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axeoverblade · 1 year

Text

Classmate

PART ONE (CURRENT); PART TWO ; PART THREE

Earth 42! Miles Morales x fem! reader

Synopsis! For the life of you , you couldn’t understand why Miles had it out to get you so bad. If it wasn’t for the mid-year seat change, he wouldn’t have even acknowledged your existence.

MASTERLIST

Genre: light fluff, enemies to lovers like trope, light bully!Miles

Warnings: mentions of sa (nothing happens just mentioned), mentions of violence, maybe foul language but I think that’s it enjoy!

word count: 5k

Authors comment: I keep seeing School themed hcs and I had to say me sphewl(?), planned to be one shot but thinking about a part two. Sorry for any bad translations my Spanish is meh, please leave a like <3

It was known half way through the school year at Visions Academy the teachers changed the assigned seats. Being in your last hour, you were pretty much comfortable sitting next to almost anyone in the class.

Albeit, you did have a few in your mind you would rather not be sat with. Kids who didn’t like to do the group work, kids who talked too much, kids who always were trying to copy answers, etc.

The teacher went through the neatly organized desks column by column, starting on the left side closest to the door for the new seating chart. There were only four columns seeing as the wooden desks were double seated. You listened as she went through assigning kids to chairs, finally reaching the last column. There were about seven other kids along with you still waiting to be called to the four desks available. All the kids left were somewhat iffy options to be next to for the rest of the year.

…

Only you and three others were left. She called out to the second to last desk, “Amanda and John”. You sigh a breath of relief happy to not be sat next to John who had a crush on you, your thoughts replaying all the times he had tried to get with you. Feelings were not mutual. “ And Finally Y/n and Miles.”

You walked over to the seat from the front of the room, seeing the Miles kid already getting comfortable in his new seat closest to the wall.

You never had the chance to talk to Miles much. Actually, you don’t think you’ve ever talked to him. He was very reticent in the classroom. The moment he finished his work which was always relatively quick, he was out of the class leaving a few minutes to spare coming back before the bell rang.

There was a reason you never made an effort to talk to Miles. In fact, it was more like you endeavored to avoid him. His hedonistic friend group were known for being-, uncivil. They treated others horribly, always making someone do something that would make your stomach churn if you had to be the one to do it. And even though Miles was known to never actively participate in those things, anyone who hung around people who did those things were bound to start someday.

What confused you though, he was extremely smart unlike the jerks he was always with. You heard he was one of the highest scoring kids, every report card stamped with straight As. That wasn’t much at this school, almost everyone had straight As and high Bs, but all his grades averaged above 94.

There was also no denying he was very attractive. Surprisingly he was never seen with anyone romantically, unlike his friends who always had a girl or two under their arms. There were definitely people were lined up at his feet though, always trying to cling to him. He always just brushed them off, sometimes blunter than he needed to be.

You had seen it once, a girl you hadn’t really liked had gone up to him during passing period asking for his number only for him to look at her and walk right past her. All his friends and their shallow twats of girlfriends laughed at her, walking with Miles past her.

She cried in bathroom for forty minutes after.

You stood next to your seat, putting your bag down. “Hi I’m y/n” you said, formally introducing yourself to Miles for the first time. He looked up to you from his phone. You watched as he took his time studying you, making you slightly flustered as his eyes roamed your body. He looked back down at his phone, disregarding your presence. “I know.”

You blinked a few times processing the abrupt rudeness.

You rolled your eyes and whispered a few choice words to yourself about the interaction as you sat down, realizing you were stuck next to him for the rest of the year.

You pulled out your phone, texting your friend and roommate Mei, who was across the room, about how rude Miles was. She looked up, seeing you staring at her irritated. She giggled before texting back.

Mei: He so fine tho 😍 ask em if he needs a dog

You: Mei 💀

You: he’s so rude n for what? Like he could’ve just nodded or said his name. I know he got that whole “bad boy” thing goin but ain’t have to do allat

Mei: Ion know gl tho 💯

You: Ur no help 😭 Ima ask for a seat change

Mei: It's the first five minutes you have sat next to each other, maybe he is just nervous from ur emmense beauty 😩 I know I would be

Mei: PLUS u know Ms Reita does not b swappin seats. You know how many times I asked to be moved from Jessica only for her to say tuff luck and move on? Seventeen times. Just give it time n maybe it gets better you never know

You: 😐

You shook your head and put your phone down as the teacher started passing out the work. It was a normal worksheet due by the end of class. You went through, solving the easier problems before going back and finishing the ones you skipped.

You were on your last problem when Miles hand shot up lazily. Ms.Reita looked at him and sighed, knowing that he was going to leave for almost the rest of class period if she let him leave the room. “Is your worksheet finished?” “I wouldn’t be raisin’ my hand if it wasn’t.” “Watch it Morales, wouldn’t want to have to tell your Mom you have detention would you?” He sighed before mockingly smiling “sorry Ms.Reita, can I so humbly excuse myself?” He batted his eyelashes for extra effect, clearly tired of the interaction and ready to leave. She huffed as pointed to the door. You snickered to yourself watching the exchange. He looked at you, a glint of amusement washing over his eyes, but the look left as soon as it appeared. He looked away getting up and walking out.

You walked with Mei back to your shared dorm, talking about the nonsense that flooded your minds. Luckily for you, it was Friday and you could go home tonight, you just had to go grab your bag and you would be free from this hell hole.

…

“Alright Mei I’ll see you on Monday” you said, grabbing your suitcase and backpack, pulling it with you to leave. She smiled and waved, still packing. “Bye baby mama” you rolled your eyes playfully at what she said. She would constantly make jokes about how she could care for you and be your sugar momma, even though she was just as broke as you were.

You walked toward the lobby of the school, seeing the exit to the building so close. It felt like knowing air was near when you were drowning, finally being able to catch a break and breathe- “oh sorry baby girl, didn’t see you there.” You felt someone bump into you, too intentional for it to be accident. You cringed at the nickname and gathered yourself. Luckily you hadn’t fallen, just stumbled causing your bag to fall off you. “Don’t call me that John.” You said, picking up your bag and slinging it in on your shoulder. “You know you like it” he said, closer than he needed to be. Recoiling at the sound of him so close to your ear, you stuck your hand out and lightly pushed him further from you. “I really don’t, I already told you I want nothin’ to do with you.” You continued to walk to the exit, only for him to walk beside you. “Cmon baby I can show you the world, stop playing hard to get.” You looked at him, stopping in your tracks, “I’m not playing hard to get, this is me playing I don’t want you” “so you admit you're playing about not wanting me?” He said, smirking. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, just wanting to go home. “For the final time John, I am not interested.” You walked again, this time he didn’t follow because his friends were walking up to him. “I’ll see you on Monday baby!” He called out loudly, drawing attention to the both of you. You scowled and walked faster out the building, happy to not have to see John for a few days.

Unbeknownst to you, Miles was watching the interaction from the beginning, ignoring his friends talk about the girls that passed or the sexist comments they made. He noted how you reacted to John, how much disgust surged through your body language. He disliked John, but for separate reasons. John was one of those guys. Class A jock who didn’t know when to quit. Also didn’t know when to shut their mouths. Granted, those were the exact people he hung around. But at least he could tolerate their idiocy, and it was better than walking around the school alone all day. Only kid he hung around that wasn’t like that was his roommate Ganke.

He watched as you scowled and left the school. He shrugged minding his own business, zoning back into the conversation about who had the biggest boobs.

Monday rolled around quicker than you could’ve imagined. And it felt like a Monday, which never helped. You trudged into your last hour groggily, just wanting to be done with the day so you could go back to your dorm and sleep. Walking over to your seat, you looked at Mei across the room. She wiggled her eyebrows, mouthing for you to initiate conversation with Miles. You rolled your eyes, sitting down. Miles was sketching lightly on the worksheet already passed out on the desks. You tried to look at it, but the braid that draped over his shoulder covered your view. You didn’t want to seem invasive, so you just grabbed your sheet and began working.

Finishing the sheet quickly, you got on your phone, scrolling through your socials. You saw a news alert flash across the top of your screen, some message about “the prowler striking again” over the weekend. You swiped it away.

You didn’t hate the prowler in all honesty, but you would never admit that out loud. Whoever was under the mask did bad things, but usually only to bad people. Usually.

The police barely did anything anymore, making it hard to even go outside without getting mugged or groped or something bad. With the prowler being out and about, some idiots have been scared off the streets, enough to where you could at least walk to and from your family apartment to school. In your eyes, the vigilante kinda helped a little.

“Stop tapping, its annoyin” a voice rudely interrupted you from your thoughts. You looked over to see miles looking at you, semi-irritated. You hadn’t realized you were tapping the desk, something you did unconsciously when you were lost in your own mind. You pulled your hand back, putting it on your thigh, “my fault, ain need all that attitude though” you said looking at him. He rolled his eyes and started drawing again. “Whatcha’ sketching?” You asked, leaning towards him slightly. He looked at you with furrowed brows, blinking a couple of times, before going back to sketching ignoring your question. El tiene algunos nervios. Instead of just excusing his behavior like you did on Friday, you opted to invade his personal space; moving his braid, your head now hovering over his shoulder. He moved his body quickly, his reflexes faster than you could process. “Qué coño estás haciendo?” He said sternly, but you didn’t budge. “You didnt wanna respond” you said not looking at him, more focused on the drawing. “That ain’ answer my question” he said, you could feel the irritation laced in his voice, but instead of leaving him alone like he wanted, you grabbed the paper to get a better view. The drawing was a well portrayed mask of sorts, oddly similar to the prowlers, and a few weapons all sketched on the back of his paper. You raised your eyebrow at the drawing. He was actually really good at drawing, the detail for him to have started that less than twenty minutes ago impressed you. He snatched the paper back. You turned your head to him, seeing him looking at you with furrowed eyebrows, getting ready to say something. “Answer me next time and I won’t have to do that” you said before he could speak, a mocking smile laying on your lips. He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath before going back to sketching.

One word, Regret.

You really wish you hadn’t decided to let you imaginary balls get the best of you. Because now Miles how a personal vendetta against you. Damn your pride. Within the span of few weeks he somehow had broken into your locker and trashed you books, he made sure it wasn’t anything that you couldn’t fix easily though, just a few torn pages. He constantly would shove you, which he mude sure to do lightly to not actually hurt you, into the lockers when he passed you in the nearly empty halls when he was with his friends. He would say the most outlandish things to you whenever you passed him when the halls were too crowded and others could see what he did. He made sure his friends didn’t mess with you though, knowing they would take it way too far how they had with the other kids they harassed. And even though you tried to ignore him the first few weeks hoping he would stop, he never did. You swore you could feel yourself loosing your mind.

Miles had only originally planned on pestering you for a day or two to get the point across that you should’ve left him alone, but then he realized how fun it was to provoke you. You became his entertainment, or at least that was the reason that he told himself he went out of his way to annoy you. And now that he had gotten on your last nerve, you were like a ticking time bomb every time.

You made school easier for him, giving him something to look forward to. Your reactions were always so animated, almost comical, making messing with you so funny. He didn’t just mess with you in sense of picking on you., he would mess with you feelings too. He looked for you in the halls just to go behind you and pull you by your backpack into him. You would lose your balance then he would put his hands on you waist to stabilize you, whispering in your the cusp of your ear sternly to “watch where you’re going mami”, a nickname he now would often call you just to see how irritated and flustered you would get. You would always reply with a snarky remark, something along the lines of “he pulled you into him”, always stuttering through the sentence no matter the amount of times he had done this to you, siempre fue tan mono a él. Something that unintentionally brought his face to a smirk was how you never mentioned anything about the nicknames he gave you like you did with John.

His friends would constantly make comments about how Miles liked you and now you were off limits, but every time he shot the idea down with a quick annoyed face. But perish the thought one of his friends gets talks about you the wrong way. They had seen the way Miles looked at the guy who had walked up to and called you pretty. Didn’t ask for your number, didn’t do anything weird, just called you pretty. The problem wasn’t even the compliment, it was how genuinely big you smiled but it wasn’t because of him.

Miles wasn’t going to deny he found you attractive. He had seen you the first day he walked into Vision academy a year ago and couldn’t get you out of his head for week. Hell you were probably the prettiest girl in the school, but maldito eres molestosa. When laying on the bed in his dorm room the nights he wasn’t out doing his prowler work, he could hear your pesky voice ringing in his ears, también pudo ver tu cara hermosa. He hated it. He hated how sometimes your face would pop up in his brain during a mission, and it would make him falter for a moment. Something as simple as hesitating, even for a millisecond, could’ve had him killed mid fight.

He didn’t actually care for you, at least that’s what he told himself. So you can understand why it bothered him so much that he hated weekends now, knowing it was extra days where he couldn’t see you, feel you. Even if it was just a brush on the shoulder when doing partner work, or him shoving you lightly when walking past, glaring at you like you were the one that bumped into him.

It annoyed you to no end you were stuck next to him for the rest of the year. What annoyed you even more was how attracted you were to him. He was so dismissive toward you, and for some reason you would sit in your room giggling with Mei about how his laugh, even though the only reason you had heard it was because he was making fun of you, was the most attractive thing you have ever heard.

…

Luckily today was Friday so you could enjoy the weekend.

It had been a few months since you had been moved next to Miles, a few months since you decided to overstep a boundary you wish you hadn’t, a few months since you’ve been slowly loosing your sanity. Miles had taken it upon himself to mess with you in class, staying for almost the whole period now a days to do just that.

“If you would finish your work then we could be done already” you mumbled under your breath, looking at the shared work you had to do that Miles hadn’t even looked at, too engrossed in his phone. The two of you had been going back and forth since the start of class, now only roughly fifteen minutes left. He looked up to you, squinting from annoyance, “do you ever just, I don’t know, close your mouth?”. You rolled your eyes “If you, I don’t know, finish your half so I can go turn this in then yea maybe I would.” He scoffed, pulling the paper closer to him. A few minutes passed and he slid the paper over to you “don’t say anything else”. You looked at the paper, seeing he had completed his half of the work in record time, you must really annoy him. “Well if you just did that earlier” you said sarcastically, picking up the paper and walking over to the turn in bin, placing the paper in it.

As you walked back to your seat, John started to talk to you. You pursed your lips, walking past him heading to your seat behind him. That didn’t stop him, as all he did was turn his chair around to face you. “So the party is tonight, you can come-” he paused, putting emphasis on the word winking at you, hinting at something else. You looked at him disgusted. “And we can have a lot of fun, perfect chance for you to see how much you truly like me.” You blinked a few times, “yea no” was all you said before looking at your phone. You didn’t fail to hear the small, quiet breathy laugh that fell from Miles lips as he stared at his phone, overhearing the conversation. His laugh alone could make your knees buckle. You quickly brought yourself back to reality, not letting your mind flow with any positive thoughts about Miles. “Cmon’ baby, promise I’ll show you a good time.” “Ain’ I tell you not to call me that?” You said, annoyed that John just couldn’t leave you alone. “You know we locked in, you keep playin.” “John-” “aight hear me out, you come to the party, if you don’t have a nice time -which I can guarantee you will- I’ll leave you alone, how does that sound?” “You’ll leave me alone?” You said, intrigued by the offer. “If you come.” You sighed, “lemme ask my momma.” He smiled widely, happy to have finally convinced you. Miles secretly looked between the two of you with his eyebrows furrowed, thinking how pathetic John was.

A few minutes passed as John sat facing you, waiting for a response. You sighed, causing him to perk up. “I need to be home by 11, and you have to send me the address. My mom also needs your number and your mommas number, comprende?” He nodded quickly, typing all the information into your phone so you could send it to your mom. You sent the message, already regretting your decision.

Sure enough.

You sped walk home, the time nearing 10:45. Wiping the tear that trickled down your cheek, you scoffed. The party started off great, you and John had a great time, initially.

Then things got weird, he tried to take you to a bedroom upstairs, you declined, him being intoxicated, grabbed you forcefully to take you up. You were glad you were taught basic self defense. You kneed him in the bolas and grabbed your bag, quickly leaving. You wondered what would’ve happened if you had dranken something, where you wouldn’t have been fully aware of your surroundings. You hurrying to dismiss the thought, happy to be out the party

Normally you would be much more aware of the world around you, had you not been so lost in your thoughts. “Hey there pretty lady” you heard, you couldn’t catch a break tonight. You started walking quicker, almost jogging with your eyes focused ahead of you, as you just wanted to get home safely. “You ain’t hear us talkin to you?” Your eyes widened at the mention of us, realizing there was more than one. You searched for your switch blade that would usually be inside your pocket, but it was no where to be found. You figured it must’ve fallen out at the party, you silently cursed to yourself. Three men were now matching your speed, and suddenly were next to you.

“What’s a little momma like you doing out here all alone, don’t you know there’s bad guys out here?”

“Don’t worry baby, we’ll keep you safe”, they grabbed you forcefully covering your mouth so you wouldn’t alert anyone, not like anyone would help. They pulled you to the nearest alley. You bit the hand of whoever was covering your mouth, causing them to let go of your face. You took this as an opportunity to scream for dear life, only to be smacked into a state of drowsiness. You quickly shook yourself out of it, feeling the stinging sensation spread across your face. Your ear was ringing lightly, and you could’ve sworn this dude knocked your tooth loose. You spit at the guy across from you, seeing bloody saliva land on his face. The guy behind you who was holding you let go and moved to the side. Before you could react to the new found freedom, you were pushed roughly into the wall behind you. “Tonto puta, all you had to do was cooperate” the guy in front of you said, wiping the spit off his face.

Ready to accept whatever was going to happen, you closed your eyes and scrunched your face, only to hear screams of pain from the three men, followed by an uncanny silence.

You opened your eyes, seeing the prowler standing where the man in front of you once was with a bloody claw. The three men were laying on the ground, damn near lifeless. Your eyes widened, your mouth parting from the sight. The vigilante stared at you, you could see the eye like symbols displayed on the mask slightly widened at the sight of the hand-mark on your face before recomposing into a stoic, neutral setting. You were too shocked, and mostly scared to say anything.

The figure got closer, to which you could work out was a male. You took note of the two braids cascading down their neck behind the mask, as well as the oddly clean Jordan’s they sported. You didn’t have much time to take in their lanky appearance, as they took a final step towards you, making it so you had to look up at their mask. Their presence loomed over you eerily. You gaped at him, your pleading eyes filled with fear. You knew he wasn’t necessarily a villain per say, closer to the flip side if anything. He did just save you. But the thought of an individual being so much more powerful than you, knowing that at any moment he would always in control no matter what you did, threw your brain into a constant state of unease. Feeling your heart beating out your chest, you raised your hands lightly placing it on their chest to stop them from getting any closer, even though you knew they could easily overpower you no matter what you did. His heartbeat was slow, almost calming to feel. “Please” you whispered, voice barely leaving your larynx.

As quickly as he had come he left. You looked around, finally spotting him lurking on top of the building across from you, crouching along the ledge looking at you. You looked at the Prowler one last time, making eye contact with their mask silently mouthing a ‘thank you’. He flipped away to wherever else he goes, not acknowledging your gratitude. You nearly collapsed, sliding down the wall. Your hands aggressively wiped your face before meeting your hairline, resting there as you breathed ruggedly. The adrenaline you had was wearing off, and the bruises the men left you with became more prominent on your skin, as well as more painful. At least your opinion about the prowler was correct, he was a good guy after all, to you at least.

Returning to school on Monday was a catastrophe, news spread like wildfire about you being attacked by the three men, as well as your encounter with the Prowler. Random people were approaching you asking what is what like and other random questions revolving around your attack. No one however, was talking about what happened at the party. But you couldn’t blame them, not many people saw what had happened.

…

It was finally the last period. You wanted nothing more for this to blow over, and for you to be done with the day back in your dorm. You walked in, wavering slightly seeing John leaning on your desk. You noticed Miles sitting in his seat on his phone, eye bags deeper than usual.

You quickly sat down, trying your best to ignore John's attempts to talk to you.

“Y/n please it was an accident-”

You ignored him getting your pencil out of the top zipper of your bag.

“Y/n please just listen I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing you gotta believe me” he leaned toward to take your hand, causing you to flinch and pull back. You looked at him angrily “you think being drunk excuses anything?” Your voice was calm and almost at a whisper despite how you felt, trying your best to draw the least amount of attention. He sighed desperately, “No it doesn’t but you gotta see it from my perspective-” “what perspective John?!? The one where you tried to force yourself on me? Or the one where you tried to take me upstairs against my will? I swear if you come near me again, I won’t hesitate to cut your polla off, comprende?” Ms. Reita asked everyone to take their seats, causing John to look at you solemnly before scoffing and turning to his seat.

You huffed, putting your head between your crossed arms on the table. “What happened at the party?” You looked over to Miles surprised. You hadn’t expected him to ask you any questions, but if he did you figured it would be something about the prowler incident. “Nothin’.” You said dismissively. He looked at you skeptically. Before you could even react, he grabbed your phone off the desk and tucked it in his pocket. “You ain’ gettin’ it back til you tell me what happened.” “Why do you care so much?” “Your wrinkles n’ dark circles look worse than usual, wanna know why.” “Could say the same for you” he looked at you blankly. You sighed, “John got a lil’ too handsy is all, don’t worry ‘bout it. Can I have my phone back-“ “mami, how handsy?” His stern voice caught you off guard. He looked at John's direction for a split second, you could’ve sworn you’d seen Miles look at John with a look of determined death. He looked back at you eyebrows furrowed, “he tried to take me upstairs n’ I wasn’t feelin’ it, so he tried to make me” you uttered, a little quieter towards the end of your sentence. “Left before he could do anything” you finished, “can I get my phone back now?” You looked at him tiredly. He let out a simple huh and gave you your phone back, his full attention now on johns figure ahead in the seat diagonally ahead of him.

…

The class had been dismissed, luckily Miles had decided to leave you alone today, you were too tired to deal with his antics anyway. Walking over to Mei dismissing John's stare, you two began walking out of the class heading to the lobby so you head back to your dorm room. As you were walking back Mei stopped at a vending machine to get a couple snacks for the dorm so you two could have a movie night. You waited as she inserted her money, clicking which snacks you both liked to buy them. As she was stuffing the snacks in her bag zipping it up, a student screamed “FIGHT”. You looked over seeing a crowd forming and walked over to see what was happening. Bullying your way to the front you saw Miles on top of John, pounding John's blood stricken face damn near permanently into the floor. Your eyes enlarged at the sight. Miles was clearly irate, and from the looks of it, had no plans of stopping. A security guard quickly ran in and grabbed miles off John's limp body. Miles spit at John, yelling something at him in Spanish that you couldn’t hear over the commotion. You looked at John's body, seeing him look almost unconscious as he coughed violently and rested on his elbows, trying to catch his breath. You gaped at Miles, shock written all over your face. His chest rose and fell quickly as he looked around the room seeing all the people watching. His eyes stopped as they met yours, his gaze softening slightly before he looked away. A huff fell from his lips as he was dragged to the principal's office. He jerked his arm away, muttering something about how he knew how to walk.

John had to be sent to the hospital.

Miles was in the principal's office, sitting silently as John's parents screamed at the principal while Miles’s mother sat next to him upset. “My child is a great kid! And how is he supposed to feel safe in this school anymore knowing this can happen again, huh?” John's mom spewed mindlessly, ranting about how she was going to press charges. Miles scoffed, causing Rio to look at him with a look of “watch your mouth before I watch it for you.” He just looked down at his hands in his lap.

Miles walked out of the classroom to head back to his shared dorm. He couldn’t get out of his mind what John had done to you. As vague as your response was, he knew more had happened between you and John. He didn’t know why it bothered him so deeply, it wasn't even really his business. He knew the thought of someone being touched like that made him upset, but he felt pure outrage from this specifically, and he knew deep in his heart it was because it was because it was you who had gone through it.

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew he felt something different for you when he intervened the night the three men attacked you. He almost added three bodies to his belt, for you.

Usually, as bad as it sounds, he would mostly let people get robbed or thrown around in alleyways. He would help occasionally if it sounded gruesome or of dire need for assistance. But he had to save his city from the sinister six, and petty crimes that were bound to happened weren’t the ideal way to do that. But the voice screaming sounded familiar, kinda sounded like you. The thought of you being in danger offset his nerves, and he knew a you were going to a party that night so he went, just to check.

Sure enough.

He stalked you from above the rest of your walk home just to make sure nothing else happened.

He walked into the lobby consumed by his own thoughts, snapping back to reality as he overheard John talking to his friends about how “y/n finally let me hit, she was so tight-”. He paused in his tracks. Ain’ no way acaba de escuchar lo que pensó que hizo. He turned to the direction of John's voice, this was now his business. He walked over, becoming increasingly irate the more John talked about “how much you loved it”. John turned, hearing footsteps approaching alarming quickly. He saw Miles, John knew Miles had heard about what really happened at the party. John scoffed, somewhat anxious he had been caught in his lie and afraid Miles would try to embarrass him in front of his friends. He quickly spoke before Miles even had the chance to say a word,“You ain’ needed here Miles-” John was cut off by a fist colliding with his face, not what he was expecting at all. Johns friends gasped or yelled in shock, Miles didn’t stop though. Miles didn’t even say anything, small grunts of anger being the only thing leaving his lips as John hit the floor. Miles siguan latiendo la mierda fuera de él.

“What you won't even speak huh?” John's mom said, facing Miles. He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You wanna send my baby boy to the hospital and have no reason why? Why are you picking on my kid huh? You-” “You think your kid is the best thing on Gods green earth”Miles scoffed, cutting her off. “Cause he is, my kid wouldn’t hurt a fly and you-”“your oh so wonderful kid tried to rape a girl then went around yappin’ bout’ how much she enjoyed it.” The room fell silent. The principal eyes went wide, “Uh-Uhm, how about we resume this tommorow-” “well hold on,” Rio spoke for the first time, “My son intervened and helped someone in danger because their son was making girls unsafe in the school? Why is he being punished?” “Well Mrs.Morales we didn’t know that happened-” “so you immediately assumed my son was the cause of this not even getting evidence before?” “Well he did start-” “uhn-uh, their child is making the school more unsafe than Miles ever did. Why aren’t they being scolded for this?”

The principal apologized, saying Miles would be suspended for the rest of the week for starting the fight, but no charges could be pressed to avoid anybody getting into serious trouble.

Miles sat in the passenger seat of his moms car, the leather caressing his skin as he looked out the window. A hushed silence had fallen over the two a while ago. Silence is always worse than actually being screamed at, the anticipation is always so suffocating. “So.. who’s the girl?” His mom said, looking at the road ahead. Miles glanced at her before looking back out the window, “classmate.” She nodded, humming. Rio knew her son, and she knew Miles wouldn’t damn near end a kids life just just for some classmate.

“Ella tiene un nombre?” He sighed lightly, “Y/n.” Rio nodded and hummed again, looking at miles through the corner of her eye. “At some point throughout the week, I expect her over for dinner.” “I don’t even have her number, how is she supposed to know” Rio clicked her teeth and smirked,

“Encontrarás una manera”.

©axeoverblade

#42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 #miles morales #spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #prowler miles #prowler x reader #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #miles 42 #42 miles morales #miles x reader #miles x y/n #miles x you #kyoutani x reader #miles morales x y/n #cute #drama

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honestsycrets · 11 months

Note

omg sex worker miguel o’hara? 🤧🫡

grande | sex worker!miguel o'hara x assistant!reader

❛ pairing | sex worker!miguel o'hara x assistant!reader.

❛ type | extended drabble; 2kish words; explicit

❛ summary | you probably shouldn't tell a man that he's small. even if you've known him a very long time-- and especially if you see him fuck every day.

❛ tags | sex worker au, improper use of belts, male receiving oral, slight disagreements, workplace argument, Spanish is not translated

❛ sy’s notes | ...i now have an escort!miggy x rich girl!reader in my drafts to be finished at some other time because it became a bit depressing and plotty. needed something light to get back into writing for a bit.

He doesn’t play fair. Most women understand that about him. They know Miguel to be the man who bends the delicate boundaries of rules for a good fuck— be it a place, be it a position. Miguel would do what he had to for a better clip.

“Miggy?” You said, hands behind your hips. He should have known then that you were up to some shit. You hover somewhere in his vision with a sugar-sweet smile. You’ve worked with him alongside him since he chose this profession. Most days, he watched you sit by your favorite window that cast a warm midday sun, tacking away with fingers that flew across the keys. Some days, you’re watching him-- mounted on another woman. He cocked his thick brow at you.

“What?”

“I… it’s just… fuck. Elena had something come up.”

“Like I said she would."

Miguel set his fist to his cheek, swirling his protein shake in the other hand. This woman was your idea, not his. There’s a reason your voice choked on the words. You were anxious about your news the way your hands rounded to the front of your body, clammy hands plastered onto your tablet.

“I just thought—“

“I know what you thought. You thought my followers would like her.” He took a swig of his drink. “Not if she’d like me.”

That was exactly the issue. You do too much worrying about what the viewer likes, not enough about what he would like. He was well aware from every ping from Elena and the contorted little face you made that she was scared of him. As to why, he was not certain. He's grumpy, not dangerous.

“She does like you— it’s just your dick,“ you fumbled with your tablet, nearly spilling it over on his lap. “I told her you weren’t that big. She’s just— dramatic.”

“Not that big?”

You’re not winning this fight. He threw a look at the tablet, finding your suggestion more egregious than your description of it. Too thick! She complained. He’d stretch her out. Or, so she feared. He sincerely doubted that. She took enough dick that if that were the case, she’d have an issue long before now.

He’s not that big in real life. All that big dick crap is just marketing. I see his dick all the time.

Then you fuck him!

His mouth flattened into an unmoveable line, clearly unappeased with your response. For a moment, he did not move. He did not fidget. Nor respond. He simply stared down at you with those sharp, unhumored eyes. What little security you had in convincing him flitted away. He abandoned his drink on the table and leaned in close. Close enough that his thick strands of dark hair tickle your skin. Enough that you can smell the perfumed oil that lingered on his tanned skin. He always smelled so good.

“Until you’ve fucked me onscreen,” he brushed past. “Don’t tell women who will what I’m like.”

Oh. You made a mistake.

You don’t like it when Miguel is angry.

Most days coming to work, Miguel has a hot coffee on the table for you as you edit his finest ball-busting work. When the days stretch a little too long, he tells you when enough is enough. And, if you were lucky, he hovered at the stove and made you something to eat. It gave you a perfect sight of his toned shoulders and the long column of his spine-- which he so graciously allowed you to drool over day by day. Today, there was no half-dressed hunk making your delicious meals in sight.

He’s still angry. You pulled up his socials, scrolling through the responses to the latest video. A teasing blooper of a clip with a woman with Miguel’s length halfway down her throat, coughing up his seed all over her chest as you mistakingly giggle behind the screen.

“Keep laughing and see what happens,” Miguel drifted to yours, eyes hazy and soft, chest rising violently with the sundering sensation of his orgasm. He watched for the span of only a few heartbeats, a decadent warning exchanged between the two of you immeasurable before the camera. He reached for a tissue.

“Perdóname, papi.��

Does anyone know if they’re fucking? A user asked. It’s as if Miguel’s co-star was but a fading character. Any chance of seeing him fuck her?? Whats her @?

She’s just his employee.

Need this.

Just an employee. The words pulled on a string of connection that could at any time be cut. Miguel had no interest in wielding the scissors to do so, rather, over the past few years the string only became stronger. He’ll get over it. You stared at the reflection of your poorly made cup of cafecito, undrunken because no one made it like Miguel made it. He’s there, hovering around the sink, but you feel all the more alone in the room. Producer, editor, friend-- your eyes fell back to the cup.

“Are you done?” Miguel hovered by your coffee cup. It was cool to the touch.

“Ah. Sí.”

You gazed up at him, regret seeping from your features. If you apologized yet again, he’d simply leave the room. There are no good words. No ones that would make sense, no words that would… be good enough to make him come back when he’s in this mood, unmoveable and distant. You’re so close to him-- but all alone.

He takes the cup away.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Miguel dropped his phone on your office desk. It thumped over the tablespace, his expression morphing into something wrong. You turn his phone upright, knowing the contents before the information actually registers in your mind.

“It’s a picture of me,” you closed the top of your laptop and whirled around in the chair, knocking your knees against his. He’s closer than he’s been in days.

“Yes. But what else?” he rumbled.

You’re not stupid, remembering the launch of merch that Miguel sincerely doubted anyone would be seriously interested in. How many people wore a male sex worker’s merch? This was all your idea, of course. Your lip is bitten fat, stripped of skin. Your eyes wandered across the table to the cabinet with an array of different cameras. Miguel rapped his scarred knuckles over the table, blocking your desperation for an escape. He wanted a substantial answer.

“You told me to make sure it sold.”

“And that meant model with your ass out on my page.”

“You don’t like it?”

"Dios," that’s not the point. He breathed a forceful breath, navigating your rolling chair up against the bed in the room. Typically the bed was used for a late night at the office or one of Miguel’s performances with any number of women you cast him with. Or, as you preferred, when he masturbates by himself-- squeezing his hand along his length as your phantom hand poured more wet lubricant over his cock. The sheets are always stained and consequentially changed.

“I don’t like that they know what you look like,” Miguel supplied, his chest cresting into a fall. His gaze fell to your hands, settled in a clasp over your short skirt. Now he knew what you looked like. “Do you know how many requests I have to…”

“Fuck me.”

“Sí,” Miguel said, your name dying on his tongue. “To fuck you.”

“Then do it. You have a camera.”

What-- his gaze read. It’s in the way his brow pushed together, how his lips fell just so lightly apart. He would say something more, but your hands are on his dark slacks, tracking up toward his sturdy leather belt. In only an hour or so, Miguel was meant to record with Elena, who, you convinced. He should be saving his stamina for that, not this. Even so, his hands hovered atop your own, grunting slightly in response, unable to stop what you were doing.

“Don’t ask me to ruin you.”

“I think you already have,” you murmured, finding his soft cock. You stroked him through his pants, drawing along his length, getting him where you want him. With every scene you recorded, you knew what Miguel liked. You knew he liked scenes where he could take his time, as short and far between as they were. You want that too. You drew the belt loose and unbuttoned the little spry button. So close, you could almost taste him.

“Are you going to record it?” You gestured toward the desk, pulling his cock into the free air. He’s an impressive length, just as you recall, you think he has to be to be an adult actor. The real treat is Miguel’s thick girth, swirled with delicious veins. You had seen his dick at least a hundred times, delighted in watching him meet his orgasm time and time again, and touched yourself to the thought of being just like his many girls.

“No,” Miguel pulled his belt from the loops and tugged it around his wrist. He let the other hand find the back of your head, weaving through smooth locks of hair, guiding your lush lips to his cock. “This is all for me.”

When he spoke like that, all you wanted was to make him happy. Your moist mouth separated, warm breath tickling the length that he shoved into your wet mouth. Maybe Elena had a point, you think, suckling around his length once, drawing to his fat tip. He hums in response, bucking back deep into your mouth. Miguel didn't want to wait, causing you to gag over his length, a terrible coughing resonating about his dick. Now that he had you here, he would show you how wrong you were.

“I thought I wasn’t that big,” Miguel’s hand left your head, stretching his belt across the back of your neck. Bucking forward, you gagged around his length, scratching his clothed hip for some mercy. If he wasn’t so big-- you could take it, couldn’t you? “Just like that. Hm? Cómo?”

He was gracious enough to allow you off his cock, gasping for air as you were, the depth of his plunging cock having pricked a few oversensitized tears on the sides of your eyes. You’re beautiful like that, overwrought and needy. Your heart rattled in the confines of your ribcage, wheezing as you jerked him pathetically. How certain you look now, tugging on him for a moment of relief.

“I’m sorry--”

“Ya sé.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, guiding him back into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed out, drawing him in fast and hard. If not for the belt around the back of your neck, he might have stumbled, stuck between the warmth of your mouth and the pleasured groans tickling his length. You’re well-accustomed to what the girls do, stretching your palm around his dick.

“Harder,” he remarked, throwing a half-chewed-up curse aside. Unlike with the other girls, he’s weak before the pleasure, usually focused and refined, his jaw clenches. He’s gotten weak-- has it been that long since he’s had sex outside of the roll of the camera?

“Miggy,” you pulled back, your sloppy tongue swirling about his fat tip. He catches the moan in his chest, refusing to let it crest over, not yet. His eyes catch yours, muscular stomach flexing, he’s listening. “I want to taste you. Can I taste you?”

You’re such a good niña. Miguel forces you back to your rightful place on his cock, the band stretched so tight around his fists that he might break it. Your name becomes an unbearable, pleasurable slur on his tongue. He’s a trained man, knowing to cum when you say to come on each shoot. In many ways, he's your trained dog: cuming when he's told to.

His length pulsed in your mouth for one final thrust before he gave you what you wanted, strands of release spraying the back of your warm little mouth. You suckled him up, even as he tried to pull free. You cleaned his cock, sucking him nice and clean. Miguel brushed off your attempt to zip him away.

“Don’t bother,” Miguel breathed, pulling at the black-tie strapped to his throat. His white dress shirt was soaked, causing him to roll the sleeves up to his elbows. His voice dropped, well-fucked out but nearly ready for another round. “Your cunt is next.”

“But Elena is on her w--”

“Fuck her,” Miguel waved his hand, slouching into your chair. “Fix the camera. We have a video to shoot.”

If nothing else-- now you can tell her how big he really is.

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv imagine #atsv fic #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #miggy x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara smut

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hellodropbear · 2 months

Text

it's time. (III)

mapi leon x ingrid engen x daughter

part I here and part II here

~~~~~~

The preseason is long. Everybody knows that. When it first starts, everyone is excited. Relaxed, refreshed, ready to start again. By the time it ends, everyone is sick of each other, ready and waiting for the less intensive training schedule that comes with the busy season.

They'd rather play two games a week with minimal training than endure full days of gruelling strength, fitness and technical exercises in the hot Spanish sun.

The nerves and anticipation started to grow around two weeks ago when Jonatan first mentioned some film work and specific analyses of particular players from Valencia, and they had only grown and grown, the excitement and nerves a complicated mix in the dressing room.

Even Isabel had noticed a difference, her mother more nervous than most, wanting to prove herself again to silence the storm that began to rain down on them as her interview with Alexia was released almost two weeks ago.

The responses had been overwhelming and Mapi found herself even more stressed at the prospect of all those eyes on her, trying to decide whether or not she was good enough to be in the selective squad after so much time away.

The centre back had been all over the place and she would find herself in tears as she scrolled and scrolled on twitter, on instagram. On all the platforms that they had explicitly told her not to open, the platforms that would always produce the most hatred.

It was Ingrid who found out about it, knocking on Mapi's door for the third time that week, completely surprised at the tear stained face and red, puffy eyes that greeted her with a weak smile.

Her first thought, a naive one, was that something was wrong with Isabel, unaware that she was perfectly content, tucked away and asleep in her cot.

But it didn't take long for the Norwegian to realise that if it was Isabel, Mapi would have done something, she would be somewhere or the child would be curled up in her mother's arms, crying softly as Ingrid had seen so many times before.

"Mapi, what's wrong?"

Her words were soft, the exact level of softness that the Spaniard had been craving all night.

But, as usual, she refused to admit that the Norwegian was providing her with what she needed. It couldn't be that simple. Ingrid wasn't her girlfriend, she couldn't just rely on her like that.

Instead, she shook her head, turning around and walking away. She left the door open though, so Ingrid knew she could follow her into the messy apartment.

Her heart dropped and her eyes widened as she took in the messy array of clothes, toys and shoes strewn all over the floor, the complete antithesis of what the apartment was when she last visited, only two days ago.

"Sorry for the... mess." Mapi couldn't look her in the eye, too ashamed of how quickly everything had gone downhill.

It meant she didn't see the brunette shaking her head, brushing off the apology.

"Isabel is down for her nap, I just had... a moment of weakness." She chuckled dryly. "I'll gather myself in just a minute."

"Mapi..."

Ingrid's voice was so soft, so full of care and worry that the Spaniard practically recoiled, flinching at the calmness.

She shook her head though, refusing to accept any of the help or care that may have been on offer.

"No, no. Just give me a minute." She stabilised herself on the back of a chair, moving to fill up a glass of water and promptly chugging it, sighing deeply once it was all gone.

Ingrid shook her head, moving into the lounge and picking up some of the toys that she knew to go in the chest on the right, the shoes that lived on the rack and the clothes she could tell were dirty to go in the laundry hamper in the corner of the room.

"You don't have to clean up after me." Mapi stood in the kitchen, staring out at where the Norwegian moved quickly and quietly. "It's my fault I've become a slob."

Ingrid's head whipped up at her words, shaking her head quickly.

"You're not a slob, Mapi. It's just some clothes and some toys. You have a baby daughter, you're allowed to have a mess."

The Spaniard sighed.

"I can't use her as an excuse."

As if on cue, the baby monitor went off, the familiar babbling filling the room. Mapi sighed exhaustedly, switching it off and walking in the direction of the nursery.

"Um... you don't have to clean up, you don't have to stay. It's too early for her to be up so I might be a while trying to get her back to sleep." Mapi knew she wasn't going to be getting her daughter back to sleep until the night fell.

It was another downside of her growing up. She was almost 15 months old, which meant less sleeping in the day and more sleeping at night.

And Mapi didn't know what to do, because those two hour daytime naps gave her the time to sort herself out, to do the chores, to rest, to relax.

Things that weren't possible with an excited toddler rushing around and requiring her full attention.

"Hey my Is." Her voice was weak as she sat down beside the cot, sticking her fingers through the bars as the child giggled and played with them.

"Mami!"

"Aren't you tired, my lion?" She smiled gently at the child who didn't fail to notice the puffiness of her mother's eyes, the tears that had stained her cheeks. She frowned, trying to reach for Mapi's face.

She was incredibly perceptive, for a child so young. She noticed when her mother was sad or anxious and while she couldn't say anything, she would be extra clingy, with hugs and kisses to try and make her feel better.

Maybe it was more intuition than perception, but nonetheless, Mapi was grateful for the little face that lit up her entire world.

"No sleepy, Mami." She reached her arms upwards, prompting her mother to pick her up and take her out of the cot.

Mapi smiled weakly, reluctantly obliging and pulling the girl into her arms before sitting back down in her spot on the floor, holding Isabel close.

"Hello Mami." She giggled, standing in Mapi's lap and wrapping her arms around her neck, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Hello gorgeous girl." She let her daughter rest her small face in her neck, their arms wrapped around each other as Mapi let more tears roll down her face.

Sometimes, Mapi didn't know where all the tears were coming from. She didn't always feel sad enough to cry, but they also weren't happy, like the tears she had cried after her first training. It was the emotion, she realised. There were so many different emotions that sometimes she was just so overcome by them all. The love she had for Isabel, the grief she was still experiencing, the fear that plagued her days, all carried on her shoulders like a bag of bricks.

She didn't know how to release them, so she would carry them with her and experience minor breakdowns like these every once in a while. Usually triggered by something, but the anxieties were almost always softened by the small little face that would beam at her, kissing her on the cheek and hugging her closely.

Because how could Mapi be sad when she had her adorable daughter right there with her?

She let herself cry on the floor of her daughter's room for a bit longer, before wiping her tears away, standing up and going back outside to the lounge room.

She expected to see Ingrid sitting there on the couch waiting, she didn't think she would have left. The room was spotless though, a pile of clean clothes folded neatly on the end of the couch, everything else away and rearranged - exactly how it was before.

What she didn't expect to see was the Norwegian scrolling through twitter on her phone that she had clearly left open on the kitchen table when she left to check on Isabel.

The brunette looked up when she heard the footsteps, her eyes wide and nervous. Twitter was open, the distinctive black screen was easily recognisable, even from her distance.

"You've been reading this stuff?"

Her voice shook, and Mapi shrugged, nodding anxiously.

"But why?"

The Spaniard took a deep breath, relishing in the comfort her child provided.

"It's been a long month. I wanted to see if people actually wanted me to come back or if it was all just for nothing. Turns out they don't really care anymore."

Ingrid thought her heart may have split in two right then at how broken Mapi's voice sounded.

It wasn't true, that they didn't care. So many people did, so many people were so excited for Barcelona to get their defender back, but of course the negative messages were the ones that Mapi would remember, the ones that she would think about as she tried to sleep at night.

"They do care, Mapi." She breathed out lightly. "And if they don't, then who cares? It's your people that matter, not randoms on the internet who don't know the first thing about you."

And, for the third time that night, Mapi had cried.

And Ingrid was right there, holding her as she sank to the floor, a very confused child in her arms.

~~~~~~

It was the first game back. Mapi was terrified.

She was starting, and Jonatan had told her that he would take her off at half time if she needed it, but they all hoped she would be able to play all the way through.

Her daughter was fast asleep, her apartment was completely silent. But she was up, sat at her kitchen table and drinking a coffee having gotten out of bed at 6:30. Alexia was arriving at 7:30, and they would leave the apartment at 7:45 to get on the coach to Valencia.

It was an away game, unfortunately, which meant they had to stay in Valencia overnight after their evening game. It was just another thing adding onto Mapi's long list of nerves, as she had never been away with Isabel and the toddler had never slept in one of the portable cribs that the club had purchased for this specific reason.

It was when she was packing her daughter's bag that she heard the knock on the door, frowning as she looked at her watch and read 7:15. She knew it wouldn't be Alexia, she was almost always exactly on time.

Mapi was not at all surprised when she saw the Norwegian standing outside, a large smile on her face. The antithesis to the Spaniard, really, clearly excited and rearing to go for her first ever game in blaugrana.

"Isabel is still asleep and I want to keep her down for as long as possible because it's going to be a long day." Mapi whispered, allowing Ingrid to pull her into a hug.

It was safe to say the two had grown... closer in the past few weeks, ever since that day Mapi had been found crying in her apartment.

But if Mapi was honest, it was ever since their first walk together that they had become friends, and everyone could see how close they became almost immediately after meeting.

Maybe it was the daily walks with Isabel, maybe it was the carpooling to training or the endless coffee dates that were simply disguised as Mapi showing Ingrid around Barcelona, presenting her with the best places to see and the best coffees to drink.

It was a mere coincidence that she was still saving the best till last, definitely not just so she had a reason to persuade the Norwegian to continue coming on the walks, going to the hole in the wall cafes.

Although, if she really thought about it, Mapi would realise that Ingrid was staying for more than just new knowledge about her new city.

Because she may have come for that, but she didn't need to stay at the coffee shops for so long, she didn't need to go on the long walks every day, playing with the small child for hours on end as she tired herself out.

She didn't need to invite the mother-daughter duo over for dinner under the false pretence that she wanted to improve her Spanish. It was clear to everyone but Mapi that she just wanted to spend more time with the two people she had grown so fond of. It was an added bonus that she could help Mapi out at the same time.

She could sense Mapi's nerves as she stood outside the door, wrapping her arms around her and smiling.

"It's going to go well, today. You have to know it."

She broke the hug and looked the Spaniard up and down.

"It'll be good." It was a confirmation, and despite the lack of credibility, it made Mapi feel a whole lot better.

"Thanks, Ingrid."

They moved away from the door and Ingrid placed her bag on the floor, moving to the kitchen table where the Spaniard had been half way through preparing some breakfast for the toddler to wake up to, as well as a few snacks for throughout the day.

"They said they'd cater for her at meal times but she eats smaller meals and has snacks too. I just thought it was best to be prepared." Mapi seemed anxious as she explained her decision making to Ingrid, and the Norwegian knew how nervous she was about the whole away trip. Both the idea of playing again and also how her daughter would manage the change in environment without her mother right there at all times for the comfort she might need.

"I can finish this up, you go sort yourself out and then you can relax. You seem tired, Mapi, and it's only quarter past seven."

"I'm fine, really. Thank you, Ingrid, thanks so much."

She rolled her eyes, smiling softly.

"Stop thanking me! Now just go, I'm all good in here."

Mapi smiled, blushing furiously and rushing out of the kitchen and into her own room, quickly gathering up the things she needed for the next 24 hours, finding her training gear and having a record fast shower, changing and re-emerging right in time to wake up Isabel.

She opened the door as softly as she could, creeping towards the crib, reaching in and picking up the baby who stirred softly at the sudden movement.

"Hey my lion cub." She tickled her chest lightly, easily waking her up. "Good morning gorgeous."

"Mami?" Still groggy, the baby reached her arms up, grabbing at her mothers skin.

"It's wake up time now, Is."

Slowly waking up, the baby stretched and yawned, settling easily in Mapi's arms, her head resting in her neck.

"She's still tired." Mapi smiled at Ingrid, wandering into the kitchen.

"Her breakfast is all done."

"Thank you, Ingrid. Alexia will be here soon as well. Do you want to carpool with us?"

Ingrid nodded easily.

"That'd be great. Thanks."

She placed her sleepy daughter in the high chair, sitting right beside her as she became more awake and alert. Alexia knocked on the door as she was feeding Isabel, who still hadn't kept her eyes open for long enough to realise that Ingrid was even in their kitchen.

"Morning!" The captain was characteristically chipper, moving quickly to sit beside her best friend and niece, ruffling the curly head of hair on the child and planting a kiss on her head.

"And hello my baby Isabel."

"Ale?" She was still confused, apparently, only realising it was Alexia when her face was directly in her line of vision.

"She's only just woken up." Mapi smiled softly, finishing up with Isabel's bowl of scrambled eggs.

"She'll probably fall straight asleep again as soon as I put her down in her carseat." She rolled her eyes, wiping the mess from Isabel's face and picking her up and out of the chair.

It seemed, however, that the baby had woken up enough to recognise that her mother's arms were not the ones she wanted to be held in, instead reaching out for the midfielder who had disappeared out of her eyesight.

"Ale?"

Rolling her eyes, Mapi wordlessly handed off her child, instead picking up the bags she had left on the floor as her best friend cooed over the tired child.

They were in the car not 5 minutes later and as predicted, Isabel was almost immediately fast asleep with Mapi's hand in her lap, a comforting warmth in the car seat.

She didn't even stir as Mapi carried her from the car to the bus, Isabel's head rested on her shoulder as she gently lowered herself into the seat.

They had about an hour and a half left of the journey when she woke up, shifting uncomfortably in Mapi's dead arms, receiving a kiss on her head before her mother spoke to her.

"Hello there sleepyhead."

"Mami." She whispered quietly, her head poking out from it's place in Mapi's neck and observing her surroundings.

"We're on a bus, Is. We're going to Valencia!"

She sighed sleepily, moving her body so she was sat down on her mother's lap rather than being held up in her arms. It seemed from her new spot she could see more people, instantly recognising the thick head of brown hair only two rows in front.

"Ingrid?"

"She's just over there, sitting with Fridolina!"

Mapi smiled and pointed, but Isabel frowned, not understanding why the Norwegian wasn't with her and her mother like usual.

She stood up in Mapi's lap, stabilised by her mother, and spoke louder to get Ingrid's attention.

"Ingrid!" She tried a bit louder. "Ingrid!"

It was then that the Norwegian whipped her head around, making eye contact with Isabel and giving her a big smile.

"Mami!" She sat back down, proud of herself for completing her mission, smiling at Mapi's soft laughter.

They were both surprised when the midfielder sat down in the spare seat beside them though, Isabel practically throwing herself into Ingrid's arms.

"Hello Isabel!"

Ingrid's smile was infectious, and Mapi couldn't help but beam as her daughter looked up and greeted the Norwegian with a toothy grin on her face.

~~~~~~

"So... what's the deal with you and Ingrid?"

Alexia had followed Mapi into her room, throwing herself on the centre back's bed.

"There's no deal." She shrugged, passing her daughter over to Alexia and trying to figure out how to open the portable crib that had been left in the cupboard for her to use.

Her back was facing the midfielder, so she didn't see the eye roll, nor hear the amused chuckle.

"Is she just a good cook then?"

Mapi was still struggling with the cot, so she didn't really think about Alexia's words before responding.

"No- what?" She was exasperated, it was evident in her voice and in the way she spun around with a frown on her face.

"She just-" Mapi's eyes fell to the floor almost embarrassed as she continued. "She wants to improve her Spanish."

Alexia stopped herself from laughing.

"So you speak Spanish with her when she has you over for dinner?"

The centre back's cheeks flushed red very quickly as she responded.

"Well, not exactly. Sometimes I'll say some Spanish words, but it's easier to communicate in English."

This time, Alexia didn't stop herself from laughing and Mapi glared at the sound.

"No, no. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh." She gathered herself, only slightly, before continuing. "But Mapi, is it not obvious? She goes on your walks, you've taken her to pretty much every coffee shop in Barcelona. She invites you for dinner and even your daughter loves her."

Mapi looked at her in confusion.

"How do you know all this?"

"Frido talks."

She rolled her eyes, giving up on the cot and sighing, flopping down onto the bed.

"She's a good friend, and it's convenient that she lives just downstairs. But Ale, don't turn this into something it's not, please. I don't have time to be dating, you know this, we've been through this and you even agreed with me!"

Alexia sighed softly, disappointed because it was true. Back when Isabel was 6 months old and Mapi was in the worst spot she'd ever seen her in. They'd been discussing dating and Mapi had confessed that she felt too busy, that she'd feel guilty to Luis if she started putting attention on a girlfriend more than her daughter.

Although certain that wouldn't happen, Alexia had reluctantly agreed, promising that she would support Mapi through any decision she wanted to make, through any situation she had to go through.

Now, though, that reluctant agreement had come back to bite her because Mapi now is so different to that Mapi from eight months ago. This Mapi was like the Mapi from before, only stronger, more emotional. A better person, Alexia would say, but that was just her own opinion.

"That conversation happened months ago, Mapi. It's different now, you're not just rotting on your sofa like before."

The centre back thought briefly about the incident a couple weeks ago, when Ingrid found her in a disgusting apartment, tears in her eyes as she slowly turned into a slob. The thought alone was embarrassing so she banished it from her mind for the time being.

"Alexia, I just... I can't. She's a really nice person, she's gorgeous too but any person with eyes would say that. I need to have my full focus on Isabel and relationships go two ways. Yes, I'd get support from her, but I also would need to support her because she has her own baggage too. She's just moved countries again and doesn't know Spanish, has no friends here other than Frido. I don't have time for it all, I can't lose focus of what's important."

Her eyes brimmed with tears but she used her hand to harshly brush them away.

"I understand and I respect what you're saying, but you need to talk to her, because you can't lead her on. You don't know what she's thinking."

Except she did, everyone did.

Everyone knew Ingrid liked Mapi. Everyone knew Mapi liked Ingrid.

"I will at some point." Mapi reached over and plucked her daughter from Alexia's arms, basking in the comfort that the toddler easily provided her with.

"Good, and I will fix your crib for you because I'm sure it's not that hard." She rolled her eyes, standing up and walking to the crib, propping it up almost immediately.

Mapi scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Adopt her then, if you're so good at it."

~~~~~~

Isabel was with Camila, in a back room with her toys and snacks, easily entertained and distracted from the absence of her mother.

Her mother was in the tunnel, her stomach churning uncontrollably as she lined up for the first time, not ready to run out there once again.

There were so many things that could go right, but all Mapi was concerned about was what could go wrong. How this could go wrong, what the repercussions would be.

But sooner than she would have liked, it was time.

She was walking out, an unfamiliar child's hand in hers. She was lining up, looking out at the crown that was mostly filled with Valencia fans.

She was shaking the hands of all the Valencia players, recognising the shock in some of their faces that she was right there, in the flesh. All fit, returned to play.

She was lining up in the group photo, an anxious smile covering her face.

She was being hugged by Alexia who wished her the most luck in a covered up whisper, reminding her how proud she was of her.

She was in the huddle, words from the captains going in one ear and right out the other as she thought exclusively about all the possible outcomes of the next 90 minutes.

She was jogging over to her starting position, doing a few last minute stretches before she waited for kick off.

She watched the coin toss, she watched as everyone else took their positions.

The game kicked off, and she was running.

She touched the ball for the first time, and it was like magic.

Suddenly, she didn't feel so disconnected from the game, finally focusing in on her technique, the tactics that she knew like the back of her hand.

And just like that, Mapi felt alive. Out there on the field, running around to her heart's content, blocking shots, pulling dangerous slide tackles. Adrenaline pumping through her, only spurred on by the overwhelming cheers from the crowd, she felt like she could do anything.

It was like that first day back at training again, except she felt 100 times better because the weight of nerves that she had been carrying for this day had finally been lifted off her shoulders. She felt like she could finally breathe, she wasn't so trapped inside her own body.

She was proving so many people wrong but more importantly, she was proving herself wrong. She realised that she could do this, that she had done it.

What so many people had said was impossible, something that barely any people had expected to happen. She had returned to her sport, almost two years off. A baby and enough heartbreak for a lifetime later and she was back.

On a high, some may say, all through the first half.

The dressing room was a rave at half time, relieved at the positive score, but thrilled about how well Mapi's return was going.

The energy was high as they ran back out, and their joy was reflected in the dominant scoreline at the end of the match.

Alexia almost bowled Mapi over with the weight of her hug at the final whistle, and Mapi laughed as she was lifted and spun around.

It was a perfect game, a scoreline of 6-0. Mapi had been instrumental in the win and it emphasised just how important she was to this team.

Pride exuded from the captain, having been there throughout the whole journey. Mapi's support, her rock through everything and the centre back felt content, finally, in her embrace.

It was then that they both realised she had done it; she had achieved something that she didn't even consider being a possibility 14 months ago.

The whole team was full of congratulations for the centre back, hugs and back claps, smiles and encouraging words and Mapi was completely and utterly basking in it.

Her mind was full of thoughts, finally in touch with her emotions.

She thought of her daughter, relaxed and happy with Camila.

She thought of Luis, and hoped that he would be proud of her.

She thought of her parents who were watching from Zaragoza, making a mental note to call them when she was alone in her room with Isabel.

She didn't have to think of Alexia, who was practically glued to her side, a giddy smile on her face.

But when she thought of Ingrid, she felt nothing but guilt.

Because Alexia was right, she had been leading her on. The walks, the coffee shops, the dinners. They were dates, there was no other way to define them.

And she couldn't do that to her, she couldn't do that to the person who had become such a huge support in her life.

So when she was hugged by Ingrid, she didn't say much. Listening as the Norwegian congratulated her, smiling in appreciation. She hoped that Ingrid understood how grateful she was.

It took maybe 10 minutes for the centre back to figure out what she wanted to say and how she wanted to say it.

In hindsight, she probably should have thought about it longer. She definitely shouldn't have acted on the thoughts that came with her post match high.

Because the look on Ingrid's face as she walked away was something Mapi would never forget, etched in her brain for the rest of time.

"You've been so good to me, Ingrid, and I'm so grateful. But I'm sorry, I can't do this. I can't have a girlfriend."

She had walked away without giving Ingrid the time to speak, leaving her dumbfounded and frozen on the spot.

And Mapi was full of regret, having quickly plummeted from her high as she walked back into the tunnel, Alexia's arm wrapped around her shoulder.

But everything was so much better when she finally got to pick up her daughter, holding her close and smothering her entire head with kisses.

Because everything she does is for Isabel.

Isabel comes first. Always.

~~~~~~

ok i think there will either be one or two more chapters of this story but if you me want to i will write like oneshot type things if i get sent requests or if i get my own inspo

i already have one of the future when isabel is at the olympics (nobody has guessed her sport yet. hint: it's not football or any other team sport) and i have received a few requests that i've started the planning phase for and then they'll be written and edited at some point

but yeah, feel free to send anything, can be in the future or the past or the present. i have a vague idea of how her life will go so i'll adapt requests to suit that but i love hearing from you guys so please don't be shy to send anything in!!!

(please send me requests because I love writing about soft Mapi with a daughter)

thanks for reading and have a good day :)

#mapi leon #ingrid engen #mapi leon x ingrid engen #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fcb femení #woso imagine #alexia putellas

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pucksandpower · 8 months

Text

Think I Need Someone Older

Fernando Alonso x Ocon!Reader

Summary: you know you should stay away from your brother’s ex-teammate, but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, pregnancy

You look around with wide eyes as you walk through the paddock, following your brother as he gives you a tour. This is your first time at a race weekend, and the excitement and nerves are battling inside you. Esteban has told you so much about his world, but seeing it in person is entirely different.

The smell of rubber and gasoline hangs thick in the air. Mechanics and engineers are buzzing around the garage, focused intensely on the sleek pink and blue car before them. Esteban places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward.

“Here she is,” he says proudly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

You nod, eyes wide. The carbon fiber curves of the car seem to shimmer under the lights. Your gaze sweeps over it, drinking in every detail.

“She’s amazing,” you breathe.

Esteban grins. “Just wait until you see her on track.”

He keeps talking, but you’ve noticed a man walking towards you. Even in a paddock full of fit, athletic people, he stands out. Shorter than your tall brother, but compact and muscular. Dark hair sweeps across his forehead as he removes his sunglasses, revealing sharp brown eyes.

“Esteban,” he calls in a Spanish accent. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

Your brother turns, smile fading. “Fernando. This is my sister, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Fernando purrs. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He takes your hand, brushing a kiss over your knuckles.

You feel your cheeks flush even as Esteban frowns. Fernando’s touch lingers a beat too long before releasing you.

“Don’t you have a setup to work on?” Esteban says sharply.

Fernando shrugs, eyes still on you. “The car is nearly there. I thought I would come meet my new fan.”

“I’m sure Y/N doesn’t want to be bothered-”

“It’s no bother,” you interrupt. Fernando’s presence is magnetic in a way you can’t explain. The intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken.

He smiles. “There, you see? The lady wishes to talk.”

Esteban huffs but doesn’t argue further. Fernando slings an arm around your shoulders, guiding you away. You glance back at your brother’s glowering face but allow yourself to be led.

Fernando steers you to a quiet corner of the paddock, away from the bustle. Leaning against the wall, he gives you another long look over.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he says conversationally, “How does a girl like you end up with a brute like Esteban for a brother?”

You laugh, surprised by his bluntness. “He’s not so bad.”

“No? The man has the personality of a rock.” Fernando shakes his head. “I do not understand it. Such a warm, engaging young woman. And him — cold and dull as a fish.”

You bite your lip. It’s true your brother can be reserved, but-

“You barely know me,” you point out.

Fernando touches your chin lightly. “I know enough. I have an eye for these things.” His fingers trail down your neck, along your collarbone. You shiver.

“We only just met,” you whisper.

His mouth twitches. “You felt it too, no? A … connection.”

You’re no longer sure if it’s a connection or merely intoxication. Fernando’s presence envelops you like a drug.

“I ...” You falter, words failing.

Fernando leans in as though to kiss you. At the last second, he veers, lips grazing your ear instead.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.

You nod helplessly. Satisfied, Fernando pulls back, putting professional distance between you again. Yet his eyes continue undressing you.

Over his shoulder, you see Esteban approaching, scowling. Fernando follows your gaze and sighs.

“Until tonight, my dear.” He squeezes your hand and walks away.

Esteban reaches you, glaring between you and Fernando’s retreating back. “What did he want?”

You stare at the ground, afraid your expression will give everything away. “Nothing. Just … talking.”

Your brother snorts. “I’m sure. That man always has an agenda.” His eyes soften, noticing your discomfort. “Come on, let’s continue the tour.”

You let Esteban lead you back into the bustle of the garage, his concerns about Fernando fading as he delves into explanations about the car. But you aren’t really listening. Your thoughts swirl with the memory of Fernando’s touch, his lips, his hungry eyes. The things he made you feel with nothing more than a look.

You’ve never reacted to someone like this before. The impropriety of it — your brother’s rival, a man nearly twice your age — only heightens the exhilaration. You should be appalled by his forwardness. Instead, you’re counting down the minutes until you’ll be alone with him again.

Dinner tonight. Your heart races faster at the thought. What will happen there? What might have already happened if Esteban hadn’t interrupted?

You glance around, half expecting Fernando to be watching you still. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Esteban guides you to look more closely at the car, oblivious to your distraction.

You try to focus on your brother’s words, on the amazing machine in front of you. But your thoughts keep circling back to Fernando — his intensity, his confidence, the promise in his eyes.

This weekend just got a lot more interesting. Fernando looked ready to devour you whole. And despite yourself, you want to be consumed.

***

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your dress for the tenth time, nerves making you fidget. The hotel restaurant lounge is busier than you expected for a Thursday night. Groups of team members, drivers, and media fill the tables, the air abuzz with a mix of languages.

Scanning the room, you don’t see Fernando yet. You chose this public place with the hope it would feel safer, less intimate than being alone with him in one of your hotel rooms. But now, the crowded restaurant only ramps up your anxiety.

You check your phone again. Still no texts from Fernando. Your foot taps impatiently.

“Y/N.”

You startle at the sound of your name purred in that accent. Turning, you find Fernando behind you, looking sharp in a tailored suit jacket and dark designer jeans. His gaze sweeps over you appreciatively.

“You look exquisite tonight.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks from the hunger in his eyes. You resist the urge to fidget with your dress again.

“Shall we?” He gestures to a table, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you.

You tense at the contact, hyper aware of every point his body meets yours as you walk. Fernando’s hand presses more firmly, as if enjoying your reaction.

At the table, he holds your chair out with exaggerated chivalry, letting his fingers trail across your bare shoulders. You suppress a shiver.

Once seated across from you, Fernando lounges comfortably in his chair, perfectly at ease. You envy his confidence. One look from his intense eyes still makes you blush furiously.

A waiter appears for your drink order. You ask for a white wine. Fernando requests an expensive Scotch.

Alone again, his gaze bores into you. “Now, where were we earlier? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

You wet your dry lips. “I-I’m not sure that was ...”

“Appropriate?” Fernando supplies with a wolfish grin. “And here I thought you liked my hands on you.”

Your blush deepens. God, being around him is intoxicating. You can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud, though.

Fernando leans forward. “I see the way you look at me, Y/N. Like a woman who wants to be … pleased.”

His use of the euphemism makes you squirm even as heat pools low in your belly.

“You’re my brother’s rival,” you protest weakly.

Fernando shrugs. “All the more exciting, no?”

When you don’t respond, he sits back with a knowing look.

“You pretend to be a good girl. But I see the passion in you waiting to come out.”

The waiter returns with your drinks, providing a temporary respite. You sip your wine, grasping for composure.

Fernando continues watching you like a cat with a mouse. “Does Esteban know you’re out with me tonight?”

You shake your head. Your brother thinks you turned in early, exhausted from the day at the track. If he knew ...

“Sneaking around on a date with his rival.” Fernando tsks. “What would he think?”

“This isn’t a date,” you retort, but the denial sounds weak even to you.

“No? Then why so nervous?” His foot brushes against yours under the table. “Why so willing to deceive your dear brother?”

You have no response. Fernando sees right through you. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

His eyes glitter with victory. But his tone softens. “It is only dinner. No need for guilt.”

He refills your wine glass, coaxing you to relax as you order. The food provides a welcome distraction. He draws you into conversations about travel and music, keeping things casual. Bit by bit, your nerves unwind. Fernando is charming company when he wants to be.

You find yourself laughing at a story about his home in Spain. Your eyes meet and the air shifts. The easy rapport slips away, replaced by simmering tension.

Fernando’s fingers graze your hand resting on the table, tracing delicate patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breathing quickens.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs. “I wonder if all of you feels this good to touch.”

The images his words invoke make your head spin. His thumb strokes your wrist, feeling your racing pulse.

“Fernando ...” It comes out a half-moan.

Abruptly he releases you, sitting back. You stare, confused and bereft.

“Come.” Fernando stands, holding out a hand. “Walk with me.”

Heart pounding, you let him pull you up and guide you toward the exit. The night air hits your flushed cheeks. Fernando’s hand on your back urges you wordlessly down the street toward the harbor overlooking the city lights.

At the railing, he moves behind you, hands resting casually on your hips. You tense, every nerve aware of him surrounding you. His breath tickles your neck.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commands softly.

You turn your head, body rigid. Fernando smiles, trailing a finger down your jaw. Eyes locked with yours, he presses closer until no space remains between you. Your lips part involuntarily. Triumph flashes in his expression.

“You want me to kiss you.” It’s not a question.

You close your eyes, unable to deny it. Fernando’s thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Look at me,” he repeats.

You force your eyes open. His face fills your vision.

“Not here,” he says. “Not yet.”

You ache in frustration, but Fernando is immovable as stone. He releases you and steps back. The loss of his touch is a physical pain.

Turning you firmly, he nods at the view. “Enjoy the lights, hmm?”

On unsteady legs, you move to the railing. Fernando stands casually beside you once more. For long minutes, silence reigns.

When you finally chance a look at him, his lips twitch into a smug, satisfied grin.

“You’re playing games,” you accuse shakily.

He lifts an innocent brow. “Games? I merely enjoy a lovely view with a lovely woman.”

You frown, unconvinced. This whole evening has been him expertly stoking the fire between you, only to withdraw at the critical moment. It leaves you trembling with unfulfilled desire.

As if reading your mind, Fernando strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. “Patience, my sweet. I have no wish to rush this.” His eyes burn. “The anticipation will make your surrender so much sweeter.”

Surrender. The word sinks into your bones, igniting a yearning you don’t dare name.

Fernando glances at his watch. “Come. I will walk you back.”

The return to your hotel is silent, charged with restless energy. At your door, Fernando grasps your hand, raising it to his lips. The kiss undoes you in a way his mouth on yours might not have.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” A promise lurks beneath his polite words.

You watch him walk away down the hall before letting yourself into your room on wobbly legs. Collapsing back against the door, you close your eyes, body humming.

He was right about one thing. After tonight, you’ll never look at Fernando the same way again. And despite the unfulfilled desire burning through you, part of you thrills at his control, his patience.

You don’t know what this game between you is yet, or what price it might exact. But as you lay sleepless in tangled sheets, replaying each burning moment, one truth rings clear — you trust Fernando to take you wherever this desire leads. And you’re powerless to do anything but follow.

***

The next two days pass in a haze of stolen glances and brief, electric touches that leave you trembling. At the track or hotel, Fernando finds ways to brush against you, to whisper heated words in your ear when no one else is close. But he never pushes further, leaving you a tangled mess of growing need.

Tonight is the final night before the race, the paddock thick with tension and excitement. You pick at your food during the Alpine team dinner, eyes drifting to Fernando at a nearby table with Aston Martin. He meets your gaze with a knowing smirk but stays focused on his own group.

You all but flee back to your room afterward, nerves pulled tight. Pacing the floor, you debate going to him, giving in to this madness. A knock interrupts your thoughts.

You open the door to find Fernando, hunger etched on his face. He steps inside, backing you to the wall. Caging you in place with his body, he strokes a finger down your cheek.

“No more waiting, I think,” he murmurs.

You sway toward him but Fernando holds you firmly in place, denying what you crave. His lips graze your ear instead.

“Say you want me, Y/N. I need to hear you say it.”

You shudder, clinging to the last frayed threads of resistance. Sensing it, he drifts lower, tongue and teeth teasing your neck in a way that ruins you. A gasp escapes your lips.

“Say it,” Fernando commands, the words vibrating against your skin.

“I-I want you,” you breathe, the admission cracking you open.

Triumph flares in his eyes. Then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a fierce kiss. Weeks of pent-up desire explode as he devours you against the wall. Your fingers twist in his shirt, urgent sounds escaping between kisses.

When you’re both breathless, Fernando pulls back. Eyes wild, he strips off your dress in rough motions, leaving you in only lace undergarments. Ravenous hands explore your newly exposed skin.

“So perfect, just as I knew you would be.”

He lifts you effortlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you to the bed, he lays you across the sheets. You reach for him desperately but he catches your wrists, pinning them over your head.

“I am in control here. Understood?”

You nod, writhing beneath him. With a pleased growl, Fernando releases you to strip away the rest of your clothes. Then he’s above you again, letting you feel his need as he grinds against your aching core. Even through layers of clothing, it makes you dizzy with want.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands.

“You, Fernando, only you,” tumbles from your lips.

With a satisfied smile, he sits back to remove the rest of his own clothes, eyes scorching your bare skin. Then he covers you once more, warm skin against skin, teasing your entrance as his mouth finds your breasts.

Your head falls back, lost in sensation, but Fernando grips your chin. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you.”

Holding your gaze, he enters you in one long stroke. The feeling of him filling you so completely wrenches a shattered moan from your lips. Fernando gives you no chance to adjust, pulling back only to drive into you again and again. You cling to him helplessly, taken over by a pleasure so intense it borders pain.

Fernando murmurs filthy praise and endearments in your ear as he possesses you. When his pace quickens, you shatter around him with a keening cry. He follows you over the edge with a growl soon after.

Still buried inside you, he brushes damp hair back from your face. “Such a good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheeks.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with sensation, with intimacy like you’ve never known. Fernando kisses you lazily before withdrawing to lay beside you. He gathers you close against his chest.

“Sleep now. You will need your rest to watch me win tomorrow.”

His arrogant assurance makes you laugh weakly. Fernando smiles, eyes softening.

“Laugh now if you wish. But after tomorrow, your brother will be the one sulking.”

His mention of Esteban pierces through the haze of bliss. Guilt twists your stomach. With everything that just happened, you forgot entirely about your brother.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Fernando tilts your chin up. “Do not look so troubled, hmm? Esteban need never know.”

You bite your lip. “He won’t approve. He warned me about you.”

Amusement flickers in Fernando’s eyes. “Did he now? And yet here you are.” His expression grows serious. “I will not share you, Y/N. Not even with family.”

The words, though alarming, send a thrill through you. To be wanted so possessively is disturbingly intoxicating. You know you should pull away, but you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Fernando kisses you again, more gently this time. “Sleep, my sweet. No more worrying.”

Wrapped securely in his arms, you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you under. Everything else can wait for tomorrow. Tonight, you simply need to feel Fernando surrounding you, keeping you safe in the shelter of his embrace. Whatever comes next, you know you are his now. For better or worse.

***

Morning light streams through the curtains, rousing you from dreams of warm skin and demanding touches. For a moment, you reach across rumpled sheets, expecting to find Fernando’s solid form beside you. But you’re alone.

Sitting up, you spot a piece of hotel stationery on the pillow, his bold script across it:

Y/N,

Last night was magnificent. I wish I could wake to your beautiful face, but it is race day and I must prepare. Tonight, we celebrate properly. Wear something special for me.

Yours,

You trace the letters, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through you. The sheer joy of last night, giving in fully to each other. The guilt that creeps in with morning’s harsh light. Uncertainty of what comes next.

But most powerful of all is the magnetic pull towards him, this man who looked inside you and saw something even you didn’t know was there. Fernando unlocked it effortlessly, leaving you craving more.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Esteban, jolting you fully back to reality. He’s checking that you will be in Alpine hospitality for the race. You text back a vague confirmation, stomach twisting. Facing your brother today, pretending everything is fine while memories of Fernando claiming you play on repeat in your head, will be its own special kind of torment.

You take extra time getting ready, needing the armor of makeup and nice clothes before seeing the team. When you finally make your way trackside, the chaos of race day surrounds you. The garages burst with activity as crews make final preparations. Fans pose for photos and scramble for autographs. But your eyes scan only for Fernando.

You find him outside the Aston Martin garage, surrounded by engineers and PR reps going over last minute details. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, undershirt clinging to his toned chest. Fernando looks up and meets your gaze, desire flashing hot and quick across his face before he masks it.

Heart pounding, you flee to the Alpine suite before he can approach. The morning passes in a tense haze of avoiding Fernando and trying not to show your turmoil. You pick at food, choke down drinks, focus on breathing evenly.

When it’s time for driver introductions, Esteban finds you, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Wish me luck out there today,” he says with a boyish grin.

You try to smile back naturally. “Good luck. I’ll be cheering for you.” The lie burns your tongue.

Esteban hurries off to prepare and you make your way trackside, pushing through throngs of fans to get a view of the grid. On the big screens, you watch the orchestrated chaos of the buildup.

Your breath catches as Fernando comes into view, prowling the asphalt in his fireproofs like a predator. His confidence and command fill the space around him.

The sight of your lover gearing up to battle your brother is surreal. But the excitement shining in Fernando’s eyes triggers an answering heat in you, eclipsing any conflicted emotions.

As the cars line up on the grid for final preparations, you spot Fernando scanning the crowd. When his gaze locks with yours, he presses two fingers to his lips then holds them out towards you.

Blood pounds in your ears. Everything else fades away except him. In this moment, nothing else matters but the connection between you.

The start lights flash and the cars roar to life, rocketing down the track. You’re jostled by the surging crowd of Alpine guests but keep your eyes glued to the screen, following Fernando’s bright green car. He keeps pace near the front of the pack, battling for position on each turn.

When he overtakes Esteban, your pulse leaps. You shouldn’t want your brother defeated, but the thrill of watching Fernando drive is too powerful.

The race unfolds lap by lap. Fernando runs a flawless strategy, overtaking rivals and avoiding risks. Esteban has moments of brilliance but spends more time defending his position than attacking.

In the closing laps, Fernando emerges through the chaos at the front of the pack, keeping two challengers at bay to the checkered flag. Your heart leaps as he takes the victory to the roar of the crowd around you.

On screen, Fernando pumps his fist before peeling off his gear and climbing atop his car for celebratory photos. Even with helmet hair and soaked in sweat, he looks like a warrior king surveying his territory. Exultant. Dominant. Yours.

The screens cut to Esteban climbing from his car in the midfield, frustration etched on his face. Your joy dims slightly, guilt creeping back in. Seeing your brother’s defeat firsthand twists your stomach.

But before regret can take hold, your phone buzzes with a message from Fernando.

Come celebrate with the conquering hero. My room tonight.

Any hint of doubt burns away. Esteban will have the rest of the team to console him. Tonight, you belong to Fernando.

The hours until the evening crawl by. You pace your room, unsure what to expect from the night. At last, dressed in a slinky black dress, you make your way to Fernando’s room.

He opens the door bare-chested, hair still damp from the shower. Hunger flashes in his eyes as he looks you over.

“Exquisite. Come here, my sweet.”

He draws you inside, mouth finding yours. You melt into him, the kiss deep and claiming. This time when Fernando backs you against the wall, you arch into him, wanting more. But he lifts you effortlessly instead, carrying you to the bed.

“I believe a celebration is in order.”

With deliberate care, he peels your dress away, hands roaming your newly bared skin. Stretched out beneath him, you let Fernando relearn every inch of you, patient this time, focused only on your pleasure.

By the time he finally joins your bodies, you’re drunk on sensation, clinging to him desperately. Fernando’s pace builds unhurriedly, drawing out your ecstasy until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows after, praising you again and again as he finds his own peak.

This time when he gathers you close afterwards, there is no guilt, no conflict in your sated bliss. You know with absolute clarity that this man owns every piece of you now, mind, body and soul. And you would give yourself to him again and again, consequences be damned. For in Fernando’s arms, you feel truly alive for the first time.

***

The end of the race weekend approaches too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, stay wrapped up in Fernando without the outside world intruding. But reality awaits.

On the flight home, Fernando secures you a seat beside him, hidden away in a secluded corner of the private jet. He slips his jacket over your entwined hands, shielding touches and whispered words from prying eyes.

“I want you in Spain as soon as possible,” he murmurs. “No more sneaking around.”

You lean into him. “I want that too.”

The stolen moments already feel unbearable after having him so completely. Fernando smiles, fingers stroking your cheek.

“Soon, my love. I will show you my home, my life there. We will never be apart.”

His words paint a picture more tempting than you can resist. Still, doubts creep in.

“What about Esteban?” You whisper. “My family here?”

Fernando’s eyes harden. “Your life is with me now. They will understand in time.” He grips your hand tighter. “I share you with no one.”

You know you should argue, but the command in his voice thrills you too much. Esteban will be furious when he learns the truth. Yet the thought of losing Fernando cuts far deeper. Your brother will forgive you eventually. But losing Fernando would break you.

At the airport, Fernando kisses you fiercely, heedless of anyone who might see.

“I will come for you soon,” he vows. “Be ready.”

Over the next weeks, you make discreet plans and excuses, preparing to leave your old life behind. Fernando texts and calls when he can, reminding you what awaits. The life he paints, together in his Spanish villa, sounds like a fairytale.

Too soon, though, reality intrudes again. Alpine invites you to a sponsorship dinner before the following race. Declining would raise Esteban’s suspicions, so you accept reluctantly.

You take pains with your appearance that evening, needing the armor. But when Esteban greets you with an affectionate hug, guilt pierces through.

“I’m so glad you could come, little sister. It’s been too long.”

You blink back tears, letting him escort you inside. Other team members welcome you warmly, expressing what a delight it is to see you again. Their kindness cuts sharpest of all.

The only balm is Fernando, across the restaurant with Aston Martin again. His gaze finds you, a question in his eyes. You give a small, reassuring nod. This changes nothing.

Dinner passes in a tense haze of pushing food around your plate and avoiding wine, afraid your fragile composure will crack. You make excuses to leave early, feigning jet lag.

Esteban walks you out, frowning when you evade his offer to get dessert somewhere.

“Everything okay? You seem distracted tonight.”

The concern in his voice nearly breaks you. But before you lose your nerve, a sleek silver car pulls up, back door opening. Fernando steps out, beckoning you.

Your brother’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “What the hell is this?”

“Esteban-”

“Did you know he would be here?” Esteban demands. “What are you doing with him, Y/N?”

You back away, tears escaping. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Go? You’re leaving? With him?” Esteban looks between you and Fernando, comprehension dawning. “No. No you would never ...” He grabs your wrist.

Fernando is there in an instant, prying Esteban’s grip off easily. He pulls you behind him, staring your brother down.

“Do not touch her again,” Fernando warns, danger in his tone.

Esteban’s face twists in anger and betrayal. “She is my sister, not yours to take.”

“She belongs with me.” Fernando’s absolute conviction brooks no argument. “Accept that, and we will have no quarrel.”

He turns, guiding you gently into the waiting car. Needing to see Esteban one last time, you glance back. The hurt and confusion in his eyes tears at your heart.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper as the car pulls away. Fernando cradles you close as sobs wrack your frame. Grief wars with relief now that everything is in the open.

“Hush now, he will understand in time,” Fernando soothes, stroking your hair.

When your tears slow, he tips your chin up. His eyes shine with possession and pride. “You are mine now. Truly mine. Are you ready?”

You nod, no doubts left, your fate sealed. Fernando kisses you until the lingering guilt washes away. By the time you fall asleep cradled against his chest, you feel only peace. Your future stretches before you, boundless and breathtaking at Fernando’s side.

Stepping into it will mean losing so much and gaining even more. The path will not be easy, but with Fernando’s hand clasping yours, you know you can weather any coming storms.

This is your destiny now. All your broken, scattered pieces made whole in his arms. And you will let nothing stand between you, consequences be damned. For your heart belongs to Fernando alone.

***

The months that follow are bliss and agony.

Fernando whisks you away to his estate in Asturias as promised. There, you settle effortlessly into domestic life with him, days filled with sunshine, languid meals on the veranda, and nights spent tangled in silken sheets. Fernando dotes on you, lavishing you with attention and affection. Under his guidance, you blossom, leaving your past self behind.

Yet the guilt lingers. Esteban refuses your calls and texts, cutting you out fully. Your parents write you off as bewitched when you try to explain. Only Fernando’s steady reassurance gets you through those dark hours when you fear you’ve lost your family forever.

“They will come around, my love,” he murmurs against your hair. “One day they will understand this was destiny. That we belong together.”

Privately, you pray he’s right. Your new life feels hollow without your brother’s laughter and your parents’ warm hugs. But Fernando fills the void as best he can, surrounding you with his love.

As summer wanes into fall, you throw yourself into supporting Fernando’s training regimen and race preparations. The coming season will be pivotal for him at Aston Martin. You’re determined to be the perfect partner — encouraging yet not demanding, understanding of his grueling schedule and focus.

You savor each moment at home between races. Fernando takes you sailing along the coast, shows you his favorite local villages, and teaches you to cook traditional dishes. At night, his touch erases the lingering ache of your family’s rejection.

When race weekends come, you follow Fernando dutifully, maintaining a low profile. Those around the paddock eye you with curiosity and judgment, but their opinions matter little. Only Fernando’s happiness concerns you now.

The races become a test of will. Watching Esteban battle to succeed with Alpine as you lurk in the Aston Martin garage twists your stomach. But you bear the pain, focusing on Fernando’s victories and commiserating during setbacks. Your efforts earn you his praise and devotion. Slowly, the paddock gossip fades to background noise.

Months pass in a blissful haze. Fernando secures key podiums, cementing himself as a title contender. Off track, he takes you traveling during breaks — Switzerland, Dubai, the Maldives. The outside world and its judgements fade away.

When Fernando wins the season finale, you greet him with a tearful smile, so proud of his achievement. Lifting you off your feet, he swings you in giddy circles before capturing your mouth in a crushing kiss. Cameras flash all around, but his eyes see only you.

“This victory is yours too, my love,” he declares later that night, still elated. “You give me strength.”

Curled in his arms, you cling tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. Fernando has proven your faith in him justified, in both racing and your life together. Whatever sacrifices you made, his love has been worth it.

In the glow of Fernando’s championship, the offseason flies by. Before you know it, new season preparations are underway. Fernando secures a multi-year contract extension with Aston Martin, cementing his status as their star driver.

When you arrive for pre-season testing, the garage buzzes with anticipation. Fernando struts with authoritative confidence, embracing his role as the team’s champion leader. He draws you close when you appear, kissing you soundly.

“Look at them stare now,” he murmurs smugly. “You are untouchable.”

It’s true. No one dares whisper anymore when you pass. Fernando’s stature grants you protection, and with it, a new confidence. You hold your head high, welcoming the envious glances.

One person’s attention, however, you try desperately to avoid. Esteban keeps his distance, but you catch him watching sometimes, face unreadable. The renewed pain of his estrangement cuts deep. You cling to Fernando’s side throughout testing, avoiding any risk of confrontation.

On the final test day, you beg off going to the garage, emotionally drained. Fernando is reluctant but acquiesces to your needs, dropping you at the hotel to rest.

By late afternoon, guilt creeps in. You should be supporting Fernando now, not wallowing. Before you can lose courage, you head back to the track.

The Aston Martin bay is empty when you arrive, the garage eerily quiet. You’re about to turn and look elsewhere when hushed voices catch your ear. Fernando’s unmistakable accent, and one achingly familiar.

Heart pounding, you creep toward the sound, peeking around a supply crate. Fernando and Esteban stand mere feet apart, tension radiating between them. Your brother’s hands clench at his sides.

“I want to see her,” Esteban demands.

Fernando scoffs. “You lost that right long ago.”

“She is my sister-”

“She is mine,” Fernando cuts in sharply. “You rejected her. I gave her the life she deserves.”

Esteban flinches. “I was hurt. Angry. But she is still family.” His eyes turn pleading. “Just let me talk to her, Fernando. Please.”

Your heart lurches, desperate to run to him. But Fernando stands immobile as stone.

“No. I have seen how you make her cry and doubt herself. She is happy now, and I will not let you ruin that.”

“I just want to know she’s okay-”

“She is perfect.” Fernando steps closer, looming. “Go back to your garage and your racing, little boy. Y/N is no concern of yours anymore.”

Esteban’s face twists. For a moment it seems he might shove Fernando back. But finally he deflates, defeat in the slump of his shoulders.

Your brother turns without a word, nearly reaching your hiding spot before stopping short. His eyes find yours, widening in shock.

“Y/N ...” he breathes.

You stare, frozen. Esteban takes a half step toward you, hand extended. The months apart feel erased, love and longing surging-

“Y/N.” Fernando’s sharp voice lashes like a whip. You jolt from the spell, tears burning your eyes.

Esteban’s face crumbles. But he only nods once, a goodbye, before walking away.

Fernando is at your side instantly, clutching you close, a hand cradling your head as you tremble against him.

“You see now?” He murmurs. “He only wishes to hurt you more.”

You cling tighter, the echo of your name on Esteban’s lips haunting you. Burying your face in Fernando’s chest, you let him soothe away the renewed ache, the hope dying again.

Later back at the hotel, Fernando undresses you with gentle reverence, worshiping every inch of exposed skin until thoughts of your brother scatter.

“You are everything I need, my sweet,” he vows as your bodies join. “Only you.”

You know it’s true. Whatever Esteban hopes to reclaim, too much has changed now. The girl he knew is gone. Your fate lies with Fernando alone.

So you let your lover consume you with pleasure until nothing else remains. And when Fernando’s possessive whispers of ‘mine’ finally lull you to sleep, Esteban’s haunted eyes cannot follow.

***

And then a surprise is tossed your way. You throw yourself into preparing the villa for a baby, grateful for the distraction. Fernando dotes on you even more than usual, making sure you want for nothing.

At night, he lays you back with utmost tenderness, hands and lips caressing your changing form.

“You grow more radiant each day, my love,” he murmurs. “Motherhood suits you beautifully.”

Privately, you hope the coming baby might also soften your estranged family’s hearts. But Fernando shuts down any mention of reconciling.

“All we need is right here,” he insists, cradling your belly. “Our child will want for nothing.”

You try to take comfort in his words. With the new life growing inside you, loneliness for lost family cuts deepest of all. But you swallow the hurt, focusing on what lies ahead.

As your due date nears, Fernando reluctantly leaves for preseason activities. You encourage him to concentrate on racing, hiding any lingering sadness. This year must be his best yet with a child on the way.

The season opener comes quickly. Fernando wants you resting comfortably at home, but you insist on being there to support him. After lengthy persuasion, he concedes.

Stepping back into the paddock on Fernando’s arm, you keep your head high despite stares following your pregnant belly. Let them judge and gossip. You and Fernando know the truth.

Seeing the Aston Martin crew embrace you and Fernando as family sparks an ache you thought long buried. With Esteban still refusing contact, this child will have only one doting uncle on the grid in Carlos Sainz.

During the race weekend, you catch Esteban watching you pensively across the paddock several times. Each glimpse cuts like a knife. He always looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

Sunday unfolds in a chaotic blur of pre-race pageantry and tension. From the cozy Aston Martin hospitality suite, you cheer loudly as Fernando battles fiercely for position. In the closing laps, he makes a daring pass to claim a hard-fought podium.

When Fernando emerges from the cool down room, still elated, he makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you up carefully, he kisses you passionately, heedless of the room’s occupants. You cling tightly, swallowing against stubborn tears.

The bittersweet reunion is broken by Carlos, swooping in to hug you both. He presses a hand to your belly with a grin.

“Let me properly meet my future sobrino or sobrina!”

His joyful fussing over you makes your heart clench. Glancing to the back of the room, you find Esteban watching silently, an array of emotions on his face.

As Carlos distractedly moves on to congratulate other drivers, Esteban turns and slips away. Impulse seizes you. Murmuring an excuse to Fernando, you hurry after your brother before he disappears.

You catch Esteban at the elevator, grasping his arm. He tenses but doesn’t pull away, eyes dropping briefly to your belly before meeting your gaze.

“Can we talk?” You plead breathlessly. “Just for a minute?”

Esteban hesitates, glancing down the hall where sounds of celebration continue. Finally he nods, gesturing you into the empty elevator.

The doors close and awkward silence descends. Now that you have him here, you’re lost for words.

Esteban breaks the tension gently. “You look happy. Pregnancy suits you.”

You offer a tentative smile. “I am happy. This baby will have two loving parents.” You bite your lip before adding, “But it could use an uncle too.”

Esteban looks startled, then conflicted. “Fernando would never allow it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need his permission. Or yours.” Taking Esteban’s hand, you squeeze tightly. “You’re my family. I know we can’t go back to before, but can’t we find some way forward? For the baby’s sake? For mine?”

Esteban searches your face, hesitant. You see the longing warring with old hurts.

“Please,” you whisper. “I miss my brother.”

Your pleading eyes break him. Esteban crushes you into a hug just as the elevator doors open. You cling to each other, both crying.

Footsteps approach and you pull back to see Fernando standing there, concern fading to understanding. Over Esteban’s shoulder, you gaze at your lover beseechingly.

Fernando’s jaw tightens. For a moment, you fear he’ll force you to choose again. But then his eyes soften, nodding once. Relief crashes over you.

Esteban turns, instinctively shielding you protectively. Fernando raises a pacifying hand.

“It seems we have much to discuss.” His mouth quirks wryly. “Shall we find somewhere calmer?”

Cautious hope dawns on Esteban’s face. Together, the three of you retreat to a private corner of the Aston Martin motorhome. There, awkwardly at first, you begin reconciling.

It’s not quick or easy after so much hurt. But you now have a child’s future to consider. Heart by heart, the ice thaws between the men who both love you in different ways. They will never be friends, yet reach an understanding.

When Fernando pulls you close and whispers, “Whatever you need to be happy, my love,” you know this olive branch is genuine. You kiss him tenderly, letting your joy speak for you.

In the weeks and months that follow, bonds slowly rebuild between you and your family. Fernando keeps his promise, welcoming Esteban into your lives, albeit warily at times. He seems to take pride in your returning happiness, though.

Your daughter’s birth months later cements the change. A redemptive joy surrounds you as she’s passed gently into Esteban’s arms. Fernando looks on with unmatched tenderness, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Our family is complete now,” he murmurs. And you know it’s true.

The years that follow hold challenges and triumphs, heartbreak and healing. You watch your little girl grow surrounded by love. She becomes the bridge connecting two worlds once torn apart.

There are times old wounds threaten to reopen. Jealousies flare, harsh words spoken in anger. But you face each crisis together, choosing reconciliation over rupture. And your family emerges stronger for it.

At your daughter’s second birthday party, you pause during the chaos to take it all in. Fernando whirls the giggling birthday girl around while Esteban looks on grinning. Music and laughter surround you.

Watching your child beam, you feel only joy now, and gratitude. However painful the path, every sacrifice was worth it to arrive at this peace. You know the bonds connecting you now can weather any storm life may bring.

Fernando catches your eye, blowing you a kiss. His love gave you courage once to chase an impossible dream. Now you stand surrounded by the reality — a family woven together by resilience and forgiveness.

Your daughter toddles to you and you sweep her up, kissing every inch of her sweet face as she squeals. Over her shoulder, you meet Fernando’s proud eyes. In them you see the past, present, and future. And you know — you would do it all again a thousand times for this happiness you’ve found.

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pitchsidestories · 19 days

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mirrors II Jenni Hermoso x Reader

masterlist I word count: 938

a/n: hi, the inspiration came from the request here. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. <3

It was October. And everyone, football players and fans alike, knew what that meant.

The best of the best were about to be honoured at the Ballon d’Or Award ceremony.

Even as a sports journalist, this was a very special night and you felt honoured to be invited amongst all those big names in the audience.

There was just one face that you could have done without seeing. And of course you were seated right next to each other.

You let your gaze wander across the room, trying not be intimidated by the amount of men in suits surrounding you. Majorly to ignore her.

Someone on stage was about to hold an acceptance speech and you hoped that it would shut her up but no, of course not.

“Come on, you know we’d look cute together.“

You didn’t even have to look at her, the smirk basically vibrated in her voice. You sighed. Apparently she couldn’t behave anywhere. Every time you met, she tried to flirt with you.

Slowly you turned towards her and whispered: “Jennifer. We’re at an award ceremony.“

“Yes, and you look gorgeous in that suit. It goes well with my dress.“, she replied quietly and casually slipped her hand onto your thigh.

For a second you cursed yourself for choosing your dark green suit. The colour was too similar to Jennis floor-length gown and made it look like you intentionally matched.

You slapped her hand away and glared at the football player: “Shh, I’m trying to listen here.“

Turning back towards the stage, you tried to follow what the laureate had to say while jotting down notes for yore next article into a small notebook on your lap.

You shivered as you felt Jennis warm breath against your ear.

“As if they had anything important to say anyway.“, she complained, rolling her eyes.

You gave up on listening and instead considered Jenni. “Men love to talk. But so do you.“

She shrugged: “At least I have something useful to say.“

“You’re flirting.“, you stated, unimpressed by her attempts at maintaining a conversation.

“And?“

“And I really need to write that article.“, you replied, your voice rising with slight anger.

When she leaned over to snatch the notebook from your lap, you had to stop yourself from yelling at her. Instead you hissed at her: “Excuse me?!“

Jenni waved the book around nonchalantly and pouted: “Now you’re just making excuses to ignore me.“

“I’m not.”, you disagreed heavily while simultaneously trying to get your working utensils back.

Maybe it was time for you to abandon your scribbling on paper in exchange for only writing things down on your smartphone or laptop you thought to yourself as the forward wasn’t showing any sign to hand the notebook back to you.

“What do you want?”, you sighed tired of her childish behaviour.

“For you to finally acknowledge that we look hot together.”, she revealed with a devilish grin on her lips.

“You don’t give up easily, huh?”, you replied, your voice couldn’t hide the growing frustration you felt towards her.

“I never give up actually.”, Jenni admitted in a serious tone.

Abruptly you stood up from the chair. The intensity of her green eyes looking at you was getting too much to handle.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”, you announced.

Much to your own surprise the Spaniard decided to follow you. “Coming.”, she responded giddily.

“Fine.”, you muttered.

“Go.”, Jenni said, while brushing your back with her hand. Normally you would say this was purely an accident, but the Spanish footballer certainly did that purposeful.

Once you reached the bathroom you let out an impressed whistle.

“This is really fancy here.”

Your gaze wandered around the interior: the mirrors were large, and everything looked like marble with golden highlights. It screamed expensive. Something you were still not used to as you grew up under rather poor circumstances.

“It’s a bathroom.”, Jenni chuckled amused.

“Still. Besides I don’t remember inviting you inside with me.”, you remarked.

“It’s a public bathroom. I’m allowed to be here.”, she reminded you smiling smugly.

“You’re lucky you’re hot. Although your big mouth.”, you begun.

“This mouth can do even more.”, the forward claimed, closing the gap between the two of you confidently while swaying her hips in a suggestive manner.

“Yes, I’ve heard about it, you’ve got quite a reputation.”, you answered cooly.

“I do?”, Jenni raised an eyebrow, pretending to be scandalized.

“Yes.”, you affirmed.

“Want to find out if it’s true what they say?”, she gave you a challenging look impatiently waiting for your response.

“I always want to know the true story behind a rumour.”, you confessed playfully, her glances almost left you breathless.

“Then don’t move.”, the forward demanded.

“I won’t.”, you assured her.

“Good.”, Jenni nodded satisfied while brushing her lips first against your cheek before wandering down to your lips until she finally kissed you.

There was an intensity and hunger to the kiss which almost knocked off your feet if you haven’t been sitting next to the luxurious water taps.

The older woman knew what she was doing, the rumours turned out to be an understatement in your opinion.

For a second you caught the reflection of the two of you kissing in the big mirror. You both were breathtaking as a couple.

“Maybe you’re right.”, you mumbled against her mouth.

“I told you we looked good together.”, Jenni smirked triumphantly.

In this case the mirrors didn’t lie it reflected the desire you both had for each other. While the men held their speeches and felt very important you had found something much more meaningful.

#jenni hermoso #jenni hermoso x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso oneshot #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso one shot #woso community #jenni hermoso imagine #woso blurbs #woso request #tigres femenil #barca femeni

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vivwritesfics · 9 months

Text

No Need To Ask

Chapter Twenty-One - Run Away, Baby

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

1.8K words

Series Masterlist

"We can't stay in the cabin," Carlos said to Oscar.

Both men were still awake, sitting in the kitchen while Y/N had a nap. They had a drink of whisky between them, one Carlos had bought on his last trip into the town. "I won't have my baby born in the safehouse."

Oscar took a sip of his drink. "Are you gonna go back to the house?" He asked him.

But Carlos himself didn't know. As much as he didn't want to go back to their unsafe house, there wasn't anywhere else. Getting another house was too high profile; the easiest option had to be tightening security.

Two rows of gates, higher fences, security cameras at every turn. Carlos would do anything to keep his wife safe. Retina scans at every entrance and doors to thick to be penetrated by bullets.

Carlos grabbed the carton of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one out and placed it between his lips, offering the carton to Oscar. But Oscar shook his head, refusing. "Suit yourself," Carlos muttered and stood up.

He kept the cigarette between his lips, playing with his lighter as he walked through the cabin. He couldn't dare light it inside, not with his pregnant wife laying on the bed.

So, as he walked past her, Carlos pulled his cigarette from between his lips and kissed her on the forehead. She brushed her hair out of her face and left her to it, walking outside to smoke his cigarette.

Carlos had never imagined his life going this way. He hadn't imagined finding love through an arranged marriage. He hadn't imagined his father dying and having to run to the safe house. And, he hadn't imagined having to consider his child being born in said safe house.

Leaning against the wall of the safe house, Carlos held his lighter to the end of his cigarette and lit it. He shuddered as he drew in that first breath.

It wasn't often that Carlos smoked more than one cigarette in a single sitting. But today was different. Today he smoked two cigarettes. Before the second cigarette, Carlos sat on the floor, his back against the cabin.

His hands shook as he pulled the cigarette away from his lips.

There was a knock against the cabin wall. Carlos looked up and immediately stubbed out his cigarette. Sitting beside him, Y/N kept her nose covered by her sweater and leaned against him. "You okay?" She asked, her head on his shoulder.

Carlos nodded and kissed the top of her head. But Y/N kept looking at him, and Carlos realised their was no point in hiding anything from her. They were going through it together, after all.

"Just stressed, mi querida," he said, pulling his lighter from his pocket to play with.

She reached up and fixed his hair. "What's stressing you out?" She asked, letting out a little yawn.

Carlos let out a breath, holding the lighter open as the flame danced. He told her all of his stress, all of his worries. She held him as he spoke, listening to every single word.

When he was done, Carlos let out a shuddering breath. She stroked through his hair, fluffing it out. "No matter where our baby is born, I'll be happy. I know you'll get us somewhere safe in the end."

They sat out there for just a moment longer, leaning against each other. Carlos grabbed a gentle hold of her chin, turning her towards him. He pressed his lips against hers, eyes shutting as his tongue danced into her mouth.

She turned towards him, deepening everything. Her hands settled on his cheeks, her own eyes shut as she sucked on his tongue. "Ay dios mío," Carlos whispered against her lips. "I've missed you so much," He said, hands settling on her waist and he pushed her to the ground, his body over hers.

"Carlos, we can't," she whispered, her expression full of guilt as she gently pushed him away. "Oscar's inside."

Sitting back up, Carlos let his expression fall. "I need to get you back to the house," He said as he helped her to her feet. "I just want to ravage you."

She let out a giggle as Carlos wrapped her arms around her and walked her back into the safe house. His arm around her was strong, comforting as he took her back inside.

But, when they got inside, something was very, very wrong.

Oscar stood in the doorway to the kitchen, Carlos's gun in his hands. He held his fingers to his lips as Carlos pushed the front door shut.

"What on earth are you doing?" Y/N exclaimed.

But suddenly Carlos was behind her, his hand covering her mouth. "He's right, mi amor," he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling. "There's movement on the treeline." Carlos looked towards Oscar. "Do you think you can distract them while I get her out of here?"

Oscar nodded his head. "Make sure you get her somewhere safe," he said.

Carlos held onto Y/N as he led her into the kitchen. He gave Oscar a nod and the Australian opened the door, pointing the gun towards the trees as he took off, shooting.

"OS-" Y/N cried as soon as she heard the shooting. But, before she could say anything else, Carlos had covered her mouth with his hand.

"Baby, please!" He hissed and gently pulled away. She swallowed the lump in her throat as Carlos pulled open the window in the kitchen. "I need you to run as fast as you can to the car."

"Where're we going?" She asked as Carlos helped her to climb out of the window.

"Just run," Carlos said and climbed through the window himself.

The two of them ran towards the car. Carlos tried his best to shield his wife's body as he ran. Moving while trying to press the button on the car keys were incredibly difficult, Carlos realised as he tried to unlock the car.

But they managed to get the doors open and, before they knew it, they were driving away. "What about Oscar?" Y/N cried as Carlos drove like he was on a race track.

"He'll be fine. He's been trained for stuff like this," Carlos answered as they drove through the woods, heading back to the main road.

Y/N let out a breath, holding her hand against her chest, listening to the thudding of her heart. Everything in the safe house had been peaceful. It wasn't an ideal home, but it was peaceful. It was the kind of place where she could see herself loving Carlos.

But now they were leaving. They were leaving and Y/N was suddenly afraid that the old, cruel Carlos would return.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, somewhat meekly. For just a moment she was sick of pretending to be stronger than she was, and she let herself feel vulnerable.

Carlos sucked in a breath, keeping his attention on the roads ahead. With the way he was driving, there was no way anybody would have been able to follow them.

"Verstappen and his son have managed to fortify their house," he said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I'm going to get you there, and then I'm going to take care of things here," he said.

"You're gonna leave me?"

"You'll be in good hands," he said quickly.

She blinked, slowly. Blinking back tears. "I'm so fucking scared," she whispered, leaning her head against the window.

If it was possible, Carlos would have ditched the car as soon as he got to the airport. But it wasn't that easy. He parked as close as he could and held onto Y/N as they walked through the doors of the airport.

Carlos got them moving through the airport as quickly as he could. He bought them tickets on the next flight to the Netherlands and moved her through the airport as quickly as he could.

As soon as they were sat at the gate, Carlos made arrangements for the car to be picked up. He didn't tell Verstappen that they were coming, couldn't risk sending that message. He could have gotten somebody, one of Verstappens men to pick them up, but it wasn't worth the risk. Carlos was just going to have to rent one once they landed.

Carlos had never been on a commercial flight before. He couldn't help but fidget as he sat beside Y/N, full of anxiety. He felt naked and anxious now that he didn't know the apartment. Their lives were in a strangers hands.

***

Oscar ran through the trees, guns blazing (literally).

He was a damn good shot, doing what seemed to be shooting blindly but actually taking out two of the three assailants.

There was just one left. This one was much harder to spot and Oscar had to take a second to look around. He pressed his back against a tree, chest rapidly rising as he looked back towards the safe house.

If he could see Y/N and Carlos running towards the the car, so could the assailant. Oscar had to take him out now.

He kept his gun in front of him as he looked around the tree. Movement, any sign of movement and he would shoot. But then he heard the car start and the wheels screech as they managed to get away.

Good. Now Oscar would concentrate.

Oscar located the last assailant and took him out. Easily. It wasn't the first life he had taken and, in this line of work, it wouldn't be his last.

He stayed in the trees just a second more, trying to locate any more men with guns. When their didn't seem to be any, Oscar ran back to the cabin. He knew what he needed to do. Break Carlos's laptop and get the hell out of their.

Oscar threw open the door to the cabin with little regard. It wasn't like the Sainz family could use it as a safe house anymore. The door hit the wall it was attached to, splintering it.

He ran to the kitchen, grabbing a knife.

It was a bit ridiculous when he thought about it, breaking a laptop with a knife. But Oscar didn't know what else to do. He plunged the knife into the laptop again and again, chipping away at the desk beneath it.

Oscar made sure the laptop was completely unusable before he took off, once again running through the woods, searching for sanctuary.

He had to find Alonso.

Taglist (CLOSED): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @formulaal @graciewrote @biancathecool @evans-dejong @sparklyperfectionstranger @venusesworld @goldenharrysworld @cassie0sstuff @gracielukey @watermelonworries

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probablyintensemuses · 1 month

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mike and marcus running to their friend reader after they’re wanted and her meeting armando for the first time, but to his surprise she can speak spanish after he tried to insult her by saying she might not be trust worthy in spanish 😚🙏🏾

a/n: Ha! I love this prompt so much, so here we go!! Also, I posted these pictures simply because I’m thirsty. You’re welcome.

A thunderous rapp against your door rung out through your apartment.

Immediately you shot up from your seat, grabbing the gun holstered underneath your coffee table.

You crept towards the door, your gun hiding at your hip as you looked through your peep hole.

To your surprise, it was Mike and Marcus.

You sighed, pushing your forehead against the door.

It had been a long few days since they’d been announced fugitives, the whole of Florida and the government hunting them down.

You slip your gun into the back of your pants and unlock your apartment door.

Quickly, Mike and Marcus pile in, smothering you with hugs.

“God, it’s so good to see you, girl.” Marcus says. “Now, where’s the snacks?”

You frown up your face, taking in their foul scents. “Enough about the snacks,’ you plug your nose, distorting your voice. “You need a shower first.”

“Exactly,’ Mike combed through your cabinet and pulled out a glass.

You fold your arms over your chest. “That goes for you too, Mr. Lowery.”

“Thanks,” Mike smiled, taking a swig of water. “We will, but there is just one more thing…” he trailed off, but before he could get a word out, your door flung open.

You whip out your gun, pointing it at whoever just walked through, for all you know, they could be dangerous.

“Whoa,’ Mike pushes off the counter, coming between you and the intruder. “This is my son, Armando.”

You lower your gun, his face suddenly registering in your brain. You remembered seeing him on the screen as wanted along side Mike and Marcus.

“I thought I told you to wait outside,’ Mike whispers.

“I didn’t want to leave you inside with her,’ Armando glares at you, taking in your slender frame and steel demeanor. “Ella podría ser peligrosa y una traidora.”

Mike nods. “She’s not, trust me.”

“Yeah,’ you chime in, brushing past Armando and shutting your door. You observe the new dent in your wall, thanks to his forceful opening of the door, and roll your eyes thinking about the security deposit you wouldn’t be getting back. “I’m not a traitor.”

“But I am dangerous,’ you glare at him and point to your damaged wall. “Entonces vas a pagar por eso?”

Armando’s eyes widen, then narrow as he glares at you. “¿tú hablas español?”

You nod, taking in his wretched scent as well. “Sí. ¿Crees que sólo porque soy negro no puedo hablar español?

Armando’s eyes fill with worry as he shakes his head. “no, yo solo—,”

You playful punch his firm bicep. “I’m kidding, but let’s finish the conversation on how I became fluent in Spanish later. For now, everyone, shower…please.” You gag.

Translations:

Ella podría ser peligrosa y una traidora. | “she could be dangerous and a traitor.”

Entonces vas a pagar por eso? | “so, are you going to pay for that?”

¿tú hablas español? | you can speak Spanish?

Sí. ¿Crees que sólo porque soy negro no puedo hablar español? | yes. You think because I’m black I can’t speak Spanish?

No, yo solo | no, i just—

#armando x reader #armando x black #armando fic #armando aretas #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life #fanfic #armando aretas x reader #jacob scipio

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sunflowersteves · 1 year

Text

i'm not cute || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary || Miguel always loved when you played with his hair.

author's notes || this is my first miguel fic and im v excited!! there will be much more to come <3 also, my spanish is v v v limited and i tried following what ppl were saying in the miguel tag but please let me know if I need to fix anything!!

warnings || none, fluff, it's tooth-rotting

“Did you just braid my hair?”

You paused—froze even. Your hands stilled in between his luscious, soft hair, and it took every ounce inside of you to not continue to feel through each strand of his.

“Uh, no?” It was bashful.

You inwardly winced at the extremely unconvincing tone of your voice. You couldn’t see, but his lips curled into the smallest of smiles. His spidey-DNA, as you liked to call it, sensed the heat that radiated off of your body.

After an unsuccessful mission, Miguel came home in a state of ire. His eyebrows were furrowed, anger rolling off of his body in waves as his chest heaved up and down. But as soon as your hand placed itself across the plains of his chest and soothed the fabric of his suit, everything started to dissipate.

The anger, the grief, the guilt—everything.

You gently pulled his wrist, and he blindly followed you into the living room of your makeshift apartment he built in Nueva York. You sat right above him on the couch, brush in your hand as you stroked through each strand of hair. His frame practically barrelled over you, despite him sitting on the ground with his back to the legs of the couch.

In return, he wanted to desperately turn around and press light kisses into your skin, but he refrained. He knew that all you wanted to do was comfort his tense muscles.

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You bite your lip, sheepishly, as you ignored his comment and started to braid another part of his hair. You very carefully twisted the fluffy soft hair between one another and grinned at the What he didn’t have to know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Well, apparently, you were wrong because once you tugged on his hair, yet again, and he practically jumps.

“¡Ay!” He yelps and turns his head to look at you, “¿Qué mierda haces?”

Your eyes widened, “Miggy! Oh—I’m so sorry!” You go to reach for his head again in an attempt to soothe the pain that you caused, but he caught your wrist.

If you weren’t too concerned about tugging on his hair, you would have noticed the slight change in his lips that turned into a sly smirk. “Cariño,” He warned. His voice was gravelly and rough—the sound sending shivers down your spine. “¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?”

In one motion, he’s hovering over you. “Hmm?”

Your mouth opens in surprise—the spark in your heartbeat not going unnoticed by the man before you. “I–I just, Miguel—” You were starting to get nervous under his gaze—just like you always do.

Pure adoration flashed between his ruby eyes, and his finger gently rubbed against the side of your cheek. It was so gentle and affectionate that it almost created tears against your waterline. He loved when you got nervous and playful—it always struck against his chest and seized him whole. He wanted to see the effect that he had on you in every waking moment, it seemed.

He smiled. “You’re cute.”

You gasped, attempting to turn the tables around and flip him over. “I am not cute!” Alas, you were unsuccessful.

He laughed. It was hearty and pretty against your ears. “You’re right. You’re the cutest.”

You grumbled under your breath, and it took every ounce of control not to kiss the puffing of your cheeks. “Whatever, you’re the cutest. Not me.”

Miguel smiled—teeth showing and entirely genuine as he took in your playful expression and fingers that twisted the short hair against the base of his neck.

“I’ll eventually make you admit it, mi alma. Don't you worry."

¿Qué mierda haces? - What the fuck are you doing?

Cariño - Honey

¿Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am i going to do with you?

Mi alma - my soul

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse #no spoilers

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matthewfuckinggraygubler · 6 days

Note

Could you do Spencer x reader where he’s holding a cast party and reader goes to his home to help get the party ready and confesses that she is attracted to him and he likes her back (Smut/ cute Fluff if possible)

Or could you do where the reader is starting to show her baby bump/ tell Spencer she’s pregnant? Thank uuu

Party with a surprise || Spencer Reid

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

· Category: fluff, smut-fluff, Angst

· Warning: Sex, pregnancy, body-shaming

· Words: 4854

· Summary: You and Spencer are really close, and lately, you've been hanging out a lot. You're excited to help him set up his party, hoping to spend more time with him. You had no idea things would change so quickly between you two.

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn't my first language, be kind!

· Masterlist

"Hey, have you sent animated invitations to everyone for Saturday’s party?"

You heard a voice complaining behind you as a coffee flew through the air and landed in your hands.

"Yes, don’t you like it? They turned out pretty good, didn’t they?"

"Big social event at Spencer Reid's house. Please be on time, if you've been invited it's because you're a very special person… The time, the day... the address... a heart, another one... moving animals... very creative, yes." He complained, barely holding back a laugh.

"I think it was successful… everyone liked it, they all confirmed their attendance, by the way. You’re welcome for the help," you responded sarcastically.

He hadn’t asked for help with the party, but you wanted to do it. It wasn’t something he would normally do, though you thought it was great, and it was as good an excuse as any to spend time together. You’d been friends for a long time, but lately, you’d been feeling more attracted to him than usual, something you tried to deny to yourself.

"I didn’t ask for it, no need, really, just you coming is enough." You knew he didn’t mean to bother you, which only made him more adorable.

"I’ll be there early on Saturday to help with everything. And don’t try to argue! I know you." You said with a cheeky smile but a certain authoritative tone, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

On Saturday, you arrived at his house at four sharp, loaded with bags full of decorations, food, and drinks. You climbed the stairs, feeling sweat trickling down your back and your heart racing. You wanted to look perfect for him. Once at the top, you dropped everything with a sigh. Your hair was a bit tousled, and your cheeks were flushed. Just as you were about to fix yourself up, the door opened.

"Hey… What are you doing…?" A shy smile appeared on his lips.

"N-nothing... I was… resting. I carried all these things up." You were still panting.

"You should’ve called me! You’re so stubborn... You’re early." He protested as he helped you bring in the bags.

"There’s a lot of decorating to do... Why are you throwing a party if you're going to complain so much?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. I’m just nervous. You... You look really pretty, by the way."

Your eyes widened, and you fought to keep your cheeks from turning red.

"Oh… Thanks…" You turned away, trying to hide the fact that the comment affected you, and started taking things out of the bag. "Come on… Help me..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Spencer was beside you, helping you take out the decorations and placing them on the table. His arm brushed against yours, and it was affecting you more than you'd like to admit.

"Hey, look." Spencer wrapped your head with a garland. "It really suits you," he said with a laugh. You were standing quite close, and your heart raced at his adorable gesture.

"Oh, so funny." You put a bow on his head. "Now you’re a gift."

He smiled when you didn’t pull away. He looked at you intently and, with a moment of bravery, said, "I don’t mind if I’m a gift for you."

Your cheeks flushed, and you lowered your gaze, feeling your heart pound. You didn’t expect such a direct declaration. Was he openly flirting with you? Was Spencer Reid flirting? He was, and you liked it, but the idea of crossing that line with your best friend terrified you.

As you both decorated the living room, the tension between you increased with every accidental touch and prolonged glance. Your body responded instinctively to his closeness, but a part of you fought to maintain distance. When you finished, you both sat on the couch.

"Have you thought about the music? Parties have music, Spence..." You grabbed your phone and searched for a lively playlist.

"Good thing you’re here, or else…" Suddenly, you felt his hand gently stroke your arm, casually, as if it were something he did all the time. You glanced at his hand out of the corner of your eye but tried to ignore it, focusing on your phone, but your body betrayed you, and your skin tingled at his touch. You looked up and realized he was much closer than you thought. The tension was palpable, like that typical movie moment where the protagonists kiss. You felt it, you wanted it, and you could tell he did too. But oh, right... just as you were about to get closer, the doorbell rang—a timely yet inconvenient coincidence. You both cursed internally; it was clear on your faces.

"I’ll get it..." Spencer said as he stroked your arm once more, pressing gently. You didn’t know what they had done to your friend and colleague. He was so bold, so confident, you couldn’t believe it, though you loved it.

When he opened the door, Penelope burst in, with Derek and JJ following behind.

"Heyyy!" The blonde greeted cheerfully.

"How’s it going, lovebirds? I brought this," Derek placed something to drink on the table.

JJ entered and sat in the living room, looking at you curiously when she saw your frown. She smiled.

Soon, the others arrived, and honestly, you were all having a great time. You kept handling the music for everyone's sake, and watching Morgan and Garcia break into dance quickly got the party going. Rossi pulled you out to dance, Emily and JJ made amusing comments, and Hotch stayed off to the side, sipping his drink and "smiling" at the spectacle. But noticing how Spencer never took his eyes off you for a second made your heart race non-stop. If there hadn’t been music, everyone could have probably heard your heartbeat.

You spent the whole night flirting, glances here and there, a touch now and then, a subtle comment whenever one of you got close to the other… Tonight you felt like you were on cloud nine. You went to Spencer’s room, where you had all left your personal things, to grab some lip balm from your purse. As you were about to leave, you bumped into him.

"Oh..! You scared me... Sorry."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you." Spencer had a relaxed smile on his face. He had followed you, clearly wanting to be alone with you, and at that point, you had no control over your nerves.

"N-no, it’s fine..."

"You still… still haven’t danced with me," he said, raising his eyebrows, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that made you melt. You hadn’t really been aware of it until now. And suddenly, you realized you were in his room, in the dark, with only the light from outside and the sound of the music from the living room and your friends having fun.

"No, you don’t dance..." You said with a nervous giggle.

"I would dance with you," he replied, stepping closer.

The shy laugh that escaped you as you lowered your head, embarrassed, seemed like more than enough of a sign for him to approach, with a soft but determined touch on your waist. His touch was slow, cautious, waiting for any sign of doubt or rejection, but that never came. Instead, your hands slowly moved up his arms, tracing the path to his shoulders, and you were completely pressed together as you started a slow, swaying dance.

Your gazes locked, trapping you in the warmth of his brown eyes that seemed to speak without words. Slowly, he leaned his face toward yours until your foreheads touched. He smiled—a smile full of tenderness you could see even with the dim light that entered, making you shiver.

With a slight movement of his foot, he closed the door, isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. The darkness surrounding you seemed to intensify your heartbeat. His hands, which had rested on your waist, began to slowly slide down, while yours, almost without realizing it, moved up to his neck, seeking more closeness.

Your noses brushed in a sweet, innocent gesture, but it was loaded with restrained desire. Your bodies, once swaying in sync, now moved erratically, but in that lack of coordination, there was something deliberate, as if every small accidental touch was a game you both wanted to keep playing. You could feel it—his body reacting, and yours responding to his touch.

Almost at the same time, you both leaned in, meeting in a kiss that, though passionate, was slow, delicate. With each touch, each caress of his lips on yours, you felt your mind fog, and time seemed to stop, letting only your deepest instincts guide the moment. Your tongues tangled together, while Spencer’s hands tenderly caressed the rest of your body, pulling it as close to his as he could, wanting to treat it with all the care in the world, and that’s when he seemed to realize he wanted to kiss every part of you. There was nothing innocent about the way your tongues intertwined, exploring each other with a sweetness that made you feel like you were floating. Spencer’s hands were careful, starting to explore your body with the same tenderness with which he kissed your lips.

He pushed you gently against the door, his ragged breath hitting your skin as he began a trail of kisses down your neck, slowly descending to your collarbone. Each kiss ignited a spark, making your thoughts completely vanish. The softness with which he treated you was a delicious contradiction; his kisses were soft, but the desire only made you burn more.

In the background, you barely heard the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek’s booming laughter or Garcia’s loud voice faded away. All that mattered was him and how his hands drew you closer to his body, as

In the background, you could barely hear the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek's loud laughter or García's booming voice faded away. All that mattered was him, and the way his hands pulled you closer to his body, as if he never wanted to let you go.

With a gentle movement, you pulled Spencer, and the two of you fell onto the bed. You on your back and him on top of you, his lips never stopped moving across your skin. A mixture of desire and tenderness filled every second. His body against yours enveloped you, not just physically, but emotionally, as you felt the intensity that only kept growing. And there, while Spencer's hands continued to explore your body with that infinite devotion, you knew that moment was just yours, perfect in its mix of passion and love.

His lips didn’t stop exploring every part of you they could reach, while his ragged breathing brushed your skin with an intoxicating warmth, the way his mouth lingered on your skin was slow, but filled with an intensity that made you shiver. Your hands weren’t still. They slid to his hair, tangling in it, tugging slightly, trying to feel him even closer. You could feel how every one of his movements seemed intentional, designed to make you feel loved and desired at the same time. He paused occasionally, breathing deeply. The silence in the room, broken only by whispers, shallow breaths, and the music in the background, became even more palpable when his lips finally met yours again in a deeper, more desperate kiss.

His hands rested on your face, caressing your cheek with an overwhelming softness. He looked into your eyes as his breathing steadied slightly, and then, in a low and husky voice, he said, "You can’t imagine how much I love you." His confession hung in the air, filling it with a warmth that pierced your heart.

You shivered, your body trembled, and your mind went blank. In that moment, it felt like you were floating away, all the feelings you'd been ignoring, and there he was, confessing that he loved you and making you feel like the most desired person in the sweetest way.

As his lips met yours again, Spencer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth. There was something mischievous in that gesture, something that seemed to remind you both that you'd been away from the party for too long. Your stomach fluttered, and you said, "I love you too, Spencer." The urgency started to grow more palpable. His body on top of yours pressed slightly, as if time itself was conspiring to make sure nothing and no one interrupted that moment.

Between kisses, soft laughter, and ragged breaths, he whispered in your ear, with a warm and conspiratorial tone: "They're going to look for us... they must be wondering where we are by now."

"Let them wonder," you replied with a half-smile, almost panting, as you pulled him closer, making your bodies fit together even more. You felt the heat on your skin, the fast beat of his heart, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. There were no longer just brushes of skin, his hands sought your breasts, caressing them beneath your clothes as he kissed your neck.

The hand that had been exploring your torso moved down to your abdomen, unbuttoning your pants. His hands began to slide more firmly over your waist, moving down, pulling off your pants and underwear. Despite the urgency you both felt, there was a softness in his touch that countered the fast pace of his kisses. It seemed like every gesture, every caress, was filled with love and devotion.

Between kisses, Spencer paused his mouth near your ear. "Tell me if you want me to stop..." His voice was a deep whisper, filled with that perfect mix of desire and respect, his words echoed in your mind as you bit your lip.

"No… Don't stop," you responded quickly, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair, pulling him closer to you. You got rid of his belt, and his hands moved even faster, exploring every part of you, while his mouth reclaimed yours in a deeper kiss, full of that urgent desire. You knew that at any moment someone could knock on the door or ask about you two, but that only seemed to speed things up. You shivered when, in one swift movement, you felt him make you completely his.

Spencer breathed against your neck, his lips moving up and down, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin burn with each touch. Between whispered moans of pleasure, you felt how his movements became faster, more intense, but never lost the sweetness that had characterized every touch, every kiss.

"You're perfect," he whispered against your lips, his voice ragged from the intensity of the moment. His hot breath brushed your skin as he kissed you over and over, his hands gripping you as if he didn’t want that moment to slip away.

You felt it too; that delicious mix of urgency and emotional connection that made you wish time would stop. As your bodies moved in unison, Spencer kept his eyes closed, as if that allowed him to thrust with more force, as if he wanted to savor every second. But when he opened them, he looked at you with such intensity that it almost took your breath away.

Words were replaced by unintelligible whispers, small confessions of love and desire that escaped between quick breaths. The urgency that had started when you fell on the bed now reached its peak, but even in those most intense moments, Spencer never stopped being tender. His hands, which gripped you more tightly, still kept that softness that made you feel protected and loved.

Finally, the moment culminated in an explosion of sensations, and he had to cover your mouth with his hand between laughs to keep quiet, though luckily the music was loud. The two of you clung to each other, breathing together, sharing the heat and the rapid beat of your hearts. Spencer buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply as he tried to calm down, letting his hand that had been over your lips fall.

After a few moments, both of you started laughing softly, your bodies still close. Spencer sat up just enough to look into your eyes.

"They definitely suspect something," he said, but his tone was light, playful. He didn’t seem too worried.

"I don’t care," you replied, laughing, as you caressed his neck.

That night meant something new for both of you. Monday morning when you arrived, he was there, and you looked at each other nervously, unsure of what to say. You had confessed your love to each other in the middle of the frenzy and hadn’t talked about it afterward. For the rest of the party, you were affectionate, more than usual, and of course, your friends noticed your absence and the playful flirting afterward. You didn’t escape the teasing comments either.

“Hey, lovebirds, here,” Derek handed each of you a drink. “You need to replenish your fluids.” My face turned as red as a tomato, and Spencer laughed, lowering his gaze.

“Morgan... leave them alone, don’t be cruel,” JJ was at least on our side, thankfully.

“I love it when there are new couples! The beginnings are so beautiful!!” García is undoubtedly the team’s biggest blabbermouth. I didn’t know where to hide, and I couldn’t understand why Spencer wasn’t feeling awkward about the situation.

“Alright, alright... Guys, stop, y/n’s going to bolt,” Rossi gestured with his hands as if calming everyone down. “So, where were we? Can someone turn up the music and bring me another drink?” Emily had definitely taken over a couch and was in her happy place.

After the party, I went home. JJ, Emily, and I took an Uber. Spencer and I said goodbye normally; I think we were embarrassed, with everyone there, we didn’t know how to behave. And for the rest of the weekend, we didn’t talk again.

When we saw each other again on Monday, it was a bit awkward. He greeted me when he saw me, and I didn’t know how to react.

“Hi.”

“How are you...?” He seemed like he wanted to say something more, but I think he was feeling the same as me.

“Uh, uh... I’m fine, and you...?”

“I... Well, I’m fine...” There was a pause. “Actually, no, I’m not.”

“You’re not? Okay, why not?” You thought this was the stupidest conversation you’d ever had.

Even with the silly conversation you were having, you cursed when you were interrupted.

“Hey, Reid, I need you to come with me to a crime scene.” Damn Morgan, he’s always so freaking inconvenient.

You spent the whole day at the office nervously trying to do the profile, but you didn’t make much progress. You kept glancing at the door. “Where had they gone?” you wondered.

It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that Reid appeared, exhausted from running all over the city, collapsing into his chair. When you saw him, you moved closer, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Hey... how did it go? You took a while.” You were worried when you saw his tired face, and you had the urge to hug him.

He slouched further in the chair. “It went well, it was just a long investigation. I’m tired,” his eyes locked on yours. “I... wanted to see you.”

You tried to contain a smile that was fighting to come out, but you lost the battle. Spencer gave you one in return, sincere, kind. And you saw him extend a hand, inviting you to take it. You didn’t think much about it; you wanted to feel his electrifying, warm, and comforting skin against yours again.

“The day felt so long without you.” You were starting to lose filters; you didn’t want them with him.

“It’s been endless. The thing is, I’ve had something on my mind all day, and I need to ask you.”

“Oh, okay... Go ahead, ask.” You were a nervous wreck, but you acted normal.

“Um... You and I... ? Are we... are we boyfriend and girlfriend...?”

Your smile grew wider without meaning to; you found it so adorable how he was asking to be your boyfriend, how he wasn’t sure if he already was after what had happened. He was sweet even for this. Though to be honest, you didn’t really know either.

“Hm... I’d like that... Do you... do you want to be my boyfriend...?” You asked with a bit of hesitation.

He gently pulled on the hand you had grabbed a few minutes ago, and with the other, he cupped your face and kissed you with a softness and tenderness that made you melt. Yes, he definitely wanted to be your boyfriend.

You spent a few dreamlike months together. You were in love, enjoying your time like any newly-started couple: many hours in bed, just as many out walking, countless more on the couch reading and eating chocolate ice cream like you loved so much, enduring the comments and teasing from your friends... You had been together for a month and a half, and for the last few days, you hadn't been feeling well. Some dizziness and more exhaustion than usual, though you didn’t think much of it.

A week later, and suddenly, the foods you once loved were making you feel sick. Everything disgusted you. By the time two months had passed, the lack of sleep and food, along with body aches, was getting to you.

"Hey, you've not been feeling well lately, babe. We’re going to the doctor," he insisted, kind but firm.

"Seriously, just leave it, these past few weeks have been stressful. I just need to finish this case."

"Stress? You can’t stop moving at night, your back hurts, you're irritable, you're not eating... It’s like…" His face changed completely, becoming sad.

"Like what…?"

"We started dating, and now you… Is this all because you don’t want us to be together? Do you want to go back?"

"W-what?" My eyes were wide. Had I made him think that? I had been so focused on myself that I hadn’t noticed how he was feeling. "NO! I love you! Do you hear me?" I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me.

Spencer nodded slowly and rested his forehead against mine. "I love you too. I’m just worried you’re not okay."

"You’re so adorable I could die right now, you know that?" His laugh, with his forehead still pressed against mine, made him even more adorable. He didn’t know.

A couple more weeks passed, maybe three, you weren’t sure. There was so much chaos in your life—working at the BAU had its downsides: traveling, long hours, constant outings... You hadn’t noticed a pattern until today. You had spent the last five mornings throwing up your coffee. “Sht…” you thought. Suddenly, you became aware of everything else: you were wearing leggings because your jeans were too tight, the aches, the fatigue, the chest pain, the nausea... “Fck… This can’t be, this can’t be…”

You panicked and got dressed quickly, trying not to think about it anymore. When you arrived at the bullpen, JJ showed up with some donuts and offered you one, but you refused as soon as the smell hit your nose.

“Ugh… no thanks, JJ…”

“Oh, alright… I’ll save one for later.” JJ looked at you closely.

“Hey, for how little you’re eating, you’re looking extra huggable. Love looks good on you,” Morgan joked about the obvious change in your body, and it crushed you. It was an innocent comment, seemingly positive, but you couldn’t take it.

“S-sorry, I need to go to the bathroom, guys.” You rushed off, the door closed behind you, and you started crying uncontrollably.

A few seconds later, someone came in. “Hello…? Hey…” JJ was fully aware of what was happening to you. She had been watching for a while—she had gone through the same thing. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I screwed up, JJ…”

“Well… It’s not exactly that, right?”

“How could I not use…? Damn it, I should’ve known better. I forget to take the pill sometimes. I’m so scatterbrained, and with the time changes, the trips… What do I do?!”

“Hm, I think you two need to talk, honestly. You love each other, don’t you? It’ll be okay.” JJ seemed so calm, and it was actually helping you, but all you wanted to do was scream.

The rest of the day, you were a bit distant with everyone, even with Spencer, who seemed worried about you. He tried to take care of you without overwhelming you too much, always attentive to your needs. He always did that, but now he wanted to make sure you felt better; leaving water on your desk, lollipops you liked next to your monitor, hand cream… At the end of the day, he approached you.

"Hey, um, would you… do you want to come over to my place today?" You could see his concerned, almost pleading expression.

That automatically brought a small smile to your face. "Of course, I want to. Let’s go."

When you arrived, you were determined to talk to him, no matter how hard it might be.

"Um, Spence, can we talk? I need to tell you something." Your face was full of complete and utter distress.

Spencer let out a deep sigh, took your hand, and gently led you to the couch, inviting you to sit beside him. His attitude struck you as odd, though he was always tender with you.

"Alright, uh… I have something important to tell you," you said firmly. You wanted to be direct, not knowing any other way to do it.

"I know what's going on." His face, though serious, radiated affection, empathy, and kindness.

"Oh. Uh… How do you… know?"

"If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s recognizing patterns. And for the past three months, you’ve had some pretty obvious symptoms: nausea, vomiting, aches, fatigue, gaining a bit of volume…" He squeezed your hand, and a small smile appeared on his face.

You felt like you were breaking slowly. "Why… didn’t you say anything?" Your voice sounded high-pitched, on the verge of tears.

"I was giving you space, I thought you needed it. At first, I thought you were sick, and then I realized that wasn’t it. I just wanted you to come to me when you were ready…" Your face was a mix between a pout and a smile.

"It’s just… I didn’t notice, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just wasn’t aware. My god, what a stupid thing… Not even with my body, my clothes don’t even fit."

"Your body is perfect, I love it, no matter what it is now or what it will be, I’ll love it always. I love you in all your forms." He lifted your hands and kissed them with his eyes closed, showing all the devotion he felt for you. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and a huge smile spread across your face.

"Look, I haven’t actually taken a test yet, so I don’t know if I really am or not… I also don’t know if… I mean, what now? If it’s real, what are we going to do? I can’t think of anything else right now; it’s like everything is foggy—my work, the future, us…"

"Okay, okay, okay… Stop. Listen. Tomorrow we’ll go to the doctor, and this time you can’t say no. Once we know more, you can decide what you want. I want you to know that I love you and I want to share my life with you. The idea of starting a family together makes me really happy, but what matters most is that we’re okay together." Tears streamed down your cheeks, maybe because of the hormone cocktail, or the mix of happiness, love, fear, uncertainty… and he wiped them away with his fingers, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Everything is going to be okay." His words soothed your hyperactive mind. "I love you."

"I know." You said, gently holding his wrists, wanting to keep him close.

· Requests via DM ·

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httpiastri · 6 months

Text

bunny bandaids and forehead kisses – jmm21

your boyfriend is tough when he's out on track – but not as much in real life.

genre: fluff fluff fluff

pairing: reader x pepe marti

warnings: mentions of a scrape and tiny bit of blood but that's it

word count: 1k

requested: hm not really but the ppl have been asking for pepe fics so 🤭

author's note: hello hello!! finallyyy posting this :) loved writing abt him, and will definitely write more of these short types of fics for him again in the future. thanks for all of the love and the pepe asks, giving me so much energy <33 and big shoutout to my fave cutie @norrisgrl for proofreading the spanish 🫶🫶 hope u all enjoy reading !!

‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎

"big breaths now, okay?"

your voice is soft and low, eyes following the way the antiseptic pours onto the rag you're holding. pepe nods, inhaling deeply through his nose as you take his wrist on one of your hands, holding his palm up. you think he's prepared, but when the rag meets his still bleeding skin, his eyes squeeze shut and he can't help but hiss. you let out a chuckle – nothing about his injury is funny per se, but there's something so cute about your usually so tough boyfriend acting like this.

when he crashes a car at several hundred kilometers per hour, there's no issue. he'll walk away without even looking back.

but when he falls onto the ground and scrapes his hand on the asphalt while playing with his five-year-old cousin, he's like a baby. he needs your help instantly.

you're both at pepe's grandparents' house for the weekend, for you to get a chance to meet his extended family for the first time. you had been chatting with his mother and aunt out in the sunshine when pepe came over to you, showing off his hand and asking if you could help him out. you obviously couldn't help but agree to clean him up, knowing that he's way too clumsy to fix it by himself.

so here you are in one of the bathrooms of the house, with pepe propped up on the lid of the toilet as you're crouched down next to him with the supplies you've managed to find in the cabinets. you've gotten the tiny rocks and most of the other dirt out of his skin already; now you just need to clean it properly so it doesn't end up infected, since an infection would be a complete nightmare when he needs to be wearing those stuffy racing gloves for hours upon hours.

pepe lets out a small groan when you press too hard on his skin, face twisting in pain. "sorry, baby," you say, your free hand coming up to caress his cheek. "just a little more now…"

just as you're about to brush his cut with the rag again, the sound of the door behind you creaking open meets your ears. when you look over your shoulder, you find pepe's cousin peeking in through the crack in the door.

"marta," you hum, plastering a soft smile onto your lips. "do you want to come in?"

the girl stays quiet and doesn't move an inch, seemingly not daring to even open the door enough to stick her head in through it. pepe lets out a short sigh. "primita, come here."

the little girl would never disobey her favorite cousin, so it doesn't take long before she waddles up to him. "pepe," she whines, a pout prominent on her lips. your boyfriend's hands reach for her sides, lifting her up easily and placing her down sideways on one of his legs.

"what is it, hm?" he asks, eyes soft when he looks down at her. she's staring at the ground, feet swinging in the air, a worried expression on her face.

"i'm sorry for… hurting you..." marta is already teary-eyed when pepe tilts her chin up and makes her look at him. he shakes his head instantly.

"cariño, you didn't hurt me, okay?" his hand moves from her chin to wipe away her tears with his thumb, before wrapping his arm around her back to hold her close. "just like i told you out there, i'm fine. i promise." her pout still hasn't disappeared and she doesn't seem convinced, so your boyfriend holds up his bruised hand to her. "look, it's just a little scrape. and besides, i've got auntie y/n here to help me out."

her gaze darts to you. "are you a doctor?" she asks, seeing the rag and bottle of antiseptic in your hands.

your eyes flicker between marta and the smirk on pepe's lips, and you can't help but nod. "sometimes, yes." anything to ease her mind right now. "i just need to clean him up a little so it... feels better."

the way she bats her eyes up at pepe makes his heart melt. "does it hurt?"

"not if you hold my hand."

the boy holds his uninjured hand out to her, and she instantly places her own much smaller hand in it. he wraps it around hers, giving it a squeeze, before nodding to you that he's ready again. this time, pepe only winces slightly but stays otherwise calm when you clean the little cuts on his palm – the bond between the two of them apparently really is that strong.

when he's finally all cleaned up, you begin looking through the cabinet for some bandaids. "okay, we have..." you start, pulling out three boxes. "regular bandaids, spiderman bandaids, or," you look up at marta with a grin. "bunny bandaids."

"bunnies!"

you've pulled it out and ripped off the wrapper of the bandaid before pepe can even begin to interject, and you hold it out to the little girl. "can you put it on for me?" you ask and she nods, her eyes twinkling as she grabs the bandaid.

you briefly shift your focus to discard the wrapper and put all of your supplies into the cabinet again, and you turn back just in time to see your boyfriend lean down, pressing a sweet kiss to marta's forehead. "thank you, cielo," he says, before glancing up at you. "and thank you."

with his free hand, he reaches forward to the back of your neck, pulling you down to his level. then, he places a kiss to your forehead too, a big smile on his lips when he pulls away and looks between you and marta.

"mis chicas favoritas."

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spid3namy · 11 months

Text

— AUGUST

pairing : e!42 miles x mixed!female reader

summary : rumors spread like wildfire around school, everyone knew everyone's business. who knew the only rumor about you and your boyfriend would be true...?

contains : angst, cheating, song inspired (obviously), they are mid to late teens, miles lowkey stupid asf, implied lying (kind of), might have some incorrect spanish, cussing, not proof read

divider creds : saradika

word count : 2031

notes : lowkey, i only wrote this cus i literally love this song and figured why not write angst. this is my way of being productive while also being lazy asf LMAO. i probably might start a taglist for people who wanna be tagged when i post new things but we’ll see. anyways, i hope you enjoy the story <3

“Will you call when you're back at school...?”

Summer vacation.

For some, it was a great way to get away from school. To hang out with friends, to spend time with family. Others, it was nothing but a cruel and long three and a half months.

For you, it was supposed to be a great three and a half months!

Until you found out that you were being shipped away to your grandparents house to spend time with them. Sure, you loved your grandparents but they were just.. so old. Summer was supposed to be the time when you hung out with your best friends!

And most importantly, your boyfriend! But no.

Before you knew it, you had been packed up and sent on a flight all the way up to the shitty state of Washington. And that’s cruelly how you spent your summer vacation. Being around old people for a long three and a half months literally sucked.

September 18.

The day school started was a nightmare.

Rumors spread around like wild-fire at Visions Academy. Well, you knew that much. Especially with all the rumors that happened last year about the girl that had gotten pregnant. Of course, that rumor had been a lie. But everyone knew about it in the spam of like 20 minutes.

“Y/N! Have you heard yet?”

Your best friend, Juno, is the first one to come up to you the moment you walk through the doors. She was always so pretty when she came to school. If you all didn’t have to wear uniforms, she’d probably be the hottest girl in school with those fire ass fits you knew she owned.

“Heard what exactly?”

“Okay, so I’m guessing you haven’t heard then.”

You look at the girl and raise an eyebrow, brushing your braids behind your shoulder to flow down your back. What the hell was she on about now? Juno was your best friend, yes, but she was too into the gossip the school had going on. Most times, you couldn’t even believe the words she said.

“Well, are ya gonna tell me?”

Juno stared at you for a few moments before she shrugged, figuring that if you really wanted to know then she would tell you. Even if she knew it was gonna hurt you, it was best if you found out from her and not some random stranger who probably would tell it in the worst way possible.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Uh.. okay? I promise.”

Juno let out a breath and gripped the strap of her tote bag tightly before she spoke in a mess of jumbled up words. “Okay so basically, I heard from Dorothea who heard it from Suki who heard it from Rose who heard it from Verity who heard it from Betty who heard it from Venus, herself, that she and Miles had a little fling over the summer.”

You blink as you watch Juno suck in a huge intake of air. She was acting as though she had been waiting a long time to gain some type of air in her lungs.

You soon burst out into laughter and shook your head, holding your stomach as you laughed. Juno watched you with confusion clear on your face; she clearly didn’t understand what the hell was funny.

Once you had slowly started to calm down, you wiped an imaginary tear from your eye and shook your head, looking at the female.

“Whew, thanks Jun, I really needed a laugh today.”

“I’m being serious, Y/N. I totally think it’s true too!”

“That’s ridiculous, Miles would never do anything like that. Me and he are locked in.”

Juno stares at you before she shrugged; the two of you started your descent down the hallway to where your shared first class was.

“‘M just sayin’ what I heard. Only Miles would really know what happened. Just hope he doesn’t lie to you.”

You snort and roll your eyes playfully, nudging her with your shoulder and looking over at her. “He would never lie to me.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. But just remember: men ain’t shit”

“Tha.. thank you for that, Juno. But you’re not really the greatest person to say that. Especially since you’re biased as hell.”

“What? I am not biased!”

“Yes you are”

Juno rolled her eyes as the two of you walked into the classroom. Anatomy, the board read.

Great, seeing bodies and stuff at 8 in the morning was gonna be so fun. And it was a block class. How fun.

✰

Lunch. Possibly the only good thing about being at this stupid school. You and Juno stand in line together, looking at all the options of food you can pick out. It’s not much. Pizza, nachos, salads, and hot dogs. Barf.

You let out a sigh and grabbed a plate that had a pretty decent sized slice of pizza. Juno looks over at you and makes a face before she reaches over to grab a salad. The two of you quickly scan your school ids to pay for the food before you walk over to a table where Miles had been sitting. He had been there alone for a while now.

He was fortunate enough to have his own food.

Juno sits in front of you two before she nudges her head over to the male who was too busy drawing in his stupid sketchbook to even notice that you were even there. You give a look before you sit down next to your boyfriend, peering over his shoulder a little to see what he was doing.

“Whatcha drawin’?”

“You.”

The answer was so flat, so blunt. It caused your cheeks to heat up when you realized that he was, in fact, drawing you. Miles had always been so good at drawing. It was one of his many talents.

“You two make me sick.”

“You’re just jealous, Jun. It’s not our fault that your mystery girl doesn’t know you exist.”

Juno lets out a dramatic cry and puts her head down when you mention the girl she had a crush on since 8th grade. It was a little cute that she’s liked her for so long. Yet, she has never even attempted to make a move on her.

“I just wish Leni would notice me.”

“Just talk to her, it ain’t that hard.” That earned Miles a glare despite the fact that he didn’t even really see it. Not like he really cared. He was just speaking the truth.

“Not everyone is brave enough for that, Miles.”

“Jus’ quit being a fuckin’ pussy and talk to her.”

Juno glared at him more and started to stand up. You shake your head quickly to get her to sit down. You already knew where this was headed and you really didn’t want the two of them to get into a huge argument. Not again. Not this school year.

Juno lets out a noise of frustration before she sits back down, her hand gripping the fork in her hands tightly.

“At least, I didn’t cheat on my girlfriend.”

That seemed to gain his attention. Miles looked up from his sketchbook and quickly put his pencil down, looking at her with a look that could only be described as anger.

“Where the hell did you hear that from?”

“Miles..”

“Callarse la boca”

You look offended by his words but you don’t have time to dwell on it before Miles speaks again, his voice clear with annoyance.

“Where did you hear that from, Juno? Huh?!”

“Dorothea told me.”

Miles takes a deep breath at that, his nostrils flaring slightly as he lets out a deep and heavy exhale. He was screwed because now you knew about it. And he knew how you were going to act now that you knew.

“Why are you gettin’ so upset, babe? It’s not like it’s true, right?”

Miles looks over at you and sighs, his shoulders tensing up as he clears his throat awkwardly. Guess it was time to be honest now.

“Mi vida, listen... it-”

You blink and stare at you, anger slowly starting to fill up your body. You don’t even let him get another word out before you raise your hand and slap him. The feeling caused his face to sting, his face turned to the side from the impact. He lets out a slow breath and nods to himself; he knew he deserved it.

“Fuck you, Morales.”

And with those harsh words spat, you get up and walk away from him. Juno and Miles both watch as you leave before Juno looks over at him, shaking her head and letting out a sigh.

“You fucked up man.”

“No, really? Thanks for the news flash, sherlock.”

“Don’t get smart with me, boy.”

Miles glares at the girl as she gets up and goes after you. God, he was so fucking stupid!

✰

It’s been a week since you last spoke to Miles. You have been avoiding him at school and even went as far as changing seats in the classes you shared with him. You did everything in your power to try and be as far away from him as possible. Miles didn’t seem to let that affect him.

Even if you were far away from him, he would still do his very hardest to talk to you. To explain what happened between him and Venus over the summer. But of course, you didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen to a word he said. It would be nothing but a lie.

Juno was right; men ain’t shit.

It was almost sickening to think that your once loyal and sweet boyfriend would turn out to be a dirty, rotten cheater! And to think it only took one summer for him to change. That was so fucked up man. You hated how easily you had allowed yourself to be betrayed.

How could someone be so sweet one minute then betray you the first chance they got? It really made no sense to you.

A knock on your bedroom door was enough to pull yourself from your thoughts. Your head snapped up just as the door opened to reveal Juno, a sheepish smile on her face as she practically jumped on you.

“What are you doin’ here, Jun?”

“I was summoned by your father.”

You let out a snort and roll your eyes, moving over slightly to give her more room to sit on the bed. It was sweet how she wanted to comfort you but you already knew it wasn’t going to work. You were too hurt to ever feel better after just a few visits but you appreciate the effort.

“Should I beat his ass?”

“No.. it’s fine, Jun. I don’t really care, ya know? I already got over it!”

“Mhm. and is that why you’re still avoiding him?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Juno lets out a chuckle and moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder gently and pulling you closer for a side hug. It was the best thing she could think of doing right now.

“Ya know.. He’s stupid for doing that to you. He don’t know what he’s missing.”

And that did it. Before you knew it, you had burst out into tears. Juno rubbed the side of your arm gently and allowed you to cry on her shoulder, soaking her shirt with your tears. She knew you probably needed this right now.

“I fuckin’ hate him, Jun.”

“I know, Y/N.”

“I wish I never met him!”

“I know, Y/N”

The two of you stay like that for an hour. Maybe longer. Who knew? It didn’t matter anyway. Juno was too busy trying to comfort you while you bawled your eyes out. It hurt so fucking much.

All the trust that you had put into Miles was now gone.

And it was all his fault.

Seeing him everyday at school hurt worse than any pain imaginable. But at least you had Juno by your side, you knew she would never hurt you. She was your best friend. She was different than him.

You wish you had never fallen in love with Miles Morales.

#☆ namy writes #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #angst #earth 42 miles angst #earth 42 miles morales angst #e42 angst #e42 miles morales angst #e42 miles morales x reader #across the spider verse angst #across the spiderverse

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honestsycrets · 1 year

Text

exclusive | [miguel o'hara x reader, hobie brown x reader]

❛ pairing | fuck buddies: miguel o'hara x reader, hobie brown x reader (background pairing)

❛ type | one-shot, explicit

❛ summary | miguel learns his fuck buddy is fucking Hobie and feels some type of way about it.

❛ tags | heavy jealousy, somnophilia, fuck buddies, multiple partners, undisclosed sexual relationship, dubious consent: aggression/revenge, sloppy seconds, f!reader, lying by omission, spanish is not translated, an attempt at MLE, break ups, eating kitty, bit angsty, older hobie in this piece, break-ups.

❛ reqs fulfilled | Hey! I saw your requests were open and I wanted to know if you'd be down with writing something about Miguel x Reader who has been whining for his cock all day, crying and trying to run from it when he finally gives it to her? & where reader loves him but he doesn't, only for him to eventually fall in love but its too late because she's moved on, or vice versa

❛ sy's notes | here's for the anon that requested i release it. hope you like it, lil buddy.

Miguel wakes early in the morning.

Lyla usually woke him up with a Hey Miguel, Miguel, You have a meeting Miguel-- something teasing and aggravating all at once. That morning his room was so silent that he could nearly feel the heaving and dropping of a second heartbeat. His vision strains as his eyes take focus on the pitch-black room. He takes up the bulk of the bed with his large frame while the pillows are strewn over the floor. Your complaints of-- You never come to find me, you always ignore me. He quickly remembers what happened last night. Your legs were intertwined in his, scaling him like he was another bed in of himself.

"Lyla, what time is it?" he asks, massaging the crook in his neck. The world is quiet in his room. Out there, he knew there would be one problem after another. As soon as he peeled himself from the comfort of your warm embrace. Your legs intertwined in his, keeping him in the warmth of his bed, a spider's web of its own. He hates that he doesn't want to leave. Not yet, anyway. He knows he's in deep.

"About--" she pauses, "Nine o'clock?"

"¿Las nueve?" he shouts, pushing himself up on his thick forearms. "Damn it, Lyla!"

"I would've woken you up sooooner," she draws out in a long tease. "If you weren't too busy pounding your novía until three in the morning."

"She's not my girlfriend," not yet, he bit out, unpeeling your warm legs from his core. A brush more and he would have another type of problem to deal with that morning. As nice as it would have been to lay back down and wait until sleep released its tight grip on you, he had obligations.

"Yeah," she scoffs. "Okay, Miguel."

Lyla knew what he wanted. He wanted this. You-- to help make him forget the past and the future. To forget all the awful things that haunted him day to day. You could do that. He feels your sleepy eyes on him as he turns to sit up in his bed. Your heavy eyelids are cloaked with the ache for sleep. Or half-lidded in fervor for another round. He isn't sure which, yet.

"Te quiero, Miggy," he knows it isn't love you're talking about. Early in the morning, you need sex. He knows how insatiable you are even without your hands slinking around his muscular thigh, inching their way where they had no business going. He cups your hand and pushes away from his softness, knowing he has no time to spare getting worked up. Distracted. It's time to work.

"Manaña. Go back to sleep, I have things to do."

"Tomorrow? I'm not a tomorrow kinda girl, Miggy. " You're that kind of woman-- needy, achy, you need more from him. No matter how much he gave you with attentiveness and care, he could never give you enough. Your words are clear as you turn away, pouting. Miguel throws a look over his shoulder. "You're the only one who treats me like this."

There's the fit. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face as he gathers his bearings. You're slack against his back, lips curling into a pout at his suggestion that you'd simply have to wait for more attention.

"No empieces," he throws back. "I spent the night with you two nights in a row."

"To get off. Hobie's right about you. You'd never go to a show'a mine."

If there were ever an interloper in your relationship. It was, and would forever be, Hobie Brown. The displeasure on your face gently pulls at his heart. He's never been to one of your shows before. He's never even asked. It never seemed important to you until now.

He could do that.

"Where and when," his stomach roiled with something he'd distantly call anxiety. There was a truth to what Hobie said, he couldn't be a good boyfriend and take care of spider society all alone. He'd sure as hell try. If you thought Hobie was better, so be it. Miguel wrinkled his nose, concern lining his bushy eyebrows as he stood up, hands on his hips.

"Oh Miggy, that's just what I wanted. It's tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow, then."

Isn't that what he said earlier?

"Hobie!"

It doesn’t matter where it is, your eyes always seem to find Hobie. Ideally, Miguel would like your eyes to always find him. You spent the night in his arms yesterday and the night before that. Perhaps that was why you missed the spider punk. So when he walked into the meeting early that morning and dropped like a rock on the elevated platform you sat on, he wasn’t altogether surprised that you turned around to look at Hobie.

He was, however, surprised to see your hand slink along his plaid thigh, tugging on his lax suspenders. You're late, he heard you whisper. Yeah, what you going to do about it? Hobie reached out, letting his fingertips ghost lines up your arms. Miguel barks out your name, your fingers snapping back as if a spider bit them. They might.

“Oh my days, bruv, we gonna talk about this?” Hobie ripped off his mask, dropping it lazily by your hip. You swept it up and set it on your thighs. He suckled along the roof of his mouth, pulling his lip piercing in and out with a deliberate, slow hiss. “Or you busy watching my side ting?”

"Hobie," you willed him down. Your eyes catch and hold. "Shhh."

“Mans right pussywhipped,” Hobie balked out a laugh, bouncing at that awful word. His jaw tightened at the distinct sound of Hobie’s hands slapping your shoulder. Hobie is in a mood today. He wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t being picked on. “Look at him, is he serious? You mad, man?”

Hobie!

“I’m not.”

“I like the sound of that,” he could hear you whisper into Hobie’s ear, his senses more queued into small whispers than anyone else in the room. You rolled the word along your tongue. "Pussy whipped. You next?"

It was like he wasn’t even there. As if every moment you spent together was irrelevant. The days that the tips of your fingers grazed his shoulder blades, sweeping across his tight muscles. He remembered how it felt, your careful kisses on his neck after a long day, the drag of your nails across his muscular back as you took him so well on the desk he lectured at.

“You bugging? You know that's not happening. You ovulatin' today?”

Miguel prompts your name. You sit upright, his perfect good girl, a whole other person when you weren’t around Hobie. His brow creases and lines of worry and disappointment coalesce into a look that invites you to behave. You were listening now with a blow of a kiss at him as though that would deter him from finding out.

Miguel doesn’t like it when Hobie takes the piss out of him.

He especially doesn’t like that Hobie seems to know the intimate details about your body, like your cycle. That near the end of the month, every month, your sex drive ran wild. He thought it was a myth. None of the other women he had in his bed acted this way. You, however, were insatiable. If he didn’t know better… He flicked his fingers across amber screens, doing something he never did because he had no reason not to trust you. He skimmed your file.

Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life. Always at his damn concerts, clapping wildly at his old runway shows, drinking at the pub. You were an outlier dolled up in soft white, sparkling glitter makeup and darling strawberry blush next to a group of grungy anarchists and foul punks. On any given day, you might hold his head in your lap as your fingers coursed through his wicks. On special days, you buy new jewelry to change out the old. Every weekend, you like to sit on his lap in the pub of the week.

The others were negligible. He could excuse them. Hobie was something more. All it took was one offensive recording of sitting on Hobie’s lap in a seedy bar for his mind to turn red hot.

Despite being populated with many patrons, it didn’t stop you two from fucking in the bar after one of Hobie's loud shows. Others did the same exact shit. The ringing strumming, the shouting, fighting. It wasn't a scene he could see you at.

"Right there, papi, Hobie, there," your hips ground down, sultry moans puffing against his spiked choker while Hobie’s urged you up and down his cock, groping and slapping your ass around his dick. Your pink ballerina flats willing the movement by using the footrest to help guide your motion.

"Good, innit?" You didn't just like it, he realized, you loved it. Your huffy moans, the stares from strangers, the way Hobie commanded the scene. The bartender even threw Hobie a beer. Miguel wasn’t sure if it was Hobie's arrogance that no one was a threat or arrogance that no one would protest, but it pissed him off the same. He fucked you like it was nothing-- like fucking you in front of a host of sleazy men wasn’t a risk in and of itself.

He was too informal with you. He didn't treasure what he had. It was not the same, not like him. He heard your gentle footsteps in the lab. He shifted his weight between his feet, turning to see you hop up the platform. You fluttered your lashes angelically at him. Mi rey, you trilled. Your king. As though he hadn’t just watched you get railed by Hobie only days ago.

It was a fucking trap. A trap he was buying into, drinking you in. You looked pretty without your suit, clothed in a white, fluttery dress that barely kissed your thighs and nothing more. Like a fly to a spider web, he found himself gaping with his lips slightly apart. He brought his hand to his slight mouth, wiping away all inkling of his interest. You pout.

Miguel snapped back to his monitor. It was your scent lingering in the air, hypnotizing his dumb ass, your body eager and ready for him to pound full of his cum. Why else would you be in his lab? When you were strung out on his bed, properly bred, and leaking his cum, he was happy. He was happy with the tremors that wracked through your pathetic legs, that you were finally quiet for once in your damn--

“Oh? What's that?”

Miguel’s attention snapped to your figure, sliding along the edge of his desk, moving his hand without fear. You replaced it on your upper thigh, driving it between your legs. Horny again. His blown pupils followed the motion of your hand. He cursed his body for growing warm at the sight and smell of you. He hardening up as if his body had learned what to expect in the many days of experience fucking you. Most would have reconsidered what they were doing to him. Not you. You had no fear of men. You wanted him. Were you that insatiable?

“Hobie n' me?” you shimmied your shoulders with a knowing grin. The screen paused on a wet, sloppy kiss, Hobie's teeth nipping your lower lip. He was a biter. How had he missed his bites on your neck? Your soft, perfumed hand cradled Miguel's cheek, peppered in stubble. Your lips shifted up, tracing his sharp cheekbones. “Aw. I missed you too, Miggy. I always miss you. You're my big man.”

Yours. He might as well have been yours because you sure as damn weren't his. You led him on your little fingers with words like honey. A soothing honey that threatened to suffocate him in the weight of the words. If he listened long enough, he might fall in. Guilting him about his lack of time for you, Hobie Brown, the relationship you had, the kisses you exchanged, the sex-- the lies you omitted.

Miguel glides the clip away, bringing another to inspect. You remember it-- the day Hobie found out you fucked Miguel after a few hours of reconnaissance went south. You hadn't meant to piss him off. You only meant to take care of your needs. Needs that included sex. He was a means to an end, a brute that could fill what you needed. That much was becoming real clear, real fast.

"It go that bad? He got you in a fit," Hobie says. He can't help but notice you wringing out your suit, flinging it in your half-filled hamper by your bra, standing in nothing but a pair of soiled panties. Bruto, murmured under your breath-- a brute. He was. Hobie flickered his fingers off his guitar, a stray note irritating your hypersensitive ears. You cupped your ears in protest. "Oi, why are you airing me?"

"I'm not ignoring you. I just--" you bit the words, warm dread filling your chest with the next lie you told. You twirled your hands one over another. "I have a sore throat."

"A sore throat."

He wasn't buying that either.

"It's minor. Just a-- tú sabes, a little thing," you turned your hand over, whirling your bra drawer open with enough force to rip it out. Another growl rolled free from your lips, picking a powdery pink set and shoving it promptly back in. The drawer sat off-kilter. Hobie flipped his guitar over his shoulder and met you halfway, his hand warm on your mid back. It should have been comforting. Something in his eyes, even now, felt off. He recovered before you could answer.

"You fucked that man? Are you mad or what, wifey?"

You couldn't help feeling like you cheated on Hobie.

He stood upright, ripping himself away from your body, and brought his hand to his face to focus his thoughts. He had been fucking you for months-- and for months, he missed it. Miguel searched your eyes for a hint of shame or embarrassment. You had none, not even a lick. You were a kid in a panadería. Not only could you have Hobie, with his slender figure and exhibitionist qualities, but Miguel too-- with his big dick and need for love at the end of a long day’s work.

You played him.

His breath hitched as you turned around, shifting your hips back on his. It was enough. He had enough. His hand slammed over the rim, locking you in place against his muscular body. There was nowhere to run, even if you wanted to. You were happy to be there. Miguel wasn’t. His fingers trembled violently, forming a fist. You knew he wouldn't hit you. For all his rumble and roar, Miguel couldn't hurt you nearly as much as you could hurt him.

“You’re fucking Hobie,” he breathed into your ear.

“Mmm.”

A slight, noncommittal noise slipped out from your lips. It was not a denial, but not an agreement either. Irritation rippled across his skin with every damn swish of your round hips against his, shifting weight from one ball of your foot to the other. His body was alight with your soft body drawing trying to draw his pleasure to the surface. You were trying to distract him. Miguel wasn't about to let you.

"Answer me," he bucked his slender hips into yours, forcing you to catch yourself on the desk. You groaned. He had half the mind to fuck you right there, break in your pussy and leave you drooling over his desk. That would be easy. That was what you wanted.

"It's just sex."

“Are you dating him?”

“We don't do labels,” you said.

Miguel wracked your head back by your hair. A strangled moan slipped free from your lips, pleasure rushing to your cunt. You liked it. There were important details he had to know. Like-- if you used protection, or if you were safe when you weren't with him, or how you rid Hobie in raunchy pubs, and if you made out with Hobie until it was time to sleep. You know, important details.

“I do. I don’t share my women.”

“Yours? Fucking a woman ain’t keeping her, Miguel. You never asked me out on a date, put a ring on my finger, nada. It’s sex. Don't pretend like it's anything more."

"Is that all we are?"

"I've been fucking Hobie for months, Miguel. You want me to drop him-- for you? You don't even have time for me in the mornings."

His hand uncurled from your scalp, shoving you into the desk. He leaped off the platform, trudging somewhere, anywhere away from your body. He feared what he might do next if he kept hearing Hobie's damn name on your lips.

He could have done it-- let you have Hobie if you wanted Hobie so badly.

But it bothered him. Of all the women he could have had, he picked you. You were the only one he let grab him, shove him into hallways, suck him off under his desk, and be thankful for the strands of cum painting your nose and cheeks. You were the only one who slept with him at night.

Did Hobie need you the same way? Did he want you the same way Miguel did-- when he was inside of you, clambering over your body like a hungry beast, making you lay there and take him as he laid his brutal thrusts into your pussy. The way he battered your cunt, filled it up with his seed. Watched you heave heavy breaths-- because you were his to fuck and fill. The prospect of filling you up with his cum while Hobie was doing the same thing… ticked him off.

You were his, a territory that Hobie had no business entering. You had none allowing him to. Hobie didn’t claim ownership of anybody or anything at any time. It went against all he stood for. Miguel was inexorable. He wasn’t so bothered about the details. So long as the result was to his satisfaction.

“She’s at home, Miguel,” Lyla squeaked.

“Alone?”

“If you mean with Hobie,” she popped over his shoulder, sitting as if on a cloud in her fluffy jacket. His eyes rolled. “Then yes, he's there.”

"Show me."

"Nah, nah, nah, he's gassing you. How that man not know about us?"

You sat on your kitchen table, plopped with a hunk of pizza between your fingertips from the pizzeria below your house. Hobie's boots were thrown beside your mini-skirt. His chew was lazy and long. You sighed through it. You nipped the last bits of crust and grease off your fingertips.

"No sé. We never been a secret," you wiped off the rest of the grease between your thighs, ignoring the thought of your very first time with Hobie. But it was persistent, tickling the back of your mind, raging havoc on your unsettled heart.

White was your favorite shade. It was light, airy, like the sky. The sensation of falling through tufts of clouds. But it also made the consistent British rainstorms all the more irksome. The way water dribbled down your wet suit, your nipples perked as you rushed into his flat begging for something else to wear, Hobie's laughter dying out into that deep, low hum. His band shirt was ruined with the sticky stains of his cum.

"You thinking about it again?" Hobie read the way your eyes glazed over in an instant. His feet thumped onto the floor, swiveling in his chair and parting your legs. He leaned forward, his hands on either side of your tiny miniskirt. Your eyes tracked his gloved fingers peeking underneath your skirt. Not to pull down your thin panties, but caress small, consoling circles. "Yeah. You are. We just fucked. You're insatiable, wifey. You wet already? Want me again?"

"Hobie," you breathed. "What if he don't come tomorrow?"

"Then he don't," Hobie outstretched his finger, rubbing your soft chin to look up. "You don't need that wasteman."

"I got you?" you slid your fingers down to his slender palm, gliding over the tops of his knuckles. Hobie's lip pulled into a one-sided smirk, nodding to the side.

"Yeah, you got me."

By the time Hobie left, all thoughts of Miguel were non-existent. Mostly, because Hobie fucked you into exhaustion. You were out cold, strewn among fluffy sheets that wreaked of his musk of cigarettes and the sandalwood oil Pavitr gifted him. Hobie’s scent was here, there, everywhere it shouldn’t be as Miguel slunk into your slightly parted window.

Most offensively, Hobie’s cum was dripping out of your cunt. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. If you wanted him so badly all day, you easily replaced him with Hobie’s dick. He climbed the foot of the bed, watching your face twitch, almost trying to wake up from your sex-fueled haze.

“Mmm,” the small, ineffectual noise caused him to drift his eyes across your silky legs to your lips. There was a gentle pleasure in watching you sleep. He had seen it many times when he crept in the shadows when you were most beautiful. When you were half asleep, your hands draped among fluffy pillows. To be the first sight in the morning, and if possible, the last thing you thought of at night.

If he weren’t so angry with you, you would have been a vision for his sore eyes. His fingertips swerved up and down your inner thigh, curling around until he found your vulva, still swollen and wet from sex with Hobie. Miguel urged his thumb over your swollen clit, zig-zagging along to separate your folds.

As he suspected-- you had fucked him. Miguel urged the cum out of your system with a squeeze of your folds, rolling his fingers along the outer lips. His dilated eyes flickered up, catching a soft sigh in your chest. His fingers breached your wetness, easing the cum free from your body with small sweeps of his fingers.

“Mmm?” you breathed. His fingers slipped away, dragging your hips to his waiting mouth. Caked in the allure of sleep, your moan went without a response. Miguel’s pink tongue separated your folds, small mincing suckles coursing from your entrance to weave around your folds, deliberately avoiding your waiting clitoris.

"Who's it?" The pressure caused your lids to spread apart, lifting your hand from the lush silk pillow under your head to the top of his head. His tongue languidly coursed back down, poking at your entrance. The coziness of your sleep faded away. You dropped a hand to the top of his head to run through his thick dark brown hair, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. Miguel could definitely have been a dream, but he wasn't.

“Miggy… I missed you,” you complained, reaching for the soft pink strawberry he won you once upon a time at a carnival. You had to beg, and beg, and blow his cock under his desk to get him to go. You looked so damn cute. Innocent. You were neither. “You should have come earlier--”

“To see you fuck Hobie?” he blew warm air against your cunt. Your hips shuttered against his face, thighs knocking his sharp cheekbones.

"You're still mad at me." This time, shame surely caught in your chest, a tremor of mean pleasure was minced with the pain of letting Miguel down. He knew it did. You wouldn't look him in the eye again but gripped the comforting strawberry a little harder.

“Considering you fucked him after we spoke, it’ll stay that way.” Miguel rose his hand to caress the outside folds as he worked, slurping the inner ones between his lips. You winced when his wet finger slid inside your hole. It squished obscenely, hungry and wet for his touch after such a tiresome day of longing.

“It’s-- it’s still sensitive.”

“I don’t care. You lied to me.” A brief glance at any watch would reveal that you’d barely slept at all. Miguel wouldn’t let you have rest, not if he could hold you accountable for your games with his heart and dick. His lush lips closed over your clit, flickering and sucking sloppily, drawing shocks of pleasure down your spine. You dug the heel of your palm into the sheets, struggling to slide out from under him. It was too much to wake up to after a fuck with Hobie who, from his files, apparently just loved to edge you.

"No, you don't. Come here." Miguel lurched his arm around your waist, dragging you back onto his face. Ah! Your hand shot to his forearm, battling out with his upper body strength to push him off. You couldn’t. Miguel was too strong. He was going to make you cum.

Pressure welled up in your stomach, forming a blinding burst of pleasure that threatened to let go. You knew it was coming. You knew there was nothing you could do about it but let him force another orgasm out of your cunt, twirling his fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves. In place of a sweet, soothing orgasm, hard pleasure ripped down your spine. It nearly hurt, forced out by his flicking tongue. Your legs tremored around his head, cupping him in place until you couldn’t give him any more of your sweet love.

“Miguel, Miguel please--” Warm tears pricked your cheeks, sliding down to your jaw. He kept his eye on you. Your skin was warm, mind dizzy, wracked with his complaints. “I didn't mean to lie to you. I promise. You-- you never asked.”

“Shut up,” Miguel forced your hips off his face with a sharp shove. Your hips bounced on the bed, a broken cry slipping from your lips at his abuse. He came for one thing, one thing only, and fuck more foreplay. Somedays he had the temperament for it. Today, with your daring admission that you had been fucking Hobie, he had none. "I don't want more pretty lies."

"They aren't lies," you bit out, scrambling underneath him, legs tightening shut. You just needed a moment to explain-- and if holding sex back would do it, you'd try. Miguel pulled himself free of his suit and pulled you back into place. Overstimulated tears pricked your eyes, "Miggy please-- Not yet--"

He looked down at you, eyes unfeeling, unreceptive to your pleas. His cock bobbed over the top of your vulva, thick and hard, dribbling with anticipation to replace Hobie’s cum with his. You bit hard on your lower lip, sucking your tongue over the loose cuts. “If you would have asked--”

“Since you’re so insatiable, you’re going to take this dick next,” Miguel gave a few lax jerks at the base, lining up his cock with your tense entrance. He felt you clench your walls, some piteous attempt to keep him out, to allow you to explain.

“I'm still sensitive, Miggy, please. Slow down, you're too big--”

“Think about this next time you fuck that punk.”

Despite your protests, Miguel pushed the head of his cock into your entrance. A moan wracked free from your lips. He knew it was your favorite part, the way he split you wide on his cock, pulling your walls apart. He bottomed out balls deep in your cunt, finally looking so full-- so full of Miguel after a long, arduous day of teasing him for just this. Your hand came to your stomach, buried so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts. Your lashes fluttered, recognizing that this Miguel-- this Miguel wasn’t the man you knew. Not the one who was cold out there, patient in your bedroom. Something snapped. You cracked him.

“¡Ay!” you exclaimed, then clamped your mouth shut. He wasn't going to accept any complaints. Miguel’s hands clasped over your lower ribs, the slide of tears down your soft cheeks biting your skin raw. “Miggy, Miggy.”

“After all that teasing today, you can’t take my dick?”

“You’re too-- you’re too thick.”

“Tragedy, you’ll have to take me anyway,” he mocked, sliding his forearm underneath your head to keep you stable. Your skin prickled, wanting to believe the closeness he forced was as much for you as him. Your hands came to his chest, bundling up his suit between your fingertips. You needed something to anchor to. Your legs bobbed around his hips as he drew his smooth thrusts into you. Long, punctuated sweeps of his cock filled the deepest parts of your body over and over, stretching your sweet cunt full of him. “What? Am I not enough?”

“No, you are! I just, I love him--” your legs pathetically clung to his hips, trying to force Miguel’s full, sweeping thrusts to slow. Between the two men, you would be sore the next morning. Love him-- the words earned an intensity of his thrusts that you could only try to slow down by squeezing your walls around him. All this time he thought it was him, his inability to bend to your every need when you wanted it done. Your whines drifted off, melding into sweet, gentle moans of approval with every deep swipe of his hips knocking into your cervix. Wet, sloppy kisses marked your neck-- and if you weren't mistaken, the soft tickle of his own tears. The sensation of his liquid need, the hiss of his breath, bounced against your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to be.” His other hand jammed between your legs, flicking at your already pulsing clit once again. It hurt how badly you needed it. You pulsed over his dick, a flurry of frantic perdóname slipping free from your lips over and over, a disc stuck on repeat. Miguel’s moans ripped through the room, the desire for air a secondary thought. You never heard him so loud, so enraged, even earlier today.

You came, wet and sweet over his swollen dick, for the second time since he showed up. A fourth since Hobie was here. You couldn't breathe, pinned between his chest and the bed. Your thighs tremored piteously around him, searing with pleasurable heat. You accepted his last frantic thrusts, marked by a sharp grunt. His wet cum spilled into you, hips snapping to your core to ensure you took every last bit of his seed. You buried your head between pillows and his fist under your neck, tightening and loosening. Your head was thumping, sweat cloaking his suit. When Miguel was finally spent, he pulled free, gloops of cum slipping free along with him. He threw you a look, recording the memory of your ruined body in his mind.

“Miguel--” you reached out. Or tried to. He jerked to the edge of your fluffy bed, his hands wrangling sweat out of his long hair.

“Let's stop seeing each other."

Seconds passed before you could articulate the right words, watching his chest rise and fall with the tension. He fit himself back into his suit, throwing a glance over his muscular shoulders when you cried his name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Only…

“I… I didn’t know you would care.”

He steeled himself to your words from the gentle touch of your fingers on his elbow, trying to reason with him to lay in bed. He wouldn’t. Not this time. You crawled over, trying again. Realistically, you held little hope that he'd let you touch him. Not if he was banishing you from his life. Optimistically, all he could do was throw you off again. You considered yourself lucky that he allowed your arms to slide about his waist and press your breasts against his rising and falling back.

“I did.” But he acted as though he didn't. The words felt small as if they didn't fit in your mouth. He cared. Miguel ran his hand down, then up his head again, exhaling a wilting breath. "Mira… let me go," he sighed, loathing the words on his tongue. He wasn't enough. He knew he wasn't. "I'm in the way."

"In the way? Miguel, you're never in my way."

You couldn't be this dull. Miguel loosened your hands around his waist, glancing toward Hobie's miscellaneous shoes at the foot of your bed. Your intermingled jewelry in ceramic little pots. Maybe he did see it. Maybe he wanted to ignore it, to convince you he was enough. Maybe he was the one that appeared every time you two were alone, not the other way around. And maybe he was the interloper.

"In Hobie's way. You can’t believe that he isn’t jealous.”

“Hobie doesn’t get jealous.”

“You're blind. Everyone gets jealous,” he scoffed. “Even him.”

“Even you?”

That shuts him up. You watched as he pushed himself off the bed, stretching out his neck and heading out your bedroom window. This time, you wouldn’t follow him to the lab, slink into his bed. This time, you knew he wouldn’t come back. It was better, this way, your lives playing out apart from one another. Some lives can't be pieced back together once their web breaks.

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