#if you don’t celebrate Christmas i wish you a happy holiday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luv4fushi · 5 months

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omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #not my best work tbh

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joelscurls · 5 months

Text

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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sunkifye · 5 months

Text

don’t kiss me under the mistletoe

pairing— non idol nishimura riki x female reader

genre— enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis— it was the biggest (holiday) party of the year, so it was no surprise that you saw your enemy, who also happens to be your ex-crush, there. you just weren’t expecting to see him under the mistletoe next to you.

featuring— minji from newjeans

warnings— cursing, kissing, partying, riki is honestly really mean (im sorry!!)

word count— 3.1k

author’s note— merry christmas to those who celebrate! and happy holidays!!

“I seriously can’t believe they’re dating,” minji, your best friend, whispered into your ear.

“really? I saw it coming,” you shrugged before taking a sip of your drink.

“what?! how?? they’re literally best friends,” minji asked, pouring fruit punch into a plastic cup.

“that’s exactly why I saw it coming,” you explained.

“I guess so,” minji agreed. “they’re totally gonna be the it couple of the year aren’t they?”

“for sure”

“ugh I’m so jealous” minji complained.

“me too,” you sighed. “I wish I had a-”

someone had aggressively bumped into your shoulder, launching you forward towards minji.

“excuse you!” you yelled out at the person who bumped into you.

“who? me?” a familiar voice asked.

you looked up to see the culprit standing before you, nishimura riki.

“yes you nishimura! do you seriously have no manners?” you scolded the boy just to receive an eye roll from him.

“to be honest,” he said, taking a step closer to you. “I don’t really care.”

oh how he made your blood boil.

he began to walk away from you, but after taking two steps he turned back around.

“oh and I forgot to mention,” he said, looking down at you. “you should probably stop daydreaming about things that’ll never happen…”

“because you’ll never get a boyfriend,” riki said with a smirk on his face before finally walking away from you.

oh he’s really done it now.

you started to march towards riki just for minji to put her hand on your shoulder and pull you back.

“just let him go,” minji said with a sigh.

“no way! I’m not letting him get away with saying that to me,” you replied, ripping minji’s hand off of your shoulder before beginning to walk after riki once more.

“nishimura!” you shout at the boy. “who do you think you are?!”

“better than you,” he says, turning his head around to look at you.

“well, news flash! you aren’t,” you yell at him. he scoffs as he turns his head back around and continues to walk away from you.

“don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, quickening your pace so you could catch up to him.

“why? do you want my attention or something?” he asked, smirking as he turned around to face you.

“ugh as if,” you grumbled, furrowing your eyebrows.

“as if!” riki said in a high-pitched voice, mocking you.

he lets out a laugh before walking away, but now he’s walking backwards just so he could look at you.

“you should really be nicer to people,” you reply, following him once more.

“I am nice!” he defends himself, placing his hand over his heart, pretending to be offended by your words.

“yeah right,” you say, rolling you eyes.

“just not to you,” he adds, continuing to walk backwards—which in all honesty, was a really bad idea.

since riki was facing you and not looking at where he was going, he bumped into a small table that was placed up against the wall in the hallway. the sudden movement of the table made a glass vase, which had a bouquet of white roses in it, fall over and onto the floor.

CRASH!

the vase had shattered on the floor, leaving the roses in a puddle of water on the ground, surrounded by shards of glass.

“look at what you did!” riki blamed you, pointing to the mess on the floor.

“what I did?! look at what you did!” you retorted, “this is your fault. if you were looking where you were going then maybe you wouldn’t have caused this mess!”

“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me then I wouldn’t have-”

“well maybe if you weren’t annoying me first-”

“well maybe if you hadn’t showed up to this party then none of this wouldn’t have happened!” riki spat out at you.

“what…” you mumbled in utter confusion.

“you shouldn’t even be here. these parties aren’t for people like you,” he stated, looking down at you.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“you’re a loser y/n! you always have been and you always will be,” riki stated coldly.

your eyes widened at his words. you knew he was mean, but to say something like that? you stood there looking at him, not able to fathom the fact that you once had a crush on the boy standing before you.

you were in your second year of middle school when you developed feelings for your first crush, nishimura riki. he was friends with some boys in the higher grades and was quite popular among the students in your grade. you began to crush on him a week after school had started since he sat next to you in history class. your feelings for him grew as school went on because you saw him everyday and you even had to do a project with him once.

it was the middle of the school year—about february—when a girl you were kinda friends with told you to confess to riki, telling you that he would totally go out with you and that you would have a boyfriend for valentine’s day. you, being young and naive, trusted the girl’s words and decided to tell riki how you felt.

big mistake.

it was lunchtime and you entered the cafeteria, looking around for riki’s table. you found him in almost an instant, especially with how loud his friends were. you walked up to his table and with a sudden rush of confidence you tapped on his shoulder.

“huh?” he uttered, turning his head around to face you.

“hi,” you said quietly.

“hi?” he repeated, scrunching up his eyebrows.

“riki, I really really like you,” you blurted out, causing riki to raise his eyebrows. his friends were biting their lips and covering their mouths, trying to hold back their laughter, which you failed to notice.

“and- and I was wondering if you would go out with me,” you added, looking at him with hope in your eyes. he turned his head, looking around the cafeteria, then looking at his friends, before setting his gaze back on you.

“who are you again?” he asked, genuinely confused. his friends continued to try to hold back their laughter, which they were failing at miserably. you ignored them as you kept your eyes on riki.

“I’m y/n, we have history together,” you said, hoping he would remember you. “you sit next to me… a-and we did a project together a few weeks ago,” you added, just for him to furrow his eyebrows once more.

“I don’t recall,” riki said before turning his attention away from you as he began to eat his lunch. you stood next to the table, dumbfounded as you watched him eat his sandwich. suddenly, he stopped eating and turned to you again.

“why are you still here?” riki asked in a rude tone. you honestly couldn’t comprehend anything that was happening in that moment, but you decided to speak anyway.

“I-I thought-” you stuttered.

“listen, uh… what’s your name? y/n or something, right? whatever it doesn’t matter,” riki said, looking up at you. “I don’t like you, alright? and I’d never go out with you.”

hearing his words felt like a knife just stabbed you in the heart. he seriously couldn’t have rejected you a little nicer? out of embarrassment, you turned away and quickly ran out of the cafeteria. as you left, you heard riki’s obnoxious friends burst out in laughter.

“wow riki, look at you!” one of his friends cheered.

“who does she think she is?” another one of his friends asked in between laughs.

“I know right, what a weirdo,” riki laughed. your eyes welled up with tears as you ran to the closest bathroom.

ever since that day, riki started to tease you in any way possible: making fun of you in class, calling you names, bringing up how you had a crush on him, and when his friends were around, he would be extra irritable towards you.

that was the first and last time you were confessing to someone ever again.

you turned away from riki, careful not to step in any shards of glass, and walked away from him. you felt tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“no no no! don’t cry!” you told yourself as you fanned your face, hoping to stop the tears from falling. you had to get out of here. you had to find minji.

you pushed past people in the crowded house, trying to find your best friend. luckily for you, she was standing where you last left her, by the drink table.

“y/n!! there you are! I thought you left me for good,” minji half-joked as you ran up to her.

“I wanna go home,” you muttered, making minji’s cheerful expression change into one of worry.

“what happened?” she asked you, looking deep into your glassy eyes. you opened your mouth to say something but no words came out.

“Y/N! WAIT!” you heard a voice yell. you turn around to see riki pushing past people, making his way towards you.

you turn back around to face minji. you didn’t even need to tell her what happened because after seeing riki, she already knew.

minji was about to say something when you walked away from her, wanting to get as far away from riki as possible.

you made your way through the living room, trying to get to the front door. as you squeezed past people you heard riki’s faint voice calling after you. you walked faster, stumbling as you bumped into the upperclassmen that were crowded by the couch. you saw the front door down the hallway.

“it’s the final stretch,” you thought as you approached the doorway that connected the living room with the hallway. but before you could step out of the living room, you felt a hand grasp your wrist, tugging you backwards. you turn around, stopping in your tracks when you see that riki is the one holding onto your wrist.

“y/n-” riki said, breathing heavily.

“what?!” you snap, ripping your wrist out of his hand.

“uhm…” he uttered quietly. you rolled your eyes before turning around and trying to walk away.

he grabbed your wrist again.

“don’t go,” riki begged. you spun around to face him and he looked kinda…upset?

“why? you said that you didn’t want me here just a second ago,” you protested. he let go of your arm.

“I-” riki started before getting cut off by someone yelling.

“LOOK WHO’S UNDER THE MISTLETOE!” you heard an obnoxious voice shout.

you examined your surroundings, trying to figure out who just screamed, but instead you saw a bunch of eyes on you. by instinct, you tilted your head up, shifting your gaze to the ceiling above you. there hung the festive plant from the top of the doorway you were standing under. shit.

you averted your gaze away from the mistletoe and instead locked eyes with riki, who for some reason, looked very calm about this situation. you on the other hand—felt like you’ve completely lost your mind.

“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” people started to chant.

you turned towards the hallway, hoping to run away from this horrid position, but there was a crowd of people blocking your way. instead, you turn the other way. maybe you can leave through the living room? wrong. there were even more teens standing in a crowd next to you, you couldn’t even see into the living room with how many people were gathered there. you had no chance of escaping this.

“so…” you heard riki mumble. you turn your head to look at him.

“so?” you repeat, furrowing your eyebrows. he doesn’t elaborate.

you sigh before deciding to speak up.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” you scream at the top of your lungs, causing the crowd to stop chanting.

“you all are out of your mind if you think I’m going to kiss him,” you say, emphasizing the word “him” in an offended voice.

“but you guys are under the mistletoe! you have to kiss!” someone yells, breaking the crowd’s silence.

“yeah!” another voice shouts, “you can’t break a tradition!”

the crowd cheers, beginning to chant, “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” once more.

you glance at riki, whose expression is unreadable. you stare into his eyes as you fiddle with your fingers, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this situation.

suddenly, you felt pressure on the back of your head, pushing you forward.

the last thing you saw was a hand behind riki’s head, pushing him towards you, before your lips collided into his.

there was no way in hell you were kissing nishimura riki right now. what kinda sick dream nightmare is this?! you know your past self would be ecstatic to know you were kissing your first ever crush, your “dream man.” how disgusting.

you felt your face heat up with every second that your lips were against his. was it from anger? embarrassment? or from the feelings you still had for him since middle school? the feelings that you shoved deep down into your heart, ignoring them since he rejected you that one day.

the kiss felt like it lasted forever, when in reality, it was just a small peck that was over in seconds.

you stared at riki with wide eyes after pulling away from the forced kiss. after locking eyes with him for a split second, you immediately turn away and start to run towards the front door, squeezing past the people who were blocking your way.

you push open the door and breathlessly stumble outside into the cold. you deeply inhale through your nose, taking in the sense of freedom, before exhaling through your mouth as you slowly walk down the snow covered driveway.

“I have to call minji,” you thought to yourself. you reach down into your bag just to realize that you didn’t have your bag with you—or your coat for that matter. well now what? you needed minji to drive you home and you needed your stuff that you left inside. you shivered at the thought of entering the house again—or maybe it was because it was below freezing out and you had no jacket on? you couldn’t really tell.

just then, you heard the front door creak open. you turned around in hopes of seeing your best friend there, holding your things, and ready to drive you home. but no. it was him. seriously, out of all people it had to be him?!

you watched riki close the door behind him before jogging down the driveway.

“y/n can we talk?” he panted as he approached you.

“talk? there’s nothing to talk about,” you protested.

“well actually there is, we literally just ki-”

“can we just forget about it?”

“what?”

“forget that it happened, okay?” you demanded, wanting nothing more than to just go home and lock yourself in your bedroom.

“what if I don’t want to forget about it?”

“huh?” you mutter, making riki go silent.

“why…?” you ask, in an almost inaudible voice.

“please don’t make me say it,” he begs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“say what?” you reply with genuine confusion. he takes a slow, deep breath before answering.

“I really like you y/n and I have for a while.”

what. the. actual. fuck.

“that…doesn’t make any sense,” you ramble,“why- then why did you reject me back then?”

“I wanted to impress my friends and if I rejected you… I thought that maybe they would think I was cool,” riki admitted shyly.

“that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you snapped.

“I know I know, but please let me-”

“don’t you think you're a bit too late?” you asked coldly, causing his face to fall.

“I…” he mumbled before stopping himself.

“can you please give me a second chance?” riki pleaded, his eyes glassy.

“why should I? you never even gave me a first chance,” you retort while crossing your arms.

“I know, I messed up badly and I really regret that,” he confessed in a shaky voice, “I'm so sorry y/n. I really am.”

the logical part of you wants to scoff at his words, reject him, give him a taste of his own medicine. but the other part of you consists of the feelings you have for him; the feelings you’ve been ignoring for years, not wanting to accept the fact that you were still infatuated by your first crush. you wanted to be with him. you always have.

“I can’t forgive myself for making you hate me but-”

“hate you? I don’t hate you,” you replied as you tugged on the end of the sleeve of your sweater, making it cover your bare hand.

“wait, what?” riki said with a glint of hope in his eyes.

“I hate that I still like you,” you admitted softly, with a small smile appearing on your face.

your words made his face light up in an instant, his bright eyes looked like they held galaxies in them.

you shifted your gaze from his eyes to his lips, which felt so warm and soft against yours a few minutes ago. now they were cracked and more of a purple color due to the chilly weather, but you still wanted to kiss them nonetheless.

you look into riki’s eyes again before taking a hesitant step towards him, your feet crunching on the snow beneath you. it seemed like he was able to read your mind because he copied your actions, taking a step towards you. leaving barely an inch in between the two of you, riki cupped your face with his hands as he pulled you in for a kiss. you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. it felt so good to finally be able to embrace your feelings for him.

after you both pull away, you notice small white specs falling onto riki’s hair. you tilt your head up and look at the sky just to see snow dancing down from the flurries above you. you look back at riki, both of you wearing cheesy smiles on your faces due to the sudden snowfall. he pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, embracing his warmth.

“promise me you won’t push me away ever again,” you say almost inaudibly, speaking into his skin as you hug him tighter.

“I promise,” riki replies, laughing lightly.

“and don’t be so stupid!” you scold him half-jokingly, making him laugh even harder.

note : the more I continued writing this, the more I hated it. I feel like the ending is really rushed so I’m very sorry 😭 I feel like I could’ve done better but I wanted to write something and have it up in time for xmas. ANYWHO, thanks for reading and I’ll be back to updating chapters for rage quit. and once again happy holidays!!

413 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 5 months

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Merry and Bright - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with the marshmallows to my hot chocolate @munson-blurbs 💝

Summary: It's Eliza's first Christmas, and even though she may not have a clue what's going on, the rest of the Munson family have fun introducing her to their traditions.

Note: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, and have a safe and cheerful whatever it is you celebrate!

Words: 4.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eliza’s usual 6am feeding has you and Eddie awake before the boys on Christmas morning for the first time ever. Their 11-week-old sister has them beat for the earliest riser this holiday.

Both of you sleepy-eyed as usual, you and Eddie slip into your daughter’s nursery and close the door behind you so her cries don’t wake her brothers. As soon as she sees you, she calms down because she knows the routine by now. You show up when she cries? Eliza gets food.

You walk over and peer into her crib, Eddie stepping up behind you and slipping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Eliza’s tears dry as she stares up at you and her father, her eyes wide like his.

“Merry Christmas, Eliza,” Eddie says.

“Happy first Christmas, sweetheart,” you echo.

She clearly has no idea what you’re saying, but the way she’s looking at you makes you think that she’s thinking: Why are you just standing there smiling at me? Did you not hear the crying? Do you not know what time it is? Where is my food, lady?

You pick her up, clad in her green pajamas dotted with snowflakes and Santa Claus on them. The very same pajamas you, Eddie, Ryan, and Luke are all wearing. When you came up with the idea of matching family pajamas, you weren’t entirely serious until the boys backed you up. Whether they were truly into it or were just going along because they knew their dad would hate it, you have no idea. But Eddie grumbled and agreed, and once it’s just the two of you, declared that you are the only person in the whole world that he would do this for.

Eddie goes to the window and pulls back the pink curtains with the white polka dots while you settle into the rocking chair with your baby.

“Wow,” Eddie says as he looks outside. “It must’ve snowed the whole night. Everything is white.”

“Hear that, Eliza?” you coo as she begins to drink. “Your very first Christmas is a white Christmas. I think your brothers are going to have some fun outside later. Maybe we’ll go out and join them.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at you. “Does she have enough clothes to layer up and go outside in this?”

“Enough clothes?” you ask with a chuckle. “Between the baby shower, Max and Nancy giving us some of their old baby clothes, and what we and the boys bought? I think she has enough layers to look like the Michelin Man.”

“Oh, but look at those rolls,” Eddie says in that baby-talk that’s pretty rare for him. He grins and kneels down next to the two of you in the rocker. “She already looks like the Michelin Man.”

There’s no denying Eliza’s rolls around her wrists and knees and ankles are absolutely the most adorable thing ever. And there is most definitely a long list of adorable things about Eliza.

Once Eliza is done eating, you burp her—and she gives you one her father is quite proud of—and change her diaper, then you head out into the hallway and it’s time to wake the boys.

Eddie walks into Luke’s room and heavily plops down on the mattress, making the ten-year-old bounce. He’s usually a pain to wake up in the morning, but Christmas is an exception.

Luke rouses with a sleepy laugh and rubs at his eyes. “Present time?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Eddie casually replies, shrugging his shoulders as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “You think Santa came this year? I haven’t checked the tree yet.”

“And why wouldn’t he come?” you ask from the doorway, holding Eliza. Luke glances over at you and grins; you return his gesture in a silent I’ve got your back.

Eddie, meanwhile, is dead set on provoking him. “Oh, come on,” he scoffs, “Luke had to have made the naughty list.”

Luke playfully lunges at his dad, who catches him and swings him over his own body to let his son land on the floor.

“Nice try,” Eddie says. “But you’ll never beat me.”

When you let out a snort of laughter from where you’re standing, Eddie raises his eyebrows at you.

You innocently raise your shoulders and walk across the hall to Ryan’s room. He’s a bit easier to wake up than his younger brother, though he’s started to fit the teenage stereotype of sleeping in late.

“Oh my God, it snowed! A lot!” you hear Luke shout from his room, which makes you chuckle. “It’s like Antarctica!”

You can practically hear Eddie playfully rolling his eyes. “Yeah, bud. We’ll see a penguin waddle by in a sec.”

Ryan is already awake from all the chaos. He’s slightly grumpy from his unconventional wake-up call, but he smiles as soon as he stumbles into the hallway and scoops Eliza from your arms.

“Merry Christmas, baby sis!” he coos. You notice that his pajamas barely reach his ankles even though you’d only bought them a few weeks ago. “You ready to see what Santa brought this year?”

As anticipated, Eliza says nothing, but you unanimously agree that she’s excited for presents.

The five of you head to the family room to see multiple gift piles under the meticulously decorated tree.

Luke points at the biggest pile near the front, blue eyes wide. “Who’s that for?”

“Eliza,” you tell him as you ruffle his curls. “Mostly from you and Ryan, I’d wager.”

The boys had wanted to spoil their new sister with heaps of presents; you had to continually remind them that she’ll quickly grow out of any clothes and won’t be playing with toys for a few more months. Eddie had to keep reminding them that they were technically spending his money on the baby. He’d found it nearly impossible to say no to them, his heart swelling with pride that he’d raised such thoughtful—if not rambunctious—young men.

Luke and Ryan get down on the floor, while you and Eddie sit down on the couch with the baby.

“So, this is how we do it, Eliza,” Luke tells his sister, as if she will grasp any of what he’s saying. “Ryan picks up a present, reads who it’s to and from, then he gives it to me, and I give it to whoever’s it is.” It’s a tradition they’d started before Luke learned how to read, but it’s stuck throughout the years.

Eliza lets out a few puffs of air that Luke takes as confirmation that she understands.

“She gets me,” he says simply.

“Or,” Eddie teases, “she can’t tell which one of you is Ryan and which one of you is Luke in these ridiculous matching pajamas.”

The four of you take turns opening Eliza’s presents for her. Each time a new one is opened you try to get her attention to show it to her, but she rarely cares. Eddie’s curls start to be more of interest to her than anything anyone else is doing.

Whenever Luke or Ryan open them for her, they get really excited and hype their sister up about whatever it is that she got.

“Wow, Eliza! Look at this dress!” Luke says as he picks it up and shows her. “It has Princess Ariel on it! I bet you’re going to love the princesses.”

“Ooh, Eliza! Look at these!” Ryan shakes the oversized keyring with the pastel-colored plastic keys hanging from it. “You can drive Dad’s car with these.”

“I’d let her drive it before I let either of you two menaces behind the wheel.”

Eventually, Eliza’s pile is depleted, and the boys open their own presents. Ironically, they were more enthused for Eliza’s, though their new Game Boys are an absolute hit. There was eventually a gift that Eliza seemed to be enthralled with though. The only thing that really caught her attention was the shininess of a new watch that Eddie got from Luke. She wanted to put it directly in her mouth, but Eddie stopped her as Luke warned that he wasn’t sure if it was water proof or not.

Once presents are done, Eddie cleans up the variety of wrapping paper while you dress Eliza in her Christmas candy cane outfit. This outfit Eddie picked out. It seemed only fair since you practically forced him into the pajamas.

It’s nap time for Eliza, so you settle her down while the boys go through their new gifts. The clothes they received only got a once over while the toys and video games were more heavily scrutinized.

After Luke makes his rounds through his toys, he notices how much snow has built up on the ground.

“Daaaaad!”

“Whaaaat?” Eddie mimics as he walks in the room.

Luke walks over and gives his dad an over the top smile—a telltale sign that he wants something.

“Wanna go play in the snoooow?”

Eddie pretends to consider the question even though he’s been waiting for one of the boys to ask all day. He’s still a kid at heart and has been dying to get out there and mess around.

“I guess I could go for kicking your asses in a snowball fight.”

“Luke and I can take you, old man!” Ryan says.

“Two against one? Huh. Babe? Wanna come be on my team?”

“Sorry, hot stuff,” you say as you stroll in from the kitchen. “Then who would be here to get little Miss Eliza up from her nap and get her all bundled up for the snow?”

Eddie suddenly looks a bit more serious. “She’s going to have to have a lot of layers.”

“Really? Because I was going to bring her out in just her diaper.” You can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s protectiveness and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry. She’ll have so many layers she’ll look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.”

The three men get all layered up and you get comfortable in a cozy chair near the window with a mug of hot chocolate to watch their shenanigans unfold. The boys go to one side of the yard and start making snowballs while Eddie goes to the other side. Your husband makes a little snow barrier that he can crouch behind before he starts making his snowball supply.

“Teach these kids to call me old,” he mumbles to himself.

Eddie quickly throws a snowball that hits the back of Luke’s head before he ducks back behind his wall. Eddie tries to control his laughter, but it keeps coming out in hot puffs of breath that he can see float away from his mouth.

“What the?!” Luke shouts, looking all around. “How’d he do that?”

Eddie chuckles to himself as he creates more ammunition. These amateurs.

You look on in amusement as the three of them commence in all-out war. Eddie clearly gets the better of them, which you can tell he’s secretly proud of. Or not-so-secretly as he sticks his tongue out at them and taunts them. You’d swear you were the one in this relationship who is older by a decade, not him.

After a while of running around, your sons and husband fall into a pile in the middle of the yard, obviously tired from so much exertion. You giggle as you watch them try and catch their breaths; Luke literally reaching up with his gloved hands to swipe at the condensation his huffing and puffing is causing.

Luke is the first one up and starts tugging on his dad’s coat sleeve to pull him up too. Ryan is the next one up, then finally Eddie. It takes you a couple of minutes to figure out what they’re doing at first. It looks like they’re just moving piles of snow around with no rhyme or reason.

Just as you’ve put together that they’re trying to build an igloo, you hear Eliza’s cries coming from her room. You get up from your warm cocoon on the chair and wander into Eliza’s nursery where she’s whining for attention.

“What’s all the fuss about?” you ask as you scoop her up. “It’s Christmas. Didn’t anyone tell you there’s no crying on Christmas?”

Eliza’s only response is a tiny sneeze that makes you giggle.

“God bless you. Now, let’s see how many layers of clothes we can put on you before you’re as good as bubble wrapped.”

When you open the back door, both you and your daughter bundled up tightly against the cold, the igloo looks like it had some architectural issues. Eddie pushes himself off the ground and comes over to the two of you.

“Look at my girls. So cute in all your layers.” He presses a kiss to your nose, which gives you a shiver.

“Your lips are freezing!” you exclaim, scrunching your face.

“What do you expect?” Eddie asks with a laugh. “Igloo construction is very serious work that can only be done in these dire weather conditions.”

A few snowflakes fall onto Eliza’s pale pink coat, and she blinks at them in confusion before they melt away.

“How is the construction crew doing?” you ask, nodding to the boys and their building, snow stuck to their gloves like Velcro.

“Some structural problems,” Eddie shrugs. “Definitely inhabitable, but I don’t have the heart to break it to them.” He brushes his gloves onto his jacket and holds his arms out towards Eliza. “Come here, you.”

He takes her, snuggling her to his chest, and walks over to where the boys are working tirelessly. Crouching down, he lets Eliza’s legs hang down so her booted up little feet are on the snowy ground.

“Hey, ‘Liza,” Luke chirps. “We’re making a house out of snow.”

“It’s not going too well,” Ryan adds under his breath.

His brother scowls. “She doesn’t know that!” he hisses.

Eliza’s eyes track the snowflakes falling down around her.

“You like the snow, huh?” Eddie asks her, kissing the tiniest sliver of exposed forehead beneath her fuzzy hood.

A chunk of the attempted igloo comes off in Ryan’s hands and he lets out a defeated sigh. “You wanna try some snow?” he asks Eliza just as you walk over to join them. He breaks off the snow into a small chunk and holds it up near Eliza’s lips. She only stares at it for a second before Eddie helps her lean in and she opens her mouth, just as she does when she’s trying to eat.

The moment the coldness touches her lips, Eliza turns her head and curls her hands towards her face, making the rest of you laugh.

“Cold, huh?” Ryan chuckles, tossing aside the snow that Eliza hasn’t consumed.

“All right,” Eddie says as he stands up, shifting his daughter in his arms. “I don’t know about you boys, but my butt is pretty numb. What do you say we head inside?”

Both boys whine, even though you can tell by their chattering teeth that they’re getting a bit cold themselves.

“How’s hot chocolate sound?” you add.

That gets both boys up and headed towards the back door. Eddie walks ahead of you with Eliza, and you shuffle towards him so you can whisper in his ear.

“If you can’t feel your ass, maybe I could feel it for you?” Your lips curl into a smirk.

Eddie turns to face you. “Why, Mrs. Munson, how very naughty of you.” His kiss lingers in a way that tells you to expect a special gift the moment you two are truly alone.

It takes a few minutes for everyone to peel off their wet clothes. Eddie and Ryan work on throwing the snow-soaked pants and socks into the dryer while you recruit Luke to help a freshly warmed Eliza into her swing in the living room so you can make hot chocolate.

Luke buckles the straps over Eliza’s red and white outfit and turns the swing on the lowest setting. It gently sways her back and forth from left to right, which is usually her favorite thing in the world, but her tiny cries warn that she is not amused.

“Hey, what’s the whining about?” Luke asks, frowning at his fussy sister.

Eliza squeals and throws her little arms up as much as she’s able to as though purposely acting in defiance.

Luke immediately springs into action. “No, no!” He scrambles for an idea. “Here, watch me, Eliza!”

He starts to do an overexaggerated jig in front of her and sings I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. I don't want a doll, no dinky Tinkertoy. I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy!”

Eliza stops her crying and just stares at her older brother as he continues his impromptu performance.

“I can see me now on Christmas morning, creeping down the stairs. Oh, what joy and what surprise. When I open up my eyes to see my hippo hero standing there!”

Watching the mini concert from the kitchen, you notice that Eliza is mesmerized by her brother; the look on her face reads, “what the hell are you doing?”, but you’re not going to question whatever it is that’s quieted her down—even if it means being subjected to one of the most irritating holiday songs in existence.

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses. I only like hippopotamuseses. And hippopotamuses like me too!”

Successfully distracted, the baby makes spit bubbles and flaps her arms. Luke feels that he’s done his job, and he gives a small bow.

Luke finishes imagining the applause his baby sister so obviously wants to give him when Eddie comes into the living room carrying two mugs full of steaming hot chocolate.

“Hey, Timberlake. Here’s your drink.”

You and Ryan are right behind him as you carefully balance your own drinks, giggling at each other as you check on one another’s progress from the corner of your eyes. It’s almost a game to see if one of you will spill a few drops before the other.

Luke plops down in the chair you had been sitting in while watching the boys outside and Ryan settles in on the loveseat. You take advantage of your husband sitting alone on the couch to cuddle up to his side. Eddie settles one arm over your shoulders and brings his Metallica mug to his lips with his other hand. Taking care to hold your “Meowy Christmas” mug dotted in adorable kittens in both of your hands, you rest your head on his shoulder. Your eyes admire the cup that Luke gave you last year for Christmas before they drift over to your daughter comfortably rocking in her swing.

Her large eyes move from family member to family member, as if wondering what you’re all doing. You imagine her holding her own little mug-shaped bottle to join in with the rest of you and you let out a soft giggle at the thought.

“What, baby?” Eddie asks softly.

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head. “Just look at our little girl. Watching all of us.”

Eddie smiles when he looks over and his daughter’s gaze locks on his. He feels as if one more ounce of happiness was pumped into his heart it would explode. The room is still and quiet, but Eliza continues to look on as the four of you warm up by drinking the confectionary delight.

By the time the four of you have emptied your mugs, Eliza is fast asleep in her swing. Eddie presses a kiss to your temple, and you take his empty cup as he rises to his feet. He walks over, slowly stops the rocking, and scoops Eliza up. She lets out a little sigh as Eddie resituates her in his arms; her classic sign of contentment when she knows she’s safe in her daddy’s care. He carries the sleeping infant into her room and lays her down in her crib.

“Sweet dreams, sweet pea.”

An hour later, the buzzer rings.

Wayne’s on the other side of the door, two pizza boxes in hand. Since Eliza is still so little and requires almost all of your energy, there isn’t a fancy meal this year, but no one seems to mind.

The Munson patriarch sets the food on the table, opening the boxes to reveal pepperoni & green peppers atop each pie. “Christmas colors,” he announces proudly.

Eddie pops a Christmas album into the CD player as you all gather around the table and eat. By some miracle, Luke and Ryan manage to take their slices without fighting over the bigger one, and you thank your lucky stars.

No sooner do you sit down and lift your own slice to your lips, Eliza’s cry bleats through the baby monitor. You instinctively start to stand, but Wayne puts a gentle hand out to stop you.

“I got it,” he assures you, walking into the room where Eliza lays in her crib.

“You’re the cutest candy cane I’ve ever seen!” you hear him exclaim as he lifts her to carry her back out to the kitchen.

He takes his seat next to Luke, who holds his slice in the baby’s direction, a glob of sauce plopping onto the floor.

“Eliza, you want some pizza?” He pretends to bring it to her mouth before he pulls back and cackles. “Aahh, just kidding!”

The tiny baby manages to stay awake for the entirety of dinner, but by the end of dessert, she’s starting to get cranky again.

When it’s time to clear the table, Eddie stands up and stretches his arms high over his head. And so what if your gaze drifted to the pale expanse of his stomach that it showed?

“Come on, men,” Eddie says. “Let’s get this place looking ship-shaped.”

“You sure you weren’t the one in the military?” Wayne asks with a husky laugh. He hands you the baby who is only getting fussier by the second.

“I think it’s time for some jammies,” you say as you hold her against your chest. Her whines and whimpers in return sound like a disagreement, so you can only imagine what her backtalk will be like when she can speak.

“Not fair,” Luke says with a huff as you move to leave the dining room. You turn around and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What’s not fair?” you ask.

“You don’t have to clean,” he says as he picks up the bowl of mashed potatoes that is now so empty it looks as if it’s been licked clean. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was, honestly.

“Do you want to try and get Miss Crankypants into her pajamas? Then to bed?” you ask.

“No,” Luke admits with a groan and brings the empty dishes into the kitchen.

“That’s what I thought,” you say to Eliza as you carry her down the hall to her room.

It’s time for the annual tradition of watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas, but Eliza still hasn’t gone to sleep. You’re not sure how long you’ve been trying to soothe her to sleep, but it feels like it’s been hours. You tell the guys to start watching it without you as you start to walk throughout the house with your fussy daughter in your arms. The rocking motion of walking tends to have a calming effect on her. Hasn’t worked so far, but it’s worth another shot.

“Come on, sweetie,” you beg her. “You had a big day. You must be so tired.”

She continues her protests, so you hold her closer to your chest, her green elf pajamas soft in your hands. On your fourth lap of the house, you pass by the living room again but there’s music coming from the television this time.

Eliza stops her fussing at the sound. The scene ends and Eliza starts to act up again, so you take another lap around the house. Once more back at the living room, there’s music and again she calms down.

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself.

Testing your theory, you sit at the edge of the couch and keep your firm hold on Eliza. The music continues as Eliza calms all the way down. This time, she’s calmed enough that you can sit back on the couch and enjoy the show with your family. Every time a scene with music comes on, Eliza gets happier and even gives you a smile that you’re pretty sure had nothing to do with gas.

“You like the music, huh?” you ask your daughter softly.

“Making her daddy proud,” Eddie says, throwing a wink your way.

Not much later, Eliza falls asleep, and it allows you to watch the rest of the program with your family. When it’s time for bed, the boys each get up and press a soft kiss to their sister’s forehead. Once they’ve gone to brush their teeth, you bring Eliza into her room, Eddie right behind you. You gently lay her down and Eddie snakes his arms around your waist from behind. Both of you look down at your daughter, her little pink lips parted as her chest moves up and down with her steady breathing. The soft downy hairs on her head are starting to get a curl to them and you smile at the thought of her having hair like your husband.

Eddie presses a kiss to your cheek and rests his chin on your shoulder so he can look down at the sleeping girl as well.

“We made a cute baby,” Eddie says softly.

“The cutest,” you agree.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #dad!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS

411 notes · View notes

loviingpedri · 5 months

Text

feliz navidad - jude bellingham

prompt: jude’s first christmas tree in madrid

warnings: grammar issues, cheesy lines

credits to owners for all images

“jude! look at all these ornaments i got.”

“they’re really pretty. remind me, what is the theme for the tree again?” he picked up the green ornament with the unique carvings of it.

“traditional christmas of course. classic colors like green and red. it’s gonna look beautiful.”

“beautiful like you?” he winked at you while you grinned from his flirty comment.

“anyways! are you ready to start decorating?” he nodded his head as he opened the box of lights. he began to put the lights on as you tried to find hooks for the ornaments.

“do you think we should do fake presents again. i mean, it looked pretty last year.”

“do whatever it takes to make it your dream christmas tree. the least i can do is help you. take this as my appreciation for your sacrifices in moving here with me.” the lights were blinking at you as he finished his sentence.

“you always say that. can’t leave the love of my life in a foreign place alone.”

“aren’t i special then?”

“don’t let your ego get to you jude.” finding the hooks for the ornaments, it was finally time for your favorite tradition. decorating with jude.

grabbing a sparkly green ornament, it was already matching with the lights. soon, dozens of red and green were everywhere.

“jude! did you put these green ornaments together?” he was just happy to help. you appreciated everything he did, but sometimes it didn’t quite match your ideas.

“yeah? what about it?” he grabbed another red ornament as the tree started to become overwhelming.

“they aren’t suppose to be next to each other. it’s a contrasting kind of idea, you know?” he just nodded, but he didn’t understand the point of it. another rule added to the list, don’t put the same kind of ornament together.

the tree came together perfectly. especially with the ribbons and lights. the only challenging part next was the star. you attempted to put it on there yourself, but it was no use.

“having trouble?” as you finally stopped stretching your arm, you couldn’t deny it.

“yeah i am. do you have a ladder or anything?” now, the jude bellingham started laughing in your face. usually, you would be offended but it was definitely more confusion. “what are you laughing at?” giving him a sassy pose, his smile became vivid.

“the only thing i should be smiling at. why get a ladder when you have me?” jude really thinks he’s the smartest man out here.

“what?”

“oh come on. i’m strong enough to hold you.”

“jude, what are you on about?”

“get on my shoulders of course. you’ll be tall enough to put the star on.”

pure shock was seen in your face. “are you serious? i mean you could seriously get hurt.”

“don’t you trust me?” he crept down slowly and told you to just get on. after awkward movement, you felt your stomach drop as he stood up. everything was much clearer in this view.

“this is absolutely crazy.”

“don’t fall, please.” as you got closer to the tree, the star was shining bright on your face. jude walked to the couch to playfully yet gently throw you off. a lot of giggles and cuddles were shared as you admired your new masterpiece.

“it’s so bright.”

“yeah, just like you.” he gave you a kiss on your forehead as you got comfortable under the blanket right next to him.

——————————————

author’s note: happy holidays to those who celebrate! it’s crazy how this has been in my draft since november and it finally came together. wishing you all happiness!

#football x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #christmas #real madrid #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you

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greensagephase · 9 months

Text

Nonviolent Communication - Part Seven

***Beautiful sketches for this chapter were made by two lovely artists and I'm ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE with them!! Please go and show them some love!! They captured Miguel so BEAUTIFULLY!! You can find them here and here. Thank you so much guys, I'm so in love with them and will always cherish them 🥹❤️ @sunsetdoodler @lauraolar14 ***

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Mr. and Mrs. Morales ask you to do something for them.

Word Count: 11,729 (I'm just gonna shut up about the word count at this point and just say I'm sorry.)

Warnings: Some readers may not recognize some food items mentioned but it's not too important for the plot, however, a brief description is included at the end if you're interested; mention of reader's family and their Christmas days (good memories); Miguel (I won't elaborate)

Music inspo while writing: (I'm obsessed with the ATSV album so much that Metro Boomin has been my #1 artist on Spotify for months lmao)

"Link Up" - Metro Boomin, Don Toliver, Wizkid, BEAM, Toian

"Self Love" - Metro Boomin, Coi Leray

"Hummingbird" - Metro Boomin, James Blake

"Calling" - Metro Boomin, Swae Lee, NAV, A Boogie Wit da Hoodie

"Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage (you already know)

Part Seven

You returned to your apartment after Miguel showed you his ofrenda. You didn’t sleep. The candy and coffee Miguel gave you kept you up and so you resumed your chores, but your mind was elsewhere. It was occupied. By Miguel, who smiled at you that night. You couldn’t and won’t forget the sight of it. It’s branded into your brain forever. Even when you eventually found yourself in bed under your warm sheets that night, you laid there and stared at the ceiling.

He smiled at you. It was small but it was a smile. He showed you his ofrenda and shared food with you. You tossed and turned that night thinking that maybe… it was safe to assume you’re friends with Miguel. You couldn’t help but wonder if he thought the same about you though. You eventually decided that either way, you’re happy he has shared those moments with you.

There was a shift between the two of you, of course. It was like a door opened. A door that Miguel himself unlocked and opened for you to walk through. And he had in a sense, as that night he wished, for the first time, that you would cross his boundary lines by asking questions and sharing your thoughts with him.

As the days go on, you continue to spend time with him on missions, before meetings, and of course, when you organize his lab. You notice Lyla starts to involve him more in conversations when you’re there. He surprisingly adds to the conversation sometimes. He still doesn’t want to intrude, especially when he knows Lyla loves talking to you. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t pay more attention now though.

You’re also surprised when the following week after Dia de los Muertos, Lyla offers you snacks, mentioning that Miguel keeps candy in a hidden cabinet. He adds that you’re welcome to grab any. You don’t fail to notice that the cabinet contains the candy from that night, specifically the ones you enjoyed the most. What you don’t know is that no one else was informed about this candy cabinet.

The holidays quickly arrive. You spend Thanksgiving Day at Peter’s universe with Mary Jane, Mayday, and the rest of your friend group. For the first time in three years, you celebrate and feel the holiday spirit. With each passing day, you feel lighter. That feeling of moving forward grows each day.

As the days go by, the beautiful colors of autumn begin to fade. The leaves part ways with the trees with the promise that new ones will sprout in the spring. The days and nights are colder. The city is covered in snow. Christmas trees are displayed behind condensed windows. Lively Christmas music fills your ears almost everywhere you go when you go out on errands.

As always, the month of December flies by and suddenly you find yourself on Miles’s rooftop surrounded by his neighbors, friends, and family. It’s Christmas Eve and the building is having its annual party, to which you were invited by the Morales family.

You met Miles’s parents a few months ago, almost immediately after joining the Spider Society. According to Miles, he revealed his secret to them shortly after saving his dad from dying. The Morales not only know about Miles’s Spider-Man identity but also about the multiverse now. Due to that, Miles was able to introduce his friends to his parents, so they know everyone in Miles’s friend group. Once you were adopted by the group, you were no exception. You were introduced right away, and Miles’s parents took a liking to you quickly, which is how you found yourself invited to this party and other events in the past, including simple family dinners.

You’ve been here for over two hours now and have spent much of that time socializing both with your friends and Miles’s neighbors, who all seem curious about you and the rest of the group. You smile as you think of the many times you’ve had to say that you’re Miles’s mentor from school each time someone asks who you are. Of course, attending the party meant that all of you had to come up with excuses to avoid raising suspicions. Gwen is Miles’s girlfriend, but she lives outside of the city. Pav is a friend from school and you’re a school mentor. At least you guys had it simple and didn’t have to be as creative as Noir, who has spent much of his time up in the water tower hiding for obvious reasons with Peter Porker.

You lean over the rooftop’s parapet on your own in a less crowded section, trying to take a little break from so much socializing. You stare out at Miles’s neighborhood, listening to the music the DJ, who you were also introduced to, plays. He’s been playing some Christmas music here and there, mixed with other upbeat songs for the party. You hear the chatter and laughter. Children run in groups, excited about opening gifts soon. The city is covered in snow, and you heard from one of Miles’s aunts that a white Christmas is expected. You snuggle into your coat as you feel a breeze, thinking.

You can’t help but think about Peter. In a few months it’ll be four years since his death. You sigh. Time has really flown by. As your eyes scan the city, landing on other rooftops with people celebrating, you think about the first holidays without him. There were no decorations put out. No food was cooked. No parties or dinners were held or attended. You woke up on Christmas Day like it was any other day as you had already ended your previous friendships. There was no Peter waking you up with a grin telling you breakfast was ready, using that as an excuse to get you to go to the living room so you could start opening his gifts.

On New Years, you slept through it as the rest of the city celebrated the arrival of another year. For you, it was just the beginning of the first full year without Peter.

With each year, you’ve slowly put some decorations here and there but until this year, you hadn’t put your Christmas tree up. You smile as you think of it now. You managed to do that this year. Yet another sign you’re moving in the right direction. And of course, being here now, that’s a sign of its own.

Even though you need a break from socializing, you look fondly over at your friends. The people that have turned into your little family. Yes, things have changed. Things are changing.

You have them, the Morales family, Jess… Miguel.

Your mind shifts to Miguel. You wonder what he’s doing now. What he did today. You saw him yesterday in passing as you were busy with missions that he wasn’t on. Then, there was an emergency at your universe just as there was an anomaly detected somewhere else, which he and other members handled. You meant to wish him happy holidays as he gave the Spider Society members today and tomorrow off but unfortunately you were unable to.

You feel your fingers graze your wrist, the one with your gizmo. You could send him a message, but you find the thought strange for some reason as you’ve never done that before. Maybe it would be weird, you think, but should you send Miguel a message and wish him a Merry Christmas regardless? You debate it as you look out into the city, your fingers grazing your wrist softly as you think of him.

“Y/N!”

You turn in surprise, feeling like you were caught doing something wrong. You drop your hand from your wrist and regain your composure as your eyes fall on Mr. and Mrs. Morales, who stand in front of you. They both look pleased to see you. You notice Mrs. Morales is holding two plates wrapped in aluminum foil while Captain Morales holds two cans of soda, but you don’t think much about it.

“Mrs. Morales, Captain Morales, hey,” you say with a smile, still feeling startled.

“Sorry if we scared you, mija,” Mrs. Morales says. That’s another thing. Even though the Morales aren’t that much older than you, Mrs. Morales uses the endearing “mija” and each time she uses it, you can’t help but feel comforted by this.

You smile and shake your head. “It’s okay. I was just – thinking.”

The couple nods, giving you a knowing look. “We know holidays can be difficult with loved ones gone,” Mrs. Morales says in a tender and understanding tone as they both know about Peter and your overall lack of family and friends in your universe.

You nod and keep your smile, knowing very well that you weren’t thinking of Peter just now but of Miguel. You feel a little guilty, but you were thinking about Peter earlier, so it counts, right?

“Yes… the last couple of years haven’t been easy but I’m in a different headspace now,” you say with a pause, meaning it. “Thank you for inviting me again, by the way. I know I’ve already said it, but it means a lot to me,” you tell them.

“No need to thank us again. You know you’re like family. We’re just glad you’re here tonight with all of them,” Captain Morales says, referring to your group of friends.

You smile brightly at the couple now. You tell them you’re thankful to be there and mean it. You had no other plans in your own universe, so that means you would’ve been home alone despite feeling the Christmas spirit this year. The Morales couple pulls you in for a hug after you tell them that and you can’t refuse it, as they’ve been nothing but kind to you over the last months.

“And don’t forget, you’re always welcome to come over for dinner. So, if you ever feel alone – just use your watch and come join us,” Mrs. Morales adds with a smile that brings you comfort. Again, they’re not that much older than you but their parental energy brings you a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time.

You give them a soft smile. “I know, thank you. I appreciate it, truly. It means so much to me,” you say with your tone full of sincerity, hoping that they understand how much it truly means to you.

“No need to thank us. As Jeff said, you’re part of the family now,” Mrs. Morales says, patting your shoulder in a motherly way. “We were also looking for you to ask for a favor.”

Captain Morales nods and you wonder what it could be. You wonder if it has to do with Miles.

“Yeah, of course! How may I help?” you ask, curiously.

Mrs. Morales lifts the plates and Captain Morales lifts the cans of soda. “Well… Miles and Gwen mentioned a little while ago that you and Miguel are close.”

“And we were wondering if you would mind taking him some food to his fancy tech universe,” Captain Morales adds as they both watch you with smiles, hoping you’ll say yes.

You stare at them with a smile as you process their words. Close. You and Miguel are close. And Miles and Gwen said that? Of course, Miguel and you have grown close, but it has been something behind closed doors. You can’t help but wonder how Miles and Gwen reached that conclusion. It’s not like you and Miguel are strolling into the cafeteria together to have lunch. All your interactions have been private so far, minus the meetings of course, but even then, those can’t be enough to show the closeness between you and Miguel. You briefly wonder if the rest of your friend group talk about it if Gwen and Miles found it important enough to mention. Or maybe it’s not that important, who knows with teenagers.

And on top of that, you can’t help but feel like Mrs. Morales emphasized the word “close.” It almost makes it sound like you’re close in a different way.

“Yeah, I guess you can say we’re kind of friends,” you say, trying to clear up any misconception they may have. You briefly look at your friends, who are still under the water tower all grouped together, wondering what they’ve seen or heard.

“Right. Friends! That’s great. You know Miguel could really use some friends because Miles says he’s still a little close off even after what happened, you know,” Captain Morales says a little too fast, giving his wife a look she returns. It’s a look you can’t decipher as they quickly mask it, but you know an entire conversation took place with that shared look.

“Well, you know that man is so closed off. Anyone who says they’re friends with him should be considered close. That’s what Miles and Gwen meant,” Mrs. Morales says with a smile, probably trying to reassure you about what they said. “But do you mind? We invited him but he didn’t show up and it’s Christmas Eve,” Mrs. Morales says with a look that you recognize. Miguel is most likely alone on Christmas Eve.

You nod softly, still smiling. “I’ll gladly take the food,” you reply.

Miles’s parents beam at you before they hand you the plates and soda cans.

“Thank you, mija!” Mrs. Morales says. “If you don’t mind… staying with him for a little while. At least while he eats,” she says quieter, and you nod.

“I was planning on it,” you answer, giving her a reassuring smile because you thought about it the moment they explained their request.

“I knew you would. And hey, if he wants more, just travel back with your fancy watch and get more. Oh, before I forget!” she says and turns around.

She heads to a table and from a large box pulls out two goody bags.

“Here. One for you and for him. Take them before the kids take them all,” she says, jokingly. You slip the soda cans into your coat’s pockets to receive the goody bags, which you also slip into your pockets. “Tell him the Morales family wishes him a Merry Christmas for us,” she says just as Captain Morales puts his arm around her, pulling her closer.

You nod and give them both a smile. “I’ll let him know. I’ll head out now, that way the food doesn’t get too cold,” you say as you can feel the food was freshly served out of their containers since the plates feel hot. “If they ask about me, let them know I’ll be back shortly, please,” you say, motioning to your friends.

“We’ll tell them! Thank you again. We’ll see you in a bit,” Captain Morales adds.

You tell them goodbye and thank them again for the invitation. You make your way down the fire escape stairs, careful not to slip on ice until you reach the ground. You walk for a bit, looking for a place to open your portal discreetly. As you look around, you have a sudden thought. Is Miguel at HQ? He gave today and tomorrow off but did he also take the day off? Or is he still there? You click on your gizmo.

“Lyla?” you say, in an empty alleyway.

It takes a few seconds before Lyla’s hologram appears above your gizmo.

“Y/N! Merry Christmas Eve.”

You smile at her. “Merry Christmas Eve, Lyla. Sorry to interrupt you but I was wondering. Is… Miguel at HQ?” you ask, and Lyla raises her eyebrows.

“No. He’s at his penthouse.”

Lyla’s answer makes you feel relieved. You had a picture in your mind of him in his lab alone. The vision alone made your heart ache.

“That’s good! Do you think you can ask him to meet me there? At HQ?” you ask.

Lyla frowns. “I don’t think so. He’s – busy,” she simply says.

“Oh. Well, the Morales family are sending him food and they asked me to take it to him,” you say, not knowing what to do now.

“Just go to his penthouse.”

You stare at Lyla in disbelief at her suggestion that you should go to his penthouse, feeling like that would be an intrusion on his personal space. You know he’s been to your apartment a few times, three to be exact, but you don’t mind. Miguel on the other hand, might not be too thrilled about you visiting his place.

“Can’t you just ask him to meet me there?” you ask softly.

“He’s busy. He can’t leave his penthouse. Look, I’ll just tell him, okay? I’m sure he’ll be fine with you showing up,” Lyla says, shrugging like this is no big deal.

You sigh. “I don’t think that’s - ” you start but get interrupted.

“I’m going to ask him right now. If I send you the coordinates to his penthouse, then you know you’re good to go, okay? Merry Christmas!” Lyla says, cheerfully throwing her arms in the air.

“Lyla!” you manage to say before her hologram disappears. You sigh again and stare at the buildings in front of you. Great.

Not even thirty seconds later, your gizmo shows a new notification. You bring your gizmo closer to your face.

Coordinates.

You stare at the buildings again. The food is going to grow cold if you continue to stand here but you can’t help but feel nervous suddenly. You sigh and try to shake it off. It’s fine. Lyla sent the coordinates, which means he’s okay with it. Right? Or did he feel pressured to let you show up? Your mind starts wandering. What if Lyla made it seem like you wanted to go straight to his penthouse and not meet up somewhere less personal, like HQ? Lyla may have done that, especially because she looked like she was in a rush, which makes you wonder why she was even in a rush. It’s Christmas Eve! You release a shaky breath and try to pull it together. It’s no big deal. You’ll apologize right away and explain that you wanted to meet in HQ instead. You nod, reassuring yourself and try to calm your nerves. You look around, making sure that there’s no one around. You click on your gizmo and follow the procedure to open a portal in a specific location within a dimension.

The portal opens, lighting up the alleyway. You take a deep breath before you enter it, leaving Miles’s universe behind and stepping into Nueva York. Or rather, into a living room.

For the first time, you’re the one that stares into an unknown living room. In the span of a few seconds, you take in the sight before you. Your vision is immediately met with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city and you notice the closest building to Miguel’s building is far away, granting him privacy. Your eyes take in the living room section of his penthouse, or at least what you can see now. It’s all very sleek and modern. Very Nueva York. In front of you there’s a square table with different remotes and tablets floating above it thanks to the portal, far more advanced than those in your universe. There’s also a grey couch facing you and a few feet from it, you spot stairs to its left, leading to the second floor of the penthouse. To your right, you feel heat coming from a fireplace.

For once, Miguel is the one watching a portal fade away in his penthouse. He hears the items fall back into place as he stares at your back.

“Y/N.”

You turn around slowly, feeling Miguel’s gaze. You find him a few feet behind you, behind another grey couch you were unaware was there until now. The kitchen and dining areas of his penthouse are behind him. Everything looks like you’d imagine on Earth-928 with an advanced society. You meet Miguel’s eyes as he stands there. In normal clothes.

Miguel is in normal clothes.

“Miguel, hey,” you finally say, feeling odd. You wonder if this is what Miguel felt when he showed up at your apartment on Peter’s birthday.

“Hey,” Miguel replies looking down at you before his eyes flicker to the plates in your hands.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” you say, giving him a smile. You can’t help but feel awkward.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” Miguel repeats softly, his eyes meeting yours again.

You stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other until you finally speak.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you. I asked Lyla if you could meet me at HQ and she said you were busy,” you explain, wanting to clear the air, still feeling shocked that Miguel is in normal clothes.

Miguel nods, pushing his hands into his pants’ pockets. You continue to hold his gaze as the image of him in normal clothes burns into your mind.

Miguel’s hair looks damp, as if he barely got out of the shower but it’s styled as always with curls framing some of his face. Instead of his suit, Miguel wears a dark grey, chunky cable knit sweater. The sleeves are pushed up his arms slightly, just enough that his wrists are visible. You notice he’s not wearing his gizmo, which is a strange sight on its own. To pair his dark grey sweater, Miguel wears black pants. You can’t help but think he looks so – cozy.

“She told me, but I couldn’t leave,” Miguel says, still watching you. He notices the way you’re trying very hard not to look at his clothes. He can’t blame you. In a few months, it’ll be a year since you joined the Spider Society and you’ve never seen him in anything else. “I was showering and I’m cooking,” he says quietly, and you nod.

“Oh. That’s nice,” you say, feeling happiness that Miguel is at home on Christmas Eve instead of at HQ working, on top of the fact that he’s in cozy clothes and cooking. You nod and then remember the whole reason you are here. You internally scold yourself for getting so distracted with being at his home and the sight of him in normal clothes. “Well, the reason I was trying to reach you was for this. The Morales family sent you food,” you say, lifting the plates higher. You can feel that the plates are still hot, thankfully.

Miguel looks a little surprised, but he nods. “Miles invited me to that, but I couldn’t go,” he admits, and you understand. You know that Peter and Mary Jane have been inviting him to their Friday dinners even before you were recruited into the Spider Society, but Miguel has never attended them.

“They noticed and wanted to send you some food. They wished you a Merry Christmas,” you say softly.

Miguel nods and he’s about to speak when a timer goes off behind him.

“Mierda, let me check the food. Just – follow me, please,” he says, motioning for you to follow him as he starts walking to the kitchen area of his penthouse.

You stand there for a few seconds before you start following him. You watch as Miguel goes around a long kitchen island, heading straight for a stove and for the first time you notice there’s pots and pans on it. The scent of food suddenly envelops you as Miguel quickly and efficiently checks one of the pots. He grabs the designated spoon for it and stirs its contents with his back to you.

You look around a little bit, thinking how his kitchen island is longer than your kitchen itself. You also notice it’s all very clean and organized, which you expected from Miguel.

Miguel turns off the burner before he puts the spoon away. He turns around to face you, finding you standing on the other side of his kitchen island, still holding the plates.

“Let me take that from you,” Miguel says walking around the island to retrieve the plates.

You hand them to him gently, sharing the feeling of your fingers brushing past each other’s. You offer him a smile as you take a step back.

“Oh,” you say remembering. “They also sent these,” you continue, pulling out the soda cans and one of the goody bags from your coat.

You set them on the island just as he sets the plates down, too. He looks at the cans and grabs one, looking at it.

“Thank you for bringing it to me. You didn’t have to,” he says as he places the can back on the counter.

You shrug. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Morales asked me, and I couldn’t say no to them. Besides…” you start as he looks down at you. “I realized I didn’t wish you happy holidays yesterday.”

Miguel nods, staring down at you. “It was a busy day. It always happens right before Christmas,” he says with an amused tone but he, too, thought about that earlier. About how he hadn’t seen you much yesterday with the two of you being preoccupied with your own things. He also thought about sending you a message earlier, but he thought you might be busy and besides, neither of you have ever sent messages to each other. He thought you might have found it – odd. “But – yes. We didn’t get to wish each other happy holidays,” he says softly, thinking how both of you thought about it.

You give him a small smile as you hear his last statement. You shift in your coat, feeling a little hot suddenly in Miguel’s warm apartment. Your clothes were perfect for the party out on the rooftop but too hot to be inside. Miguel notices.

“Here, I can help you out of your coat. The party is on the rooftop, right?” he asks as he steps closer.

“Yes, it’s on the rooftop,” you reply as you slide out of your coat with his help. You watch as he drapes it, carefully, over one of the kitchen island chairs.

You fix your clothes slightly, feeling less hot now that you have one layer off. “That’s much better,” you comment, chuckling a bit. “I had to bundle up. It was freezing out there.”

Miguel stares at your outfit, noticing you’re in cozy and festive clothes but noting they are definitely too much to be inside. “I can imagine. The chilly breeze feels like it bites the skin,” he says looking out his windows. “It’s supposed to snow, too.”

“I have that forecast, too,” you reply, joining him in staring out the windows from afar. “Anyway, you should try the food. It’s amazing,” you say, remembering the food.

Miguel turns to the plates. “I have no doubt. So… they chose you to bring the food?” he asks as he slowly takes the aluminum foil off one of the plates.

Your conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Morales flashes back to your mind. They asked you because they think you’re close to Miguel.

“Yes,” you answer simply, hoping he won’t ask why you and not someone else, since he must know that Miles invited the rest of the group, meaning another colleague could’ve brought him food.

Miguel nods as he inspects the food, looking pleased, which makes you smile. “I see,” he says, his eyes leaving the plate to meet yours. He gives you a look that makes you feel like he knows you were chosen to do this specifically out of everyone else before he returns his attention to the plate.

You freeze for a few seconds. Did your face reveal something? You clear your throat and rest your hands over a chair.

“It’s – a great party. Everyone is in a good mood,” you comment.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says softly as he looks down at the food. “I’m glad they’re enjoying their holidays.”

You nod, noticing the sincerity of his words. He looks up suddenly from the plate as an idea pops into his mind.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, and you nod.

“I ate a few hours ago,” you say, thankful that your stomach is not embarrassing you once again in front of him. He nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “But I’ll probably eat something else when I get back,” you add before you even realize it.

Miguel meets your eyes. “This food looks and smells amazing. Please give my thanks to the Morales family when you get back,” he says, pausing. “And – I was going to ask. If you don’t have to return right away, would you like to… join me for dinner? I made too much, and I don’t think I’ll finish it all on my own,” he says quickly.

Miguel looks down at you, feeling nervous about asking you but unable to stop himself from hoping you’ll say yes, even if it’s just for a little while.

You meet his eyes feeling a little surprised, though you hide it well before you nod.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you say with a smile. You remember that Mr. and Mrs. Morales did ask you to stay with him while he ate. However, you don’t bring it up. It might lead him to believe that you’re only staying because they asked you and it would force you to admit that you were planning to regardless of their request.

Miguel’s brief disappointment fades and is replaced with a lighter expression.

“I made a few dishes, so you have options,” he says softly. “Let me show you.”

With that, Miguel motions for you to follow him to the stove. You do so, curious to know what he cooked. You have the brief thought that this will be the second time Miguel gives you homemade food. The two of you stand in front of his stove and before Miguel shows you the food, he pushes his sleeves higher up. It’s still a strange sight and you can’t stop your eyes from gazing at his skin, noticing the veins from years of physical activity and arm hair. You turn away as you feel heat on your face from proximity to the stove and how warm Miguel’s penthouse is. No other reason.

“In this pot, there’s pozole,” Miguel says, lifting the lid to show you. He tells you what it is before he moves on to the other dishes.

It turns out that Miguel did cook quite a bit of food. He mentions pozole, tamales of two kinds, and tinga. He also made atole blanco and ponche navideño, two hot drinks perfect for the Christmas season. “If I’m being honest, I was craving all of these foods,” Miguel says as if he knows you’re thinking about how much food he cooked. You chuckle.

“Everything smells amazing, so I don’t blame you for craving them all,” you reply as you bring the spoon with pozole to your mouth. The warmness of it spreads down your chest as the two of you sit on the kitchen island, side by side.

Neither of you notice how your bodies are facing each other as you eat.

Miguel takes a bite out of the food Mr. and Mrs. Morales sent him and you notice he looks like he’s enjoying it. You eat more of your pozole and think how well of a cook he is. You remember him mentioning his mom taught him to cook when he was a teenager back when he showed up at your apartment for the first time. Conchata definitely taught him well.

You finish eating your small serving of pozole as you want to try the other food he made. He notices and looks at you.

“Do you want more pozole? Or would you like to try the other food?” he asks softly, cleaning his mouth gently with a napkin.

You smile at him and nod. “I’d like to try the other food if you don’t mind,” you say, and he nods before he stands up.

“I can get it myself, don’t worry,” you say and start getting up, but he raises a hand, making you pause.

“You’re my guest. It’s only right,” he says with a determined look. “What would you like to try next?” Miguel asks as he walks to the stove. He grabs a clean plate and turns to face you, ready for you to tell him.

You sit back down slowly as he stares at you.

“May I please try the tinga?” you ask with a soft but embarrassed smile.

“Would you like it with tostadas or as a burrito?” he asks, motioning to the pack of tostadas and flour tortillas on the counter.

“I’ll have it however you prefer it,” you answer honestly.

“What if I make you one of each? That way you can try both,” Miguel suggests.

You nod. “Okay, that sounds… good. Thank you,” you reply, and he nods before he grabs both packs and starts working on your plate.

You look down at your gizmo as he preps your food. It’s almost ten now. You look up again. Miguel is busy warming up flour tortillas. You notice him flipping them with his bare hands, not minding the heat. You look around the penthouse. It really is a large place.

Miguel flips the tortillas and turns back to look at you. He notices you looking around and he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious in that moment. Fragments of your apartment flash in his mind. Yours is well decorated. It feels welcoming and warm. It’s lived in. It’s a home for you. His penthouse, on the other hand, seems the opposite of it. Even when he used to actively live in it, he didn’t focus a lot on decorating and because of that, Gabriel and his mom took the initiative to do something about it.

The fact that Gabriel and his mom helped decorate it was one reason why he hadn’t bothered to change it in the last years. Another reason it remained the same was that it didn’t matter to him as he hardly spent time here after everything that happened with Gabriella and her universe anyway.

Until recently, of course. Ever since Peter’s birthday celebration, ever since that night, Miguel made it a goal to sleep here at least once a week. So far, he has stuck with it. It’s now been several weeks, which he counts as progress. And now, as he sees you take in his home, he can’t help but think about it. However, when your eyes meet his again, he sees no judgment from you. If anything, he sees curiosity, which amuses him on the inside. You offer him a small smile.

“Everything is so sleek and modern,” you say as you take in the kitchen again.

Miguel turns around to check on the tortillas, and seeing that they are done, he puts them on a plate. “Is that… not to your liking?” he asks as he starts fixing the food.

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s great,” you say still looking around.

“But?”

You sigh softly and Miguel turns around, walking the short distance from the stove to the kitchen island.

“You can say it,” he says as he finishes fixing the plates.

“I guess, I like old architecture more,” you finally admit. “But this is really nice though,” you add, and Miguel lets out a low chuckle that makes you pause and wonder what a real laugh from him would sound like.

“I like old architecture, too,” he reveals as he finishes fixing your plate. He slides it over the counter to you gently. “It has more personality.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take the plate. “And really? I thought you’d be more of a fan for your architecture.”

Miguel nods and offers you toppings for the food before he takes his own plate and sits next to you again. As you eat, the two of you talk briefly about the architecture of different universes you’ve been to. Turns out Miguel appreciates architecture like that of your universe. You eventually fall into a comfortable silence.

The two of you sit on Miguel’s kitchen island eating quietly in peace on Christmas Eve. It’s strange how comfortable it feels but then again, this is the second time you’ve eaten together since Dia de los Muertos. Still, this moment is a big deal. It’s the first time either of you have celebrated this holiday in years but it feels right.

As Miguel eats next to you, he can’t help but think about it. He really asked you to stay for dinner. That’s a first but he couldn’t stop himself once he thought about it. And he isn’t going to lie – he’s enjoying your company. He’s enjoying sharing the food he grew up eating during the holidays with you. His mind briefly turns to his family again. To his mother and Gabriel and the last holidays he was able to spend with them.

As he thinks about his own past holidays, Miguel wonders what yours were like. He wonders about your childhood and your parents. He wonders about the holidays you spent with Peter. As he takes a drink from one of the soda cans sent to him, he looks over at you. The two of you have been eating in silence, enjoying each other’s company, or at least he hopes you are like he is. He begins to wonder if he’s kept you here unwillingly. He feels embarrassment, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Maybe you had other plans, and here he is, keeping you from them. Embarrassment runs through his body as he looks at you but then, you look up from your plate and you smile at him in a way that makes his worry and embarrassment melt away.

“This is officially the best food I’ve ever had,” you say as you finish eating. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you for the recipe.”

Miguel gives you a subtle smile, and despite how small it is, it still catches you by surprise, though you are better at hiding it now. “I can give it you, that’s no problem,” he says putting his drink down. “Or I can cook it for you if you prefer,” he adds, making him freeze internally. He hasn’t offered to cook for anyone in a while. Sure, he cooked that day at your apartment when you were unwell because of your period but this is different. Or it feels different for some reason Miguel can’t explain.

You nod and smile. “Either way, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says softly before standing up.

Miguel begins putting away the dishes and even though you try helping him, he declines your help because he’s the “host.” So, you sit on your chair and watch as he cleans up, wishing he’d allow you to help but you know he’ll decline again. You finish your drink, the other soda can you brought, and watch as Miguel finishes up. Despite knowing that Miguel knows his way around a kitchen, you’re still somewhat in awe at how fast and efficient he is at cleaning up. You can’t help but think of Peter in that moment. He, too, knew his way around the kitchen and helped with the chores around the apartment, which was something you loved and appreciated about him as you often heard female colleagues complain about their partners not helping when you used to work. You’ve always appreciated it when a man knows how to do chores and helps instead of leaving the chores strictly to the woman, and so you can’t help but think about this as you watch Miguel.

You pull your sweater’s neck slightly, feeling a little hot. Miguel’s penthouse is warm and you’re still wearing two layers of clothes. As Miguel finishes up, you slide off the sweater you have, leaving you in a long-sleeved top. You fold it neatly and place it on the next chair from which your coat hangs. If you head back to the party, you’ll just suit up again but for now, you’ll try to cool off.

Miguel turns around then and looks at you, leaning back on the counter as he holds a towel. He dries his hands with it after washing them. He notices your sweater is gone and feels a little amused. You were definitely wearing too many layers to be inside in the warmth.

“I don’t know if you’re still up for it, but I have those two hot drinks,” he says, flinging the towel over his shoulder in a graceful way.

Of course, you notice it. It’s not every day that Miguel O’Hara wears normal clothes or that he looks this relaxed, leaning back on a kitchen counter and swinging a towel over his shoulder gracefully. It’s a sight for you and you alone.

“Well… Miles and Gwen mentioned a little while ago that you and Miguel are close.”

You hear Mrs. Morales’s comment in your head as you nod at Miguel. “I’m up for it,” you reply, and he nods. There’s a pleased look on his face before he turns around to open a cabinet to retrieve mugs.

And he is. Miguel is pleased that you’re open to trying out the hot drinks. That you’ll stay a little longer. As he pours the drinks, he thinks about what this means. Of course, he’s thought about how much he’s shared with you and how much you’ve shared with him. He’s thought about it… about how you’re the closest he has to a friend.

You are his friend.

He thought about it on Dia de los Muertos night when he came to his penthouse to sleep. Anyone could argue that Jess and Peter were friends but his friendship with them has always been different. It wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for work, or at least he feels like that. They’re work friends and he’s never shared as much as he’s shared with you. No matter how much the two of them tried, Miguel never felt comfortable enough to share his life.

And with you, there he was. Showing up at your apartment to show you his ofrenda. His memories poured out of him like they had been waiting for the right person to spill out for. It was easy to talk to you. It was different.

Miguel felt like he had a friend for once in many, many years that night. And he didn’t know that night, or even now, if you feel the same. He knows you have your group of friends, the ones that quickly adopted you into their group when you were recruited. The same ones he was keeping you away from right now, but he hopes that you see him as somewhat of a friend despite being your boss.

Miguel finishes preparing the drinks. He takes two mugs to you, one with atole blanco and the other with ponche navideño. He slides them gently over the counter to avoid spilling any before he turns around to retrieve his own mugs.He walks around the counter and takes a seat next to you as you thank him again, this time for the hot drinks.

Miguel nods at you as he picks up one of the mugs. “I hope you like it. The atole blanco might taste a little strange when you first try it, but I swear it grows on you,” he says reassuringly. He briefly thinks back to when he first tried it. He was about ten when his mom asked him to try it. The first sip made him pause but after the third drink, he loved it. Gabriel, on the other hand, took longer to try it. He was almost twelve when he finally gave in.

You take a drink from the atole blanco while Miguel’s eyes are on you. He can’t help himself from wanting to see your reaction and he’s glad when he sees you react well to it. You smile at him and nod.

“This is great! I see what you mean by strange, but I like it. It’s very… cozy and comforting,” you say as you drink more. “It’s like – it’s perfect for Christmas. I can’t explain it,” you say, and he nods.

“This was a must on Christmas growing up,” he says as he drinks some, too.

The two of you enjoy the hot drink in peace. As you place the cup down again, you’re thankful Mr. and Mrs. Morales gave you an excuse to talk to Miguel tonight despite having felt nervous when you first arrived. Miguel seems comfortable and doesn’t seem to mind that you’re here, though it should be obvious as he did invite you to stay for dinner. Miguel places his cup down and turns to you, his knee brushes past your leg slightly and he moves it discreetly away.

“What were – what were your Christmases like growing up?” he asks suddenly, quietly.

You turn your face to him, though your bodies are facing each other already. You feel a little surprised by his sudden question, but you don’t mind it. You meet his eyes before looking at the mugs before you, thinking.

“To keep it simple, they were amazing,” you say, returning your eyes to him. “I was an only child, but my parents always went all out. They loved the Christmas spirit, so our apartment was always decorated after Thanksgiving,” you say with a bright smile as you remember. Miguel notices the glint in your eyes as you talk. “We always put the Christmas tree together and they’d let me put the star at the top, even when I was a teenager and later an adult. They were always good,” you say, nodding softly as you think of your parents.

Miguel nods with a faint smile though you don’t notice it. He thinks of a younger you, a version he doesn’t know and will never know. He thinks about Peter, unable to stop himself from thinking about how he probably knew that version of you. He lifts his mug and takes a drink, trying to wash away these strange thoughts.

“Sounds like you had a great childhood,” he finally says, and you nod, making you feel a little sad as you remember Miguel telling you about his step and biological fathers. He didn’t say anything, but you felt that his childhood was not always great.

You bring your own cup to your lips and drink, wanting to change the conversation but Miguel doesn’t mind. He has put a lot of it behind him, at least those parts of his life.

“So, when you said they’d let you put the star on the tree as an adult, you mean it?” he asks, sounding a little amused.

You nod and give him a smile. “I was in university, and they still allowed me do it,” you say with a chuckle. “Peter would tease me about it, but it was fun for all of us.”

Miguel nods, thinking. You notice he has that look on his face. The one when he’s thinking about something.

“What is it?” you ask softly.

Miguel turns to you and shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. I was just thinking… Wondering, I guess.”

“About what? You can ask,” you say, your tone sincere since you don’t mind. He has already shared quite a lot about his past. It’s only fair he asks about yours.

Miguel sighs softly, continuing to hold your gaze. “When did you meet Peter?” he asks quietly, as if unsure of asking this question.

You smile, not minding the question at all. “When we were sixteen. He moved schools and we instantly became friends, which then turned into a relationship,” you say fondly before you pick up your mug and drink.

Miguel stares at you as you do this, still thinking. Since sixteen. It was Peter’s twenty-sixth birthday just weeks ago, which means you had known and dated each other for almost a decade by the time he passed away. He looks down at his nearly empty mug. Almost a decade of a relationship and you still try to live life to the fullest. Miguel grips the cup.

“How do you do it?” he asks quietly.

“Do what?” you ask in confusion.

“You knew Peter for so long. Dated him for so long. And you still… you try.”

You stare at Miguel, feeling a little startled by the sudden change of conversation but Miguel looks like he genuinely wants to know. You remember this was something you thought about in the early days. How people could move on. How they could carry day to day even after losing someone.

“Miguel…” you start and look down at your cups. “It isn’t easy. Especially in the beginning,” you add softly, knowing that for Miguel, it has been a little over a year since he lost his wife and Gabriella. For you, it’s almost four years since you lost Peter. You’re on different points of your mourning periods. You sigh softly. “It isn’t easy at all in the beginning,” you repeat as you think of your next words. “I wasn’t the woman you know now, or even the one you were introduced to months ago,” you say lightly, making Miguel turn to you, with curious eyes. “I don’t want to ruin the Christmas spirit, so I’ll try my best not to.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to. I don’t want to – take away the lightness of today,” he says with a regrettable look on his face.

Why did he ask, he wonders. Everything was going so well.

“No, it’s okay. It helps. Talking about it helps,” you say, reassuring him. You stay silent for about a minute, trying to figure out how to approach this. “I lost sight of things for a month or two after Peter’s death,” you start.

You look away, feeling shame course through you as you remember those dark days. You don’t want to see the look on Miguel’s face when you reveal something you’ve never shared with anyone.

“I’m not proud of it… It brings me great shame to say this,” you say as you stare down at the cups. “There was a time after Peter’s death – a month after everything took place to be exact – that I,” you pause. “I looked for him. I tried hunting down the man that did it,” you say quietly.

“I had a regular job back then, so I went to work. I mourned and tried my best to accommodate to my new life but at night… I couldn’t stop thinking how I could’ve done better. How I could’ve saved him. I thought of the man who did it. How he took Peter from me. The love of my life, my last bit of family…” you trail off, though your tone is still light, and you feel proud of yourself for it, for you know months ago, this conversation would’ve had you in tears. “My thoughts were consumed by it. So, I went out to try to find him. I didn’t plan on doing something to him, I swear,” you say pausing, trying to emphasize this. “All I wanted was to know who he was. Bring him to justice.”

Miguel continues to look at you with a pained expression on his face now as he hears you talk. There is a faraway look on your face, as if you were back in that time but you turn back to him and he’s like an anchor, keeping you tethered to this moment.

“One night, when I thought I had a lead – I was on a rooftop, and I finally realized that Peter would’ve never wanted to see me like that. And that I was failing my promise to him,” you say, meeting Miguel’s eyes. “He made me promise to try to move on. To be open to another love. I tried after that. It was slow progress. The last few months since I joined the society have really helped me,” you say with a soft smile as you wrap your fingers around your mug softly.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever really move on, but it feels easier as the days go on,” you tell Miguel. “I guess, it also helped that I eventually found the man. Or rather, he found me. I forgave him,” you say with a quiet sigh and offer Miguel a smile. And as he stares at you, he realizes how much stronger you are than he thought. “He was my own version of Flint Marko, otherwise known as Sandman. He never meant to hurt Peter that day. He was just – trying to rob a bank to get money for his child’s surgery.”

You stare down at the cups and think of Marko. Last you heard from him, he was trying to do better, and his daughter, who was now older, recovered from her illness. You lift the cup to your lips and take a small drink before setting it down.

“I’m not the best example of how to do it,” you say, looking up. “But I try and sometimes, that’s all you can do. For them.”

Miguel continues to stare at you and even though you thought you might’ve found judgment in his eyes, you see none of the sort. Miguel stares at you with even more respect than before. He looks down at his hands for a few seconds before he looks up again.

“I think – Peter must be happy that you are trying to honor his promises,” he says softly, wishing he could say more. Wishing he could reach out to you physically the way his hands were begging him to.

You smile at him. “I think so, too. I think he’s happy with where I’m now. You know, the whole reason I joined the Spider Society was because of him. I declined the invitation from Jess initially until she asked me what he would’ve thought about everything. I know he would’ve loved the idea of it. He would’ve loved learning about the multiverse,” you say with a grin and then shake your head softly as you pick up the mug again. “He loved science, too.”

Miguel stares at you, surprised at hearing this. Jess never mentioned you rejecting her invitation. He looks up at the ceiling a little bit and in that moment, he finds himself internally thanking a man he never met.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he says after a few seconds of silence. “I’m sorry if it made you…” Miguel trails off.

You turn to him again. “It’s okay. It didn’t. It helps,” you say, and your tone is still lighthearted. “I think I’m ready to try the other drink.”

Miguel continues to stare at you. “I think I am, too… This one is sweeter,” he says as he wraps his fingers around the mug. Miguel watches as you lift the mug to your mouth to try it and once again, there’s that pleased look on your face that makes him forget his worry from earlier about messing with your plans. You don’t seem to mind.

As the two of you sit there and enjoy the second hot drink, Miguel’s thoughts are on you. You’re so strong and not only in a physical way but in a way that Miguel feels he hasn’t been able to. You’re strong by trying to fulfill your promises. For forgiving the man that took Peter from you. For trying to move forward and trying at life. Miguel has never said it, but he respects you.

You’ve accepted his boundaries in a way so many others haven’t. You’ve offered him nothing but kindness. You’ve listened when he shares memories with you. You’re a hard worker and meticulous when it comes to your duties as Spider-Woman. You’re strong. So strong.

And his respect for you grows tenfold, if that’s even possible, considering how much he already respected you before tonight. Miguel thinks about this and the fact that you’re the first person that has been to his penthouse in years.

Friend.

Maybe you do consider him a friend, Miguel thinks to himself as he takes a drink, too.

“This is really good, too,” you say quietly as you drink more, and for some reason, it makes Miguel feel pleased.

“Glad you liked both,” he murmurs as he drinks more. He suddenly wonders what time it is. The two of you have been here for what feels like two hours now. He checks the time discreetly from a nearby clock.

It’s past eleven, which means it’s almost time for the annual AI Christmas holographic show. He stands up, making you turn to see him.

“It’s almost time for something my city does annually. I think you’ll like it,” he says and motions for you to follow him.

You see him take his mug and you do the same before you follow him to the windows that face his kitchen and dining areas directly, giving Miguel another sight of the city. He leans sideways on the windows and looks down, waiting for you to join him. You reach the windows and lean on them, too, mirroring his stance. You look down and see the Christmas decorations on the snow-covered ground despite being on the highest floor of this building. The decorations, which are holographic, make you realize for the first time that there’s no sight of a Christmas tree in Miguel’s penthouse. You don’t say anything about this, of course. You know with everything that’s happened, a Christmas tree is the last thing one can think about in times like these. You’re glad there’s at least a little bit of Christmas spirit in Miguel since he cooked and took the day off though.

Still watching the decorations, you think of something and wonder. You’ve noticed some of them from HQ when you walk by the windows throughout the month, but it’s been like a second thought with missions and what not. You wonder now if everyone has holographic Christmas trees or if physical trees are still a thing here. You look up at Miguel and he turns, as if feeling your gaze.

“What is it?” he asks softly before he takes a drink.

“Are physical Christmas trees a thing here?”

Miguel gives you a small smile, which still catches you by surprise. “Only the wealthy have physical trees. Everyone else has holographic decorations,” he explains, and you nod. You know Miguel is wealthy, so his lack of a tree is not because of money but because he didn’t want to put one up.

You look back outside, thinking. Miguel continues to stare at you, wanting to know what you’re thinking.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he asks, though for him it isn’t. He’s used to the technology and to this tradition, but he can imagine how it can be odd for you when you come from a universe where physical Christmas trees are the norm.

You bring the cup to your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the hot drink. “I was just thinking how putting the Christmas tree together as a family is a big thing. Or well, it was for my family and I.”

Miguel nods, remembering what you said earlier about your family and the holidays. He leans more into the window, crossing one of his legs over the other.

“To make up for that, families sit down and design the ornaments together through their devices. Then, they upload their designs to the tree. There’s a program and everything,” he says thinking about the process. He has an artificial tree, which is stored at HQ, but he also has a holographic one from previous years when he was too busy to put a physical one with his family. “I’ll show you,” he suddenly says, putting his mug on the window stool before he heads to the living room section. As he looks for a tablet on his table, he can’t help but think about this. How he’s comfortable showing you things. How he wants to show you things. Like how the holographic tree program works or the annual AI Christmas holographic show which should start soon.

Friend.

He finds the tablet and starts it up, which only takes about a second to boot up. He walks back to you as he opens the program. He reaches you and stands closer to show you.

“First, you put the tree up,” he says as he shows you the screen. The two of you stand side by side, looking at the screen as he clicks on the tablet. He looks up and points. “It’ll appear right there.”

Sure enough, a large holographic Christmas tree, decorated in classic Christmas colors, appears a few feet away from the two of you, near Miguel’s dining table.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur as you notice the star at the top of the tree.

“Thank you,” Miguel says as he looks at it, too. He wasn’t expecting to put up a tree this year but here he is. He looks back down at the screen. “Then, you can design your own ornaments using this program,” Miguel continues and shows you. He pulls out a stylus from the tablet, surprising you. The tablet is so thin you wonder how it’s even possible but then remember it’s Nueva York.

You watch as Miguel uses the stylus to design an ornament. He inserts lines as part of the design and changes the color of the ornament to match the theme. It takes him a few seconds to finish before he writes his name on it neatly.

“And it’s done. Now you upload it like this,” he says and shows you. “The program decides where it should go but you can manually change it if you want,” he adds.

The two of you look up just as it appears on an empty spot on the tree. Miguel then offers you the tablet and stylus. You look up at him, confused.

“Try it,” he says, still waiting for you to take the tablet and stylus from his hands.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking down at it.

He nods. “Give it a go.”

You set your mug next to his on the window stool and take the tablet and stylus from him, your fingers brushing past his bare ones once again. You ignore the sensation and focus on the screen with the new canvas to design yours. Your brows furrow as you think for a second about what you want it to look like. You start working on it, with Miguel watching intently. He notices how quickly you figure out how to use the program and watches as you design your ornament with ease.

As you work on it, you can’t help but notice a scent. Or rather his scent. You’ve caught a bit of it before of course but it has never been this strong to your nose. Not like this when he stands by your side, so close your arms are almost touching, with him dressed in normal clothes. You add small details to your ornament as his scent envelops you, distracting you slightly as the combination of his shower products and shaving cream blended with his natural scent surround you. You can’t suppress the thought that pops into your head at that moment, which is that his scent is delightful.

You clear your throat quietly as you add your name to the ornament. You stare at it for a few seconds.

“Hmm, I like the traditional stuff, but not going to lie, this was fun,” you say and smile at Miguel, still feeling distracted by his scent. “I can see kids enjoying this a lot.”

Miguel nods, his lips curling upward again as you give him the tablet back, completely unaware of your thoughts. “You may not like the architecture, but I think you would settle just fine in this universe,” he comments, as he looks at your ornament, thinking of how quickly you figured it out and the fact that yours turned out better than his. “Now… you just upload it,” he says softly before he does exactly like that. You stare at the tree, feeling a little surprised that he’s adding your ornament, but you shrug it off. The two of you watch as your ornament, which matches the tree’s theme, appears right next to his.

Miguel stares at it, the sight of your ornament appearing next to his makes him pause for a second. It’s the first time in years Miguel has put up a tree in his penthouse. It’s also the first time that a non-family person has added their ornament to his tree.

Miguel now clears his throat quietly. “Not bad at all,” he says and nods. “Oh, the show should start soon,” he says, trying to put his thoughts away about the tree and your ornament.

You nod. “Thank you. That was fun,” you add as you turn your attention back to the decorations outside. You briefly look down at your gizmo. It’s 11:33 P.M. now, meaning Christmas Day is less than thirty minutes away now. You’ve spent a lot more time here than you expected but you don’t mind. You wonder if people back in Miles’s universe have left the party or if they’re still hanging out.

“Glad you enjoyed that,” Miguel says softly, putting the tablet on a nearby surface. You notice he doesn’t put the tree away. It’s still there as he leans on the window sideways again, looking outside towards the decorations as well. He briefly thinks about Gabriella. He only had one Christmas with her. He remembers it vividly as he looks out, recalling Gabriella’s excitement on Christmas morning. He remembers thinking how perfect it was and how, if all his future Christmases could’ve been like that, he would’ve never asked for anything else. His wife wasn’t in the picture then, so it had just been Gabriella and him. Now that he thought of it, he and his wife didn’t have much time together. It was very brief. Miguel clears his throat. He doesn’t want to think of the past like that right now. He doesn’t want to think of how rushed everything was when it came to his relationship and marriage. Not tonight.

His thoughts are thankfully interrupted when he sees the sign that the show is starting. He turns to look at you to make sure you’re watching, and of course, you are. Your eyes are on the sky as you see the announcement before it starts, filled with curiosity and awe. Miguel turns his gaze back to the sky as the show starts. Holographic Christmas trees appear from thin air, all lit up in Christmas colors. Reindeer fly by the windows, galloping here and there. Twinkling lights decorate the background as holographic snowflakes descend before they begin to form into snowmen that start dancing.

You watch in awe, finding this fascinating. Miguel steals a glance to see your reaction. He sees the awe and fascination on your face, clearly enjoying this.

“This isn’t even the best part,” he says quietly as he knows there’s always more to it.

You smile as reindeer fly by the windows again. “This is so – I wish we had this in my universe,” you answer quietly. “The closest we have to this are projections.”

Miguel chuckles lowly. “Well… You’re welcome to come watch it again next year,” he answers as he crosses his arms across his chest.

Neither of you say anything else. Was that an invitation for you to join him again next year? You push your thoughts away and focus on the show just as a holographic Santa Claus and his sled appear out of nowhere, making you smile.

“Santa Claus,” you whisper as the sled approaches Miguel’s windows. The holographic Santa Claus waves as he passes by making you chuckle. The show continues with Santa Claus flying around as the reindeer align themselves to the sled, supposedly to get ready for the flight. At one point the show presents Santa’s workshop and tiny elves working on different toys and preparing the sled. It concludes with Santa flying by the windows again, this time with all his reindeer and magical sack of toys before they fly off, disappearing into the sky. A large holographic “Feliz Navidad” message and red poinsettias conclude the show.

You stare at the message, still in awe with a smile.

“That was amazing. You grew up with this?” you ask softly.

Miguel nods. “Gabriel and I always looked forward to it.”

You smile, once again thinking of a younger Miguel. “It must be amazing, to experience this as a child,” you answer, thinking of kids.

“The kids love it,” he replies as he also stares at the message, knowing it will stay up past midnight.

You nod and the two of you just stare out the window in silence for a few minutes. You watch as you see white, tiny spots in the sky. With each second, more and more appear.

“It’s starting to snow,” you murmur, making Miguel pay more attention and sure enough, it’s snowing.

“A white Christmas,” he whispers, as the snow picks up.

“A white Christmas,” you repeat.

The two of you stand ever so closely, leaning on the window sideways, your bodies facing each other as you watch the falling snow. And in that moment, everything feels alright with the world for you and Miguel, despite everything.

You look down at your gizmo. It’s past midnight now.

“Merry Christmas,” you say, quietly.

Miguel smiles softly as the two of you stare out the window. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Thirty minutes later, Miguel stands in front of his holographic Christmas tree alone. You returned home a few minutes ago, looking and sounding tired after being out for so long. So, you both said goodnight to each other but not before Miguel asked if you’d want some food or if you’d prefer to join him again in a few hours for the recalentado.

You said yes to the latter.

Miguel continues to stare at the tree, or more specifically at the new ornaments, for a few minutes, thinking.

Friend.

He finally goes to sleep after storing the food away. He leaves the Christmas tree up, which you still find when you return hours later to eat dinner with him on Christmas Day.

__________________________

Translation for italicized words: Mierda - Shit Pozole - A kind of soup/stew made from hominy and meat (can be chicken or beef). Tamales - I think everyone knows these Tinga - Latin dish made out of meat (pork, chicken) in sauce with onions, chiles chipotle and tomatoes. Can be eaten on tostadas or as burritos (my experience) Atole Blanco - white atole, a Latin hot drink made out of corn meal Ponche Navideño - Mexican Christmas fruit punch Tostadas - toasted tortillas; usually used as a base for different culinary dishes Recalentado - word translates to "reheated"; this is the act of inviting your closest friends and family the day after you host a party to eat the reheated leftovers, it's supposed to be a smaller tight-knit situation and less formal because it's with close family/friends (do you see what this means for you, the reader? I'm not okay, right now)

May I just -

Miguel in a freaking chunky cable knit sweater. His damp hair. His bare skin. His scent (I KNOW HE SMELLS GOOD and you cannot change my mind). Him knowing that you were asked specifically to go drop him food. Him asking you to stay for dinner. Him serving the food. Him being a great cook. Him being a great host. His respect for you growing. Him wanting to comfort you physically (AHH.) Him showing you the annual Christmas show and how the holographic Christmas tree thing works and adding your ornament and staring at it because it appeared next to his and him leaving the tree up even tho he didn't plan on putting one up and him thanking Peter for influencing you to join the Spider Society even tho he never met him (CRYING, SCREAMING). Him inviting you for dinner again!!!!!!

So a lot of people said yes to the Christmas part but I was also selfish and wanted to write Miguel like this and get some Christmas comfort before the next part because... yeah. So, sorry to anyone who didn't want it. I needed this.

Also, I'm sorry for the late update. I meant to post Sunday but it was that time of the month and it kicked my butt. I hope you enjoy it, and if you've read this far, thank you for the support!! ❤️ I hope to be back Sunday with an update, tho I have a family event Saturday so idk if it'll be possible but I'll try.

I love Miguel so much and it's a problem but it's okay -Alondra

Tag list:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @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 @mandodinstuff @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze

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