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messylustt · 10 months

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𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐦

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. a lot of words.

fic masterlist previous part pt eight next part

violence + blood + injuries; making out; suggestive content; my god whew — miguel’s hand raises to…what? you don’t know, because the spider society’s alarm bell is ringing. mayhem, fire, fights…masked men. you only want to help. when miguel confronts you about your ‘help’ clearly displaying anger and well…worry, something unexpected happens…you both getting as close as you did before…maybe closer?

You’re still staring at Miguel, staying close. Closer than you probably should be. And just as his hand reaches up to…to what? What was he going to do?

Because now the alarms are sounding. Followed by the cries of spider-people. You quickly whip your head to the door. And at first Miguel doesn’t look away from you. As if the word ‘emergency’ isn’t registering in his brain. No. He keeps his eyes on you, his lifted hand having to drop away as you rush to the door.

Miguel clenched his jaw, cursing the whole idea of having an ‘emergency bell’.

You’ve reached the door and then the hallway seeing mayhem. Everyone is running (or more so webbing) around, as a fire had started in the centre.

Miguel is soon joining you, just as you spot Miles and Hobie running up. “There you are, mate.” Hobie sighs in relief, grabbing your shoulders as he goes to move you.

“Wh-“ You look around. “What’s going on?”

Miguel narrows his eyes on Hobie’s hands. He knows now’s really not the time to feel petty, but part of him wants to break his ringed fingers. Hobie moves you with him further down the hallway. “If they recognise ya, they’ll wanna kill ya, luv. So, let’s maybe go…ay?”

Your eyes widen. “Kill?! What? Why?”

Miles is hot on both your heels. Miguel not far behind him. Then Miguel notices Miles, brows slightly furrowing. “Why are you here?” He asks, making Miles glance back.

“Uh…I was invited.” He says slowly.

“Uh huh.” He eyed the kid. “By who? Gwen?”

Miles gulps at the look Miguel is giving him. “Yeah…”

“Mm.” Miguel hums, looking distasteful as he walks past Miles, catching up to you and Hobie. “Now we’re letting anyone in?” He mutters to himself with a small scoff.

“Hobie, what happened?” You ask, as he continues to move you, his grip staying on your shoulders. He brings you to the tech room, it appearing empty. You look behind you at the way you came. “I didn’t know you could get here through there.” You mutter.

“Lyla.” You hear Miguel say, her appearing by his shoulder. “What is this?” Though the look Miguel is displaying makes you feel as though he already knows.

“An attack on HQ.” Lyla says, beginning to tap away at her little screens.

“Okay, there are way too many of them.” You hear Pav say, running into the room.

“We held them off as much as we could.” Gwen is close behind. “But their strong. Like freaky strong.”

“Y/n!” Pav exclaims, bringing you in for a hug.

“Oh—“ You weren’t expecting the hug, everything happening so fast, as you slowly pat his back.

“Where were you?” He sounds concerned.

“I was just…” you drift off, licking your lips. “Gwen, whose really strong?” You quickly look to her.

“You remember the men who attacked last time? The one’s with the masks?” Gwen asks, to which you slowly nod, catching on.

“They’re back?” You ask. Gwen nods.

“But they look different.” Gwen’s says—her having seen the ones who attacked you and the tech room when they were in pools of their own blood, curtesy of Miguel. “They’re…”

“Bigger.” You mutter, picturing the masked men that were in Miles’ universe. “Better suits? Strangely taller?” You ask her.

“Yeah…”

“They’ve upgraded.” You mutter.

“Which means they aren’t here for a tiny thief job.” Miguel says, walking past you all to one of the only computers that didn’t get smashed. He pauses though, licking his teeth, as he mutters rather quietly. “Does anyone know the password?”

You hold back your amused smile, as you walk up to the computer. You lean down, tapping at the keyboard. The screen glitches a little, but for the most part it works.

“You’re looking for the security cameras right?” You ask Miguel, still staring at the screen. Lyla was clearly too busy to compute it, so you tap at more keys, bringing up roughly twenty different security camera images.

You zoom in on the middle three, displaying the fire and the masked men. Miguel leans over the desk beside you, staring at the screen. “They started the fire by smashing the tech there.” You point to a far spot on the screen, noticing the destroyed screens and machines.

Everyone had begun to surround the computer. “Why do they want to destroy tech?” Pav ask, as you shift your gaze to Miguel.

His gaze is focused on the screen, and more specifically on one specific ‘masked man’ . You narrowed your gaze on him. Where had he gone earlier? Has he met this guy? How does he recognise him? They all look the same to you.

Green woven—now metal—suits, but still those handmade masks…except now with added metal elements scattered randomly. “Miguel.” You say, making him shift his gaze to you.

You tilt your head, silently communicating that you know somethings up. The raise of your brows asks him why he isn’t voicing anything.

Miguel’s teeth are grinding as he stares at you, silently communicating back. You narrow your eyes upon understanding his expression as one showing he’s not going to voice anything. If he doesn’t have to anyway.

Hobie stares at you two for a moment, blinking. “Can you two read each others minds now? Is that what we’ve been missin’?”

You shift your gaze to Hobie, who’s standing, arms crossed. Then a rather loud scream makes all your heads whip to the computer. A masked man is holding up a spider-person by the throat. But what makes you want to puke is the way his claw is beginning to stab into the spiders chest and running down, tearing skin and other bodily flesh.

Hobie, Gwen, Pav, and Miles are quick, rushing out of the room and assumably to the lobby, where the guy’s screams are easily heard. Other spider-people are trying to fight back, but the masked men seem to be knocking them down a little too easily. How are they doing that so easily?

You swiftly turn your gaze to the screen, eyes darting, as your chest heaved. “One of them took it, Miguel.” Lyla says, making you shift your gaze to him.

He’s moving away, most likely to get to the action to help as well. He meets your gaze. “Don’t you dare move.” He warns, before he’s slipping through the secret entry.

What did Lyla say? One of the masked men took what? You look back to the computer, wincing every time a spider-person got hit. Hard. You take note of one guy, his hits extra painful to watch—the one Miguel was staring at. You wanted to help. You wished you could help.

Then you hear the shuffle of metal making you spin. But your heart slows upon seeing Peter and Mayday. Wait…mayday?!

You rush forward, seeing Peter’s frantic expression. “Y/n, Thank god. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do.” He gesturing to Mayday.

“Peter why is she here?!” You’re extremely worried.

“I didn’t know an attack was gonna happen! I would have left her home.” He’s looking behind him, clearly knowing he has to help, but still holding tightly onto an unbothered, babbling Mayday.

You quickly grab her, pulling her into your arms. “Go.” You say. “They need you out there. Go.”

Peter looks hesitant, and you understand why. “I’ll hide.” You say, knowing he’s skeptical because you’re well…human and could barely fight back against those men. Especially if spider variants are getting knocked out.

“They won’t find me. They won’t find her.” You hold Mayday close to you, as she rests her head on your shoulder, her smile still present.

Then Peter is nodding. He trusts you. He knows you’re not one to be stupid. “Go.” You say again, and he moves, rushing out towards the action.

Your heart is beating on overdrive. Holding Mayday tightly, you turned back to the screen. None of your friends were knocked out, injured or…dead. But just as you go to find somewhere to hide—as you had promised, you noticed something.

A small machine, with a switch, it’s almost unseeable through the screen, but you catch it. That isn’t the spider-society’s tech. That’s from the masked men.

No. It suddenly clicks. Why all the spider-people were getting knocked out easy, why they could never sense when a masked man was l close. It was as if someone switched off their spider-sense and strength.

You felt Mayday lean away, using her own spider webs to attach to a farther desk, yanking you along the ground. “Mayday.” You hold her back. Now was not the time. Why did Peter give her her own webs?

You rip the web, pulling her back. “Mayday.” You say making your look at you, hair curling around her face. “You have to stay still. Okay? Just stay in my arms. Then how bout we play a game after?”

Her face lights up. You’d played these games with her, the main two being learning fun handshakes, and the other was hide and seek. “Alright?” You ask gently. She excitedly jumps in your arms. “You gotta stay still, though.” She stills, wrapping her arms around your neck.

You sigh, turning back to the screen. You can spot Gwen looking confused, clearly feeling the effects of not having a spider-sense. Then you spot Miguel. He seems unaffected by the change, noticing the masked men a lot quicker than the other spider people. Then you shift your gaze back to the switch.

The spider variants didn’t know. Shit, shit, shit. You had said you’d hide, to keep Mayday safe. But you can’t just do…nothing. Then you decide something incredibly stupid, like beyond a seeable level of stupid that could turn out terribly.

But you had to try. Because they weren’t winning out there. You pull Mayday away, making sure she caught your gaze. “Okay, Mayday…we’re gonna a play a game now. How’s that?”

She nods quickly, clapping her hands. “Alright…you remember hide and seek?”

She again nods at you, slightly playing with your hair. “I’m gonna count. And you’re gonna hide. Somewhere good. Really good.”

She begins to try and get out for yours arms, eager to play. “Mayday. Find somewhere really good.” She’d always been very good at choosing a hard hiding place. It always took you forever to find her. And you were counting on that.

Then you reluctantly let her go. You wouldn’t be long. You wouldn’t be. “One…” you pretend to cover your eyes, as you watch her waddle away through the cracks between your fingers.

You were stressed. This plan couldn’t go wrong. You wouldn’t let it. “Two…”

You were gonna reach that switch. “Three…”

And now you can’t see Mayday, knowing what direction she ran in, and roughly where she had hid, so that you could rush back to her. You had to be quick.

You ran towards the secret exit, grabbing a loose pipe. You’d rather go out there with a weapon. Loud sounds reach your eardrums when you made it outside the room, but you continued to run.

You couldn’t slow, or take your time. You rushed past spiders, thankful none are noticing you. Just stay unnoticed—you keep repeating to yourself. You reached the middle of the mayhem. And god was it hectic.

You couldn’t let Peter see you. You couldn’t let Miguel see you. You couldn’t let any of them see you. It’s as if you never came here. You ran, skirting past broken tables and machines.

Everything felt hot, the fire still partially there. You held back a scream as a tumbling, fighting duo nearly barrelled into you—it managed to knock away your pipe, but you couldn’t stop to dwell. The switch, the switch, the switch.

You slid to your knees, rushing under a table. You’ve almost gotten punched, and you’re sure a cut is bleeding. But you run, you can now see the switch, and also your friends. They look terrible.

You grit your teeth moving quicker. You’re so close. And just as you think relief is near, a body hits you, knocking you down. You wince, looking up to see a masked man. He tilts his head, blood coating his entire claw along with his suit.

You shuffle back along the floor, trying to get to your feet. But his boot comes down onto your chest, making you wheeze. “Aren’t you that chick who got away?”

“Different chick.” You wheeze out, scrabbling to get his foot off you.

“Nah, I remember the poster they put up in the lab. Your face is recognisable.” He presses harder against your chest. Your hand scrambles to the side, against the dirty floor. Find something. Anything.

Your hand finally clasps around a loose peice of metal. You tighten your hold, the sharpness cutting your palm. You swing your arm across, stabbing it into the guy’s calf.

It goes in deep, resulting in him lessening his boots hold. You manage to roll away, swiftly getting to your feet. He goes to lunge for you again, but your arm shoots out in a punch, right across his face. He stumbles slightly back.

But you seem to be more hurt then him. “Mother fu—“ you hiss, holding your now bruised knuckles. “Shit…why did I do that?” You mutter to yourself.

But you try not to dwell on the pain as you run past him and the others, finally reaching the switch. One hand is bloody while the other is bruised and you’ve never felt more relieved. You push the switch, a small whirring sound reaching your ears.

Then suddenly you catch sight of all the spider-people’s spider-senses turning back on, practically animated. But your relieved smile drops as practically all the masked men shift there gaze to you. Shit.

With all the turned heads, you catch Hobie’s turn as well. His spider-sense now taking note of you. His eyes widen in a mix of confusion, worry and anger? Wow you’ve never really seen him angry before.

Miguel takes note of you now as well now, as you shift your gaze to him, pressing your lips together as you breathe through your nose. Miguel’s expression is downright terrifying. You watch as he snaps one the masked men’s necks as he moves towards you.

You gulp, noticing some of the masked men move to you as well. You swiftly grab the small switch machine, and begin to back out of the room, or at least try to.

And just as a claw reaches for your face, an orange web yanks you aside, nearly making you tumble, but a tight hand wraps around your upper arm. “What the fuck are doing here?” Miguel lowly hisses out.

“Miguel— I have to go.” Mayday. You had to get to Mayday.

“No, no you can’t just go anywhere. You were already practically an enemy to these guy, but oh now they want to kill you.” He says this while slicing his claws across one of the guys throats—having tilted his head back to display the guys bare neck.

“Miguel.” You hiss. “Let go. I have to go.” You rush these words out.

But Miguel didn’t want to let go. You were bleeding, bruised, and almost dead. “Why didn’t you stay put? Why didn’t you stay goddamn put?” He growls.

You’re breathing hard. You had to go, and you didn’t have the time to explain. So you do the best thing you can think of. “I’m sorry about this...”

Your hand had reached for something on the a table, a plate, another peice of metal, whatever it was you knock it across his face. Not to cut, or harm, just so that his grip would loosen around your arm.

And it does, leaving you room to run. And god did you run—fast. You skirted past fighting people, the spider variants finally knocking some of the masked men down, now that the switch was off.

You reached the secret entrance, rushing into the tech room. You kept the switch machine close to you as you rushed to Mayday’s hiding place. You tried to slow your breathing, not wanting to freak her out. You wiped your bloody hand on your pants, wincing as your cut rubs against the material.

You didn’t want to scare her.

You reach the small cupboard type thing, having to lift yourself up. She had clearly webbed herself towards it. But with you being taller than her you managed. You took a breath. Pretending that you had been playing the entire time.

“Oh, Mayday.” You sing songed quietly. “I wonder where you are?”

You neared the closed cupboard door, hearing a faint giggle. You sigh in relief at the fact that she’s still here. You whip the doors open and you hear a small squeak. You scoop her up.

“Found you.” You said softly, earning now huffing giggles from her. She was okay. She was okay.

But then your heart drops. You hear heavy scuffing boots enter the room. No. Please no. Without thinking you rush into the cupboard, shutting the door.

Mayday begins to babble on about something, but you put her head into your neck. “Shh.” You shakily whisper. “Shh.” You stroke her hair. She moves a little, but luckily she begins to relax in your arms.

You can hear the taunting boots near. And you hold your hand over your mouth, quieting your heavy breathing. Please stay quiet Mayday, please stay quiet—you think to yourself, holding her closer to you, as you slide to the floor of the cupboard. It only just fit you both.

Then the door is getting harshly pulled open and your eyes widen. No, no, no. But then just as the masked man comes into view, his body is getting harshly lifted, his feet raising as blood bleeds out from his stomach. Your eyes widen.

Then he falls to the side, revealing a heaving Miguel. Your head knocks back against the cupboard back wall, as you hold Mayday tighter to you. You couldn’t let her see. Any of the blood, you wouldn’t let her see.

Miguel meets your gaze, just as Hobie, Pav, Gwen, Miles and Peter rush to a stop beside him, all staring into the cupboard.

You begin to shakily stand, still holding onto Mayday for dear life. You were scared. Your adrenaline slowly disappearing.

Peter rushes forward taking Mayday from you. He notices there isn’t a scratch on her and Peter is beyond relieved. “Make sure she doesn’t…see.” You say, sounding somewhat out of it as you blink, so your eyes would stay open.

Then Hobie is slipping his arm around your midriff, supporting your legs, as you gulped down arising tears. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of everyone.

“What the hell was that?” For once there is no joke in Hobie’s tone.

Your eyes a blurring, but you wanted to stay awake. You hated how much your body could exhaust. “You were supposed to stay up here.” Miguel is saying, his breathing still heavy.

You know that you arriving back to the tech room, alerted that now dead masked man of where you were.

For once Miguel doesn’t mind that Hobie is holding you. He’s helping you. And though Miguel would rather help you, his hands are covered in blood—Hobie having used his surroundings and web to mainly fight them, his hands being rather clean from the red.

You half heartedly chuckle. “You can just say thanks.” You meet his gaze, a small smile edging your lips.

“Are they…” You drift off, Gwen filling in.

“They left. They aren’t dead. Some of them are. But the others…left.” She says, making you nod.

“Thank god.” You mutter out, the pain finally feeling like it can catch up to you. “And fuck…” You slightly push off of Hobie, shaking your bruised hand. “When were any of you gonna tell me that punching someone really fuckin’ hurts.”

“Well, usually punching someone with a metal head tends to hurt.” Pav says, raising his brows slightly.

“Eh.” You chuckle, continuing to flex your hand.

;;

Miguel didn’t leave your side when you went to medical, you getting stitched, and mended.

“Don’t sleep in here.” He says, gazing around at practically every spider person. The medical was of course packed.

“But the fire reached my room—“

“Not mine.” Miguel says, already slipping his arms around your body—though he keeps his hands, for the majority, off of you. His hands were still covered in blood, though dry, meaning the blood wouldn’t taint you, he still couldn’t.

“That’s fine—“

“Shut up, and move.” Miguel wasn’t looking for your acceptance, taking you to his room.

;;

Once inside, he shuts the door, leading you to sit on his bed. As you did, he had slightly begun to pace the length of his room.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching his stressful state. “Can you stop?”

He shifts his gaze to you, semi stopping. His body was still tense, his jaw clenched. “Sit.” You say, gesturing to the chair. You narrow your gaze until he obeys, moving the chair to face you, as he took a seat.

Glass still slightly littered the ground, the slight scratch marks on the chair staying easily visible.

You noticed for a moment that he couldn’t look at you. His gaze instead getting caught up with his wrist. You glanced down at it, noticing a thin…bracelet? It was covered in blood, and he had begin to fiddle with it, making your brows furrow.

“What’s that?” You ask. But he still doesn’t meet your gaze, clenching his hand into a fist.

“Nothing.” He says. But it wasn’t nothing of course. It was your bracelet, the one he had found in your rooms doorway, back in your universe when you had went missing.

“I didn’t know you were one to wear jewellery.” You speak light heartedly. But he barely reacts. “Miguel.” You say, sighing. “Can you at least look at me?”

And it’s the slight sadness in your voice that makes him. He looks up and you’re shocked to see a million different emotions swirling in his eyes.

“Why did you do that?” He asks, now not looking away from your eyes.

“What?”

“That.” He hisses lowly. “You were supposed to stay in the tech room.”

“Miguel you do realise that I couldn’t have just stood there and literally watched…right?” You ask, seeing his gaze flicker everywhere on your face. “I saw something important, and thought i should help.”

“But you shouldn’t have.” He says.

“Yes, I should have…” You stand up now. Miguel moves to stand also, but you hold your hand out, making sure he stayed seated. “I want to help Miguel. I want to be of help.”

“Yeah, well you being of help nearly got you killed.” He snarls.

“Exactly the same as all of you.” You say, stepping closer to his seated self. “You guys go through so much dangerous stuff all the time. And finally when I can actually help you hate me for it.”

“Because you’re—“

“A weak human, yeah I got it. But I wanted to help. And It worked…none of you guys are dead!” You exclaim, breathing heavy.

Miguel stares up at you, his breathing close to matching yours.

“That is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Miguel.” You say. “Help.”

“You almost died out there.” His voice had begun to soften.

“And so did you!” Yours hasn’t yet, though.

He couldn’t resist. Slipping his hand under your thigh he pulled you towards him, making your body tumble. He caught you by a second grip on your other thigh, making sure you landed in a straddle over his lap. His legs were still a fraction spread, which made yours naturally spread further around him. This satisfied Miguel’s want to keep those legs spread. Wide and open for him.

He pulled you even closer, your body sliding along his thighs, right up against him. Your heart was beating like a drum in your ears. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was breathe and stare. Stare at Miguel’s piercing red eyes that now practically told you everything he hadn’t voiced yet.

Miguel stared at you, his eyes seeming to hood over on their own. You were yet again, so close. He could taste your breath. And he wanted to. God did he want to.

He’s sure it would taste so sweet. You would taste so fucking sweet. His clawed hands stayed wrapped around your thighs, as he began to lean in, his eyes focused on your freshly wet lips, your nervous habit. You were nervous. He met your gaze once more, before darting his eyes down again. He couldn’t stop leaning in.

Your heart has stopped, having been beating rapidly in your ears. You want to gulp down your nervousness but Miguel is now so close to your neck.

His warm breath fans over your skin as his mouth opens a fraction. His hands ran up your body, to grip around your waist. Then he leaned in, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. You heard him hum, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

His hands begun to slip under your shirt, the feel of your bare skin making him go practically insane. He couldn’t believe it. He began to slowly litter small kisses—at first—his breathing growing heavier and heavier.

Your chest was heaving as he pulled you tighter to him, his lips now pressing harder against your skin. When they turned open-mouthed you could feel the drag of his fangs, his tongue coming down to soothe forming bruises.

Your head had begun to roll back, your hands tightly gripped onto Miguel’s shoulders. “I couldn’t let you die, cariño.” He whisper-groaned into your neck. His panting breath only occasionally felt, because he couldn’t back away from your skin.

His kisses began to lead up to your jaw. You were flushed, your body hot, everywhere. “Miguel—“ you breathe out.

“Shh, I just wanna…I just…” but he couldn’t even finish the sentence as he reached to hover over your lips. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his claws embedding themselves into your hair, as his other hand tightened a fraction around your waist.

Now you’re breathing hard, your eyes slightly glazed over, your mind utterly dazed as you stared at Miguel. “I just want to…”

You gulp. “Want to what?” You quietly asked, your own eyes flickering to his lips.

“I— carajo.” Was the last word he managed before his lips found yours, your head knocking back. Miguel wrapped his lips around your bottom, breathy groans easily escaping him, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His heart was beating on overdrive, nearly at a concerning tempo as he lapped at your mouth.

And god did you taste sweet. So fucking sweet. And he gets to feel you—have you. He doesn’t have a care in the world as long as you stayed this close. Right against him letting him keep you this close. Your tongue dragged across his bottom lip, soon finding his tongue. His head moved to push further against yours, as he swirled his tongue around your mouth.

Then your body slightly jolts. His hand that was gripping your waist had tightened to a point that his claws had cut you a fraction. Miguel immediately let your waist go, realising that his body’s reaction—tightening around you, was to make sure you wouldn’t leave. “I’m—“

But you’re cutting him off with another kiss, slightly raising on your knees, so that his head had to tilt up to stay kissing you. His hands slipped to wrap around your raised thighs. “Tell me you weren’t gonna apologise.” You spoke to his lips, leaning away a fraction.

But Miguel eagerly chased your mouth, managing to pull your head back down, with a swift grip to your hair. “Miguel—“

He shook his head, his lips brushing against yours. “If I say no, will you keep kissing me?” He tilted his head, lips still lightly brushing yours, as his tongue came out to lick your top lip. “Mm?”

“Yea—“ but Miguel cuts you off, kissing you hard as one of his hands stoked up and down your thigh. “Then I’m not sorry at all.” He muttered between kisses. He was addicted. That’s the simplest way to put it. Utterly addicted. “Dios…I’m not sorry.”

Your hands slipped around his neck, beginning to play with the ends of his brown hair, your fingers soon sinking to softly grip the strands. A breathy moan escapes Miguel’s lips at the feeling of your fingers, his mouth opening against your own. A small forming smile edged your lips at the reaction.

“Shut up.” He whispered, smashing his lips back to yours. His kisses had grown even more heated—if possible—spreading across your cheek, his nose brushing against your hair. “Dios, y/n, can I touch you…mm por favor…?” He asks, trying to pull your thighs back down onto him.

But you held your own, staying just out of reach—legs either side of him on the chair. When Miguel would much rather you pressed against him. Of course he was hard, aching almost painfully. “Y/n.” He lowly growled out.

You grabbed his chin, lifting his head up, as you teasingly pecked his lips. “I’ve never seen you beg, give me a moment to enjoy it.”

Miguel clenched his jaw as he harshly pulled your thighs further apart, making you gasp, landing right on top of him. He moved his hands to your hips, keeping you still, as his head slightly leant back at the feeling. “Mm…that’s it…” He whispered out.

You could feel his bulge right under you, making your core ache. Now you felt hot. And as you looked at a breathless Miguel, his chest heaving mismatched you couldn’t help but begin to slightly move your hips.

Miguel’s breathing hitches, his hands gripping your waist. “Y/n…”

“Shh.” You partially mocked, earning a small growl from Miguel. “Didn’t you say I had to do anything for you?” You moved your hips along him, grinding torturously. “This seems like it would certainly help.” Your tone is breathy, as your hips movements sends jolts through you both.

“For a…mission.” Miguel remembers the start of the deal—the conversation—correcting you, through heavy breaths. God, what were you doing…keep doing it.

“Which loosely means for you.” You copy his previous words.

His head slightly falls back. “Mierda, cariño…”

You go to place your hands on his chest, when his head comes back up, his grip slipping from your waist to your hips and managing to stop you. He leans towards your ear. “But do you really think I’m gonna let you grind on me like that? Make me pathetically reach my high with clothes…still on?”

Your breathing hitches. His hand reaches up your shirt again, but pauses by the side of your waist. Then before you know it, Miguel’s holding your thighs—wrapped around him—as he stands. You quickly wrap your hands around his neck thinking you would fall.

Miguel chuckles at the reaction, instead, effortlessly walking with you towards his bed. He leans forward, resting you down as his hands came to cage you in. You’re resting on your elbows, pushing a little higher up. Miguel leans even more forward, so that you’re forced to lean back with him.

“Lie back…eso es (that’s it)…that’s ma’ girl.” Miguel breathes, as your head rests back against his sheets. My girl. His girl. All of Miguel’s previous loud voices, the ones that had quietened when you hugged him have become one. Repeating the words—my girl, my girl, my girl.

my god, that was a trip. and finallyyyy! AHHH — I hope this is what you guys expected and hope you all liked it

I promise promise promise, I will carry on this smut on the next part <33 it was just getting so long—I couldn’t stop writing (I’m sorry guys I gotta keep eedging ya)

plus since it’s the last part (part 9) next, everything will be concluded, and all mysteries solved! coz that’s just plain cruel if I utterly leave you guys hanging

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3 taglist #4 taglist #5 taglist #6 taglist #7

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reidmotif · 3 months

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Regret on the Rocks

Summary: Spencer finds himself at a bar being served by the girl who once broke his heart. Turns out she feels a lot more than just regret for letting him go.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Light Angst/Smut

Content Warning: drinking, Spencer is a little depressed, mentions of heavy bullying (specifically 3x16), car sex, female masturbation, Spencer POV, heavy kissing, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist

Regret is an emotion I’m well accustomed to. It’s not to mean that I’m unhappy with my life by any means, but I’m aware of the space between my current situation and the ‘beyond’ that could’ve been if things had just been different.

If I’d never joined the BAU.

If I’d had a more conventional life in the first place.

If connection came to me as easy as it seemed to other people my age.

But none of those things seemed to ring true, so I carried regret in me like a bruise of honor. Despite the regret, I faced it every day and lived to do it all over again in the morning. It didn’t mean it was easy, and today proved that. Today, it was hard going to sleep knowing I’d wake up to do it all over again.

In light of this, I’d found myself in a bar, alone. The case we’d been working on saw little to no fruition despite our efforts, and it’d resulted in another body we couldn’t save. Another person I was responsible for. It weighed down on me more than I cared to admit.

I found myself continually lost in my thoughts, navigating through the carefully weaved web of guilt and self-doubt, spiraling, until a much softer, surprised voice pulled me out.

“Spencer Reid? Is that you?” She asks. I hear her voice before I see her, and I know that it’s the bartender stood behind the bar, and there’s confusion as I wonder who could’ve possibly recognized me in a rundown small-town bar.

I look up and meet her eyes, and it’s as if a flood of memories ensues. A flash of recognition crosses my face, and seeing the images playing in my head, almost akin to a film reel, slowly walking me through one of my earliest regrets.

I was 15, navigating my senior year while being the youngest one there. Despite the oddness of my situation, it never crossed my mind that I shouldn’t have tried so hard to participate in the same social events as my peers. With the hindsight of adulthood, I now imagine that if I had withdrawn, spent more of my time alone than trying to not be, the hurt of never being accepted would sting less, because I’d never had tried in the first place.

But I had tried, and she was the only one who got me. She was older, yes, and beautiful and popular, but those didn’t matter half as much as the conversations we’d manage to have. She never seemed to take offense to any ramble of mine, and I’d feel my heart soar when she’d ask questions after my monologues, sending me the clearest signals of interest in what I had to say.

And as a lonely 15 year old? It meant the absolute world to have that. To have her as my friend.

And so, when it came time for senior prom, in the interest of at least trying to fit in, I asked her to go with me. As friends of course, but even then she shook her head, and ruefully told me someone else had asked her. I vaguely recalled the name she’d given me off of a football roster I’d once read while attending the school, and nodded. I understood. I was prepared for the rejection, in fact I’d already taken it the moment she said no. I was prepared to live with it.

Then came the week before prom. Being lured away from the safety of the campus, and onto a football field. Being tied to a flagpole, while everyone watched- and laughed. I remember seeing a face, his face, knowing he was the one who was taking her. Taking (Y/N) to the prom.

I rarely dwell on the events of that day, but I do remember the regret. I remember wondering that if I’d just never spoken to her, I’d maybe have been less of a target. I wondered if maybe I’d never asked her in the first place, maybe our friendship could’ve survived the whole ordeal, but it hadn’t. She never spoke to me after that, her head hanging low as she continued to hang off of his arm, never sparing me another glance again.

But here she was, glancing- no, staring at me, her eyes wide.

“What are you doing here? Are you.. Did you always live here all along?” She asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft and mellow. She was loud back in high school, I remember. She had the best laugh I’d ever known.

It takes me a second, but I give her a flat smile, setting my glass down. “I’m here for a case, actually.”

“A case..?” She says, her head tilting a bit in confusion.

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, a case. I’m an FBI agent. I’m here for a recent string of murders being committed in the area.”

“Wow, FBI, huh? I never thought of you as law enforcement.” She says, her eyebrows raising. “Always thought you were going to change the world with that brain of yours.” She adds, a small smile on her face. My eyes narrow in distrust at the sudden compliment, unsure of her intentions.

“I’d say I’m changing the world.” I respond, a little defensively. “I like my job. I like that I change lives by not letting them end.”

She immediately retracts her statement, vehemently shaking her head. “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, of course you’re changing the world- I just thought you’d be doing more. Okay- not more. I just- Gah. I swear, don’t take it the wrong way.” She pauses, before gesturing to herself. “I mean, I have no room to talk.” She says, the words a little rushed and frantic.

“What do you mean, no room to talk?” I ask, squinting in genuine confusion.

“I mean, I work as a bartender. I don’t know what I want from life, but it’s certainly not this.” She says, motioning to the shelves of drinks behind her, a little defeated.

She’s so different from when I knew her. Self-assured. Confident. She seemed almost meek in this environment, and the only recognition of the girl I knew came from the small, embarrassed smile she gave me.

“Well. We’re a lot more alike than you think, then. Titles mean nothing.” I say, voice a bit quieter. “I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, though. We’re just getting through life the best we can, right?”

She nods a little, seeming to take comfort in my statement. “Look at you. You’ve still got the same sweetness in you from high school.”

Stiffening at the mention of high school, I just nod and taking another sip from the glass in front of me, which was starting to empty out. “Not trying to be sweet, I think. Just honest.” I say, bluntly.

It’s mean, I’m aware. I can feel her trying, but I don’t want to offer her the same. I want her to feel awkward. I want her to know what she did was wrong.

There’s a silence that passes through the two of us, before she breaks it with a continued gesture of kindness, turning around to fill another glass with my drink of choice and setting it down in front of me, a small smile playing on her lips.

“For being honest then. Thank you.” She says, and her eyes meet with mine. I almost hear the unspoken apology in her voice, in the way her fingers slowly push the chilled glass towards my empty hand, in the way she bites her lip softly, waiting to see what I’d say.

“To being honest.” I say, raising the glass slightly and downing the drink a little faster than I intended, not wanting to think too much about the implications of the gesture. To know that she possibly had regrets too. That she might still have the goodness I once knew in her.

“I have about half an hour left in my shift, but if it’s alright, I’d love to catch up properly.” She says, keeping her gaze trained on mine. “I’ve.. missed you.” She says, her voice soft.

I don’t respond to her last statement, but I can’t deny the magnetic pull begging me to say yes to her request, to at least see where our lives had gone after our separation. So I nod, silently.

“I’ll be here.”

I try to lay off the drinks for the next thirty minutes, opting to sip some water instead to clear my mind in preparation for the time I’d be spending with her. Part of me wondered if I shouldn’t have accepted the invite at all. It wasn’t that I forgave her per say, but the curiosity to know her all over again was overwhelming, regardless of the pain she’d caused me. I’m once again reminded why “curiosity killed the cat” is such an overused aphorism.

She comes up to me thirty-six minutes later, and I hate myself for keeping track. She flashes me a small smile.

“You waited.” She says, softly.

“I said I would, right?” I respond, unsure why that would mean anything to her. I agreed to this. I wanted this, even if I could physically feel the inner turmoil brewing throughout my body. I suppose it didn’t show though, because she continued on, smiling.

“There’s an ice cream place I like around here. Would you like to go?” She asks, and I see her teeth catch onto her bottom lip, the plumpness of the feature being exacerbated by the action, causing me to momentarily lose my train of thought.

“Uh. Yeah, ice cream. Sounds good.” I say, placing my hands in my pockets.

“Did you drive here? I mean- I hope not. You drank quite a bit.” She says, starting to walk to the exit of the bar.

“No, no. My hotel is actually right here. I walked. Needed to get my mind off some things and I ended up here since it was convenient.” I say, and I feel myself falling back into that comfortable rhythm of just being able to speak freely around her.

It’s like no time has passed at all, and yet I’m acutely aware that nothing is the same. That we’re avoiding a bigger issue at hand.

“Yeah.” She murmurs. “The murders around here have been grisly, haven’t they?” She says, starting to lead me to her car. “I get nervous when I hear about that stuff, so I find myself looking away from the news more often than not.” She continues, quirking her mouth to the other side, as if she’s aware this isn’t the best course of action, but does it anyway.

“It’s cute.” I think.

I push the thought away.

“Understandable.” I reply, nodding. “I don’t watch the news either. I mean- I do read the news. But I don’t watch it.”

She starts the car, and I observe a hint of a grin on her face, her eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that makes my heart jump. “So you still like to read then?” She says, seeming genuinely happy I’d kept up the habit even after my youth.

“Oh yeah. I mean, reading isn’t something I really ever let go of. It’s a good activity when you’re out on the road so much.” I say, feeling solace in talking about something I truly loved. “Sometimes I feel like books provide me with better stimuli than social interaction.” I continue, unaware of the implications of my words, and I only realize once I’ve seen her raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I mean. Friends are good too, right?” She says, a hint of concern making her way into her voice.

I chuckle a little bitterly. “Probably. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have my team, and I’m grateful but-” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t come to me like that, you know? And I’m not bothered by it, but I don’t like to think about it.” I say. There’s a faint feeling of heat on my face from the honesty, but I continue to stare straight ahead, not wanting to see her reaction to my words.

“You were a good friend to me, Spencer. Better than a lot of the friends I had in high school, and I’m not just saying that.” She says, softly.

I respond without thinking, shaking my head with an embittered motion and a click of my tongue.

“Yeah, and look where that got me.”

She’s a little silent then, and I refuse to say anything else. She’s the one who invited me here. I don’t know what she wanted out of this, but I wasn’t going to forego my own feelings just to spare hers. I was here. That was enough. I was allowed to say that.

We pull into an empty parking lot, where I see the neon lights advertising an ice cream parlor, but we don’t get out. She turns off the headlights and blows a bit of air between her lips, placing her hands in her lap and turning towards me.

“Spencer.” She murmurs, swallowing a bit. “I am so, so sorry for what I did in high school. I know I wasn’t there when.. You know when. And I know I didn’t speak to you afterwards, and I am so sorry.” She repeats. “I hope you believe me when I say I really did miss you. I was such an idiot back in high school, and nothing can repair that, but I missed you so much.” She says.

I turn to her and can see the tears welling up in her eyes and feel my heart soften. It’s insane, the effect she can have on me, even years later.

“Hey, don’t cry.” I say, immediately reaching over to wipe a tear from her cheek, my thumb swiping over the expanse of her smooth skin. “It’s just high school. It’s a long time ago.”

“No.” She says, emphatically, shaking her head. “Don’t lie to me. What I did was awful. It doesn’t matter if it was long ago. You can call me a bitch. You can- scream or hell! I don’t know. You can be angry at me. You should be angry at me. I could never say sorry enough.” She says.

I shake my head, all the previous resentment and bitterness dissipating instantly. It was a bit odd, feeling the emotions I’d long held onto even years after our fracture go away so quickly, but she was my friend. For what it had been worth, she had been good to me. And right now, she was my friend, crying in a car, and the guilt and shame couldn’t be more obvious.

I move to hold her hand, wanting to comfort her, rubbing small circles into the skin near her thumb, her fingers grasping over mine, almost afraid to let me go now.

“You’re right, in a way. What you did confused me and left me feeling really.. lonely. But now that I’m older I think I better understand it, but it doesn’t change the fact you hurt me.” I reply, and I see her jaw tighten, nodding and taking my words to heart.

“But I don’t think I resent you anymore for what happened.” I continue, the words tumbling out. “Seeing you guilty and ashamed so many years later is just making me wish we’d talked earlier, so we wouldn’t have had to feel this way for so long. Maybe we could’ve.. I don’t know. Picked up where we left off.”

She gives me a flat smile, tears still in her eyes. “Yeah? I’d have liked that.” She murmurs.

“I mean it.” I say, flashing her a soft smile. I decided to lighten the conversation for her comfort.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t call you an idiot for dating that prick though.” I respond, a little teasingly, hoping to get a bigger smile out of her.

“Oh god.” She says, leaning back, laughing a bit. “Please do. God, he was so .. awful.” She says. “He wasn’t half as funny as you. Just.. boring honestly.”

I smirk a little at the words, feeling a bit of pride but brushing it off with a shrug. “I mean, it's a cliche right? Beautiful, smart girl with the boring jock?” I say. “You and like, 6 out of 10 high school girls probably fall directly into that category.”

She gives me a laugh at that one, a real one, and my heart soars upon the sound alone. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her.

“6 out of 10? Where’s that statistic from? High School Girls Anonymous?” She responds, matching my energy and continuing the banter.

“Just trust me. I know these things very well.” I say, trying my best to sound as faux academic as possible, hoping to make her feel at ease, to fully let go of the tension from before.

“Well, then.” She says, softly, turning the conversation to be a bit more sincere. “I’m glad I don’t fall into that cliche anymore. I’m glad my taste changed.”

I nod, surprisingly relaxing into the vulnerability of the words. “Yeah, it happens. Tastes do change throughout life, especially post-adolescence. One could denote it to the development of the prefrontal cortex, but I like to say it’s out of knowing what you want out of life.”

“Have yours? I mean, your tastes. Have they changed?” She asks, her eyes boring into mine, and I realize that my hand is still holding hers.

I lick my lips and shrug. “Here and there. For the most part, yes, but I find myself clinging to certain aspects of my teenage self.” I respond, vaguely.

She continues to look at me, nodding. “Mine have. For sure.” “How so?” I ask, my heart speedingbup.

“I think I learned to like sweeter guys.” She says, softly. “Ones that don’t bore me entirely, and ones I actually want to spend time with. Maybe that’s a cliche in itself but..” She shrugs, ending off her sentence there.

I nod, wondering where this was leading. Her eyes were trained on mine and I could feel my pulse quickening. Was she going to kiss me? Was I going to kiss her? Was I crazy for thinking that at all? What was happening here?

“You said you still have certain aspects of your teenage self in your tastes.” She says suddenly, her face moving a bit closer to mine. “What did you mean by that?”

I sigh, taking in the features of her face, and how they seem to be illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows of her car. She was so stunning, even now. Even after all these years, I couldn’t deny she’d only grown to be more beautiful.

I lick my lips and nod. “I guess I just meant.. I still find you just as beautiful as I did back when I first knew you. Even moreso now, honestly.” I say, quietly.

I can feel her breath hitch, and her own tongue darting out to wet her lips, mirroring my actions. Her gaze shifts from my eyes to my lips, and back to my lips again, and I’m extremely aware of what I want at this moment.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask, my hand still in hers, studying her with a careful gaze.

She nods almost immediately, and at the same time, we surge forward to meet the other’s lips, her hands immediately cupping my cheek and my hands moving to her waist. I hear the click of her seatbelt being unfastened, and suddenly she’s in the passenger seat with me, straddling my waist and continuing to keep her lips locked firmly on mine.

It’s like I can’t get enough of her, my hands exploring her back, eventually lowering them to squeeze her ass, which elicits a low moan from her. I pull back a little, panting and see her eyes blown out with lust, causing me to groan from just how deep my desire for her ran in this moment. I let one of my hands to run over her bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it bounce back up, enamored by just how close she was.

“Fuck.” I murmur, unable to contain my awe at her and without wasting a moment, she’s grabbing my hair roughly to pull me back in again to meet her mouth with mine. When given the opportunity from another soft moan from her, I immediately slip my tongue into her mouth, relishing in the way she grabs my collar and presses her body against mine, matching my enthusiasm one for one.

It felt so good to be wanted by her.

She starts to whimper at the intensity of our prolonged contact, and the sound activates something primal in me. It was almost as if once I heard it, I couldn’t go back. Pulling myself back from the kiss, I start to trail my lips up and down her neck, leaving hot, wet kisses in my wake while she writhed in my lap, her fingers tugging on my hair in desperation. I played with the motion for a bit, testing out certain points on her, before finding that she’d moan loudest at a pulse point at the junction in which her jawline met her neck. I sucked on the spot, being sure to leave a large, dark mark.

I didn’t care what would happen after this night, but for right now, she was mine, and I intended to treat her as such.

“You said your hotel room was nearby, right?” She pants, starting to move her thighs off mine. “We can go and-”

I immediately wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me with a force that surprised even me, before gripping her hair and placing my mouth near the shell of her ear. I can hear her squeak at the motion, but her legs relax back into straddling mine.

“I want you now.” I whisper, my voice hoarse and low. “We can go, if you’d like but- I need you now. I can’t stress that enough.”

She melts in my arms as I say that, and a grin comes upon my face from the desire she was displaying as well. She nods quickly, before moving her fingers to my belt, and just upon hearing the sounds of the hardware moving, my head involuntarily falls back because- holy fuck. Feeling her so close to where my pants were now currently constricted nearly had me finishing right there. I could barely look at her without feeling overwhelmed. I feel my cock being pulled from my briefs, and I let out a moan.

I look at her again, and she’s the picture of lust. Her pupils are dilated and her hair is messy, and her mouth slightly agape. She’s everything I want right now. All I want.

“You’re so big.” She mumbles, leaning back, her hand wrapped around me, beginning to stroke me in a gentle, rhythmic motion.

“Yeah?” I murmur back, breathing in sharply when her thumb runs over my slit, feeling the precum already dripping down my shaft. Even her hand is making me question if I’ll finish right here before ever getting to be inside her.

“Yeah.” She whispers, almost breathlessly.

“You can take it.” I say, looking at her, and the girl looks like she’s about to moan off of my words alone. She licks her lips before responding, her voice a bit higher than before.

“I don’t have a condom- but I’m clean and-”

“Yes.” I respond immediately and she moves quickly. My fingers, as if possessed, move to unbutton her dress a bit, letting her breasts spill out (to my delight). The urge to strip her bare for me crosses my mind, but then I’m acutely aware that we were in her car, and the risk of being caught was far too high for the pleasantries I wished to indulge her and myself in, and I find myself slightly wishing we had gone to the hotel room. Next time.

Before I get too caught up in the fantasy of possibly ever fucking her again, I see her reach under her dress, presumably to move her panties aside and groan at the thought. My hands roam over her body to find her hips, slowly guiding her onto my cock, her walls squeezing around me tightly as her hips met mine.

Her moans were sweet, but I found my hand covering her mouth quickly, watching as her eyes shone with pleasure with just the slightest movement from either of us.

“Need you to stay quiet, pretty girl.” I murmur. “You can do that for me, right?”

She nods, eager to please, and I keep my hand on her mouth for a moment too long as I watch her eyes flutter shut, then open, her hands wrapping around my neck to stabilize herself. She starts moving then, lifting off until my tip is the only thing inside of her, before slamming against me, creating the best type of friction for both of us, causing there to be desperation for more. My hands rush down to grip her waist, and I can barely stifle my own noises from how fucking good she feels.

It’s a frenzy after that, and I match her movements with thrusts from below. I know it’s enjoyable for her, based on how hard she’s trying to not make a single sound, but still lets out the tiniest little whimpers and gasps when my cock grinds against her spot, and from the way her thighs shake every single time I disappear deep into her, a small bulge forming in her lower stomach every time I pushed into her. Every clench and squeeze of her cunt drives me insane, and I can’t help the low groan slipping out of me.

Her movements get erratic, signaling her end, and I grin at how quickly I managed to get her there. My fingers move to stroke her clit in circular motions, savoring the way I could hear her whisper my name, grinding down on my dick and chasing the feeling of my fingers on her.

“Close?” I mumble, biting down on her shoulder lightly, which causes a louder moan to slip out of her.

“Yes. Yes.” She whispers, breathlessly. “Please, Spencer. Oh god. Please.”

I jut into her more rapidly, continuing the motions against her, before her walls tighten and squeeze around me, and her cunt flooding the base of my cock. I continue to move like a man possessed, swallowing the moans of her orgasm with a messy kiss, before finally, I reach my release as well, coating her walls from the inside out.

She pants for a second, collapsing against my shoulder as she tries to catch her breath, and I stroke her hair, attempting to do the same. She moans softly, her hands wrapped around me as her eyes flutter open and shut.

“I was wrong.” She mumbles, nuzzling into my shoulder, kissing it softly. I’m unsure about the meaning of the words, so I quietly ask her.

“What about?”

“You’re incredibly different from when we were in high school.” She says, softly.

“Good or bad different? I ask, a little self consciously, which is amusing considering I’m still inside her.

“Good. Really, really fucking good.” She clarifies, quickly, with a dazed smile. I lean in, kissing her a bit more softly now, letting my lips languidly trace over hers.

“You too.” I murmur, and I can feel her smile against my lips.

No regrets about this one.

WOAHHH. oh em gee. a fic! so so so deeply sorry i didn't live upto posting more fics this december and january, but i swear i'm gonna keep trying to at least get two out a month. valentines day is coming up, so you already know i'm gonna try and write something fluffy and cute for that, so look out for that. as usual, thank you so so much for any and all continued support. it seriously means the world to me and i cannot say that enough <3 i hope this fic was enjoyable. like, reblog, comment, whatever <3 just ty for reading!! <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #dr spencer reid

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tentacleteapot · 6 months

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every five minutes somebody is like "hey are you joining Skroink? I think when tumblr dies I'm going to move to Skroink." and then two minutes after that somebody else is like "hey don't go to Skroink it turns out that one of the people who did the HTML for Skoink's homepage regularly kills and eats endangered birds". and then ten minutes after that somebody says "twitter is dying, everybody dm me for a Turgle code, we all need to get on Turgle before they open public sign-ups" and then like a minute later somebody else says "just found out Turgle has a dedicated Nothing But Hate Speech tab ://// guess we can't move to Turgle guys". and then six minutes after that somebody else is like "hey YouTube is flagging every video that features the color blue or any mention of a word containing the letter e and immediately sending the uploader's home address to some kind of Murder These People list hosted on the dark web, nobody should use YouTube anymore if you can avoid it" and I'm going to go live in a hole in the swamp and bite the arms off anybody who comes near me and if my phone rings I'll smash it with this skull I found

#o perilous world #modern woes #daphne.txt #i'm so fucking tired dude

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thedensworld · 1 month

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Flower Bloomed | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: angst, romance, marriage AU

Summary: it's been a year since Mingyu and you were married. Once united by a good feeling, has started to scatter, both you and Mingyu couldn't find reason to stay together.

Author note: mention of abortion, miscarriage, murder, depression, divorcee. Don't hate me after this because i prepared one more part hehe.. Also, don't blame my baby boomer ass, i don't understand how to tag people TT

Part 2 of Falling Flower

***

"It's been a long time..." The words hung heavily in the air, mingling with the clatter of utensils in the expansive dining room of Kim's Family estate. The atmosphere was tense, palpable even in the silence that enveloped the room. No one dared to speak, their thoughts weighed down by an unspoken topic that lingered, begging to be addressed but forcibly restrained within their minds.

Mingyu, ever observant, had noticed the tension the moment you and he stepped into the room. His gaze flickered over the faces of those present, catching glimpses of suppressed emotions and silent pleas for release. Yet, he chose to remain silent, opting instead to watch the subtle shifts in your expression, which spoke volumes of your desire to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

You cast furtive glances around the room, your eyes betraying a silent plea for someone to break the stifling silence. But as the seconds ticked by, it became apparent that the weight of unspoken words held everyone in its grip, chaining their tongues and stifling any attempt at conversation.

The clatter of utensils seemed to echo louder in the silence, punctuating the tension that hung heavy in the air. Each clang reverberated through the room, a stark reminder of the unresolved emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

Despite the urge to flee, you remained rooted to your seat, your discomfort etched into every line of your face. Mingyu watched you closely, his own expression a mirror of your silent distress, yet bound by some unspoken agreement to maintain the facade of normalcy.

In the midst of this oppressive silence, the unspoken topic loomed large, casting a shadow over the room and stifling any attempts at casual conversation. It was a burden that weighed heavily on each person present, a weight that threatened to crush them under its unrelenting pressure.

And so, the minutes stretched on, each one filled with the deafening sound of silence and the unspoken words that hung suspended in the air. In the vast expanse of Kim's Family dining room, the absence of conversation spoke volumes, revealing more about the tangled web of emotions than any words ever could.

"The last time you joined us was New Year's Eve, and it's August now." Mingyu's hand faltered mid-cut, his gaze lifting to meet his mother's eyes as she voiced what had been weighing on everyone's mind since your unexpected appearance. He was poised to intercede, ready to defend you with the excuse of your busy schedule and your efforts to carve out time for today. Yet, he was caught off guard when you spoke up in your own defense, your words ringing out unexpectedly, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Mingyu's father intervened, seeking to diffuse the tension that had settled over the table like a heavy fog. "Forget it. Y/n is with us today, and we should celebrate it," he declared, his voice carrying a note of finality as he attempted to steer the conversation onto a more positive path.

"Thank you, father," you responded softly, a hint of relief lacing your words as you acknowledged his attempt to ease the strained atmosphere. But beneath the surface, a whirlwind of emotions churned, a mix of guilt, regret, and a longing for acceptance that lingered unspoken between the lines of your apology.

Mingyu watched the exchange with a furrowed brow, his thoughts a tumultuous jumble as he grappled with conflicting emotions. He wanted to defend you, to shield you from the judgmental stares and whispered criticisms that hung heavy in the air. Yet, he also understood the weight of expectations that bore down upon you, the pressure to conform to the standards set by his family, even at the expense of your own happiness.

As the conversation shifted, Mingyu's gaze flickered between you and his family, a silent plea for understanding passing between them. In that moment, he wished for nothing more than to bridge the divide that separated you, to mend the fractured bonds that threatened to tear you apart. But he knew that such reconciliation would not come easily, that it would require patience, understanding, and a willingness to confront the underlying tensions that simmered beneath the surface.

Mingyu found himself sinking into the plush cushions of his father's office couch, the weight of the evening's tension still heavy upon his shoulders. Dinner had been a bitter affair, marked by a palpable silence that hung like a dark cloud over the table. Mingyu couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's unspoken thoughts, knowing all too well that your presence after an extended absence had cast a shadow over the evening.

As his father poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to him, Mingyu accepted it with a grateful nod, the amber liquid offering a fleeting sense of solace in the midst of the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf him. With each sip, he felt the tension in his muscles begin to ease, though the knot of apprehension in his stomach remained stubbornly intact.

Then, his father's question cut through the stillness of the room like a knife, jolting Mingyu out of his thoughts. "Why is she here?" he asked, his tone laden with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disapproval as he gestured towards you.

Mingyu hesitated, his mind racing as he searched for the right words to convey the complexity of the situation. He knew that his father's question carried with it a weighty implication, a silent challenge to justify your presence in the midst of familial discord.

"She didn't even come to Minseo's wedding last month," Mingyu's father remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Mingyu let out a weary sigh, the weight of his father's words settling heavily upon him. It was yet another reminder of the growing chasm between you and his family, a divide that seemed to widen with each passing day.

"I thought you didn't bother at all," Mingyu interjected, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness as he braced himself for his father's response.

His father shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "I was," he admitted begrudgingly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the facade of indifference. "But the more I think about it, the weirder it becomes."

Mingyu furrowed his brow in confusion, struggling to decipher his father's cryptic words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite his reservations.

"I know you two sleep separately," his father stated matter-of-factly, the blunt revelation sending a jolt of surprise coursing through Mingyu's veins. There was no attempt to mask the source of his knowledge; it was clear that Mingyu's maid had betrayed their secret, laying bare the truth for all to see.

Mingyu felt a surge of anger and embarrassment rising within him, the sting of betrayal cutting deep as he grappled with the implications of his father's words. He had hoped to shield you from the judgmental eyes of his family, to preserve some semblance of privacy in the midst of their scrutiny. Yet, it seemed that their secrets were no longer safe, laid bare for all to see in the harsh light of his father's scrutiny.

As Mingyu struggled to find his voice amidst the swirling tide of emotions, he couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, both by his father's lack of discretion and by the revelation of their private affairs.

"I'm going to divorce her," Mingyu finally uttered, breaking the heavy silence that hung between him and his father like a suffocating shroud. His words echoed in the air, carrying with them the weight of a decision that had been looming over him for far too long.

His father's response was immediate, a mixture of surprise and skepticism etched into the lines of his face. "Are you sure? Didn't you marry her to gain leverage at JIS Corp?" he questioned, his tone betraying a hint of doubt as he sought to understand Mingyu's sudden change of heart.

Mingyu nodded, the admission hanging heavy on his conscience. "Yeah... At first," he admitted reluctantly, the weight of his confession settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. "But I don't think it's worth it anymore. Her mother still runs the company anyway."

His father's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them as they both acknowledged the futility of clinging to a marriage built on ulterior motives. "She's a bad person," his father murmured, his words tinged with bitterness as he echoed Mingyu's unspoken sentiments.

Mingyu couldn't help but agree, the memories of your mother-in-law's manipulative tactics and ruthless ambition still fresh in his mind. But as he cast a sideways glance at his father, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of guilt that gnawed at his conscience.

"She raised one too," Mingyu whispered under his breath, his words barely audible above the low hum of the room. But they fell on deaf ears, lost amidst the weight of their shared silence and the unspoken truths that lingered between them.

"How's the baby?" you asked, breaking the awkward silence that hung heavily between you and Minseo. Her hand instinctively went to her growing stomach as she replied, "She's alright," her words tinged with discomfort.

The distance between you was palpable, a stark reminder of the rift that had formed between you over time. The secrecy surrounding your families and your marriage to her brother had only served to deepen the divide, leaving your once-close friendship strained and distant.

Dongmin, Minseo's husband, approached with a plate of fruit, silently acknowledging the need for privacy between you and Minseo. As he retreated, Minseo cleared her throat, her gaze flickering between you as she struggled to find the right words to break the icy tension that hung between you.

In the pregnant pause that followed, Minseo's mind raced, torn between the desire to address the elephant in the room and the fear of opening old wounds. She knew all too well the reasons for your prolonged absence, but your sudden presence tonight had stirred up a sense of unease within her.

As she pondered her next move between bites of fruit, Minseo couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension that gnawed at her insides. The weight of unspoken truths and unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once vibrant connection you shared.

In that moment, Minseo found herself grappling with a myriad of conflicting emotions, longing for the closeness you once shared even as the distance between you seemed insurmountable. But as she looked into your eyes, she couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation, unsure of what lay ahead for the fractured friendship that had once meant so much to both of you.

"Are you still working with Mr. Choi?" Minseo finally asked, breaking the strained silence that hung between you. You nodded your head in response, the motion almost automatic as you struggled to meet her gaze.

Minseo couldn't help but feel a pang of surprise at the confirmation. It seemed like just yesterday when her brother had excitedly announced his intention to marry you, catching her off guard with the suddenness of it all. In the blink of an eye, you had gone from being her best friend to her sister-in-law, and the whirlwind of emotions that followed left her reeling.

She remembered flying back to South Korea for the wedding, watching from the sidelines as you and her brother exchanged vows, a smile plastered on your face as you posed for pictures with friends and family. But beneath the facade of happiness, Minseo couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach.

As time passed, the once-close bond between you and Minseo began to fray, the demands of work and the pressures of marriage driving a wedge between you. The dinners and events that once brought you together became fewer and farther between, until eventually, you stopped attending altogether.

For Minseo, the sudden silence was deafening, leaving her to wonder what had gone wrong between you. She had tried reaching out, hoping to bridge the growing distance between you, but her attempts had been met with silence, leaving her to grapple with the painful realization that the friendship she had cherished for so long was slipping away.

And now, as she sat across from you, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once vibrant connection you shared. In that moment, Minseo couldn't help but wonder where it had all gone wrong, and whether there was any hope of salvaging what was left of the bond that had once meant everything to her.

Mingyu approached, breaking the icy silence between you and Minseo with the simple declaration that it was time to head home. The drive wasn't far from where your conversation with Minseo had left off, but a chill lingered in your body, causing you to shudder involuntarily. Mingyu, seated beside you, remained motionless, perhaps due to the effects of the drinks he'd had at his parents' place. Yet, his sight had been closed off for months now; he hadn't truly seen you in all that time.

Once back at Mingyu's place, he left you in the living room without a word, disappearing into his room after a brief reminder about the charity ball hosted by Seungcheol's parents tomorrow. You trudged wearily to your own room, conveniently situated next to his, and locked the door behind you. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your limbs, a stark contrast to the lively dinner at Mingyu's parents' home earlier. Each step felt like a burden, as if carrying the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

"People in the company gossip about your relationship," Mingyu's mother words echoed in your mind, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand whispers. "They even mentioned that you two are apart since March."

The rumor hung heavy in the air, suffocating the truth beneath layers of speculation and hearsay. Mingyu's mother insistence cut through the silence, a reminder of the urgent need to silence the falsehoods. "If you want to shut them up, you need to stop the rumor," she urged, her voice tinged with frustration and concern.

"You two should try to have a child again."

As you sat at your office desk, the weight of the accusations bore down on you, mingling with the scattered fragments of your daydream. Your gaze lingered on your boss's schedule for the upcoming weekend, but your thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the relentless knocking on your door.

You realized with a jolt that you had locked the door earlier, and the persistent rapping could only mean one thing – Mingyu's arrival. With a deep breath, you prepared to face the confrontation, the anticipation building in your chest like a storm on the horizon.

"Wait a minute," you said, pausing mid-step as you rushed to open the door. Mingyu stood before you, his eyes betraying a hint of worry. He cleared his throat, quickly composing himself before asking if he could come into your room. You made room for him, allowing him to enter, and he settled onto the couch near your bed with a heavy sigh.

"I have something to tell you," he began, his tone serious as he handed you a piece of paper. Your eyes scanned the words, and a wave of unexpected realization washed over you. You looked up at Mingyu, silently demanding an explanation. He nervously bit his lip before speaking, his words laden with a mix of regret and resignation.

"This marriage... it has no reason to continue," he confessed, his gaze meeting yours with a sense of finality. You couldn't help but agree, feeling the weight of truth settle upon your shoulders.

"We rushed into this too quickly a year ago," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "We've lost the reason for it. And... I don't think either of us ever truly loved each other. Perhaps... I've fallen out of love too."

The words hung heavy in the air, a somber acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. As you sat on the edge of the bed, emotions swirling within you, you couldn't help but wonder how things had come to this point. It was a bittersweet realization, but one that needed to be acknowledged nonetheless.

You contemplated asking if there was someone else, but you quashed the thought, clenching your lips to stifle any potentially hurtful words. A heavy sigh escaped you, the reality sinking in sooner than anticipated.

"I thought we had another year," you murmured, the weight of the prenuptial agreement pressing on your mind. The contract stipulated a minimum of two years of marriage before considering divorce—a promise you both made before exchanging vows. Yet here you were, facing the prospect of dissolution, initiated not by you, but by Mingyu himself.

"I'm going to take responsibility for that," Mingyu uttered, his words hanging in the air, a mixture of regret and resignation evident in his tone.

Your gaze fixated once more on the divorce papers, each line a cruel reminder of shattered dreams and broken promises. Your head spun with disbelief; this wasn't the life you had envisioned just a year ago. Memories flooded in—of your childhood home, your mother's unwavering support, and the daunting uncertainty that awaited you beyond the confines of this crumbling marriage.

"How about my rights? My mother won't give up on me before our two-year anniversary," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the weight of disappointment.

He bowed his head, his expression pained with apology. "I'm sorry..."

In that moment, Kim Mingyu became the living embodiment of abandonment. It was a stark realization that perhaps, in this cold and unforgiving world, no one truly cared about you. As the weight of loneliness settled upon your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel betrayed by the very person you once believed would be your lifelong companion.

Months had passed since the last time he had seen you dress up, and as you approached him in the living room, clad in a long, enticing red dress that hugged your curves, he was reminded of just how much he had missed the sight of you all dolled up. He rose from the couch, urgency flickering in his eyes, gesturing for you to hurry as the event awaited, yet you both remained within the confines of your home.

As Mingyu prepared to step out of the entrance, you halted him with a subtle hand gesture, drawing him closer as you deftly adjusted his tie and smoothed down his suit. The sudden proximity caught him off guard, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the warmth of your body pressed against his. The scent of your perfume enveloped him, a familiar yet intoxicating aroma that never failed to stir something deep within him, a reminder of his adoration for you.

Upon arrival, the atmosphere crackled with a palpable surprise that mirrored the astonishment seen on Mingyu's family's faces during last night's dinner. Your unexpected presence amidst the socialite crowd stirred whispers and raised eyebrows, the subject of endless speculation and gossip during your absence from such gatherings.

As Mingyu guided you through the room, his hand lingering possessively around your waist, it was a scene reminiscent of days gone by, a familiar tableau that seemed to defy the rumors swirling around your relationship. The sight of the two of you together, united against the backdrop of societal expectations, left many gaping in disbelief.

Approaching Seungcheol, the host of the event and Mingyu's best friend, Mingyu couldn't help but notice the genuine warmth in your smile as Seungcheol greeted you both with enthusiasm. With a gentle tug, you were whisked away by Seungcheol's wife to mingle with other socialites, leaving Mingyu to engage in conversation with Seungcheol and Jeon Wonwoo, his trusted confidant from college.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Kim Mingyu. I don't like your wife's mood at work today," Seungcheol bluntly expressed, finally voicing the concern that had been weighing on his mind since his interactions with you earlier that morning.

Wonwoo's eyebrows shot up in acknowledgment, recognizing the unique influence Mingyu held over the situation. "Only Mingyu could manage that," he remarked, a subtle nod to your exceptional professionalism and dedication as Seungcheol's trusted secretary.

Mingyu's sigh resonated with a sense of resignation, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of Seungcheol's observation. "I haven't done anything," he admitted wearily, the frustration evident in his voice as he sought refuge in the simple act of sipping his wine, a temporary respite from the complexities of the situation.

Wonwoo's gaze bored into Mingyu, who nervously swallowed his saliva. The tension between them was palpable, Mingyu's discomfort evident in every shift of his weight. He despised Wonwoo's uncanny ability to read people, a skill that made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

Mingyu believed that Seungcheol, their mutual friend, was oblivious to the true nature of his marriage. He trusted that Seungcheol saw only what he wanted to see: a seemingly happy couple. After all, Seungcheol had witnessed firsthand how formidable you could be when dealing with Mingyu's shortcomings.

But Wonwoo was a different breed altogether. He possessed a keen intuition, capable of detecting even the slightest hint of deception. From the moment Mingyu had confessed his impending marriage, Wonwoo had sensed something amiss.

"Did you knock somebody?" Wonwoo's first sentence upon hearing Mingyu's announcement cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. It was a direct challenge, a probing inquiry designed to unearth the truth buried beneath Mingyu's carefully constructed facade.

As Mingyu stood before Wonwoo, his facade crumbled under the weight of scrutiny, his discomfort laid bare for all to see. He could feel the weight of Wonwoo's gaze bearing down on him, exposing his innermost fears and insecurities. In that moment, Mingyu realized that he could never truly escape Wonwoo's penetrating gaze, nor could he hide the truth from someone who could smell deception from a mile away.

Once Seungcheol was called away by his parents, Mingyu swore he felt a shiver run down his spine as Wonwoo spoke. "What's with her presence tonight? I feel like something's up." The intensity of Wonwoo's observation sent a chill through Mingyu, his nerves already frayed from the tension between them.

Shaking his head, Mingyu cautioned his friend, "Don't jinx anything or it'll happen." He knew all too well the power of suggestion, especially when it came from someone as perceptive as Wonwoo.

But Wonwoo merely scoffed at Mingyu's warning. "I'm relieved I'm not married. Married men are sensitive, just look at Seungcheol hyung." He gestured towards the older man with a knowing smirk, emphasizing his point.

Mingyu nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his wine to mask his unease. "You're right. Don't get married," he replied, the weight of his own marital struggles weighing heavily on his mind.

Wonwoo's smirk only widened at Mingyu's response. "Got you!" he declared triumphantly, reveling in his ability to tease his friend mercilessly. The playful banter between them did little to ease Mingyu's apprehension, however, as he couldn't shake the feeling that Wonwoo saw right through him, unraveling his secrets with every word exchanged.

Mingyu let out a curse under his breath, his frustration evident as he averted his gaze from his friend. His eyes landed on your figure standing a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with an unfamiliar man. Mingyu's brow furrowed in concern as he turned back to Wonwoo.

"Who's that?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Wonwoo followed Mingyu's gaze to where you stood, conversing with the stranger. "Ah, that's Lee Seokmin," Wonwoo explained, his tone casual. "He's the son of Dr. Lee from Seoul University Hospital. I heard he's also a doctor."

Mingyu's frown deepened. "Why is he talking to Y/n?" Mingyu's protective instincts kicked in, his mind racing with questions and scenarios.

Wonwoo shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe they know each other," he suggested. "I've heard Seokmin is a really friendly and affectionate person. He's quite charming, from what I've heard."

Mingyu's unease grew as he watched the interaction between you and Seokmin, his gut twisting with a mixture of jealousy and concern. Despite Wonwoo's attempt to ease his worries, Mingyu couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the encounter than met the eye.

Mingyu's brows furrowed deeply, his dislike evident in the creases of his forehead and the tension in his jaw. He couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the sight of you conversing so effortlessly with another man. It was rare for you to befriend anyone outside your small circle, especially a man. As far as Mingyu knew, your only close friend was Minseo, and you rarely had any male friends aside from colleagues from work.

Mingyu had been prepared to approach you after handing his glass to Wonwoo. However, his intentions were abruptly halted when a groan echoed from the other side of the room, followed by urgent voices calling for a doctor. Mingyu's heart skipped a beat as he turned to see his father slumped into a colleague's arms, clutching his chest in pain. It was happening again—his father's heart troubles.

Without a moment's hesitation, Mingyu sprang into action, his adrenaline kicking in as he rushed to his father's side. Ignoring the curious gazes and the frantic murmurs around him, he focused solely on his father's well-being. With trembling hands, he called out for someone to dial the emergency number, his voice cutting through the chaos of the room.

Fear and urgency flooded Mingyu's senses as he knelt beside his father, his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, nothing else mattered to him except ensuring his father received the help he desperately needed.

As Mingyu knelt by his father's side, panic and desperation etched on his face, you and Seokmin approached. Seokmin wasted no time in announcing himself as a doctor, offering his assistance in the tense situation. However, before Seokmin could fully extend his help, Mingyu shot him a gaze so intense it momentarily caught Seokmin off guard. The unspoken tension between them hung thick in the air, palpable to anyone observing.

You watched the exchange between Mingyu and Seokmin, sensing the growing discomfort and suspicion emanating from Mingyu. Recognizing the need to diffuse the situation and allow Seokmin to attend to Mingyu's father, you gently intervened. Placing a reassuring hand on Mingyu's shoulder, you spoke softly but firmly.

"He's a doctor, Mingyu. You need to trust him. Your father will be alright," you urged, your voice laced with conviction. With a gentle tug, you pulled Mingyu away from the scene, guiding him to a safe distance where he could observe without feeling overwhelmed by the unfolding events.

Mingyu sat alone in front of his father's patient room, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He absentmindedly picked up a phone call from Wonwoo and Seungcheol, grateful for the distraction, but also using the moment to let himself calm after the pounding in his chest earlier. Leaning his head against the cool wall, he closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

The soft click of the door opening broke the silence, and Mingyu's eyes blinked open to find you entering the room. Wordlessly, you settled beside him, a comforting presence in the midst of his turmoil. No words were exchanged, but the sounds of your breaths and sighs filled the space, offering a sense of solace.

"I'm sorry for earlier," Mingyu finally spoke, his voice tinged with remorse. "I was losing my cool."

He watched as you nodded understandingly, your expression gentle and empathetic. "It's okay, I understand," you murmured softly, mirroring his position as you leaned against the wall beside him. In that moment, Mingyu felt a weight lift off his shoulders, grateful for your silent support amidst the chaos of his emotions.

Mingyu's gaze shifted from the scene in front of him to your face, his heart clenching with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Anger simmered beneath the surface as he watched you sit beside him, your presence a stark reminder of the connection you once shared. The sight of you with another man reignited the flames of jealousy within him, fueling his inner turmoil.

Closing his eyes tightly, Mingyu struggled to make sense of his conflicting feelings. Where had the love he once harbored for you gone? Where were the tender emotions that used to fill his heart at the sight of your smile?

His chest tightened with an indiscernible ache as he wrestled with these questions, grappling with the realization that the love he once thought was eternal had somehow slipped through his fingers. In that moment of vulnerability, Mingyu couldn't help but wonder if there was any hope left for the fractured pieces of his heart.

He glanced at you once again, his gaze boring into yours with a mixture of resentment and disappointment. You turned your head to meet his stare, but the warmth and affection that once radiated from his eyes were now replaced by cold indifference. Everything about you seemed to fuel his growing disdain and anger, each breath becoming shallower, sweat trickling down his forehead, and his fingers clenching into tight fists.

As he sat there, consumed by memories of betrayal and heartache, Mingyu couldn't help but wonder how everything had unraveled so quickly. The pain of realizing that the person he once cherished was capable of such deception gnawed at his soul, leaving him feeling hollow and broken.

In that moment, amidst the silence that hung heavily between them, Mingyu knew that the love he once felt for you had been irreparably tainted by the bitterness of betrayal. And as he stared into your eyes, all he could see was the reflection of his own shattered dreams and misplaced trust.

His mind drifted back to the moment when his feelings for you began to sour, a pivotal moment etched into his memory like a scar. It was the day he stumbled upon that innocuous piece of paper tucked away in your desk, a note filled with secrets and lies that shattered his trust in you. From that moment on, the love he once held for you had gradually withered away, leaving behind a festering wound that refused to heal.

"Tell me, what is it?" Mingyu's voice cut through the tense silence as he confronted you with the paper clenched tightly in his hand. You approached him cautiously, your heart pounding with apprehension as you took the paper from him. It was an abortion form from the hospital, a stark reminder of the decision you were contemplating.

"You want an abortion? After everything we've been through, I thought you finally could accept me, accept them, accept us!" Mingyu's words were laced with hurt and disbelief, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of understanding.

"Why are you so selfish, Y/n? Don't you ever think about my feelings?" His voice cracked with emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air between you.

"Mingyu, I can explain..." you began, but he cut you off with a weary sigh.

"Stop it, Y/n. You're a grown-up, you're capable of deciding what you want, considering the kind of childhood you had," Mingyu's tone was resigned, his disappointment palpable.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you because of your mom, but our child doesn't deserve the same treatment. You want to... to kill them? That's evil, Y/n," Mingyu's voice wavered with a mixture of anger and sorrow, his heart breaking at the thought of losing the child he had already grown to love.

"You're just like your mom," the words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and pain, as Mingyu turned away from you, unable to bear the weight of the truth any longer.

.Weeks later, you found yourself standing in front of Mingyu's door, your hand poised to knock. With a deep breath, you hesitated, nerves fluttering in your stomach as you prepared yourself for what lay beyond that threshold. But before you could make a move, the door swung open, revealing Mingyu standing there in his pajamas, a mug in hand.

Surprise flickered across your features as you met his gaze, uncertainty mingling with a glimmer of hope in your heart. Mingyu's expression was unreadable, his eyes guarded as he studied you in silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you.

Finally, Mingyu broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words to convey the turmoil swirling within you. "I... I wanted to talk," you replied hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu nodded, his gesture a silent invitation for you to enter. "I was about to grab some water. Do you want some?" he offered, his voice tinged with a hint of warmth that belied the tension lingering between you.

Grateful for his kindness, you accepted his offer and followed him into his sanctuary. The room felt familiar yet foreign, a sanctuary for both of you months ago before you decided to sleep in the other room. He motioned for you to sit on the sofa next to his bed while he settled himself at his office desk, the glow of his computer screen casting shadows across his features.

As you watched him, a pang of guilt tugged at your heart. Mingyu seemed lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed with concentration as he continued to work even in this late hour. The sight of him laboring away despite the heaviness weighing on his shoulders filled you with a sense of admiration and regret.

"If I'm disturbing you from working, we can talk tomorrow morning," you offered tentatively, the doubt evident in your voice.

Mingyu shook his head, his expression softening with understanding. "I'm done anyway," he replied, his fingers moving to shut off his computer with a decisive click. Turning his full attention to you, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours for answers.

"What is it you want to say?" he asked, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. In that moment, as you sat face to face with Mingyu in the quiet solitude of his room, you knew that the time for honesty and reconciliation had finally come.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. "I'm aware that Seungcheol might have already told you about this, but I'm resigning," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil churning within you.

Mingyu nodded, his expression somber as he removed his glasses, the weariness evident in the lines etched on his face. "Yeah, he called me right away," he confirmed, his hand moving to massage his forehead in a gesture of exhaustion.

"After we divorced, I'm going to move to Canada," you continued, your words heavy with the weight of impending change. "I'm going to have treatment there."

As you spoke, Mingyu's gaze softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness flickering in his eyes. Mingyu's brow furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is our psychiatrist here not enough that you have to get treated there?" he questioned, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

You nodded, unable to muster the strength to offer a further explanation. Despite his inquiry, Mingyu's gaze seemed distant, his attention drifting away as if the topic held no significance to him. It was a stark reminder that the care and concern he once held for you had long since dissipated, replaced by an indifferent detachment.

As you looked at Mingyu, a pang of sadness tugged at your heart. The realization that he no longer had any interest in your well-being only served to deepen the rift between you, highlighting the distance that had grown between you over time.

"What about you? Do you have any plans after our divorce settlement?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the impending separation hanging heavily between you.

Mingyu shook his head, his response clipped and devoid of emotion. "I'm just going to live my life like usual," he replied, his tone betraying the indifference he felt towards the situation. It was a stark reminder of the disconnect that had grown between you, the sense of being mere strangers occupying the same space.

As the conversation turned towards your impending move and your relationship with your mother, Mingyu's demeanor remained distant, his words lacking any genuine concern. The tension between you hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating any hope of reconciliation or understanding.

With each passing moment, the discomfort in your stomach grew, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil swirling within you. You struggled to maintain your composure as the pain intensified, your mind racing with unanswered questions and unspoken fears.

Feeling lightheaded and nauseous, you knew you couldn't continue the conversation any longer. With a trembling voice, you declared that you were done talking, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Mingyu's presence.

As you rose from your seat, the cramps in your stomach intensified, sending waves of agony coursing through your body. With every step, you fought to conceal your pain, unwilling to show any weakness in front of Mingyu.

But as you turned to leave, a burning question lingered in your mind, demanding to be heard. With a shaky breath, you uttered his name, your voice barely a whisper in the silence of the room.

"Mingyu..."

"Don't you wanna know my feelings about our divorcee?"

There was a pregnant pause as you awaited his response, the tension thickening between you like a taut string on the verge of snapping. And then, finally, his answer came, cold and final.

"I know you've been waiting for this. I'm sorry for holding you long enough."

His words pierced through you like a dagger, the finality of his apology crushing any lingering hope of salvaging what was left of your relationship. With a heavy heart, you turned away, the weight of his indifference crushing you as you stumbled towards the door.

But before you could escape, the pain became too much to bear, and darkness closed in around you, pulling you into unconsciousness. And as you crumpled to the floor, the last thing you saw was Mingyu's impassive gaze, a silent witness to the collapse of everything you had once held dear.

Three weeks before Seungcheol's wedding, life was a whirlwind of chaos and excitement. As his trusted assistant, you juggled his hectic schedule while also overseeing the wedding preparations. However, there was an added complication: you were five months pregnant. Only a month had passed since your honeymoon, and taking leave now would burden everyone. Despite feeling a severe burning sensation in your chest, you soldiered on, determined not to let anyone down.

On that fateful day, after wrapping up a meeting with a client alongside Seungcheol and Junhui, the sensation in your chest escalated, leaving you gasping for air. You motioned desperately to Junhui for assistance, the panic evident in your eyes. Seungcheol, occupied with driving his own car, was unaware of your distress as you shared a vehicle with Junhui. Sensing the urgency, Junhui wasted no time and swiftly steered the car towards the nearest hospital.

The drive felt agonizingly long as you struggled to maintain composure, each breath a struggle against the tightening grip of fear. Junhui's concern was palpable, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a mixture of urgency and worry. With each passing moment, the weight of the situation pressed down upon you, threatening to overwhelm.

Finally, the hospital loomed into view, a beacon of hope in the midst of turmoil. Junhui guided you inside, his steadying presence offering a sliver of reassurance amidst the chaos. As you were ushered into the emergency room, a flood of emotions washed over you – fear, uncertainty, and a profound sense of vulnerability.

In that moment, as you awaited medical attention, the true magnitude of the situation dawned upon you. The wedding, the responsibilities, all faded into insignificance in the face of this sudden health crisis. All that mattered now was the well-being of yourself and your unborn child.

For the first time, you heard the dreaded words: preeclampsia. The burning sensation that had plagued you for days, you now learned, wasn't just discomfort—it was a warning sign, a miniature heart attack triggered by hypertension during your pregnancy.

"Mrs. Ji," the doctor's voice pulled you from your thoughts, "from your health records, it appears you were in a car accident twenty years ago. Do you recall what injuries you sustained?"

Your head shook slowly, memories from that time shrouded in fog. "No," you murmured, "I barely remember anything from back then."

Doctor Lee Seokmin nodded, his expression grave. "It seems you underwent both heart and neurosurgery as a result of that accident. Unfortunately, those procedures have contributed to your current struggle with preeclampsia during this pregnancy."

A furrow formed between your brows as you processed the implications. "What should I do?" Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your burgeoning stomach, a protective gesture.

"It's strongly recommended that you consider terminating the pregnancy before it's too late," Dr. Lee advised gently. "Carrying the baby poses significant risks to your health, even to the point of endangering your life."

The weight of his words settled heavily upon you. "In simpler terms," he continued, his tone sympathetic yet firm, "your heart is struggling to supply blood for both you and the baby. Not only does this jeopardize your own safety, but the chances of the baby surviving are also slim. I urge you to carefully consider your options."

Tears welled in your eyes as the gravity of the situation sank in. It was a devastating choice to make, a painful crossroads where the life of your unborn child hung in the balance against your own.

Your heart ached with the weight of the decision ahead. Every beat seemed to echo the uncertainty of your future, intertwined with the life growing within you. As you sat in the sterile hospital room, the silence enveloped you, broken only by the rhythmic hum of medical equipment.

The thought of ending the pregnancy felt like a betrayal—a betrayal to the life blossoming inside you, a betrayal to the dreams you had woven around the idea of motherhood. But the stark reality laid out by Dr. Lee left little room for sentimentality. It was a matter of survival, a harsh truth that demanded to be faced.

You turned your gaze to your stomach, where the faint flutter of movement reminded you of the fragile existence nestled within. How could you choose between your own life and the life you had already begun to nurture?

Questions swirled in your mind, each one a thorn digging deeper into your already burdened heart. Would you be able to live with the knowledge that your decision may cost the life of your child? Could you bear the guilt of choosing self-preservation over the chance of motherhood?

Yet amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of resolve flickered within you. As painful as it was, you knew that you couldn't risk leaving your family behind, couldn't bear the thought of leaving your loved ones to mourn a life lost too soon.

With a heavy sigh, you met Dr. Lee's gaze, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. It was time to make the choice that would shape the course of your future, a choice that carried the weight of both sorrow and hope.

At the end, you still choose chance of motherhood. You'll found solution along with Mingyu. You would never terminate your pregnancy.

One haunting truth lingered in the shadows of your mind, a specter of betrayal from the past. It was the knowledge that your own mother had once plotted to end your life in that fateful car accident. Night after night, you found yourself jolting awake from restless slumber, the echoes of that near-tragedy replaying in your nightmares.

Mingyu, your husband, was keenly aware of your nightly struggles. Yet, despite his understanding, a palpable distance had settled between you in the wake of the doctor's grim recommendation. The discovery of the abortion form seemed to widen the chasm, a silent testament to the gulf that had formed between your hearts.

You found solace in the nursery room, seeking refuge amidst the soft hues and gentle whispers of promise that filled the space. But even here, the weight of Mingyu's silence pressed down upon you like an unbearable burden. Each night, as you lay alone in the darkness, tears would silently trace their paths down your cheeks, mingling with the whispers of doubt that haunted your thoughts.

Breakfast became a solitary affair, the clink of utensils against porcelain echoing in the empty spaces between you. And though you shared the same table come dinnertime, the silence between you was deafening, each lost in the labyrinth of your own thoughts.

You longed for the warmth of Mingyu's embrace, for the reassurance of his presence in the midst of uncertainty. Yet, his absence—both physical and emotional—cast a shadow over your shared existence, leaving you adrift in a sea of solitude.

As the days stretched into a week of silent anguish, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end, if the fractures in your relationship would widen into irreparable chasms. And in the quiet of the night, as sleep eluded you once more, you found yourself grappling with the weight of unanswered questions and the ache of unspoken words.

As you stepped through the threshold of your home, a sense of unease gripped you at the sight of the moving crew bustling about, their movements purposeful as they carted away pieces of your life. The crib, once a symbol of hope and anticipation, now stood bereft of its place in the nursery.

Summoning a flicker of courage, you ventured into the room, your heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and determination. Mingyu, usually ensconced in his office, was seated at his desk, his attention focused on the screen before him.

"Why are they moving our stuff?" you ventured, the words trembling on your lips as you sought his gaze.

His response was chilling, devoid of the warmth and familiarity you had grown accustomed to. "What stuff?" His tone was colder than the winter wind, sending shivers down your spine.

A surge of panic rose within you as you struggled to find your voice. "They moved out our baby stuff!" The words spilled out, laced with desperation and a tinge of disbelief.

But Mingyu's reply pierced through the fragile facade of hope, extinguishing it with brutal finality. "We don't have a baby." His words hung in the air like a heavy curtain, separating you from the life you had envisioned together.

The weight of his denial crushed you, leaving you gasping for breath in its suffocating grip. How could he dismiss the dreams you had nurtured, the plans you had woven for the future? It felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of the love you had shared and the promises you had made to each other.

Tears welled in your eyes as the reality of his words sank in, a painful reminder of the chasm that had widened between you. And as you stood there, face to face with the stark truth of your shattered hopes, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end—a silent requiem for the life that might have been.

The air crackled with tension as you took determined steps towards Mingyu's desk, your heart pounding in your chest. With a trembling hand, you reached out and turned off his computer, the abruptness of the action punctuating the charged atmosphere.

"What do you mean? Stop acting like this!" Your voice wavered with a mixture of frustration and desperation, the words tumbling out in a rush as you confronted him head-on.

Mingyu's gaze flickered up to meet yours, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Do whatever you want, Y/n," he replied curtly, his tone laced with indifference.

"Kim Mingyu!" The use of his full name was a reflex, a testament to the gravity of the situation that hung between you like a heavy fog.

A bitter taste rose in your throat as his words cut through the silence like a knife. "Seeing them makes me sick, Y/n," he spat, his voice tinged with a venomous edge.

Your heart clenched at his callousness, the sting of betrayal slicing through the facade of composure you had struggled to maintain. "Don't you see how betrayed I am right now?" Mingyu pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "I love you! I love our life! But seeing that abortion form hurt me."

Tears threatened to spill over as you struggled to convey the depth of your pain, the weight of Mingyu's words bearing down on you like a crushing burden. The rift between you felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole.

But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope remained—a glimmer of the love that had once bound you together, a fragile thread that refused to be severed. And as you stood there, locked in a battle of wills and emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance to bridge the divide and find solace in each other's arms once more.

"Stop acting like you're the only one suffering here!" The words burst forth from your lips, fueled by a potent mix of frustration and despair. "I don't want to do it either! But I have to, Mingyu! I have to!" Each syllable was laden with the weight of your anguish, the struggle to convey the depth of your turmoil.

Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable as he listened to your impassioned plea. But when he scoffed in response, a surge of indignation rose within you like a tidal wave. "Don't you see I'm working on it?" you cried out, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm trying my best to keep them. Stop telling me I'm selfish! You're selfish, you only think about what you're feeling this week and you left me! You left me alone!"

The accusation hung heavy in the air, a bitter truth laid bare in the starkness of your words. Mingyu's silence spoke volumes, his refusal to acknowledge your pain a sharp sting that cut deeper than any words could.

"So your feeling is the only one that's valid?" Mingyu's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, his tone laced with disdain.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within you. "You don't know what kind of sorrow I've been hiding until they turned into anger," you mumbled, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from him, unable to bear the weight of his indifference any longer. "And now, I'm the bad person," you whispered to yourself, the words a bitter reminder of the rift that had formed between you.

Leaving Mingyu in his office, you retreated to the sanctuary of the nursery, seeking solace amidst the familiar surroundings. With a heavy sigh, you instructed your house assistant to have a bed and your belongings moved into the child's room, unable to face Mingyu with the swirling emotions that threatened to consume you whole.

Mingyu stood vigil beside your hospital bed, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. The sight of you collapsing before his very eyes had propelled him into action, rushing you to the hospital in a frantic blur of fear and desperation. Now, as he waited for you to wake, he could only hope and pray that the doctors would bring him good news.

The doctor's somber presence loomed over Mingyu, a harbinger of the grim tidings that were to come. His voice, measured and grave, cut through the silence like a blade, delivering the devastating news of your deteriorating health.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Mr. Kim, but the cancerous growth in your wife's cervix has progressed significantly," the doctor intoned, his words hanging heavy in the air like a dark cloud.

Mingyu's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind struggling to grasp the gravity of the situation. "What do you mean? What cancer?" he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation.

The doctor's sympathetic gaze softened as he attempted to simplify the complex medical details for Mingyu's benefit. "The cancer has spread, Mr. Kim. It's worsening, and we need to discuss our options moving forward."

Panic surged within Mingyu like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him as he grappled with the harsh reality of your diagnosis. "But she's young, she's healthy," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "How could this happen?"

In response, the doctor guided Mingyu through the medical history recorded in your files, shedding light on the shadowy truths hidden within. "In your wife's medical records, it's noted that she experienced a miscarriage in February, likely due to complications related to the cervical tumor."

The mention of the miscarriage sent a shiver down Mingyu's spine, a cruel reminder of the pain and suffering you had endured in silence. "A miscarriage?" he echoed, the word heavy with sorrow and regret.

"Yes, Mr. Kim," the doctor confirmed gently. "I'll arrange for you to meet with the physician who has been attending to your wife. We'll discuss the next steps together."

"I'm sorry that you have to find out this way, Mr. Kim," Dr. Lee Seokmin stated with genuine regret, his voice heavy with sympathy. He watched Mingyu closely, noting the confusion that flickered across his face before understanding settled in. Mingyu's expression shifted, revealing a mix of disbelief and realization.

Dr. Lee's regretful tone only deepened Mingyu's sense of unease. How long had you been living with this condition without even him knowing? The weight of the revelation settled heavily on his shoulders, and Mingyu felt a surge of conflicting emotions—anger, confusion, and a profound sense of loss for the time he could never get back.

As the truth sank in, Mingyu found himself grappling with a new reality, one he hadn't anticipated when he walked through the office doors. Dr. Lee's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of staying vigilant about one's health. Mingyu nodded slowly, his mind whirring with unanswered questions and a newfound determination to confront whatever lay ahead.

"This is what her cervix looks like," Dr. Lee explained, his voice somber as he pointed to the results of your x-rays, highlighting the ominous spread of cancer. Mingyu's eyes widened as he took in the stark contrast between the current image and the last one, where the cancerous tumor had been detected.

"I already suggested Mrs. Ji to do her chemotherapy a week after her miscarriage, but I did understand why she didn't come. However, she hasn't come at all," Dr. Lee continued, his tone tinged with disappointment and concern.

Mingyu's heart sank as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. He felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach, accompanied by a sense of helplessness. His mind raced with thoughts of you, your missed appointments, and the potential consequences of your absence.

A heavy sigh escaped Mingyu's lips, betraying the turmoil raging within him. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a nagging question persisted, demanding to be acknowledged.

"Miscarriage?" Mingyu finally spoke, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and desperation. It was a question that had been haunting him since he first learned of your diagnosis. Denial clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but deep down, he knew he couldn't ignore the harsh reality laid out before him any longer.

"Yes, Mr. Kim," Dr. Lee began, his tone gentle yet firm as he sought to elucidate the complexities of your situation to Mingyu. "She had refused to undergo the abortion and chose to proceed with the pregnancy after experiencing her first bout of preeclampsia in the last week of January."

Mingyu listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed the gravity of Dr. Lee's words. The choice you had made, despite the risks and uncertainties, spoke volumes about your unwavering determination and resilience.

"However," Dr. Lee continued, his voice tinged with regret, "she suffered a miscarriage on February 20th due to stress and exhaustion, which later led us to discover the presence of her tumor."

The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, a sobering reminder of the fragility of life and the trials you had endured in silence. Mingyu's heart ached with the weight of the knowledge, the pain of your loss etched into the lines of his face.

As Dr. Lee moved on to the next slide, outlining potential treatment options for your condition, Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his mind racing with a flurry of emotions. Hope mingled with apprehension as he considered the possibility of a path forward, one that held the promise of healing and renewal.

With each word spoken by the doctor, Mingyu felt a glimmer of hope begin to take root within him, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that had clouded his thoughts. And as he looked towards the future, his resolve hardened, his determination to stand by your side unwavering in the face of adversity.

"In South Korea, we haven't had access to this technology," Dr. Lee explained, his tone tinged with a note of regret. "However, this treatment has been proven with an 80% success rate in terminating cervical cancer and is available in Ottawa."

As the words sank in, a realization dawned on Mingyu. You wanted to go to Canada for treatment all along. But why hadn't you mentioned it earlier? Why keep it a secret until now? Mingyu's mind buzzed with questions, each one a jagged edge cutting into the fragile fabric of trust between you.

Lost in his thoughts, Mingyu hadn't even realized that he had been studying your face, searching for answers in the depths of your expression. But all he found was the echo of his own confusion mirrored back at him, a silent testament to the barriers that had grown between you.

A swell of emotions threatened to overwhelm Mingyu as he grappled with the revelation, his heart heavy with the weight of betrayal and longing. Had you been hiding the truth from him all along? And if so, why? The questions swirled in his mind, a relentless storm that refused to be quelled.

But amidst the turmoil, Mingyu couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited within him—the possibility of finding a solution, a lifeline in the form of treatment abroad. And as he looked towards the future, his determination hardened, his resolve to stand by your side unwavering in the face of adversity.

Regret washed over Mingyu like a torrential downpour, each drop heavy with the weight of missed opportunities and misunderstood intentions. The abortion form you had brought home—the very same document he had reacted to with such cold indifference—was now a haunting reminder of the choices you had made: to keep the baby and the assumptions he had drawn.

It dawned on Mingyu with a gut-wrenching clarity that the moment you had returned home without a baby bump, it wasn't because you had terminated the pregnancy, but because you had suffered a miscarriage. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his senses with the stark truth of your pain.

Tears welled up in Mingyu's eyes, his vision blurred as he grappled with the possibility that his actions, his lack of understanding and support, may have played a role in your suffering. The thought pierced through the armor of his pride, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to the raw emotions that surged within him.

Guilt clawed at Mingyu's chest, a relentless monster gnawing at his conscience as he wrestled with the consequences of his ignorance. Had he been too quick to judge, too blind to see the depth of your struggles? The realization gnawed at him, a bitter pill to swallow as he confronted the harsh truth of his own shortcomings.

In that moment, as tears silently trailed down his cheeks, Mingyu found himself consumed by a sense of profound remorse—a longing to turn back the hands of time and rewrite the narrative, to be the partner you needed in your darkest hour. But as the weight of his regrets settled upon him, Mingyu knew that he could only move forward, armed with the newfound clarity of hindsight and a determination to make amends.

"How far along are you?" Mingyu's voice cut through the tense air of the room as he sat confidently in front of your mother, the formidable CEO of JIS Corp. She exuded an aura of sharpness and rigidity, her piercing gaze sizing him up with every word she spoke.

You sat nervously beside Mingyu, acutely aware of the weight of your mother's scrutiny as she fired off a series of offensive questions, her demeanor dripping with arrogance. Mingyu, however, remained unfazed, his posture exuding confidence as he mirrored your mother's demeanor, ready to engage in the contest of wills that lay before him.

"I'm in my fourth month," you answered quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure under your mother's intense scrutiny.

As your mother settled into her seat across from you and Mingyu, her body language radiated dominance, a stark contrast to Mingyu's calm and collected demeanor. Despite the tension that hung in the air, Mingyu pressed on, determined to make a favorable impression on your mother, the woman who held the key to your future.

Your mother asked you to leave her alone with him. Mingyu sent you an assurance nodd before you rose from your seat and walked away to the kitchen.

"You know Y/n is not my daughter?" your mother's question hung in the air, a challenge disguised as a statement.

Mingyu nodded calmly, his gaze meeting your mother's without hesitation. "I'm aware of that," he replied evenly, "but she was legally adopted by your husband before he married you. So while she may not be biologically related to you, she is legally your daughter."

"What do you want, Kim Mingyu?" your mother's voice dripped with skepticism, her tone a clear indication that she was not easily swayed.

Mingyu's response was swift and direct. "Your resort label is facing bankruptcy," he began, his voice steady and confident. "I propose a merger with my own label. You'll gain financial stability and a positive reputation, while also giving Y/n her rightful share and putting an end to your surveillance of her."

As your mother considered his offer, Mingyu continued, his tone unwavering. "After marrying me, Y/n will gain social power and influence. She'll be able to hold JIS Corp accountable if they continue to deny her rights as an heir."

Your mother hesitated for a moment before raising two fingers in a gesture of negotiation. "Two years. Two years of merger, and then I'll hand her the share."

Mingyu shook his head firmly. "A year," he countered, his resolve unwavering.

"Two," your mother insisted, her tone firm.

Mingyu leaned back in his seat, shaking his head once more. "Then forget it. My resort label is too valuable to be compromised. And besides, with Y/n's newfound social status, she'll have the power to hold JIS Corp accountable."

Your mother's expression softened slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching as she weighed her options. "Okay," she relented at last, "a year is enough."

As Sora finally drifted off to sleep, her tear-stained cheeks still hauntingly fresh in your mind, you tiptoed out of the bedroom with a sense of quiet relief. Closing the door behind you with practiced care, you exhaled slowly, the weight of the day's emotional turmoil settling heavily upon your shoulders.

Today marked Sora's third birthday, a joyous occasion overshadowed by the absence of her father, who was miles away on a business trip. The sound of her plaintive cries had echoed through the house, a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made in pursuit of success and stability.

Making your way to the kitchen island, you reached for a bottle of mineral water, the cool liquid offering a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos of your thoughts. The day had been a whirlwind of emotions, your work as a full-time writer left unfinished as you devoted every waking moment to comforting and caring for your daughter.

As a writer, your focus had shifted towards women's and healthy lifestyle topics, a reflection of your own journey towards wellness and empowerment. Even during your treatment in Ottawa, you had continued your studies in creative writing, determined to pursue your passion despite the challenges that lay in your path.

Returning to South Korea after completing your treatment, you had been met with a new opportunity—a promotion to Chief Editorial at the Seoul branch of a prestigious magazine. It was a testament to your resilience and determination, a testament to the strength that had carried you through the darkest of times.

But as you stood in the quiet of the kitchen, the echoes of Sora's cries still lingering in the air, you couldn't help but feel the weight of your responsibilities pressing down upon you. Balancing motherhood with a demanding career was no easy feat, but with each passing day, you found strength in the love you shared with your daughter, a love that knew no bounds and blood, fueled your determination to succeed, no matter the obstacles that lay ahead.

The sound of the door's password being unlocked drew your attention away from your thoughts, causing you to rise from your seat with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. Your husband had returned home, his weary figure a stark contrast to the usual air of confidence and charm that surrounded him. Yet, despite the exhaustion etched into his features, he still managed to exude a quiet sense of grace and poise.

As he entered the house, you couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of him, his disheveled appearance doing nothing to diminish his innate handsomeness. With a gentle smile, you stepped forward to greet him, offering a comforting hand to help him shed the burdensome weight of his suit and tie.

"I miss you so much," he whispered into your ear, his voice laced with a palpable longing that mirrored your own.

"How about Sora?" you inquired, your concern for your daughter never far from your mind even in the midst of your reunion with your husband.

A flicker of realization crossed his features as he almost forgot about his sweet little cupcake, Sora. "Is she asleep already?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of guilt at the oversight.

You nodded in response, offering him an exhausted yet understanding smile. The trials of the day had taken their toll on both of you, but in this moment, as you stood close together, the warmth of your shared love enveloped you like a comforting embrace, reminding you of the strength and resilience that bound your family together.

"I had to read her three books before she finally fell asleep. So don't you ever try to wake her up," you warned him playfully, a hint of exhaustion still evident in your voice as you recounted the bedtime routine with Sora. Despite the weariness, there was a sense of fondness in your words, a testament to the love and dedication you poured into your role as a mother.

Your husband let out a soft chuckle at your admonishment, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace as he pulled you close. His presence was a comforting balm against the strains of the day, offering solace in the midst of the chaos that had defined your evening.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "The seminar went longer than expected. My flight was delayed, and I had to book another one to get home quicker. But I'm still this late."

You offered a reassuring smile, your hand gently tapping his back in a gesture of understanding and support. "There's always tomorrow, babe," you whispered, your words a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, time was but a fleeting commodity compared to the enduring bond you shared as a family.

Your husband's touch was gentle yet firm as he pushed your body back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that stirred something within you. "Tomorrow is February 20th," he whispered softly, the weight of the date hanging heavily between you.

You nodded in acknowledgment, your heart fluttering with a mixture of apprehension and longing as you contemplated the significance of the day. It was a day etched into your memory, a painful reminder of the loss you had endured and the scars that still lingered.

"Do you want to introduce Sora to him?" your husband asked gently, his voice a tender caress against the quiet of the room. "I think she's ready for that."

A surge of emotion welled up within you at the suggestion, a bittersweet blend of hope and trepidation. It had been a journey marked by grief and healing, a journey you had traversed with Sora by your side every step of the way.

"I'd love to," you replied softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "I think... I'm ready too."

Your husband's eyes softened with pride and admiration as he gazed at you, his words a soothing balm to the wounds that still lingered within your heart. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "You're doing so great."

In that moment, as you stood together on the precipice of a new chapter, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope ignite within you—a glimmer of light amidst the darkness that had once threatened to consume you whole. And with your husband by your side, you knew that whatever tomorrow may bring, you would face it together, united in love and resilience.

Your steps faltered as you heard Mingyu engaged in conversation with someone inside his office. You had come to discuss something with him this morning, but now your attention was fully captured by the voices drifting out through the open door.

"You knocked somebody?" A deeper voice queried, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

"Hm... Not entirely false! Yes, but she's not just somebody. She's someone I care about," Mingyu's voice replied, sending a ripple of confusion and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's pretty odd to hear that you care about someone. Who is she? Do I know her?" The other person's voice sounded vaguely familiar, prompting you to hazard a guess at their identity.

"She's Seungcheol hyung's secretary," Mingyu revealed, dropping your name into the conversation without preamble.

There was a pregnant pause before your name was spoken again, this time with a note of surprise. "Ji Y/n?"

"Yeah, she reminds me of her," Mingyu's voice confirmed, sending a jolt of uncertainty coursing through you.

"That's not enough reason to marry her, Kim Mingyu," the other person's voice retorted, their words hanging heavy in the air.

Your mind raced with a flurry of emotions as you struggled to process Mingyu's revelation. The realization that he saw shades of someone else in you, someone you didn't even know, left you feeling adrift in a sea of confusion and doubt.

As snippets of memories flooded your mind—moments of tenderness and affection shared between you and Mingyu over the past few weeks—a pang of sadness gripped your heart. Had his gestures of romance and chivalry been driven by genuine affection, or were they merely echoes of a love he once knew?

Caught between the pull of your growing feelings for Mingyu and the unsettling revelation of his comparison, you found yourself at a crossroads. What should you do? You had fallen for him, despite the uncertainty that now clouded your heart. But could you truly build a future with someone who saw you as a reflection of another?

As the tall figure emerged from Mingyu's office, you felt a knot form in your stomach. He paused as his gaze locked onto yours, and you rose from your seat, attempting to maintain a composed facade despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

"You're Ji Y/n? Seungcheol hyung's secretary?" His voice was deep and authoritative, yet there was a hint of curiosity in his tone as he addressed you.

You offered him a polite smile and nodded in confirmation. "Yes, that's correct. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon."

"I've seen you around, but this is our first time talking," Mr. Jeon remarked, his demeanor friendly yet reserved. "Nice to meet you too. Let's be more friendly in the future."

With those words, Mr. Jeon bid you farewell, leaving you to grapple with the weight of his presence and the implications of his unexpected encounter. Mentally preparing yourself for what lay ahead, you took a deep breath and steeling yourself for the challenges that awaited you.

As you entered Mingyu's office, your mind buzzed with a flurry of thoughts and emotions. With each step, you reminded yourself of the decisions that lay before you, the choices that would shape your future.

Keep the baby.

Get your share.

Have a happy life.

The words echoed in your mind, a mantra of determination and resolve as you braced yourself for the difficult conversations that lay ahead.

To be continued.

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morallyinept · 4 months

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NOBODY WANTS TO BE ALONE ON CHRISTMAS - A Javier Peña Christmas One Shot

Summary: You discover your boss Javi will be spending the night alone, working on the cartel case on Christmas Eve, so you extend a kind offer for him to join you for some Christmas dinner.

Pairing: Javier Pena x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M receiving/fingering.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: There's some sexy Javi Spanish, not a lot, so I've not provided translations. Feliz Navidad!

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

The yellowing fluorescent lights overhead cast a slightly harsh glow on the worn-out carpet that covers the office floor.

The colour, once a muted gray, bears the marks of countless footsteps and the occasional coffee spill.

The desks, a mishmash of transient styles, are strewn with stacks of files, half-empty coffee mugs, and a scattering of outdated office supplies, like typewriter ribbons and correctional fluid.

The air carries the distinct scent of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, a constant companion in the war rooms of the DEA office. Agents huddle around a communal pot, exchanging quick greetings and nods as they fuel up for the next round of investigations.

The walls are plastered with maps and charts tracking drug routes and cartel activities. Bulletin boards are covered with Polaroid pictures of suspects, illustrating the intricate web of criminal connections in Cali.

The faint hum of dial-up internet connections emanate from the few computers scattered around the office. The whirr of dot matrix printers echo intermittently, producing reports that will become integral parts of the ongoing investigations.

The agents, clad in power suits and shoulder-padded blazers work with a sense of determination etched on their faces. The sounds of phones ringing and typewriters clacking provide a constant background symphony, underscoring the urgency of their mission.

The office's ambiance is further accentuated by the occasional chatter in both English and Spanish, a linguistic blend reflective of the team's diverse composition.

Agents move purposefully between desks, exchanging information in hushed tones. The dated computer terminals emit a soft hum as agents navigate through databases filled with information on known traffickers and cartel activities.

In the midst of this utilitarian environment stands a small potted Christmas tree, perched on the edge of the desk of Javier Peña.

Placed there as a tiresome joke, created by the junior agents during a rare lighthearted moment he suspects, adding a touch of personal flair to the otherwise stern atmosphere.

He’s pushed it off his desk twice now and it keeps reappearing, a constant reminder of his own inward dismay for this time of year.

You glance at him over the top of your screen, hard not to on the regular, seeing as your desk is placed directly opposite his, your back to the window. Not a strategic decision but one you're thankful for when his dark cocoa bean eyes meet yours.

As Javier focuses on decoding messages or delving into the intricacies of ongoing investigations at his computer, that he types really slow on, tapping laboriously on the keys, his eyes will inevitably wander to the window.

There, amidst the rain-streaked glass and the rhythmic dance of palm leaves, he’ll always find you diligently working at your desk. Your concentration, juxtaposed against the vibrant outdoor scenery, often draws his attention.

In those fleeting moments, as your eyes lock across the narrow expanse of the office, the intensity of your work seems to momentarily fade away, replaced by an unspoken connection that hints at something beyond the professional facade.

It isn't just the shared pursuit of justice that binds you to Javier; it’s the exchange of glances, the uncharted territory of emotions that simmer beneath the surface.

At least on your part anyway.

Harbouring an attraction to your boss isn’t a wise move. A move that you’ve sat on relentlessly, trying to squash it into the soft foam of your office chair ever since you were transferred from the archives to real administration work in a real investigations office.

Javier is indifferent to you, looks upon with you a less-than-impressed, resting bitch face, but you’ve soon learned it’s the way his features have been moulded after years of chasing down hardened criminals in the dangerous territories this country harbours.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile.

But he always holds your gaze, far longer than you suspect he should. Just lingering looks that neither of you spiral into a verbal acknowledgement.

You bring him coffee with his reports on occasion, always making one for him when you get one for yourself; another unspoken routine you’ve found yourselves waltzing in. You know he needs at least three cups in the morning to function before the computer is even switched on.

You feel the gravitational pull of these unspoken moments. As you diligently work on your assignments, your eyes instinctively drift towards Javier's desk; a magnetised shift as you meet his eyes lancing back at you and you allow yourself to believe it could be a look of want, of some coveted desire he has for you as you squeeze your thighs together during the heated exchanges.

But of course, that’s wishful thinking.

You know that your crush is a pointless endeavour with no viable outcome. Javier Peña’s reputation precedes him. You’ve heard whispers from the team about the hookers in downtown Bogotá, even if they leave a heavy weight of disappointment and longing in your stomach.

Plus, there is that mantra of not shitting where you eat.

As the agents prepare for the holidays, Christmas Eve being where you find yourself, tapping away on your keyboard at a productive speed of seventy WPM, compared to Javier’s eight WPM - you know, you’ve counted - the potted Christmas tree standing lackadaisical on his desk serves not only as a festive ornament, but also as a reminder that even in the heart of a demanding and dangerous mission, camaraderie and the spirit of the season can find a place, however small, in the DEA office in Colombia.

Plans are exchanged and shared as your colleagues speak of them later on when they’ll clock off.

"I'm taking the kids to see the Christmas lights downtown. They've been pestering me about it for weeks." One says.

Another chimes in, "I'm heading to my parents' house for a big family gathering. It's chaotic, but I love it."

As the discussions continue like billowy rain clouds drifting around, Javier remains at his desk, seemingly engrossed in his work and you notice his obvious disengagement from the holiday chatter ebbing around him.

One of them dares to direct a comment towards him. “Plans, boss?”

Javier shakes his head and you’re certain you can hear a grunt. “Work. Something you clearly don’t understand the concept of, Ramirez.”

It’s enough to bring the team to an awkward hush as they settle back behind their screens murmuring to themselves indistinctly.

And the thought gnaws at you throughout the remainder of the day. The thought of Javier spending Christmas eve in the office alone, powering through, as the light from outside dims and he works by eventual lamplight on his desk.

You’ve seen it before, coming in the following morning to see him blinking tiredly into the stacks of paperwork that often drown him on his desk out of your view completely.

He’s known for practically living in the office like a hermit when he’s not out in the tacvest taking on the cartel's head first, or seeking solace in some hooker's cleavage, if you’re to believe those rumours that buzz around like flies over a festering pile of shit.

And that gnawing thought starts to bite harder in the late afternoon.

Hard enough for you to try and soothe the shredded skin around your nails having bitten at them for most of the day, as you find yourself hovering over his desk a little longer after gathering completed files for you to alphabetise.

He doesn’t look up at you, even though your shadow is still in his peripherals. The scent of him this close is intoxicating. Tobacco and a faint note of whiskey from the bottle you know he keeps in his drawer.

A swilling musk of sweat; the climate at this time of year is tropical and it ruminates inside the ill fitting jacket of his beige suit. A slight glean of it runs tracks down his throat and you lick your lips, trying not to focus on it too much as he swallows.

“Señor Peña-”

“Javi.” He corrects bluntly.

“-I couldn’t help but overhear you don’t have any plans for Christmas.” You begin, tactfully, keeping your voice low.

Javi finally glances up, a stoic expression on his face, "I'll be working. The case needs my attention."

“Surely it can wait for one evening?” You sway. “I’m sure the cartels will be celebrating and making merry. You should have a break, sir. It’s Christmas.”

“Just another day,” he swallows grittily.

The atmosphere in the office seems to thicken with a sudden tension. Javier, known for his abrupt stoicism, can't hide the defensive edge in his voice.

You sigh and gather the files in your arms. “You’re welcome at my place, if you want. A bit of dinner?”

"Christmas dinner? Mierda.” He scoffs. “You trying to play the good samaritan or something?" Javier says, his tone edging with a hint of spite.

His eyes, usually stern, carry an unusual flicker of irritation as they darken. “Did I miss the memo that we're suddenly one big, happy family in this office?”

You clock your colleagues, now silent and peering over their screens at the spectacle.

Javier, leaning back in his chair, retorts, "save the Hallmark moments. I'm perfectly capable of spending Christmas alone. I don't need company, especially not from someone who doesn't know when to mind their own business."

Your expression holds a mix of hurt and determination. "This isn't about charity, Señor Peña-”

“Javi.” He corrects again with gritted teeth.

“-We're a team, aren't we?"

Maintaining his composure, he brushes off the suggestion.

"Team or not, I don't need or want your pity, cariño. I've got work to do. And so do you." He stares up at you with a silent fury venting from his dark eyes.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not pity.” You correct, stepping away; cheeks burning up with some humiliation brewing.

He watches you leave towards the file room, and tosses a glare at the others who immediately begin tapping and working again.

Growling inwardly, he shoves the potted Christmas tree off his desk again and hears it topple to the floor.

The empty office seems to echo with the ghosts of the day's activities, the remnants of conversations and shared jovial laughter hanging in the air to taunt him long after you’re all gone.

Javi is sitting alone, the harsh glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across his caramel skin and making his eyeballs ache.

His long fingers trace the edge of the whiskey glass, each sip a bitter reminder of the solitude he’s chosen. The rain outside, a constant drizzle against the windowpane, mirrors the melancholy that settles within his chest.

His thoughts drift towards you, your invitation lingering like an unanswered question in the quiet room.

The disappointment and hurt swelling in the moisture of your eyes as he fired venom and hostility at your attempt at festive kindness. He knows it wasn't pity you offered, not really.

It’s in the coffee you always have made for him in the mornings that's just the right amount of rich and sweet, despite being from a cheap packet.

Your good nature, although grating at times, is what he secretly finds admirable about you - you care.

It's the care in your work, the attention to detail. The care in your questioning of your colleagues’ weekends and how you listen, hanging on their every word with bright curious eyes.

As he sips the whiskey, the amber liquid burns with a bitterness that seems to match the regret pooling in his chest. The files on his desk, once symbols of purpose, now feel like burdens, heavy with the weight of his own inane stubbornness.

He can't shake the feeling that he's missed out on something important here, a chance for a connection that has slipped through his fingers.

The loneliness presses in on him, and for the first time, Javi questions the walls he has built around himself. The whiskey, usually a numbing agent, now accentuates the ache of regret. He finds himself replaying the words he’d spoken to you, realising the rooted cruelty of his own defences.

The night unfolds slowly, the hands of the clock ticking away the minutes as Javi works through unrelenting paperwork.

In the quiet solitude, his thoughts mutate into a tempest of introspection. Your words batter his skull, your face.

He glances up at your desk and you’re not there, looking back at him and feeling his chest and loins alike filling with a tightness that aches.

The rhythmic tap of raindrops against the window becomes a thundering metronome. Filling his mind with flashes of your naked body pressed against his, the sound of your pleads and gasps filling him up as he fills you with himself.

Growls at the ache hardening between his legs, growling at his own stupidity, feeling a lifeline he's let slip away.

He glances around the empty office, the shadows dancing along the walls like phantoms of missed chances, beacons of potential connection.

His silhouette and yours, fucking in every position known to him, and Javi growls.

The weight of his own words linger in the air, each one a sharp reminder of the distance he’s purposefully placed between himself and his colleagues, and he’s not sure why.

He bends and picks it up and sees there's a label stabbed into the back of it, one he never noticed before.

The whiskey, now a bitter residue in his glass, mirrors the lingering taste of remorse and as he gets up to attend to a task, he trips on something.

The potted tree that he tossed so carelessly off of his desk.

Unfurling it, he realises it's a gift and not a practical joke played by his colleagues who have nothing better to do than mock his authority and professionalism behind his back.

Feliz Navidad, Señor Peña x

Placing the tree back on his desk, he lingers on the guilt.

The hum of the lonely printer and the distant patter of rain becomes a backdrop to his internal dialogue. What if, he wonders, he has misunderstood your invitation? What if it isn't about pity, but a genuine desire for his companionship?

The barriers he’s erected around himself feel suddenly fragile; the stoicism that has defined him now seems like a self-imposed prison.

Has he really been so blind of your affections towards him?

In that moment, a decision crystallises in Javi's mind. He can't spend Christmas alone in the sterile glow of the fluorescent lamplight, drowning in whiskey and the silence of his regrets.

His fingers drum on the desk, a silent debate waging within him. As he grabs his creased jacket from hours of sitting on it, the decision solidifies with every step.

The office, with its empty corridors and the ghosts of his own stubbornness, seem to release him with a reluctant sigh. He can’t stay here tonight.

Not when he knows now that you want him.

“Javi… I mean, Señor Peña.”

You stand on the other side of the door. The intrepid concern for a late night knocker in a city like this, melts away into something else as you peer at him on the other side.

“Buenas noches, cariño.”

He’s wet, soaked through almost. His hair sticking to his forehead like an oil slick, and droplets caught in the prominent pencil moustache that you’ve always wondered if it would be soft or coarse against your skin.

“Javi, please.” He softens.

“What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you to...” You’re a little stunned actually. The gall and unpredictability of this man never ceases to amaze.

He holds out a bottle that he plucks from a brown bag, tequila.

“Call it a peace offering, or a Christmas gift. Either way, I'm sorry for snapping.” Javi says, and you can feel the sincerity and regret radiate from him, burning hotter than the sun.

“It’s okay.” You say, with a blooming smile at the corners of your lips.

He questions it. Relief? Are you as genuinely pleased to see him as you appear? And it stunts him, your instant forgiveness.

He nods slowly. “If it’s alright with you, querida, I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands?"

He extends the olive branch and you’re only too quick and eager to receive it.

“Sure. Come on in, Javi.” You smile with pertinent relief.

You fix him a plate, reheating leftovers, as he perches on the edge of your lumpy sofa, feeling that it could swallow him down into its gullet at any moment if he truly relaxes.

It’s a rental, probably more than you can afford, bland with peeling paint and a musty aroma that lingers under the scent of your floral perfume that pollutes his head daily at work.

He shuffles out of his wet jacket, large wet patches dye the beige of his pants darker at the thighs and knees. He takes in the frailty of your apartment. The emptiness of it.

How nothing here reflects the sparkling personality he knows you have.

The air carries a faint scent of scented candles, the flickering flames casting a soft ambiance as his eyes find them gloaming on the coffee table in clusters. The muted colours of the furniture and the strategically placed potted plants create a serene atmosphere, a stark departure from the chaos of the office.

The harsh absence of the expected holiday decorations strike him. There are no garlands draped along the walls, no twinkling lights casting a festive glow. A vast, empty space threatens the room where a Christmas tree should stand.

Instead, the void exudes a calm simplicity that feels like a deliberate choice rather than an oversight on your part.

Noticing his surprise, you offer a small smile. "Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Javi, still processing the unexpected interior, manages a nod. The realisation that your invitation wasn't an attempt to impress, but a genuine extension of your simple world, settles within him.

The apartment, with its quiet and dated elegance, feels like a reflection of your character - strong, resilient, and unassuming.

"I didn't expect this," he admits, gesturing around the room. "I thought there would be... I don't know, more Christmas shit."

You hum with a smile as you pass him a plate.

Javi tentatively asks, "so, why did you invite me here, if it wasn’t pity?"

Your eyes hold a glint of sincerity. "Because I sensed you needed it. Christmas alone in the office isn't how anyone should spend the holidays. You work too much."

He takes the plate gratefully. Then he watches as you slice into limes with a blunt knife and toss the segments into a chipped bowl.

Javi, caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, feels a pang of gratitude. The walls he had so meticulously built around himself were showing cracks, and your presence seems to widen those fractures, as you seat yourself beside him on the sofa bringing glasses and salt for the tequila.

You lean back, studying him as he replaces his picked at plate for the bottle, twisting off the cap.

“So, you really are a good samaritan?”

"No, I just don’t think we realise what we need until someone offers it, I guess.” You shrug.

“Is that so?” He asks, pouring out shots into the glasses.

“It's okay to accept help, Javi."

“Do you think I need rescuing?”

“You don’t want to know what I think.” You say.

“Humour me.” He tempts as he hands you a glass. You pick up the salt shaker sprinkling some on the base of your thumb.

“Well, you’re an asshole.”

Javi chokes immediately on his tequila, spluttering it over the rim of the glass as you grin.

Then he nods, wiping at his long since loosened tie. “I am.”

“And you’re grumpy and you’re mean.”

“Never proclaimed to be Christ.” He smirks.

“Is it true what they say about you?” You question, carefully.

“What do they say about me?” Javi asks with raised eyebrows.

“That you… you know, spend a lot of time in Bogotá with the uh…”

“Hookers. You can say it.” He scoffs.

“Yeah.” You say swallowing back the tequila hard.

“Sometimes a man has his vices.” He simply says, pouring out another. He catches your face, bitter from the lime you suck. Or maybe something else.

“What about you, no boyfriend?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No.” He watches as you frown and try to mask it.

“Thank you… for the tree.” He says after a few minutes of awkward silence have descended upon you both. “I didn’t realise it was from you.”

“It’s nothing.” you shrug.

“We both know that’s not true.”

You smile, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”

He turns your face back to him with a simple finger and thumb on your chin gently, dropping it when your eyes meet his again. You watch his eyes watch as you gnaw on your lip.

“Do you really think I’m an asshole?” He questions.

“Why do you care what I think, Javi?”

“Because I’d hate for you to think that about me.”

“Sometimes…" You admit. "But I just mostly think... that you’re sexy.”

His eyebrows raise. “Por que?”

“I mean-” You fluster. Shit. “Too much tequila,” you say quickly, feeling the heat abruptly flood into your face.

“You think I’m sexy, cariño?”

You reach for more tequila, but his hand, gently curling around your wrist, stops you.

“No.” You say, and he knows you're bluffing.

It’s out there now, that spoken want and desire growing limbs and becoming a solid form before you.

“That’s not what you said.” Javi, taken slightly aback by the depth of your admission, meets your twinkly gaze with a mix of curiosity and simmering.

“I should go,” he says, edging closer to you.

You bite down on your lip again, your eyes falling to his lips, pink and shiny as he runs his tongue on the bottom one.

A subtle drumming fills the silence between you until you realise it’s your heart beating frantically in your chest.

The air between Javi and you now crackles with a newfound tension, static that clings to your skin and makes all the hairs on your body stand tall.

“Stay.” You whisper, turning your body in and knocking against his knees with yours.

His hand around your wrist travels onto your thigh, moving up to your hip.

“If I stay, I’m going to fuck you, cariño. All night.” He husks, as your face draws near.

You can smell the honeyed agave on his breath. Feel it warm your eyelashes. He's so close.

“Stay, Javi.” Your hands climb the lapels of his damp shirt, twisting.

“Is that what you want?” He questions, dangerously close now.

You can feel both his hands circling your hips, kneading and squeezing gently, but firm. His forehead touching yours, lips so close to take in your teeth.

“I don’t want to be alone on Christmas. And neither do you.” You confirm.

The sharp citrus of the lime stings against your lips as he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your gasps.

You taste his tongue; a faint descry of smoke and distilled amber dances over your own. Javi’s large hands caress your back, pulling you closer, cradling you in his arms as your kiss becomes deeper, more desperate.

You explore the uncharted territory of him; exhilarated and emboldened by his mutual want of you. Gasps pelt into your mouth as you finger through his hair feeling the silk of it, nails scrape down his spine over the damp material of his shirt.

His hands do all the talking too as he strokes them over your body, feeling the hilts and curves. He winds up your stomach and gropes gently at your breast, pushing upwards so it spills over your cami.

He glances at you, watching him as he flicks his tongue across your nipple, and sucks it into his mouth. He frees the other one and alternates between running his tongue and mouth across them.

“Eres tan hermosa.” Javi mists over your skin. And it pulls the breath from you to know that he thinks you're beautiful.

This man that you’ve coveted for so long, in the secret, sordid confines of your imagination and your sheets as you fuck yourself with your fingers to orgasm, is running his lips over your nipples and sucking them into his mouth as though he can’t get enough of you.

You can only choke out a gasp at how good it feels, how absurd it still is that he’s actually here.

Javi tilts your head back, fingers wrapping gently around your jaw so he can kiss your throat. You feel the graze of his teeth as he pulls on the skin, marking you as your hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

Revealing caramel, tan skin, you trail kisses down his throat, tasting the sweat that lingers in with the indolence of his cologne, notes of spice barely hanging on as you wash them away with your tongue. His skin is warm, smooth as you kiss down his chest as he leans back into the sofa.

You feel his fingers fighting with his belt under the tendrils of your hair. You take over, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his svelte waist as you glance up at him; your mouth dangerously close to his cock, freed and swollen.

You’re surprised at his size, hidden and tucked away in those tight pants on the daily and unsure how you’ve never noticed this enormity before. It’s not like you haven’t looked at his crotch when he stands from his desk, it's in your direct line of sight.

You can smell it, smell that salted crystal of precum glistening at you as it bubbles on his head, soaking his pink engorged skin, and you brave yourself to lick it. To finally taste him.

He shudders, you know you want to take your time worshipping him, suckling gently around his swollen head as his hands coil inside your roots.

Savouring the taste for yourself, only ever being able to imagine what he would feel like inside your mouth. Alternating between sucks and licks, you tease the length of him, taking him deeper each time.

“Fuck,” Javi hisses as he watches your lips suction around him.

You let your lips slide up and down the thick girth of him, smooth and warm, listening as he hisses between his teeth, his fingers stroking at your face.

You jerk him as you go, hand sliding up and down and pulling the wet tracks from your mouth down his hard cock, as he glides effortlessly into your fist.

You keep licking the head until you take him inside again, cheeks hollowed out as you suck harder.

“So fucking good,” he grits at you, a visible strain in his throat.

You relax your throat, opening wider, taking him in deeper and he audibly groans.

Your eyes flick to his and his pupils have bled into the chocolatey irises; a dark hungry stare tossed back at you that makes your clit pull tight in response.

You hum in satisfaction around him, listening to him enjoying your mouth.

He reaches forward, “ven aquí,” pulling you to him and twisting so you’re on the couch.

He kisses over your skin as he reveals it, pulling off your clothes until you’re naked in his arms.

His hands leave a desolate carnage of tingles as he traverses your body, fingers trailing delicately across your navel as he sucks on your lip, nipping gently between his teeth. You feel him, digits slipping further to the swollen, wet bud of your clit.

You gasp into his mouth as he circles on it, slick movements as your inner thighs jerk and twitch. You clasp onto his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole before he pushes two of them inside.

“Javi,” you groan.

“That feel good, cariño?”

You nod. “So good.”

“So tight,” he groans as he slips his tongue in your mouth, the soft bristles of his moustache tickling deliciously against your lip. “Lay back for me.”

Withdrawing his fingers after a few teasing pumps, you lay back, Javi kneeling between your thighs and stroking himself. Spitting into his palm and coating himself with it as he watches your fingers rub quick, little circles around your clit.

His other hand strokes up your thigh and reaches for your breast; palming it and feeling your nipple pebble under the rough skin of his palm - rough and calloused from the constant handling of his Beretta as of late.

He kneels up slightly, running the tip of his cock inside your folds, greasing himself up with your slick. Tapping gently against your clit and you gasp as he squelches around you.

“So wet for me, are you always this wet?” He utters in praised disbelief.

You smirk, nodding. “For you I am.”

“Fuck,” he smirks back.

“You don’t want to know what you do to me…” You whisper.

“I want to know,” he says with deep hypnotic eyes. “I want to know everything. Dime que hago por ti, querida.”

Leaving forward over you, his hand splayed on the cushion above your head, Javi lines up, the thick head of him notching gently at your entrance.

"Tell me what you think about when you look at me over your desk," He urges.

Javi feels you flutter against him already, the desperation to suck him in as he bites down on his lip watching you. Watching your eyes flit from the centre of your legs, to his eyes.

“This," you breathe. "Want you, Javi,” you moan to him, trying to push yourself against him.

You move as he slips in, letting go of his cock and laying over you as his hips shunt forward in a smooth thrust, filling you full of him.

“Oh!” You gasp.

Your lips tear at his; your arms creeping around the back of his neck as he winds into you, grunting in your ear.

“Oh my God, Javi…”

The crest of his hips rattle against you, pushing you closer together as you wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his pert ass.

He moves with intention, every thrust well thought out to feel every inch of you, to make you feel every inch of him.

“You feel so good, so wet around my cock…” He grunts into you.

You can hear it, hear every lewd, wet squelch as he thrusts in and out. Louder than your mutual breathing and gasps.

He pushes your left leg up against the sofa and leans forward, closer into you as his hips continue to piston in.

His breath is heavier, ragged in the back of his throat as it scrapes across his tongue and out into your face.

He kisses you like he’s in love with you; gentle clicks of his lips against yours. Sucking gently around your tongue as he puffs through his nose.

He runs his chin up the side of your face, nuzzling. The moustache feels soft and silken; finally answering all your probing questions about it.

He hooks your legs against his shoulders and stays close to your face, his hips doing all the work now. Hitting that spot deep inside you as he fucks that bit harder, that bit more intense.

You can feel the flames licking at your skin, the heat suffocating the room. The tightness in your belly, the way your limbs begin to contort with the pressure.

“Oh, oh,” you whine. You can feel it brewing, feeling it rushing through your veins.

He presses his forehead to yours in an effort to ground you, pull you back to him, but it does the opposite, it makes you soar. Your gasps become throated grunts as it builds.

“Let it out,” Javi coaxes. “Let go, cariño. You feel so good around me like this. That’s it, come for me.”

He glances down, watching his cock disappear inside your swollen lips, and coming back out slick and shinier with each thrust. He pushes down on your thighs, your knees against your shoulders folding you up as he ploughs harder.

Each breath in the back of his throat punching out as though he’s running a marathon.

“Oh my God, yes… Javi!”

“Come for me,” he pleads again, moaning around each syllable in a soft tincture that punctures your lungs.

He can feel it when you contract, that moment you flood around him. He watches as you writhe and shudder, your voice losing it’s alto as you sigh and pant, losing yourself blind to your orgasm.

“Oh fuck… fuck yes!" He groans as he can feel you shaking on his cock.

“Hold on to me,” he says, pushing your hands to his neck where you wrap them around him.

He kneels, hooking his hands under your thighs to pull you upright onto him, and closer, and you feel him hit deeper as you cry out.

Javi slows his pace, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip for a second as he completely loses himself. Pussy drunk on you, buried so deep inside that he forgets where he is for a moment.

The sofa creaks in pain with his tempo, both his hands on your ass winding you back and forth over his cock.

The sweat shines at the bottom of your back; the room feels like a furnace, despite the rain outside cooling the night's air that seeps in from the open window.

“You’re gonna make me fucking come so hard…” He’s growling now, you can hear it. Those husked grunts ribbing at the back of his throat, lips curled up over his teeth as he plunders deeper into your cunt.

You move, flexing your hips back and forth as you fuck him slowly, and he groans coming back to you. His hands slip back down onto your hips as he moves you, faster, harder on his cock.

“Come inside me, Javi.”

“Oh fuck, mierda… Fuck!” It’s sweetly blasphemous as he comes, grunting and whimpering, his own body shaking and shuddering against yours. Sweat glueing you to one another.

He groans out as he comes, filling you with his thick spend as your tongue knots in his mouth.

“Querida,” he moans, as you peck gently over his face, his arms unrelenting, refusing to let go of you.

He lays back, taking you with him into the breach of the sofa. And you smile at his face regarding you back; big browns that are just mesmerised in some post-coital bliss by all those little nuances, up close and in his face.

You become mesmerised too, by the way his tongue glides over his teeth, usually to show mirth or derision in the office, but here it commands desire. Want.

How when he smiles, the left side of his top lip is the first to crook up into that beam that drags his cheeks up to reveal dimples either side of his face, marred usually by his moustache.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s smiling. Javier Peña is smiling for you, and it stuns you, tracing your fingers around the edges of it like a fine piece of art, the beauty of it etched forever in your memory.

“Que?” He asks, observing your awe.

“I’ve never seen you smile before.” You say, shaking your head. “You should do it more often.”

You think you spy a blush creep into the bronze sculpting of his cheeks. Small capillaries flooding with blood.

He slips out of you, but you feel his fingers reaching between your lips probing and slipping around gently in the silken feel of him starting to drip out of you.

He runs his nose across your face, nuzzling into you further. You feel him, sticky and softening under you, and you stroke through his hair, matted with sweat and smiling as he pecks at you still.

He kisses you, tonguing around your mouth as you feel his fingers sliding inside you, pushing his come back in. His thumb delicately stroking on your clit, barely ghosting it as your shudder and clutch onto him.

He softly strokes you to another orgasm as you pant inside his mouth.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, how he’ll treat you in the office after this.

If this could become a regular thing where he brings flowers and tequila, and takes a spare key and keeps some of his things here, and has dinner with you and showers with you.

You try to ponder on if it will make things tense or awkward. If he’ll regret it. If you’ll regret it. If he’ll see you as some easy conquest, another notch on his bedpost.

Or if this could become something more.

It doesn’t matter, because right now in this moment, as the clock rolls over into the early hours of Christmas morning in the torrential rain that sprays over Colombia, Javi kisses at your throat with a gentleness about him you couldn’t believe could have existed.

And it’s the best Christmas gift you ever could have wished for.

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” You whisper into the hairs of his moustache.

“Feliz Navidad, cariño.” He whispers back.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal characters #javi p #javi pena smut #javi pena fic #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x you #narcos fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

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talkdutchtome · 2 months

Text

Glitch- chapter ten

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . . not proofread sorry, i had to take a break from writing my dissartaion to write this and i cannot fathom looking at my laptop for any longer tonight. also this chapter is v v angst so prepare yourselves <3 )

Y/N stared at her buzzing phone, her heart pounding in her chest. Mason's name flashed on the screen, a stark reminder of the tangled web of emotions she found herself caught in. She knew he must have seen Max's unexpected PDA on the TV, and she could only imagine the turmoil it stirred within him.

Part of her wanted to answer, to offer some kind of explanation or reassurance. But another part, the part that had brought her to Monaco in the first place, urged her to leave the call unanswered. She wasn't sure if talking to Mason would only complicate things further, or if it would bring some clarity to the chaos swirling in her mind.

So, with a shaky hand, she silenced the ringing phone and tucked it back into her purse, her decision made but her uncertainty still lingering like a shadow in the back of her mind, but she tucked her worries away the best she could and went to watch Max’s press conference.

After Max finished his press obligations, he diligently scanned the bustling area, his keen eyes searching for Y/N amidst the crowd. When he spotted her, patiently waiting for him, a genuine smile stretched across his face, illuminating his features with a warmth that mirrored the affection he held for her.

Approaching her, he caught her eye, his gaze softening as he reached her side. "Hey," he greeted, his voice laced with genuine appreciation. "Thanks for being here."

Y/N returned his smile, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You were fantastic out there," she complimented, her voice a blend of pride and affection.

Max's smile widened at her words, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks," he replied sincerely, his appreciation evident in his tone. "It means a lot to have you waiting for me as I step out of the car"

As the press area buzzed with activity around them, Max's expression shifted slightly, his demeanor taking on a more serious tone. "Listen," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of concern. "I have to stay late for a few meetings with the engineers. It might take a while."

Y/N nodded understandingly, though a flicker of disappointment flashed across her features. "Okay," she acknowledged, her tone tinged with understanding. "I'll head back to your house then."

Max's eyes softened at her response, his gratitude evident in his gaze. "Thanks," he murmured appreciatively. "I'll join you later."

Just before he turned to leave, Max leaned in, his movements gentle yet deliberate, and planted a quick, casual kiss on her lips. The unexpected intimacy sent a shiver down her spine, leaving her momentarily stunned as she watched him walk away.

As Max disappeared into the throng of people, Y/N stood rooted to the spot, her mind whirling with a myriad of emotions. The brief encounter left her feeling both exhilarated and bewildered, unsure of how to process the sudden surge of intimacy between them. It was so quick and casual, like it was something they had done a thousand times before.

Feeling a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her, Y/N decided to divert her thoughts by immersing herself in a familiar task. With a determined stride, she made her way to the nearest supermarket along the route to Max's house. As she perused the aisles, memories of the cozy café in London where she and Max had shared hot chocolates flooded her mind.

Gathering the ingredients for the comforting drink, Y/N found solace in the routine of selecting the perfect items. She carefully chose the finest cocoa powder, the creamiest milk, and a sprinkle of cinnamon for that extra touch of warmth. With her purchases secured, Y/N made her way to Max's house, the weight of the bag in her hand a reassuring anchor. She greeted Max's two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, with a fond smile before retreating to the kitchen to prepare the hot chocolates. The routine of the task brought her a sense of calm, the rhythmic motions soothing her frazzled nerves.

As she waited for the milk to warm and the chocolate to melt, Y/N couldn't help but replay the moment of the kiss in her mind. It had been so quick, so casual, yet its impact lingered, leaving her with a flurry of questions and conflicting emotions. She pushed aside the uncertainty, focusing instead on the simple act of gratitude she wanted to express to Max for his hospitality and kindness.

When Max walked through the door and caught sight of Y/N standing in the kitchen, a wave of warmth flooded his chest. The comforting aroma of hot chocolate enveloped him, filling the air with a sense of home. Yet, as he approached, he noticed a hint of uncertainty in Y/N's demeanor, her eyes flickering with a touch of insecurity.

Before she could overthink it, Y/N launched into a ramble, her words tumbling out in a rush of nervous energy. "I, uh, wanted to do something to say thank you for letting me stay here, but I can't cook, and I just didn't know what to do. But I know how much you liked the hot chocolate from that café in London, so I thought I could try and remake that, but I'm sure it won't taste the same, and I th—"

Max gently interrupted her rambling with a soft smile, stepping closer to wrap his arms around her. "Hey," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring. "You didn't have to do anything. But I love it, really. Thank you."

His words washed over Y/N like a soothing balm, easing the knots of insecurity that had tightened in her chest. With a shy smile, she poured them each a cup of hot chocolate, the familiar ritual grounding her in the moment.

As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, Y/N felt a sense of contentment wash over her. The warmth of the hot chocolate and the comfort of Max's presence enveloped her, lulling her into a sense of relaxation. Soon, she found herself drifting off to sleep, the steady rhythm of Max's heartbeat a soothing lullaby.

When she stirred slightly in her sleep, Max gently lifted her in his arms, carrying her to her bed with a tenderness that made her heart flutter. As he laid her down, she murmured softly, her words barely audible in her half-asleep state.

"Stay," she whispered, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Without hesitation, Max nodded, his heart swelling with affection as he settled in beside her. Y/N snuggled close to Max, seeking refuge in his comforting arms. He held her tight, their bodies entwined as they melted into the warmth of each other's presence. In the soft glow of the moonlight, they found solace, their breaths synchronized as they succumbed to the tranquility of sleep, their hearts beating in unison.

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting a warm glow through the windows of Max's apartment, Y/N gradually emerged from the depths of sleep. She reached out instinctively, her hand searching for the comforting presence of Max beside her, only to find the space next to her empty. Blinking away the haze of sleep, she noticed a neatly folded note on the nightstand, Max's handwriting scrawled across the page.

She unfolded the note, the words written in Max's familiar script inviting her to help herself to breakfast and join him at the track whenever she was ready. A soft smile graced her lips as she absorbed his thoughtful gesture, a warmth spreading through her at the reminder of his presence.

Rising from bed, she made her way to the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Max had left everything she needed for breakfast, from cereal and fruit to freshly baked pastries. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she savored the quiet solitude of the morning, the gentle hum of the city outside a soothing backdrop to her thoughts.

After a leisurely breakfast and a refreshing shower, Y/N dressed quickly, anticipation building with each passing moment. Grabbing her bag and Max's spare pass, she made her way to the track, the excitement of race day tingling in the air. The paddock buzzed with activity as teams made final preparations, the energy contagious as she navigated her way through the crowd.

Spotting Heidi among the throng, Y/N waved eagerly, her spirits lifting at the sight of her friend. They exchanged warm greetings, their conversation flowing easily as they made their way to a prime viewing spot. As the race began, Y/N found herself swept up in the exhilarating spectacle, the roar of the engines and the thunderous applause of the crowd filling her with excitement.

With each passing lap, Max's car surged ahead, his skill and determination evident as he battled for position. Y/N cheered him on with fervor, her heart swelling with pride at his remarkable performance. Beside her, Heidi shared in her enthusiasm, their shared love of racing forging a deep bond between them.

Amidst the chaos of the race, Y/N's phone began to ring, the sound interrupting the roar of the engines. Surprised to see Ben's name flashing on the screen, she stepped away from the crowd, the noise of the garage fading into the background as she answered the call, a sense of curiosity piquing her interest. Her and Ben never really speak to each other outwith the time they spend with Mason or Reece, so she wasn’t sure what Ben could want.

As Ben's panicked voice relayed the troubling events, a knot of worry tightened in Y/N's stomach. "Y/N, it's Ben," he began, his voice urgent. "You need to hear this. Mason... he... he snapped during the match today. Tried to start a fight, punched someone. He got a red card and just stormed off. Reece and I went to his house right after, but he won't answer the door or his phone. We're really worried about him."

Y/N's heart sank at Ben's words, her mind racing with concern for her friend. "Oh my god, Ben. Is he okay? Where is he now?" she asked, her voice trembling with worry.

"We don't know," Ben replied, his voice strained. "His car's outside, but he won't let us in. If there's anyone he'd talk to, it's you. Can you try calling him, check if he's okay?"

With a sense of urgency, Y/N assured Ben that she would do everything she could to check on Mason. "I'll call him right away, Ben. Don't worry, we'll find him," she said, her voice determined as she ended the call and hurried back to Max's apartment, her mind completely forgetting about the race and Max. All she wanted to do was get to a quiet, private place to check on Mason

As she made her way through the city streets, her thoughts were consumed by concern for Mason. She couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled over her since Ben's call, her mind filled with questions and worries about her friend's well-being.

Finally reaching Max's apartment, Y/N wasted no time in dialing Mason's number, her heart pounding with each ring. "Mason, it's me," she said urgently as the call connected. "Ben told me what happened. Are you okay?"

As Y/N arrived back at Max's apartment, her fingers trembling with anxiety, she wasted no time in dialing Mason's number, her heart pounding in her chest. "Mason, it's me," she said urgently as the call connected. "Ben phoned me. I'm really worried. What happened?"

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line before Mason finally spoke, As Y/N listened to Mason's voice on the phone, she could hear the raw emotion in his words, his voice hoarse and strained as if he had been crying. It pained her to hear him like this, knowing that he was hurting. "I don't know what to do, Y/N," he confessed, his words heavy with despair. "It's like everything's falling apart. I don't want to lose you, but... I don't know how to fix this mess. It's all my fault."

Her heart ached at the sound of his distress, her own worry deepening. "Mason," she said softly, trying to offer him some comfort. "I'll be back soon, okay? We'll figure this out together. But no matter what happens, you won't lose me. You're my best friend, and that will never change. I promise."

There was a moment of heavy silence before Mason spoke again, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "I saw Max kiss you on TV," he admitted, his tone filled with anguish. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and after a moment of silence, she sighed deeply, the weight of his words settling heavily upon her. "I know," she said solemnly, her voice tinged with sadness.

"I wish... I wish I could go back a few weeks ago. I wish it didn't take me so long to figure out how I feel about you. I had you, and I threw it all away"

Y/N's heart sank at his words, unsure of how to respond to his confession. "Mason," she murmured, her voice laced with sadness. "Let Ben and Reece in. When I’m back in London I’ll come and we’ll talk about all of this okay. I’ll be back before you know it okay. But you can’t do that on the pitch okay. Don’t throw your career away because of all of this, it’s not worth it.

When Mason asked her to stay on the phone for a bit longer, Y/N couldn't refuse. She understood his need for some semblance of companionship in this turbulent moment. "Sure, Mason," she replied softly, her heart aching for her friend. "Just go let Ben and Reece in, and we'll chat for a while."

Mason agreed, and soon the three of them were engaged in a conversation that danced around the unspoken tension lingering in the air. They talked about anything and everything, deliberately avoiding the elephant in the room. Ben shared a hilarious story about a disastrous date he once had, and they all laughed together, if only to momentarily escape the weight of their troubles.

However, as the conversation flowed, Y/N's attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of a key turning in the door. Reality crashed back in, reminding her of Max and the fact that she had left the race midway through without a word to him. With a heavy heart, she interrupted the conversation. "Guys, I... I need to go," she said, her voice tinged with regret.

There was a moment of silence before Mason spoke up, his voice filled with concern. "Everything okay, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment before replying, "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... I have to go. Take care, okay?" Without waiting for a response, she ended the call and prepared herself to face Max, her mind racing with uncertainty and anxiety.

Max entered the apartment with an unmistakable storm brewing behind his eyes. His expression was a mixture of anger and concern, evident in the tight set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. "Where were you?" he demanded as soon as he saw her, his voice laced with frustration.

Y/N felt a pang of guilt as she faced him, knowing she had caused him worry. "I... I had to go," she stammered, feeling the weight of his disappointment bearing down on her.

Max's frustration spilled out in a torrent of words. "I got out of the car looking for you, and you were just gone. No message, nothing. Heidi had no idea where you were. She said one minute you were there, and then you weren't," he recounted, his tone laced with frustration.

He took a breath, his anger softening slightly as he continued, "I brought you here because I wanted to show you what my life was like. But you just left. I was really worried. Nobody knew where you were. I tried to phone you a hundred times, and it kept saying your phone was engaged."

Y/N felt a pang of remorse wash over her at the realization of how much she had worried him. "I'm sorry, Max," she apologized, her voice laced with regret. "I didn't mean to cause you any worry. But, Mason needed me and i nee-”

Max's brow furrowed deeper, his frustration evident in the way he clenched his jaw. "Mason, Mason, Mason," he muttered, his tone tinged with exasperation. "It's always about him, isn't it?"

Y/N recoiled slightly at the sharpness in his voice, her heart sinking with guilt. "It's not like that," she protested weakly, her words faltering under the weight of his accusation.

Max's anger flared once again at her response. "Isn't it?" he retorted, his voice rising in frustration. "We spent an amazing week together, and I was feeling really positive about us. But one word from Mason, and I'm dropped."

Y/N's heart ached at his words, the truth of them cutting deep. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I care about you, Max, I really do. But Mason is... he's my friend, and he needed me."

Max's frustration was palpable, his anger radiating off him in waves. "I don't know what to do," he continued, his voice strained with emotion. "I want to be with you, but I can't keep competing with him for your attention. What do I have to do? Is there anything I can do or will Mason always come first.”

Max's question hung heavy in the air, filling the room with an unbearable tension. Y/N felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, but try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, suffocated by the suffocating silence that enveloped them.

Max watched her intently, his eyes searching hers for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope. But as Y/N's gaze fell to the ground, avoiding his, he felt his heart sink with a profound sense of disappointment. He had laid his heart bare, baring his vulnerability for her to see, but her silence spoke volumes.

"F- fuck this," Max muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he turned away, his footsteps heavy against the floor. With a sharp exhale, he stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

Left standing alone in the wake of his departure, Y/N felt a surge of anguish wash over her, swallowing her whole in its bitter embrace.

After everything Y/N couldn’t help but think that this what she deserved, to simply be alone.

Tag List

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cheolaholic · 8 months

Text

ring of love; csc (03)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n; new chapter !! also added navigation and some lists to my profile where you can find right here <3 you can find my masterlist, idea/wip dump, a link to my ask box where you can send in thots, requests and even comments; alongside my ao3 ^^

hope you all enjoy this chapter and lmk if you can guess which korean web series one of the scenes are from 👀

hint: it involves a certain kpop group

it was the beginning of fall when your family moved to daegu.

though it wasn’t a big or dramatic move, since you’re moving from the big city to a smaller town in the same province, it was still big to you because it was your first moving experience.

you vividly remember watching the colored leaves fall from the branches and onto the pavement, being stepped on by pedestrians and you imagined they made those ‘crunch’ noises as depicted by the many cartoons you’ve watched.

you were only 5 years old.

“___, are you excited to see our new home?” your mother asked from the passenger seat, turning to see you kneeling on the backseat, admiring the outside view. you turned to her with a big smile, letting out an excited ‘mm!’.

smiling at your enthusiasm, your mother turned to your father who was driving; reaching out her hand and placing it over your father’s resting on the armrest of the car. “do you think she’ll like the place?”

intertwining his fingers with hers, your father gave your mother’s hand an assuring squeeze, “i’m sure she will,” he spoke, “if she doesn’t, we’ll just have to hope it grows on her.”

your mother laughs at your father’s statement; at the same time hoping that it wouldn’t come to that.

the car stops in front of a white double-story terrace house. the second floor had been extended into a balcony and you notice the few familiar plants from your previous house put on display. half of the wall on the outside of the second story was an exposed brick wall, which adds a little bit of red-orange aesthetic to the full white design of the house. the ground level had a black gate, with two front doors in the same colour with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows.

getting out of the car, you ran up to the gates, attempting to climb them before your mother rushed over and picked you up. “sweetie, that’s dangerous!” she pointed out, a frown on her face.

your father was at the boot of the car, stacking two of the many boxes together before making his way to the gates. “honey, the keys are in my back pocket, could you get it?” reaching out a hand into your father’s pocket and fishing out the keys. unlocking the gates and the front door, your mother placed you down on the ground to help your father with the boxes while you decide to explore the interior of the house.

running up the stairs to the second story of the house, there were three gray colored doors. being a curious child, of course you went through all three of them. you opened the first door that revealed the master bedroom, which of course is going to be occupied by your parents. the second door lead to a bathroom; and when you reached the third door - a pink sign was hung on the door with your name written on it.

pushing the door open, the first thing you noticed was a pink bed tucked nicely in one corner of the room. across it was a white study table with a few trinkets decorating the surface, followed by a wooden closet right next to it. at the foot of your bed stood a similar level bookshelf, filled with all your favorite books and coloring books; alongside some of your plush toys.

“do you like it, babygirl?” came your father’s voice from behind you. whirling around and flashing him a big smile, you excitedly nod your head as he crouched down to your level, giving your hair a ruffle.

“i’m glad you do.”

he then proceeded to pick you up and placed you over his shoulder, legs hanging over his shoulders. “daddy!” you squealed, giggling as he gave you a piggyback ride.

“honey! ___!” your mother called out, “come meet our neighbours!”

you stared down at the young boy from your father’s shoulder while he stared back up at you.

as your father sets you down from his shoulder, the roles switched; you’re now staring up at the boy while he stares down at you.

seeing how the staring contest would not end anytime soon, your mother placed her hands on your shoulders, introducing you to the young boy and the woman standing next to him who you deduced to be his mother.

“my, what an intense staring contest,” she chuckled. “we’re the lees’! that’s my husband, and this is ___, my daughter.”

“intense, indeed,” the woman chuckled. “we’re the chois’. it’s nice to meet you, ___. this boy here is seungcheol, my son. my husband’s out back dealing with the garden.”

she then looked down at seungcheol, lightly patting his shoulders, “cheol, did you bring what i asked you to?”

snapping out of the staring contest he was having with you, seungcheol handed you a paper bag which you accepted after getting a nod of confirmation from your mother. looking inside the bag, you see a container of brownies, a small ‘wah…’ leaving your lips.

“mom and i baked them last night! we hope you’ll like them!” seungcheol said with a big grin on his face.

placing a hand on your head, your mother smiles, “our little ___ will definitely like them. she has an incredible sweet tooth.”

“no, i do not!”

“___, sweetie,” your father spoke up, “you ate half a tub of ice cream in half an hour.”

“daddyy!!”

you were 7 when your little crush on seungcheol began.

you were in the playground, swinging on the swingset with your bear plush in your lap when a group of boys approached you. “that’s our swing,” one of the boys spoke, arms crossed as they stared down at you.

you stopped swinging and looked at the group, “you can’t claim a swing. it’s a playground for everyone.” visibly upset by your response, the boys stepped closer so that they would tower over you. “well, this is our swing now. get off.”

“no.”

you could see the face of the boys turn red - from anger and embarrassment that you were refusing to follow their instructions. as they continued to stare down at you, one of them noticed your bear plush, snatching it out from your lap.

“hey!” you shouted, getting off the swing to try and get your plush back, “give him back!”

“nuh-uh,” the boy retorted, raising it up above his head so you can’t reach it, “that’s what you get for sitting on our swing!”

you then shove at the boy, crying out, “i said give him back!”

“back off, girlie!” another boy said, shoving you back with a harder force, causing you to fall back onto the ground of the playground.

as the boys walked away with your bear plush, leaving you to cry on the ground. they tossed it around, occasionally dropping it on the floor and purposefully stepping on the poor plush, later on acting as if they didn’t mean to do so. witnessing the boys’ treatment towards your plush, you pulled your knees to your chest, hugging it as your cries grew louder.

“___?” a worried seungcheol called out.

crouching down in front of you, seungcheol places a hand on your head, gently petting it in an attempt to comfort you. “___, what happened? why are you crying? are you hurt anywhere?” you attempted to answer him. but, due to your crying, you had a hard time forming words, only letting out harsh pants and whimpers.

“easy there, ___,” seungcheol said softly, “take a deep breath, okay?”

when your crying calmed down, the older boy heard the laughters of the group of boys. turning his head towards their direction, he saw them taking turns throwing a plush bear at each other. seungcheol recognised the plush bear - it was the very same plush he had gifted you on your 7th birthday.

he then turned back to you, noticing that you were looking at the group with a frown on your face. pressing his thumb against your forehead, he gave you a gentle smile, “don’t frown like that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

turning back to the group, he let out a sigh, “they took your bear?”

you sniffled as you nod your head, wiping the snot from your nose with the sleeves of your hoodie. “do you want me to get it back for you?”

“p-please…”

nodding his head, seungcheol got back up on his feet, ruffling your hair before making his way towards the group of boys.

“hey, you rascals over there!” he called out.

you don’t know why, but you felt your heart race, a small blush forming on your face.

after seungcheol had gotten your bear plush back from the group of boys (mainly by scaring them off because imagine an older, taller boy approaching you with a scary look after talking to the girl whose bear you had snatched), he walked you back to your house.

as his parents were out working, it wasn’t unusual for seungcheol to spend some time at your place with your parents as he waited for his to return home. sitting beside you on the porch of the backyard of your back garden, seungcheol was eating a piece of brownie your mom had baked while you enjoyed a cone of vanilla ice cream.

“you need to learn to stand up for yourself, ___,” seungcheol spoke, placing the now empty plate next to him and looked at you. “but, i have you to protect me!” you responded with a smile on your face, earning a small laugh from the boy. “i know, ___. but, i can’t always be there for you.”

“d-does this mean you’re leaving me…?” you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. “oh, ___,” seungcheol said softly as he places a hand on your head, “that’s not what i mean. i meant it as in, there will be times where i can’t always be with you. you remind me of a puppy,” he chuckled. “maybe that can be a nickname for you, hmm?”

when your eyes light up and nod excitedly at the older boy, he lets out another laugh and ruffles your hair.

“alright then, pup.”

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwoo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @minhui896 @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp

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certainlynotasimp · 10 months

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Hii, i think a good idea for a one shot could be that there's a canon event where the spiderperson!reader have to do the iconic Spiderman kiss in their universe, like Spiderman 3 (toby's one) with Gwen stacy or whoever you want, but they are in a relationship with Miguel LMAOOO btw im sorry if there's something wrong with the grammar, english is not my first language <3

Rewrite the Stars

((Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: A non Sunny x Miggy post? How odd for me lol. I’m so sorry this is super late and to everyone whose requested, I’m working slowly but surely on y’all’s stuff. If you wanna read some stuff in the meantime, here’s the Masterlist and feel free to join my discord.

A/N: I tried doing the you/yours pronoun thing because this isn’t a Sunny fanfic but I really don’t like it lol.

Warnings: Jealous Miguel?, Unrequited/Forbidden? Love, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely use of Y/N, and no Spanish this time ((I’m trying to find a new translator and hopefully an editor))

The universe.

One of life’s greatest mysteries. A mass of stars and galaxies that housed so many lives within its many pockets. The lives of so many people whose lives were already written within its cloudy arms and their ends cemented in its pools of nothingness.

A beautiful cycle of cruelty and destiny.

A cycle that was the reason for your utter misery as you sat at a bar listening to your dimension’s Ben Riley blabber on about some football game you cared nothing about.

His oblivious brown eyes sparkled at the fascination with the game as his dimpled smile accentuates his sharp jawline. The warm lights from above caused a healthy glow to bounce off of his shaggy blonde hair, almost making him look like an angel. You can see why Spiderverse assigned him as your love interest.

In your earth’s canon, you were a typical woman who had gotten bit by a radioactive spider during a high school field trip and you spent your entire high school experience thrashing goons instead of chasing boys. Even helped take down some aliens with the Fantastic Four and the Avengers at times before college finals. Spiderwoman was New York’s beloved hero and the cockiness of being its one and only SpiderWoman quickly got into her head.

That was until six months ago.

Six months ago, you were fighting the Vulture over the Empire State Building when another, more mutated version of the same villain appeared. They both decided in your state of delirium over the doubles that you would be a good plaything.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, I didn’t ask for a combo with my chicken!” A feminine spider’s voice screeches as she avoids the hooked talons of the erratic variant.

The two villains took turns flying menacingly around the scope of buildings to throw the hero off of their location while the other swooped in and tries to rip her throat out.

As she attempts to escape the feathered monster, its companion would come and slice away the web of salvation, continuing the vicious cycle.

Blood blinded her vision as the loud ringing at the base of her skull grew louder. The causes of that annoying alarm grasp their razor claws into her shoulders before sweeping her exhausted body into the air with a victorious snarl.

‘I guess this is the end…’

As the heavens draw closer to her doom, her life hanging up by the slicing of her muscles and bones, a glimmer of fate happens. The warmth of a flash barely registers as the first ache disappears with a startled squeak and a burly force. The sudden change in feeling takes her breath away as she suddenly begins to plummet below.

Her eyes quickly adjusting to the suffocating drop, she can see that one of the Vultures was now fighting an even more prominent blue figure, his howls of pain and unintelligible cursing heard from the stumbling brawl.

As the flash from her familiar foe reaches around the building, she shoots her web at him and used him as a glider.

“Time to ground you, birdie!” She yells as she throws the villain through a window. Catching her grip on the building, she looks at her new foe in the sky and the wind is knocked out of her from the sight.

The man who saved her was in a futuristic spider suit with his mask now off. His dark hair flutters in the wind as the setting sun makes his tanned skin glow. His red eyes glare at the wiggling mutant as his full lips pull back into a snarl. His jaws open revealing a set of large fans before he plunged them into the mutant.

Who the hell is that?

~~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N)?…” Ben frowns as he realizes his date was lost in her thoughts.

You snapped out of your head and fake an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was remembering something….”

That wasn’t a complete lie. You remembered the day you met Miguel O’Hara. The Spiderman of the year 2099 and the leader of the inter-dimensional Spider Society. The anomaly that had come into your world had brought the two together and you were recruited due to your stubbornness, much to Miguel’s annoyance.

~~~~~~~~~

“No.” His annoyance dripped from these words as he glares down at you. You were caught in wonder at the idea of there being other Spidermen and that they worked together to stop the collapse of the entire universe. The thought seemed too good to be true that you just had to ask if you could join until those red eyes shot your dream through the heart.

“What do you mean ‘No’?” You ask in disbelief. Your own eyes glared deep into his soul as your hands balled into fists. “I’m a Spiderman just like you! How could you-!”

“You are not like me.” He coldly snaps at you, your ranting briefly interrupted as the man towers over you. His clawed hand grasps your face as his glare sets a spark of fury down in your chest.

“You will never be like me and you will never-!” “Is that our new recruit?” A smooth British accent appears behind Miguel as a spiked-headed Spiderman peeks around his bulking figure.

“No, she’s-” The tall punk pulls you away from Miguel with a mischievous laugh as he introduces himself. “Ello, love, my name is Hobie. Hobie Brown.” He leans down with a sly smirk as his mischievous attitude infests your being like a plague. “Just play along, mate. Let’s riffle this wanker’s undies.” He whispers as you giggle.

“Nice to meet you, Hobie.” I allow a sly smirk to slide onto my face as I look back at the now very annoyed Miguel. “My name is (Y/N) and I’m happy to join.”

~~~~~~~~

The distant sound of screams filters through the bar as the distinct sound of a car being tossed into another building.

Looking at my gizmo disguised as a watch, you realized that the canon event was starting.

~~~~~~~~

“You did well today,” Miguel admits under his breath. Looking at him in shock, you realize that he wasn’t scowling like he normally was. He had a softer expression, his eyes shining with approval as his lips quirked into a mimic of a smile.

The mission had almost gone rouge with the escape of a prowler and him hiding low in a crowded dimension. Despite the obvious danger, Miguel opted to go alone like usual, but his lack of spider sense caused him to get caught up in a trap. Talons and Fangs don’t really help if you can’t exactly move around to use them, so he ended up taking serious blows.

Luckily, you managed to get there and tumble with the villain long enough for the others to rescue Miguel, and the team managed to recapture the prowler. Of course all of them looked pretty bad injuries wise, but the look Miguel had as you sat there bandaging up his wounds made it worth it for some odd reason.

“Thanks Boss.”

~~~~~~~~

June 27th : SpiderWoman of Earth 648 will rescue love interest, Ben Riley, from an attack against The Rhino….

The roaring of the mechanical beast fills the panicked screams of the patrons as the sinking feeling falls in your chest. Ben is quick to play the hero like any guy would as he grabs your arm and drags you out towards the emergency exit. Just like the timeline said it would.

You use the chaos to your advantage as you pretend to trip and get lost in the crowd of people struggling to escape from the emergency exit.

~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean by that?!” I snapped at an irritated Miguel.

Lyla was surprisingly quiet as she watched the duo argue. Miguel whips around at you as his ruby eyes scorched into yours. His talons point at you accusingly as he reiterates your next canon event.

“On June 27th, you are going to be out on a date with Ben Riley. The Rhino is gonna attack that street and you’re gonna save everyone, and afterwards you’re gonna have to kiss him.” His frustration evident as his permanent frown creases.

You stare into his eyes in defiance as you coldly utter, “No. I’m not gonna kiss Ben Riley.”

“And why not? He’s your love interest!” Miguel exclaims, obviously more furious than before. “You’re the Peter to his MJ. You gotta kiss him because you’re destined to be.”

“I don’t love him! I don’t even like his whiny ass!” You snap as you felt your frustrated tears roll down your face.

It’s true. Before you joined this team, you would have been thrilled that you were destined to be with Campus Hunk Ben Riley. He was everything you could ever want from a guy. He was good looking, sensitive, athletic, and social able. The all around good guy you would be proud to bring home to your folks.

But…

Sharp grasp on your shoulder alerts your attention back to Miguel as he slams you back against the desk. His eyes burning embers as he glares down at you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Changing into your spidersuit, you began to fight The Rhino with a distracted daze in your movements.

The memory from a week prior burning in your mind as you sloppily avoided cars and harsh blows. After a few well timed flips and back kicks, the brute decides to throw a large street cleaning truck towards the alleyway. Just like Lyla predicted when she handed you the file.

The Rhino is gonna throw a street cleaner towards the alleyway where Ben is. SpiderWoman will stop the truck before impact and sling it back towards The Rhino ending the fight.

~~~~~~~

“And why is it that you are being so difficult?!” He snaps as his fangs glimmer from his scowl. A cute trait you used to love about him until it was pointed at you. “You are no better than a spoiled child with how you are acting so you better have a good fucking reason!”

You growl back at him with a tear rolling down your enraged face.

He had no right to argue with you about your life, not when he’s the one making it difficult.

~~~~~~~

Shooting a web out towards the buildings, you catapulted yourself into the air and landed in front of the truck. Quickly reusing the web with some enforcements, the truck was bounced back to the The Rhino. The enormous foe gets trampled by the machinery as the crowd cheers for SpiderWoman’s dreaded victory.

“Way to go SpiderWoman!!” A familiar voice joins the crowd as I see Ben on the ground, obviously he either tripped or fell back to avoid the truck. You offer a hand towards him as you thank him softly.

“Thank you.” I faked the smile in my voice as the crowd disappears, leaving the two of you in the alley way.

~~~~~

Finally snapping at him, you yell out in fury,

“BECAUSE HE’S NOT YOU!”

With a frustrated slap to Miguel’s face, you run past him and escaped back to your dimension, heartbroken over how the events to come and what just happened that despite everything you couldn’t change fate.

No matter how many times you fell asleep during long nights talking on his observation deck. No matter how many playful sparring matches turn into flirty comments. Not even the little gestures of bringing the grumpy spider his coffee and him bringing you some sweets during meetings could change that the star already written your path.

You fell in love with a man who isn’t meant to be yours.

~~~~~

It’s been a week since that fight and you still haven’t seen or heard from him. It hurt to know that your confession was brushed aside while you had to continue the continuity. You half at least expected him to be here to make sure you at least followed through with the canon event.

“Would you like a swing home?” I offer just like I’m supposed to. The moment that was meant to be a nervous beginning to a love story felt like the beginning of heartache as I watched a blush form on his face.

“Sure,” he answered before a flash of realization that his date was suddenly not with him. Another trait you wouldn’t have noticed if you were as in love with him as you were suppose to be.

“Hey my date isn’t here…I think she got hurt or lost during the panic.” His concern caused a pang of guilt to stab her in the chest.

Recovering quickly, you shoot out some webbing and playfully hang upside down infront of him. “Well I guess that swinging date will have to be postponed.”

“Wait it was gonna be a-!”

Quickly, you pulled down the mask enough to deliver a quick peck to his rambling mouth. You force out a giggle as he stood looking at you flabbergasted.

“See ya, Riley.” You swing off as the man bumbled to even ask how you knew his name.

Lyla just said it was a kiss, not a what kind of kiss.

With a heavy heart, you swing back home as you tried to remember that this was all for the sake of the canon. That Miguel didn’t care for you the way you did for him. You tried your hardest to tell your aching heart that those past few months were you just making too much out of nothing.

You mournfully entered your apartment through the bathroom window you normally kept unlocked . You stripped away the skin tight fabric before wrapping yourself in the familiar comfort of your robe as you exited the room into a dim lit living room.

You heart stick in your chest as you see Miguel standing there in your living room in his bright blue spider suit and a beautiful spring lily in his hand.

“Miguel? What are you doing here?…” You ask as yoy warily approach him, scared he’s gonna do something to you.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer as he hands you the flower. It’s soft white petals shining in the pale moonlight as you smile fondly at it. They were your favorite flower. Something you told Miguel a million times before.

Before you could thank him for the kind gesture, a soft thump above you alrets you to look up. A spindle of glowing webbing cascaded down the ceiling with the large spiderman now suspended upside down from it. His free hand caresses the side of your face as his eyes stared softly into yours.

“I can’t change the canon, mi amor…” he whispers sadly before mischief lights up his molten gaze. “But we certainly can try to rewrite the stars for us.”

An excited nod from you causes his chest to rumble as he pulls you into a slow passionate kiss.

You were glad this is a canon event for spider men despite it not going as planned.

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #across the spiderverse #fanfic

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