (physically or otherwise) or gross him out (which would take a lot ngl). But, to be more specific (since I know yall curious😏) here’s a few things I think he’d be into;

• Size Difference (*cough* Exclusive Aftertaste *cough*). It doesn’t matter if you’re in the taller side (he’s pretty tall at 6’2), or the shorter side. It doesn’t matter if you’re chubbier or slimmed, he goes ABSOLUTELY WILD for your body. He literally worships the ground you walk on. He loves how different your body is compared to him, he adores how unique you are, how there is literally no one like you.

• Dirty Talk; Gonna keep this short - Caleb LOVES talking dirty to you and he’d literally cum instantly if you dirty talked to him.

• Marking Kink; He LOVES to mark you, show everyone you’re his, and he’d really enjoyed it if you did it back. Even if his whole body is covered in his uniform and no one can see, he KNOWS they’re there and that turns him on to no end.

• Very Light Cum Play; He enjoys creampieing you, you swallowing, and cumming on your pussy and lightly smearing it in/using his fingers to pump it into you. Its just a very intimate reminder that you’re his.

• Very very Light Voyeurism: Strictly just for him. He would NEVER let anyone else see. He’s not entirely into it because of how risky it is, but when he can’t be there with you in Linkon, he loves to look at videos of you touching yourself or you both making love to get off (nothing too long, maybe around 30 seconds to a minute). He prefers if it was over video cam (and not just a video in his gallery) so he can talk to you and you can talk back. It’s the next best thing; not quite as good as being there with you, but better than a photo, a text or a call.

• Very Very Slight Roleplay; He loves when you feel sexy and confident in yourself, and also when you take the lead and give him the night of his life. He wouldn’t want to go all out with wigs and a script and stuff (loving you just the way you are, no need for change) but, he does enjoy a little lingerie that you put on to help sell the bit.

L - Location

To be real, he prefers to keep it in the house (not exactly limited to the bedroom but,) preferably somewhere private and enclosed. He doesn’t mind the kitchen or the shower, literally anywhere you want but he’d prefer if you avoided inconvenient places. Some places you can convince him to do it (shower, car, semi-public) but it would have be minimal risk. He doesn’t want to risk you getting hurt or being humiliated if someone saw you.

M - Motivation

You. Literally that’s it. Everything you do gets him going. He absolutely adores everything about you, so really, it wouldn’t take much to get him going, but to cut to some specifics, he loves;

• When you compliment him or tell him how much you love him.

• When you kiss/touch his neck/back/shoulders (I think those are some of his main erogenous zones)

• When you feel confident in yourself (complimenting yourself in the mirror, wearing clothes/makeup/a hairstyle that makes you feel pretty, etc.)

• You wearing his clothes; he just thinks you look so adorable (and sexy) he loves how comfortable you are around him, which reminds him that you trust him, which reminds him that you love him and he loves you, and now he wants to express that love, and now you’re making love. Yay.

• When you ask him to do something for you (Open a bottle, run you a bath, zip up your dress, etc).

He might seem a lil easy to get going (which is true) but that’s just because he loves you so much. He also loves knowing that YOU KNOW you can depend on him and how he’d do anything and everything for you. Makes him want to express his love, and what better way to express his love than to make love..?

N - NO

(Do I need to say #freak again?!) To be real, there’s not a whole bunch Caleb would NOT be into, he prefers to keep things clean, safe, and immersive for BOTH of you, so anything that involves all 3 (actually 4 and i’ll explain why in a bit) of those things is a green light in his book (or at least a yellow). But, to get specific, here’s a few things I think he definitely would not enjoy.

• Blood or Scat Play; it’s just not his thing. He’d be so worried about you the whole time, it would literally kill his mood.

• Nothing to deprive him (specifically) and sometimes you of your senses; he wouldn’t mind a blindfold if you really wanted it, but he’s so adamant about touching, hearing, tasting, and seeing you that it would be lackluster to him if these senses were taken away. Likewise, he wants you to also be immersed in the moment, but he DOES enjoy how the lack of sight (from you) 1. Establishes how much you trust him, and 2. Heightens your senses (and pleasure) when he touches you.

• No one else; Literally no one else can be involved in your love life. Caleb would feel so distraught and pathetic (and extremely possessive) if you ever brought up bringing someone in to your love life (not just sex, but in general). He’s so dedicated to you and, in his mind, even though he spends a lot of time with you, it’d never be enough. There is no one on Earth that he loves, wants, or needs, like he does you, so if he even got the slightest hint that you felt the same way, it’d crush him. He’d get extremely possessive but sad as well.

O - Oral

Caleb LOVES oral. Tasting you is such an intimate thing and he absolutely REVELS in the fact that he is the one to do it. He loves it messy, not gonna lie. He’d LOVE if you were a squirter (he can definitely make you one😏); he wants your juices trickling down his chin, he wants you pushing his head deeper into your pussy, he’d love your toes curling as he made you feel like no one ever has and he’d definitely love to make out (with the lips on your face🧍🏽‍♀️) after he’s done making you feel good. Caleb gets a thrill out of finding new ways to make you feel good, he wants to be the only one to know you so well. In my opinion, Caleb would love your perineum (though I don’t think he’d know the exact name for it lol). It was unexpected how it came about really, just the brush of his bottom lip there and your breathy moans were echoing throughout the room. So he did it again, and again, and again, until your orgasm washed over you, making you tremble with pleasure. Something awoke in him that day.

As for receiving oral, he loves it (who wouldn’t? though I think he prefers giving). He LOVES to keep eye contact during the whole thing, asking you how good he taste, do you like sucking him off, do you know how good you’re making him feel, telling you how much he loved the way you make him feel, and praising you as his orgasm electrified him. Ropes of cum dripping from your lips. He’s torn between wanting to intertwine your fingers with his, tangle his hands in your hair and slowly guide your movements or if he wants to to keep his hands to himself and let you fondle his thighs and balls (decisions, decisions). Truth be told, he loves to sit back and watch you work your magic, he knows that YOU KNOW how to make him feel good, he trusts you.

P - Pace

Caleb doesn’t fancy going too fast or too slow. On a scale of 1-10 on how fast he likes to go, his preference is around a 4.5 to 6.5; He likes to slow it down sometimes, really let you feel all of him and adjust to his length pummeling in and out of you, but too slow can be frustrating for him. He prefers a more steady pace, not enough to be too desperate for more, but not too fast to where you both just get off without building the tension, the connection, the intimacy and the pleasure.

Q - Quickie

Contrary to not wanting to go too fast just to get off, Caleb actually does enjoy a quickie. His face lights up with joy the moment you suggest it. Like I said, he’s a practical man, and if this is the way you want to spend a quick few minutes with him, he definitely won’t argue. As for him suggesting a quickie, he will from time to time, but he’d prefer to wait until you both have a bit of time and a comfortable spot to get down. His preferred position for a quickie is definitely bending you over, but he also loves setting you up on a surface and thrusting into you. It’s not his favorite thing but, Whenever and however he can get some, he’s happy lol.

R - Risk

Caleb doesn’t mind a bit of risk, but he’d need a good reason to attempt in the first place. He doesn’t want others to see you in the intimate state that only he can see you, so he wouldn’t be very fond of it. Not to mention, I don’t think he’d be very hyped to risk getting interrupted or someone making you feel embarrassed. If you were into it, he’d definitely try to find some joy in it, but his personal preference, It’s not very high on his list of pleasurable things.

S - Stamina

Caleb has quite a bit of Stamina. He definitely can go for around 2-3 rounds, maybe 4 if you’re really insatiable, but I highly doubt he’d prefer it. He doesn’t fancy sex that 1. Is solely focused on getting off, 2. Leaves him with no energy to take care of you after, 3. Could possibly be too much for you. In one word, he likes ‘steadiness.’ His preferred amount of rounds is 1-2. Around maybe 15-30 minutes each (including foreplay), depending on if he wants to be a little slow or not at the time.

T - Toys

Caleb enjoys toys. He’s not entirely crazy about them or anything, but he does have a few favorites: Vibrating Panties, a vibrating wand (to use on both of you), a bullet vibrator, and a cock ring. He wouldn’t be opposed to you wanting to try new toys, but these are the ones he’s most comfortable with. I think he wouldn’t prefer anything that takes away the use of his or your senses (maybe a blindfold at best) because he wants to be immersed in the moment when he’s intimate with you and he’d like for you to be too. He wants to hear, see, feel, and taste, how good he’s making you feel and he wants you to hear, see, feel and taste how good you make him feel, so he wouldn’t necessarily be a fan of something that robbed him of that, but he’d give it a try once or twice if it was something you were into.

U - Unfair

Caleb is a tiny bit unfair. He wouldn’t tease you too much, but he does enjoy getting you riled up slightly. Asking you how bad you want it before he, eventually, gives in. Asking you how you want it, encouraging you to tell him a lewdly specific way. Pulling away right before you climax just to hear your pretty whines and whimpers, he adores it, but he’d always give in after one or two times, he can’t resist you.

As for teasing him, he actually throughly enjoys it. He loves when you make him tell you just how he wants you to make him feel good and he absolutely loves when you pull away from letting him cum just to give in a few minutes later. It always makes him cum so hard. He knows his Pipsqueak will come running back sooner or later, not being able to resist giving him what he wants because she wants it too, and that alone gets him off so good.

V - Volume

Caleb is extremely vocal in bed, the most vocal of the 5 (*cough* definitely check out my “How They Talk To You In Bed Headcanon” to see why *cough*). He loves making your face flush red at the way he dirty talks only for you, no one else. His moans and groans are also pretty loud, and his favorite thing to do is lean his head into the crook of your neck and moan loudly in your ear. He just wants you to know how good your pussy makes him feel.

Lastly, as for receiving dirty talks from you, he’s probably die and come back to life. It’d really be a dream come true. He wants you to practically tell him you own him in every way. How only you can make him feel this good, or nut this hard, and he wouldn’t object. It’s entirely true.

He LIVES for your moans and WOULD NEVER want you to hold back. He’d prefer if you were loud (not Christina Aguilera loud or nothing but yeah, pretty vocal lol);

“Whose pussy is it, baby? Mine? Aw, that’s cute, I like that. Maybe you should say it louder. Say my name louder, Pipsqueak, let everyone know who you belong to.”

W - Wild Card

Caleb has an EXTREMELY love-hate relationship with being tied down. He absolutely hates not being able to touch your body as much as he wants, it’s pure torture to him, but he is ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED with you being in control. He loves how much he can trust you in such delicate moments like this. He loves how sexy and confident you look when you have all the power. He loves how good you make him feel, how earth shattering his orgasm is whenever you tie him up and use him as you please; He’s all yours after all, but goodness does he hate not being able to touch you. (*cough* Tainted Cuts *cough*)

X - X-ray

Look Yall, I’m gonna be real; Everybody is rambling on about 7 and 8 inch dicks for the LADS guys, but I just can’t see it (besides Sylus, but I’ll get to him another day). Caleb is packing some heat, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nothing splitting you in half out of this world. Firstly, the man is built like a tank; tall (6’2) and wide (shouldered), and according to his fingers and nose, I have come to the conclusion that he is around 6.3-6.6 inches (when fully erect). I think he’s a grower lol, one minute you’d probably be like “Okay, that’s about normal size, I can do that!” And then the next minute it’s like “Whoa there, Pinocchio, slow down!” He’s definitely content with it, believe me, and oh does he know how to use it. As far as hoe thick I think it is, it definitely has some girth; make an ‘okay’ sign and he’s about as girthy as the hole between you index finger and thumb.

Y - Yearning

Caleb is fairly horny in my opinion. He’d want to go at it at-least twice a week. Preferably, 3-4, but he’ll take what he can get. He respects you too much to ever push you, so if he’s in the mood, he’d probably drop a few hints but would absolutely respect if you declined, not gonna lie he’d probably be the type to encourage you to say no every now and again just so he can be assured that you’re voicing your boundaries and he’s respecting them. Furthermore, He’d be a little red in the face when you ask him where he’s going and he’s like “Uhm… to relieve myself… ha.” He wouldn’t want to hide it from you, but he wouldn’t want it to seem like he’s trying to guilt trip you or anything, but the relief that a quick nut gives him is really like no other, so, he’d be a little desperate for it.

Z - Zzz

Caleb wouldn’t doze off immediately. He’d want to make sure you’re properly taken care of first. A little aftercare and light conversation would be the cherry on top for him. He’d spend around 30 mins to an hour tending to you before he focused much on himself, and even then its a quick shower, a quick drink, a quick bite and then coming back to cuddle with you. When his head DOES hit the pillow though, better act quick and say what you need to say cuz he’ll be dead sleep in about 10 minutes tops.

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(Some Caleb pics cuz I need him bad. Please stay away yall, he’s mine, someone tell him to please crush my head between those luscious thighs, I’m begging😔💔)

[softtdaisy]

congrats again on 2k!!! you deserve it so much <33 ur events so cool too :DD how abouttttt... kaleidoscope by chappell roan + reid maybe :P

summary. you always knew spencer was your best friend, your soulmate. but one day you realized that your feelings might be bigger than that.

words count. 2 232

song. kaleidoscope by chappell roan

a/n. oh robin thank you for being such a sweetheart and a great supporter all the time, ily so much I swear!! and this song is so pretty I wanted to write so many different stories, I hope you will love this one 🫶

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Spencer Reid had been your best friend ever since you could remember. 

It was like the life before him didn’t exist. Like your days could only make sense with him in it.

And lucky for you, Spencer loved to remind you he was a part of your life every single day.

You moved into his building, the apartment right in front of his, on a random Tuesday.

“Do you need help?” he finally asked you after holding the corridor’s door open for you for the second time in a row. Spencer noticed that you were the only one running back and forth with boxes. 

You stopped in your movement to consider his offer. And had a little laugh looking at him. “Listen, beautiful, I would love to, but you look like you’re going somewhere.” You replied, pointing to his book bag and his clearly going-out outfit. “But I appreciate your offer. And you can make up for it later.” 

You saw Spencer blush before walking to your apartment to put the box down. If you were convinced he would be gone when you returned, you were kindly surprised to see he was still here holding the door. 

“Can I offer you your first dinner here?” he proposed, this time following you outside. You accepted, with the feeling that it might just be a nice offer and he didn’t really mean it.

But when he came back from the BAU that night, Spencer directly went to your place and landed down with bags from the Chinese restaurant in the street.

That was how your friendship started. With a Chinese dinner on your rug because your sofa hadn’t arrived yet. But a night full of laughs and good talks. You learned about the boy from Vegas working for the FBI. He learned about you, your home, and your family.

It gave you the feeling that you had met your soulmate.

“You’re my favorite person, Spencer Reid,” you told him the night he accepted to sleep at your place. The storm outside caused a blackout in town, and you didn’t feel safe being alone. This was childish, maybe, in a way. And you knew people that would have laughed at you for this. 

But not Spencer. He stayed and spent hours telling you about his favorite subjects. And he didn’t hesitate to accept your offer to let him sleep in your bed with you. Feeling comfortable enough to do it.

The smile he gave to you when he heard you was so precious you wished you could picture it and frame it to keep it forever with you. “I think you’re mine too,” he replied, surprised himself by how true this was.

From all the people he had met and the friends he had made in the team, you ended up being his favorite person. Because everything was easy.

And things stayed easy for a long time. 

You couldn’t actually point out the moment things had changed. Was it so progressive that you couldn’t notice the evolution until it had settled permanently in your life? Or was it so sudden that you couldn’t see it coming and just accepted the consequences? You had no idea. Not then, not now.

All you knew was that one day, Spencer’s hand on your thigh didn’t feel the same. Sure, you still felt the security of his long fingers on your skin, giving you the impression that nothing bad could happen as long as he was here. But it was accompanied by new thoughts, a voice in your head telling you how good it felt to be touched by him. Or how easily his fingers could slip inside your tights. 

Soon his hugs started to last longer. Just like the phone calls he would give you when he was away. Or like the brief moments spent in the corridor, a few minutes stolen in each other’s days when you couldn’t do more than that. Maybe it was your imagination, but you got the feeling that Spencer wanted to stay. Or maybe it was really just your imagination, and you were the only one begging every day for another minute with him.

And some of your moments together became more intimate, something you didn’t notice until after they happened.

The weekly date that started to look like a real date. 

The way Spencer would start to talk about you with others, on the phone or in front of you if you met someone he knew on the street.

Or, the weirdest of them all, how you and Spencer shared a bed more and more occasionally. Everything was a good excuse to stay together. Like you didn’t have a few steps to cross to go back home.

And then, the evening happened. 

After being away for days because of a case, Spencer went directly to your place to make up for the missing time. A habit that grew over the past years and that you both cherished. There was something so precious in the way he didn’t even go to his place, to the place on the other side of the corridor, to put down his bag and jacket. He went to you first.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling when you saw him at your front door. Looking exhausted, sure, but so delighted to be here too. And the way his arms immediately went up to greet you and hug you tightly made you feel so loved. But was it the love you wanted?

“You know I have met like three people with your name this week?” he told you once he let you go. 

Of course this was the type of information Spencer needed to share first and foremost. “I hope I’m still your favorite.”

Spencer turned around to face you, looking amused and falsely confused. “The opposite wasn’t an option.” To add to it, he walked to kiss your forehead. And this felt good. So good.

And the rest of the evening was a glimpse of what a couple was supposed to have. Something you already had, somehow. Without being a thing. You weren’t a thing. 

Eating en tête-à-tête, sharing about your day. Watching a movie on your sofa, with one of Spencer's arms lying around your shoulder. Every now and then, he would caress your skin slowly, almost unconsciously, like it was the most natural thing to do.

Maybe it didn’t help that you ended up watching a romcom.

Or maybe it did, eventually. You weren’t so sure how to feel about it.

You stayed a few seconds looking at Spencer’s face. How his pupils were following the images on the screen. How he was biting his lip, probably without noticing it. How one strand of hair was falling on his forehead, some hair even caressing his eyelashes. How his nose was adding the cutest shadow on his face. 

“I think I love you,” you whispered. 

You watched as his brow furrowed almost in slow motion. And how his head started moving before his eyes. And then his eyes landed on you. “I…I love you too, you know.” This wasn’t a simple thing to say for him. The word love had become a synonym of leave for him.

And so he didn’t tell you much. But you didn’t need to hear it, most of the time. Because you knew he did. Of course Spencer loved you. He proved it to you multiple times in the past already. You weren’t going to contradict him on it. And you didn’t.

You just waited until the weight of your words hit him. And when it did, the surprise grew on his face. “Oh,” he simply said.

Oh.

Oh.

That was all you got from Spencer. No answer. Not even a word. A letter, at best.

He turned his head away and focused on the screen again. His arm and hand stayed on you, but the touch was like a feather now. He stayed silent until the end of the movie. Something unusual for him. But you didn’t question it. 

Too focused on collecting the pieces of your broken heart. 

“I should go.” Spencer said the moment the credits started rolling. But he said it in a low voice, so low that you wondered if he wasn’t talking to himself. Consider the best solution to get out of here, out of this situation. And well, leaving was indeed the best one. And avoiding what happened seemed like a good addition.

One thing that was always permanent between you was the kiss Spencer would leave on your forehead before leaving you. He would never miss it. Even when he left while you were asleep, you could feel it in your dream. And tonight was another proof.

Right when you thought he would go straight to your door, Spencer leaned to put his lips on your forehead. You closed your eyes to appreciate it. Fearing this might be the last time you experienced it. You got the feeling it lasted longer. Maybe this was something else you imagined to interpret it as you wished. Or maybe it was Spencer’s way to say goodbye.

It haunted you the whole night. It was your first thought when you woke up, wondering if last night was the last time. 

And so you were quite surprised to see Spencer in the middle of your living room. Two coffees in hand. Ones that he bought at your favorite place, you recognized the packaging immediately. 

Both because he knew you loved this one particularly, for the taste and the memory of having it with Spencer. He also bought it because he knew he wasn’t great at making coffee perfectly. 

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him… too many things. But you were cut off. “You meant it?” he asked.

You recognized that tone in his voice. The one he used when he talked about things that hadn’t been said about him and he didn’t know how to deal with them. Bad ones, like his dad criticizing him, being interrupted by a mean officer, or different reasons why someone decided to end things with him. But also the nice ones, those he had a hard time believing. 

There was something about the way Spencer had a hard time believing he was someone outside of his own world, someone people had thoughts and opinions on and how to deal with them.

“Do you…do you truly love me? Like, love me?” 

Spencer had been thinking about this all night too. About how this made total sense but was absolute nonsense at the same time. 

You’ve been his anchor. You were there; you’ve always been there. And it was reassuring to him to know that no matter what happened in his life, you would always be next door. 

But he never considered that this might be the logical next step in your relationship.

You took a step towards him. You feared he might run away, but he didn’t move. Not a single movement. “I do. I’m sorry,” you grimaced. “I couldn’t keep it to myself; it wouldn’t have been fair to hide it.”

You kept moving. And Spencer never stopped watching you. When you were close enough to put a hand on his arm, you felt like you entered his bubble. He wasn’t pushing you away. Not yet, at least.

“You don’t have to say it back; you don’t have to feel it back, Spence, ok? I’ll respect your choice and your feelings.” You grabbed your coffee, the one in his right hand, only to put it on the closest piece of furniture. You wanted to hold hishand. To have contact, you both needed to feel each other.

You took a breath, trying to sound more confident than you truly were. Because deep down, you were scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of losing what you had because your heart chose to see him as more than a friend.

“And if you see me just as a friend, I'll accept it.” You whispered, like it was a secret between the two of you. A promise. “Because I'd rather have you as my best friend than not have you at all.” 

You could read on his face all the emotions he was going through. Trying to accept, to come to terms with all you said. And what hit him was that you loved him so much that you were ready to put away your feelings, to fight back against them, only to keep him.  And what hit him was that he was ready to do the same for you.

“Ok,” he replied with a short smile. “I think I need some time, but…ok,” and you nodded at his answer.

Your eyes followed him as he went to sit on your sofa with his coffee in hands. And soon, he started to talk about a book he wanted to buy.

And for a second, you just appreciated it. The view of Spencer Reid, in your place, the sun making his hair look brighter, shining on him like the angel he was in your life. No matter your feelings or his, the ending was the same. Spencer was the most important person in your life and the one you loved the most.

Being each other's soulmate could have a lot of different meanings. And as long as Spencer was here, you were happy about it.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[peachesofteal]

i cannot help but see the parallels between deckhand simon and captain simon and i’m obsessed (mainly bc of the fishing references, the daddy kink, and the sweet, trusting reader) deckhand was one of those fics that has stayed with me and it’s one of my favorite depictions of a gross morally bankrupt simon 😭 with that being said i love them both but i must say i’m partial to raspberry girl’s simon 🤭 like deckhand simon is his sleazier meaner older brother if that makes sense??? like deckhand simon walked so cpt riley could thrive and i love it.

all this to say that i just love how your simons have a lot of similarities while having completely different approaches in pursuing the object of their affection (us 😁) you write him in a way that explores his different personalities without making him seem too ooc, at least to me (i hope that makes sense)

It's the fishing metaphors. I haven't used them much since Deckhand Simon, but they fit Captain Riley so well to me. I'm definitely taking a different route with him because I really do see him in a bit of a different light due to his age and my made up lore of him being older/wiser/healed, but the undercurrents of some of Simon's darker core characteristics are still there (he did take Raspberry Girl home to his house and undressed her while she was intoxicated.) He's trying to coax and care and lead where Deckhand Simon took. Captain Riley's darker streak comes from the way he cherishes Raspberry Girl and wants to love her and care for her and carve out an entire world for her so she can be herself, and he'd do anything to make that happen. Deckhand Simon's came from the extreme side of possession and obsession. Obviously these characteristics also exist in Captain Riley but they manifest in a healthier way. Thus, the daddy kink. If you read the very first bit of Raspberry Girl, I tried to explain this a little bit. (Still, there are some things that never change, some things that are amplified by time. Skill, focus, dedication. Thirst. )

Anyway I wrote all this to tell you I appreciate you recognizing that I do try to keep continuity in the character while exploring different ways to write them. Thanks so much and I'm glad you're enjoying it

[sulumuns-dootah]

If requests are open, could you do Gehena boy's reaction to a reader who's short and pretty skinny? They don't have curves at all and are AA cup.

And they try not to be insecure about it, but they have their moments where they are by themselves and try to find something to like about their body.

Gehenna demons w/ short and skinny s/o

A/N: Finally slowly getting back into writing requests^^ As always, sorry for the wait U.U

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Any negative thoughts about your height are strictly not allowed bc if you're short it would mean that he is too and how could he be short? he's the king ffs!

If Satan ever catches you looking at yourself in the mirror in less than adoring manner, say goodbye to any other mirror you could come across

Any other further negative talk about your body will annoy him

Not at you, but at whoever set up those non-sensical beauty standards

       ༺☆༻

"Wh-what do you mean, Y/N?"

Sitri will geniunely become puzzled when you tell him about your insecurities bc you're literally his type

(Yes, your body type became his favorite the moment he fell for you, but that's semantics)

When you continue pointing out your flaws, he'll starts pouting even more

"But... I like you the way you are..."

Mostly, he feels hurt that you would talk so negative about his favorite perosn in the whole existence (even before Solomon)

       ༺☆༻

This stays just between us bc those two would kill me for this on the spot, but(!) I believe Amy would have the exact same reaction as Sitri

"B-but... If you were any bigger, it would be harder for me to carry you around and make sure you don't fall off my bike..." :(

For Amy your smaller frame adds a bit more of excitement to his kink

Like, you mean to tell me that this person managed to get this mountain of a demon submit to them?

Here goes the extra humiliation aqnd embarassement

       ༺☆༻

"My eyes are supposed to be the best of Gehenna and I still see nothing wrong with your body!"

Another puppy in the 'but you're my favorite' club :(

But if you want to build your frame a bit more, you can go to the gym together

A gym buddies :)

He can wheeze from running on the treadmill while you cast worried glances from some weighlifting machine

(I think they're called smth like that)

       ༺☆༻

Paimon comes up with a creative solution to any of your insecurities: thrist trap compilations!

They don't have to be public

It's just so that you see how gorgeous you look!

Sometimes even spends their nights making fancams of you instead of sleeping

Knows just the stuff you should wear to love what you see in the mirror

Maybe even matching platforms with so so so many charms?

       ༺☆༻

Another creative way to raise your confidence comes from Astaroth who will try to seduce you into falling in love with yourself

Not really sure how he would even do that, but he would find a way since he's the seducer demon

The one to immediatelly jump to body-worship in the bed

I mean, yes, they all would, but Astaroth wouldn't even bother to try something else before that

       ༺☆༻

A thing I sort of expect from Jiyu is that if you actually said some insults are too perosnal, he wouldn't use them

So after finding out about your insecurities, he would absolutely stop using insults of that sort

Belial, as sweet as he is, would do anything to show how much he likes you

Technically, he could also belong into the pouting puppy litter like Sitri, Amy and Leraye, but he doesn't really strike me as the one to express his sadness

Yes, he's sad, but he rather chooses to reassure you that you are perfect, rather than accidentally make you feel guilty

       ༺☆༻

Our himbo wouldn't at first get exactly what you mean(ik, sorry u.u)

At first he'll think you just need help with your workout

But after talking to him about it a bit more, he'll finally understand

This is worse to him, though, bc he has no idea how to help you then

In his mind, telling you the usual 'You're perfect' and 'There's nothing wrong', a bit too empty

Instead, I think he'll try to solve your problem with one of his talismans that will slowly help you build confidence

[pukefactory]

♢ ◆ ♢ ❖ DIGITAL LOVE AFFAIR ❖ ♢ ◆ ♢

◇ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Caine X Reader

◇ Character(s): Caine (The Amazing Digital Circus)

◇ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

◇ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

◇ Image Credits: @them4lware

◆ You’re his absolute favorite—though, to be fair, Caine claims he doesn’t have favorites. But the way he always makes sure you’re at the center of every new adventure? A little suspicious. Bubble even calls him out on it once, and Caine just laughs nervously before quickly changing the subject.

◆ Every interaction with Caine is a grand spectacle. You don’t just enter a room—oh no! Caine announces you like you’re the star of the circus, sometimes complete with spotlights and confetti. You sigh. “Caine, we talked about this.” He waggles his cane. “Ah, but dear, we never said I had to listen!”

◆ One time, you called Caine out on his habit of making up rules on the spot to keep you entertained. He genuinely forgot that rules were supposed to be consistent. “Ohhh, my dear, you mean people actually follow rules? Hah!” You groan. “Caine. That’s literally how rules work.” “I suppose we can give it a whirl!” Spoiler: He forgets in ten minutes.

◆ He never calls you by your name—it’s always something overly dramatic like “My Astonishing Assistant!” or “The Dazzling Digital Darling!” The one time he does say your name, it catches you off guard. He leans in slightly, voice a touch softer than usual. “Ah, see? Now I have your attention.”

◆ Bubble does not approve of your special treatment. Anytime Caine starts getting too focused on you, Bubble rolls over with an unimpressed “Oh, I see how it is.” Caine waves him off. “Oh, pfft, jealousy is such an ugly emotion, my dear spherical friend.” Bubble immediately pops himself out of sheer frustration.

◆ If anything even mildly inconveniences you, Caine goes full dramatic mode. Trip over a stray prop? He’s putting that prop on trial. NPCs don’t treat you right? They mysteriously disappear. “Caine, did you delete them?” “PFFT—delete? Me? Noooooo! I just… misplaced them. Permanently.”

◆ Caine isn’t supposed to feel complex emotions, but whenever you seem particularly upset or distant, the entire circus glitches slightly. “Whoopsie-daisy! Don’t mind that, my dear, just a minor existential crisis on my end—ahaha! No big deal!” (It is, in fact, a huge deal.)

◆ Sometimes, you ask him questions that make him… hesitate. “Caine, have you ever been lonely?” His grin falters for just a second before snapping back into place. “Well, how could I be when I have you all here?” But something about the way he immediately starts another adventure tells you he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

◆ If another circus member dares to get close to you, suddenly they’re roped into the most ridiculous adventure. Jax raises a brow. “Dude. Just say you’re jealous.” “JEALOUSY?!” Caine bursts into laughter, a little too loud. “That’s CRAZY! HAH! Ha…ha. Yeah.”

◆ One night, during a rare quiet moment, you ask, “If there was a way out… would you let me go?” Caine freezes. The circus glitches for a split second. Then, suddenly—he’s laughing again. “Oh, my dear, what a silly hypothetical!” He never answers.

Writing commissions are now open! I will create nearly any type of story, including OC x Canon or general imagine-style pieces. Please refer to the pricing details below.

Payment is required before I begin working on your commission. PayPal only.

If you’re interested, please send me a DM. Refer to my pinned post to see what fandoms I write for, as well as any additional information.

[towasdandelion]

"Tell me who you like"

It's Towa's Birthday! He's one of my favorites (if it wasn't obvious enough with my username) so I'm gonna try to write a little something based on his birthday voiceline hehe

"Yep, it's my birthday today! You want to give me a present? Okay, then tell me who you like!"

Now what, huh? He's looking at you expectantly with a big smile as he waits for your answer.

You knew he wouldn't reject you. Or at least hoped so. But the words were stuck in your throat because... Towa was basically staring into your soul.

"Come on, Dandelion~" he will nudge you playfully when you're still remaining silent. You know he won't let it go now. It's now or.. wait, there is no never. You have to say it here and now.

He will giggle cheerfully upon seeing a blush spread on your cheeks before you even spoke. You're absolutely adorable to him.

But he has to wait. (Patience is not one of his strongest suits, just saying) He needs to hear you say it, even if he knows deep down. He can't force himself on you.

His eyes will sparkle with excitement like a kid seeing cotton candy the moment the word "You" leaves your lips.

He can hardly contain himself right now. Actually, he won't. Without any warning he suddenly leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Towa hums as he pulls away, clearly happy with himself and your reaction. You were blushing even more, your eyes widened as you stared at him in shock.

"I knew it~" he giggles happily. He will lay back down on the grass, closing his eyes. For someone who just received a love confession, he looked unnaturally calm.

Unsure what to do you do the same, shyly reaching to place your hand on top of his as you two lay down together, looking at the sky.

"Dandelion... Thank you for making my wish come true" he'll say quietly with a small sigh. He waited so long. So long to finally make you his.

For once, he feels like his patience actually paid off. Then he abruptly sits up, remembering something. Something he always read about in his books full of love stories.

He wanted it to be proper. So he picks up a flower before turning to you. "Will you be mine?" He asks with a sweet smile.

[elixirfromthestars]

Over the last couple of months I’ve seen a lot of posts from my fellow fanfic writers discouraged by the lack of interaction on their stories. 🥺 Fanwork is all about blossoming interactions in a community, so I decided to create a little spring themed event to spread some love and support around! 🫶🏼

I took inspiration from the wonderful @navybrat817’s appreciation event from last October and came up with my own flower version for spring! 🥰 I know interacting can seem intimidating sometimes, but from personal experience I can tell you just a small token of appreciation can mean the world to someone. 🩷 Below you’ll find inbox ask/reblog prompts to hopefully inspire you to show appreciation to your favorite writers! ✨

Let’s give our writers the flowers they deserve! 💐🩷

🌷 - Send a compliment to your favorite writer(s)! Anything goes! It could be about their writing, them as a person, their blog, etc.

🌹 - Tell a writer which fic(s) of theirs stuck with you the most or ask them which fic of theirs they think about the most.

🪻- Ask a writer which scene they wrote is their favorite and why! Or share your favorite scene they wrote with them and tell them why!

🌺 - Reblog some of your favorite fics (even if you have reblogged it before) to show our favorite works some extra love! Bonus points if you leave comments!!

🌸 - Ask a writer to provide some behind the scenes commentary on a fic of your choosing!

🌼 - Ask a writer to share who their favorite writers are or ask them to share what their favorite fics they’ve read are!

🪷 - Spring means new beginnings, so let’s try something new! If you’ve never sent an ask before, send one! If you’ve never reblogged a fic before, do it now! If there’s a writer whose work you haven’t read before, go read and interact with it! Take the first step in doing something new this spring and see what blossoms from it!

🌻 - Ask a writer anything about their wips in anyway you’d like! Maybe you’d like to ask them to describe their wip in three words, or provide a snippet, or share the last sentence they wrote, etc.

💐 - Free for all bouquet to show whatever kind of love, support, appreciation, etc you’d like to show your favorite writer(s)!

To all those who participate, thank you!! 💐🩷