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undercoverpena · 1 year

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arepas

javier peña x f!reader

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá.

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him.

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope? Depends on who you ask.

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob.

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants.

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him.

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning.

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard.

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you.

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words.

You don’t like me much. I don’t know you. You could. Know me. What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa. I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening.

Determined—that’s how he was often described.

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos.

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond.

Javi doesn’t.

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working.

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him.

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this.

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one.

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you.

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them.

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach.

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time.

Why he went in the first place.

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you.

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita. Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores. You’re not a whore. No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table.

It played on his mind.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here.

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you.

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña.

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit.

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin.

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile.

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.”

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Two night stands?” He muses.

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?”

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips.

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears.

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile.

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start.

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet.

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.”

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile. “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.” Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?” How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.” Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.”

You’re everywhere.

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass.

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him.

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him.

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another.

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed.

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure.

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar.

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival.

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible.

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend.

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy.

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two.

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up.

So, he didn’t.

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly.

He cared.

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice.

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal.

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship.

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day.

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat.

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.”

“Don’t I know it.”

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.” “Believe it, Murphy.”

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night.

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance.

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did.

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself.

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off.

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?”

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?”

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.”

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?”

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had.

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms.

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you.

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you.

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow.

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?”

“I was drinking.”

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.”

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it.

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?”

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you.

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride.

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do.

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room.

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure.

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?”

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings.

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant.

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing.

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking.

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.”

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret.

You're waiting.

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings.

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name.

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t.

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely.

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that.

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm.

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?”

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you.

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?”

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods.

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.”

No. He thinks.

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not.

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does.

Not with what happened to Helena…

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe.

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.”

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes.

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen.

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb.

“What you got in mind?”

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead.

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?”

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?”

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests.

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin.

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life.

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.” “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.” Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.” “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone. “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it. Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín.

The routine, the lines—the friendship.

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you.

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke.

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer.

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head.

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given.

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her.

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again.

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs.

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy.

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf.

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again.

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk.

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one.

“Hermosa…”

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second.

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.”

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.”

Swallowing, he places his mug down.

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.”

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do.

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it.

Then fucking Murphy arrives.

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair.

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left.

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed.

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him.

“Arepas!”

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it.

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.”

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice.

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face.

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?” Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?” Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much. “Javi.” “What?” You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as. “Did you warn people from asking me out?” Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.”

Javi knows many things about you.

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire.

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes.

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head.

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker.

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself.

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks.

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles.

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.”

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.”

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone.

You’re just… in your underwear.

Around him.

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes.

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous.

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?”

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I… I’m struggling to sleep… here.”

He can relate.

“How was Gabby?”

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.”

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank.

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.”

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter.

Fuck.

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.

So close.

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here.

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette.

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Your word come in use?”

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up.

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.”

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you. Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him. He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

When it rains, it pours.

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned.

But then, he’d seen you.

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame.

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly.

For a second, nothing happens.

He doesn’t move. You don’t move.

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently.

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t.

It’s easy, simple—and also everything.

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter.

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his.

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave.

“Messina send you?”

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it.

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it.

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp.

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead.

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.”

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend.

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago.

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip.

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?”

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking.

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you.

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair.

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed.

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another.

“Dreamt about you, bonita.”

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck.

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...”

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.”

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours.

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin.

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood.

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it.

“Need you, Javi. Just you.”

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you.

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want.

“Javi…”

“You suit green, bonita.”

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does.

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?”

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.”

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more.

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again.

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek.

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you.

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you.

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time.

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing.

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss.

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this.

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them.

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately.

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.”

He knows.

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer.

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.” “A few times, if I recall.” “You… you seem rather calm about this?” You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?” He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carrillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.” “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—” He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.” “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.” Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts.

It unravels.

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers.

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close.

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it. Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin. Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…

Javi doesn’t.

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting.

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña.

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it.

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi.

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth.

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport.

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you.

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you.

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room.

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hi.”

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile.

“Bonita… what… how?”

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—”

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still.

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago…

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….”

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing.

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both.

To protect you. To love you from afar.

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?”

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill.

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.”

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

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divine-donna · 11 months

Text

pink ensembles

pairing: miguel o’hara x gender neutral! reader

word count: 994 words

ao3 link: 💗💗💗

summary: the spider society is holding a very special barbie disco party!! miguel doesn’t have an appropriate outfit. thankfully, you have the perfect solution for your partner. and you’re awesome at dressing people!

for vibes: “dance the night” by dua lipa

notes: there are no detailed descriptions about the ensemble reader is wearing. it’s just something that’s all pink! anyways who’s excited for the barbie movie? i’m seeing it over oppenheimer.

“Wait, you’re not coming?”

“Well I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t dress up.”

“That’s as bad as saying you’re not coming! If you’re not going to dress up, why come at all!”

“(Y/N), that’s literally not what I meant.” The man was trying to enjoy his lunch in peace. “If I don’t come, it looks pretty bad. Especially as the person who founded the Spider Society.”

“And I just believe you should look the part.”

Miguel sets his arepa down. “I don’t think you get it. I’m not dressing up because my wardrobe...” He sighs. “You’ve literally been in my wardrobe. You steal my clothes all the time.”

It finally hit you. “Oh. I see. It’s because you lack color in your wardrobe. That’s not a problem!”

“What...What do you mean? I literally don’t have the clothes for it.”

“And I do! I think I have the perfect outfit too. Come on! We’re going back to my place!”

Miguel rushed to finish his lunch and even took the last remaining arepa with him. He’d rather die than let a good arepa go to waste (also because wasting food was something he was taught not to do). The two of you made it back to your place where you revealed your closet. It was definitely a closet from a Barbie dreamhouse playset. Your closet was even color coded and was very satisfying to look at. There were even shades of colors he didn’t think existed. You were going through your pink section, putting different shades of pink against his arm and even looking at the veins of his hand. “Perfect! The ensemble I have in mind is the right pink!” You were giddy about this and pulled out the set.

He wasn’t phased by the outfit but rather that you seemed to have it in his size. “How long have you had this?” He asks.

“For a while. I bought it in hopes of us doing matching outfits one day.”

“How did you get my size?”

“Lyla helped.”

He’s not the slightest bit annoyed. Instead, a small smile crosses his face and he walks over to you, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips. You kiss back and take in his presence. It was always nice to just be with him. “I’ll put this on.”

When Miguel comes out, you almost fell over. Because your partner was just...hot. So, so, so, so hot. The sleeveless top allowed you to see every single fiber of muscle as he moved his arms. His pecs were popping out from the neckline. The flared pants hugged his waist nicely, rising quite high, and framing his butt better than his Spider-suit. The white cowboy hat really topped everything off. But despite the beauty that was your partner in this outfit, you still felt he was missing something. Maybe something around his neck? That would be quite hot. “I look like a vaquero. Except without the equipment.” He says.

“I mean, it is Western inspired. And it was vaqueros that were the base for the Western cowboy.”

“We definitely did it better.” He takes a spin, watching the way the bottom of his pants flared out.

“You have white boots?”

“They’re the most colorful thing in my closet.”

“Great! They’ll go with the outfit. Now, you’re missing something.”

“Am I? I think it looks great.”

“You just need one more bit of pizzazz!” You rub your chin for a bit. “Lyla!”

“Here!” The AI appears besides Miguel’s shoulder. “I knew he would look good.”

“Lyla, do you think you can find the star patterned pink bandana?”

“Oh.” She winces. “It’s not here on this Earth. But it is available in these Earths and at these storefronts, from what I can gather.” Lyla expands the map of the multiverse.

“Well, we can start there. I’ll be back soon Miguel.”

Miguel was...very surprised to see you come back with a ton of scratches and bruises. But you were beaming brightly and judging by the bag in your hand, you had succeeded in your mission. He should’ve figured that you were willing to fight tooth and nail for the last fashion accessory for your partner. After all, what was better than getting to dress him up? “Geez! What happened (Y/N)!” Lyla cleans her glasses to make sure it wasn’t dirt blocking her vision.

“I fought people for it. Turns out everywhere in the multiverse is looking for this? It’s the biggest multiversal fashion trend.” You pull the box out and toss the bag, before removing the top of the box. “It’s like fresh!” You approach your partner with the bandana and he lets you tie it around his neck. When you step back, you feel your eyes water. “It’s perfect!”

“Awww. Should let (Y/N) dress you up more. They know what they’re doing.” Lyla looks at her watch. “Got to go. I’ll catch you two at the party!” The AI disappears.

“Okay now I have to get ready!”

“Take your time cariño.” His voice just purred softly. And you needed to prevent yourself from just melting at the way he spoke to you.

When you came out, your scratches and bruises were gone (mostly). And you had dressed up in your cutest pink ensemble. You looked like a Barbie doll! And honestly, Miguel was feeling like he was just a Ken. He looked nowhere near as good. “I like what you did beneath your eyes.” You had put small stones to complete your makeup look.

“Thank you! I’m happy you like it.”

“I always like what you do.”

“You’re going to make me collapse from how cheesy you are.”

“I’ll just catch you.” Miguel pulls you close to him and presses a gentle kiss on your cheek. He’s careful not to ruin the makeup.

“Shall we get going?”

“I don’t know. How about we just stay here for a little longer? No one arrives to a party on time anyways.”

#spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #fluff #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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adriennebarnes · 1 year

Text

Say It Back

Masterlist

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Hispanic!Reader

Summary: After completing the “there’s a frog in my hand” couple trend, Y/N wanted to see how would Xavier react if he says “I love you” but Y/N doesn’t say it back

Warnings: Boyfriend!Xavier, I guess sad!Xavier, fluffy

A/N: you don’t have to read There’s A Frog In My Hand before reading it but if you want to, cool. I’m also trying very hard for the Hispanic reader not to be from a specific Latin American country. There’s also spelling errors probably

Y/N was scrolling on TikTok when she saw a video where when the boy was leaving a room, he said “I love you” to his girlfriend but she didn’t say it back. Y/N sent the video to Enid. A few minutes later, Enid texted her back.

Enid: Do you want to do that with Xavier?

Y/N: Seems harmless enough, kinda wanna see how he gets.

Enid: Okay, good luck!

Y/N turned her phone off, she started to think about how we was going to do this. She won’t record it in case it takes a bad turn, this will just be a little…experiment. She’ll do it tomorrow, right now she’s going to visit Xavier in his art shed and bring some food. When she went into Jericho, she bought ingredients to make empanadas de queso and also alfajores for dessert. She put some of each on different containers to bring to Xavier just in case.

Y/N on a sweater and her sneakers to walk to the art shed. She knocked three times. “Xavi, amor, I brought food.” Y/N said. She waited a few seconds and Xavier opened the sore to his shed. “Hi love, you made these for me?” Xavier asked, kissing her forehead. “Yeah of course, I get worried that you don’t eat when you’re here. I would have made something more filling but I figured empanadas are easy to eat.” Y/N said.

Xavier opened the empanada container and took a bite. “These are really good. Did you put any of your healing stuff in it? I’ve been sneezing a lot lately.” Xavier asked, taking another bite of the empanada. “That’s because you’re always out here, it’s so cold! But yes, I used my magic to bless the food so hopefully your sneezing will stop and you won’t get sick.” Y/N said, kissing his cheek.

Y/N is a healer, she can heal people using magic. She either uses her magic directly on the person to heal them or “blesses” the food with her magic and heals them through food. When she was around normies, she discovered she could use her magic through food when she did a said a small incantation, the same one used to heal people, when stirring the soup she made for her friend. Her friend’s fever was gone and she looked so much better minutes after finishing the soup. With normies, she uses food, with outcasts, it’s directly unless they want the food option.

“Thanks love.” Xavier said hugging her. He finished 7 empanadas and ate 3 alfajores. Y/N ate the rest of the alfajores. “I feel so much better now, thank you. I’ll just finish up this painting and then we can go to my room. Maybe you can spend the night.” Xavier said, looking at Y/N with puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah of course, querido, I would love to spend the night, I love you.” Y/N said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. Xavier smiled into the kiss, “I love you too.” Xavier said, he pulled away from the kiss to continue painting. Y/N sat on one of the stools. “Just for future reference, would you like to taste more Hispanic food? I could make some ropa vieja, that’s filling, or arepas, pupusas, maybe ceviche, carne asada, I gotta practice my cooking too.” Y/N said, playing with the bracelet Xavier gave her.

“Anything you make will be delicious, I’m happy to try any dish you make. We’ll talk more, I just need to finish this and then we can talk as much as you want.” Xavier said, looking at Y/N. Xavier turned back to focus on his painting. 20 minutes later, Xavier was finished and the both of them made it to his dorm room. “You can use one of my shirts as pajamas if you want.”

“Okay, sounds good. Did you by the skincare products I recommend? I really don’t want to walk back to Ophelia Hall and get mine.” Y/N said. Xavier went to the bathroom and showed Y/N his skincare shelf full of products she recommended. “Aw, you do listen to me.” Y/N said, kissing Xavier’s cheek. Xavier gave Y/N one of his shirts and when Y/N went to change on the bathroom, the hem of the shirt reached about mid thigh. Y/N tied her hair with one of Xavier’s hair ties and washed her face and did her routine with Xavier’s products. Y/N got out of the bathroom and saw Xavier on phone.

“I’m all done.” Y/N said. “Perfect, let’s get to bed, I am exhausted.” Xavier said, he went to the bathroom to change, brush his teeth, and washed his face. When he got out, Y/N was already under the covers. Xavier laughed and walked to his bed and lift the covers. “Move over, honey.” Xavier said and Y/N scooted over to Xavier can fit. Xavier positioned himself in a way that Y/N could lay her head on his chest and his arm was wrapped around her waist. “Goodnight, angel, i love you.” Xavier said kissing her forehead. “I love you too, flaquito, goodnight.” Y/N said and they drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Y/N woke up and checked her phone. It was 7:15 am, she was with Xavier, it is the perfect time to try that TikTok video she saw. She waited until Xavier woke up on his own. “Good morning, love.” Xavier said, kissing Y/N. Y/N laughed, “good morning Xavi. I gotta go back to my dorm to get dressed, okay?” Y/N said getting off the bed.

“It’s Saturday, we don’t have class today, can’t you just stay here and ask if Yoko can bring you a change of clothes?” Xavier asked holding Y/N’s hand. “No I can’t, she’s probably still asleep.” Y/N said. “Okay fine, go change and then come back, okay? I love you.” Xavier said. “Me too, bye.” Y/N said. She was about to leave when Xavier stopped her.

“Baby, i said I love you.” Xavier said with a little pout. It almost made Y/N say that she loved him too but she had to stay strong. “I know, Xavi, me too, but I gotta go.” Y/N said trying to get her hand out of his grip but Xavier stood up to look her in the eyes.

“Honey, i love you.” Xavier repeated. “I know you do, but I really need to go.” Y/N said but Xavier is not budging. “Why won’t you say it back?” Xavier asked sadly. “It’s nothing Xavi.” Y/N said, looking at him, touching the side of hi face. “If it’s nothing, then why are you not saying you love me too?” Xavier asked.

Y/N stayed quiet. “Are you mad at me or something? Was it something I said last night?” Xavier asked, playing with your fingers. “Of course it’s not, flaquito, I’m not mad at you.” Y/N said. Seeing Xavier look sad made Y/N’s heart hurt, she hated seeing him like this. “Well it must’ve been something I did because you won’t say you love me. Was it because I paid more attention to my painting instead of you? I’m sorry about that, okay? But if I don’t paint, I can’t sleep. I should have paid more attention to you and what you were saying, I’m sorry.” Xavier said, kissing Y/N’s forehead.

“It’s not that, cariño, it’s..” Y/N was interrupted by Xavier. “Then tell me what is it that I did! If it’s that bad that you won’t say that you love me, I promise I will never do it again. Just please say it back.” Xavier said, leaning his forehead against Y/N’s. She couldn’t take it anymore and said it.

“I love you, mi Vida, I love you so much, okay.” Y/N finally said, kissing him. “Thank you, I love you too, angel. Why weren’t you saying it back before?” Xavier asked, hugging her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I saw a TikTok of this girl not saying I love you back to her boyfriend. I kinda wanted to test it out. I didn’t record it though, it was just for me. I’m sorry though.” Y/N apologized.

“It’s fine, angel. I will get you back though when you least expect it, so be careful. Now can we spend the morning in bed? I think you owe me that for what you out me through.” Xavier said getting back to bed. “Of course, flaquito, we will stay in bed all morning.” Y/N also got into bed, leaning against his chest. “I love you” Xavier said, “i love you too” Y/N said kissing him.

I was thinking since Y/N calls Xavier nicknames like flaquito, Xavi, amor, and all, imagine if she calls him by Xavier instead of his nicknames. I feel like Xavier would be so confused, wondering what did he do, should I write that?

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier thrope imagine #percy hynes white #wednesday #romance #hispanic reader #hispanic #latina #latinx

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hoedamn-eron · 11 months

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empanadas

You take Jake out on a date.

Warnings: Jake is paranoid but not his fault, he deserves all the love. He's also hinted to be a little neglectful of himself. Not proofread. Word count: 1,599 GN!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Recently went to Freight Island and had some amazing empanadas and so created this mostly self indulgent fic.

Jake wasn’t a fan of loud and open spaces.

He preferred the comfort of the flat, where the smells and sounds were familiar, where there was no-one but him and you (and Steven and Marc, he supposed). Now, with the loud music and chatter from other diners, he felt on high alert. He needed to know every exit and know exactly where everyone was and what they were doing. It was drilled into him, and he could feel every nerve ending tingling with being on high alert.

You could see how tense he was. He had barely looked at you since you sat down. Maybe this was a bad idea. You wanted to surprise him with a date night, since you hadn’t seen him for a while. You’d found a newly opened food market, where each kitchen was made from old shipping containers, each a different cuisine. A few of your friends and colleagues had already been and had gushed about the place to you, telling you all about the atmosphere and the music, and how much of a good time they had. You had been itching to go for a while until the opportunity arrived.

You had a look at the menus and the food all sounded delicious, and you were excited to bring Jake to try Mia’s Arepas, the South American kitchen. He’d mentioned a few times how he hadn’t managed to find a good empanada place since settling in London, and when you found that there was a South American themed menu you immediately thought of Jake and booked a table.

But now you weren’t so sure you should have come. You should have probably picked a different place to go to with Jake. Maybe a smaller, quieter bistro. But then Jake would have missed out on the empanadas, and your attempts to make them in the past had landed like a lead balloon, and you just wanted him to be happy. Your heart shattered at the look on his face, his eyes darting around at – what it seemed like – each individual in the room before they landed on you.

You lightly sighed. “We can go home, if you want.”

He blinked at you, looking at you as if surprised you wanted to leave. “What?”

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable, so we can forget this and go home.”

Jake opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His brow lightly furrowed as he looked at you. You both sat in silence for a minute, Jake contemplating what to do next and you waiting for his answer. You wouldn’t be upset if he wanted to leave, you did kind of throw this on him when he got home from driving all day. He looked exhausted and you had demanded he get changed so you could take him out. You should have been better; you should have been more considerate.

But you were just excited to spend time with him.

“I’m happy to be here, mi amor,” Jake finally answered.

His stiff posture said otherwise.

You sighed before reaching across the table, your palms facing up, waiting for him to take your hands. He did, after some hesitation, and you immediately held his hands, your thumbs stroking over the warmth of his skin, hovering over an old scar every now and then. You both sat there, in silence, as your thumbs continued back and forth until you felt him relax just a tad.

You bit your lip nervously at his silence. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to be here. I’ll be happy just to be with you. It doesn’t matter where we are.”

Jake’s shoulders sagged a little as he breathed a small sigh. “I…we can stay. I’m okay.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a pointed look, asking him a silent question. Jake nodded before sitting back, his hands leaving yours, trying to look laid back, but you could still see his eyes darting around the room. You would give him some credit; if he says he can handle it, then you would let him handle it. But you were okay to leave when he was.

You pull up the menus on your phone, leaning forward towards him as you rest your elbows on the table. You scroll through the menus as you talk him through them. The website explained that you had to order through the online app (something you’d already downloaded in preparation for tonight), so you showed Jake the food options. “Let me know what you want, love, and I can order it.”

Jake blushed at the nickname, something you tried to hide your grin at. Jake took your phone from you and scrolled through the app, looking at the foods available. You watched him, a dreamy look on your face. He was so beautiful; his beautiful, warm brown eyes, and his curls, loose for once instead of slicked back and away like Marc liked to wear them. Steven and Jake had overruled Marc recently in trying to change up their looks. Jake wanted facial hair, Marc wanted no change, and Steven absolutely put his foot down on they compromised on growing their hair out a bit.

“They have empanadas here?”

You blink at Jake, his voice shocking you out of your reverie. He smirked at you, having caught you blatantly ogling him. Your cheeks warmed as you nodded at him. “Yeah, it was mostly the reason I wanted to bring you here.”

“Haven’t found any good empanadas in London.”

“You haven’t tried these ones yet.” Jake grinned before passing your phone back to you. You smile at him as you look down at the menu. “I’ll just order some of these then.”

“Get a beef one and a cheese one. With extra hot sauce on the side. Please.”

You snort at the quick manners at the end, adding the food to the basket. “Anything else?”

“I’ll have an arepa too. Surprise me.”

You nod before adding on a chicken arepa with avocado and mayo. You add on your own food and order yourself some drinks before paying and placing your phone down. You smirk at him. “Now we wait.”

“I’m starvin’,” Jake muttered. “Haven’t had the chance to eat today.”

“You’ve got to start looking after yourself, Jake,” you reprimanded.

He shrugged at you. “Steven and Marc look after the body just fine.”

“But it’s not just about Steven and Marc, it’s about you too.”

Jake looked at you with an unreadable look on his face for a moment before he reached across the table, and you took his hand again, and like before, started stroking your thumb up and down against him. “I’m okay, baby.”

“I worry about you,” you say. “We haven’t spent much time together recently and I’ve missed you.”

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but you were interrupted by the waitress bringing over your drinks, giving you both a smile before walking away. You look back at each other, Jake looking at you with the softest of smiles, barely there if you didn’t look at him properly. “I know you worry. I’m sorry. I’m not the easiest person to be around and I’m trying to get better. For you. And the boys, I guess. Steven’s been on my case a little bit for not drinking enough water.”

You give a small laugh as you let go of his hand, reaching for your drink and taking a sip. “In his defence, I believe him. I don’t think you do.”

“I’m on the road every other day, when do I have the time?” Jake asked defensively, taking a gulp of his own drink (definitely the opposite of water).

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to start leaving bottles of water out for you before you go.”

Jake ignored the pang in his chest; no-one had ever cared for him before, until he’d gone ‘public’. Despite his unwavering dedication to safeguarding others, Jake was always taken aback when you, and even Steven and Marc, show him the same concern. Accustomed to assuming the role of protector, Jake is surprised by the depth of your love. He didn’t think he would ever have anything like this.

He experiences a mix of emotions ranging from awe and gratitude to a touch of discomfort, grappling with the idea that someone cares so deeply for his safety and happiness.

You understand his essential need to protect and you get it, accepting that it is an integral part of who he is, but you just wanted to scream at him to take a minute and relax. You were a team. He needed to accept others were looking out for him just as much as he was looking out for others.

“Okay,” Jake finally said, nodding. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

You give him a smile as the waitress came back with the food you’d ordered, asking for any extras. You both thanked her before she walked away, looking at the foods in front of you with wide eyed excitement. “This all looks so good.”

Jake gave a nod, already grabbing a wrapped-up empanada. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

You looked at him and sighed happily as he took a bite of the beef empanada. You loved him so much, even when he was stuffing his face like a man who hadn’t eaten in months. After chewing for a moment, Jake groaned, his eyes practically rolling in the back of his head as he dipped the pastry into his tub of hot sauce. You laughed. “Good?”

“The best empanada I’ve had in years.”

Tagged - @eonnyx, @transparent-shark

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake x reader #Oscar Isaac #jake lockley x gn!reader #jake x gn!reader #gn!reader

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xeenybobean · 11 months

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"Behind that mask"

Miles Morales x Reader

Word count: 3k

This is an updated version! the original prompt was given to me by my friend @peachyfimls

Original prompt: can you do a miles morales x reader where the reader finds out hes spider man and his reaction?

It's a bit short!

Tags: @peachyfimls @sodapopzds @bluenotes75 @r3allytir3d @girl-calmdown

[if you wanna be tagged in future posts pls dm or comment!]

Summary: You and Miles have been childhood friends since birth, your mother and Miles’s mom Rio have been best friends since high school and have done everything together and the two of them are both in touch to this day. Once you and Miles were born the two of them wanted to get you both together so you would always stay at his apartment and she would always stay at your place. You both grew closer and closer together did everything together, and told each other everything, you were there for him and he was there for you. You both were stuck like glue never leaving each other's side but once you guys got to high school you notice a shift in your childhood best friend, Whenever you asked he never answered he would just brush it off like it was nothing.

You soon noticed the habits he picked up on avoiding you was one of them but you understand what you did wrong, you slowly began to realize he was hanging out with a girl named Gwen Stacy. You didn’t think much of it because you knew Miles loved you he was your childhood friend after all what was going on..? You were now in his room waiting for him in his apartment complex, the two of you were supposed to discuss a new idea for a graffiti art piece you two wanted to do at the abandoned train station but of course, he was late so you decided to snoop around...

⚠Warning!!⚠: NONE! Complete fluff | friendship bonding| love the fluff!! Since I had an angst one here's some fluff for you guys! |

“Now you know..sometimes we must keep things a secret to protect the ones we want the most.”

Here you were in his room waiting anxiously. You bit your lip gently and sighed and you looked at your phone waiting for your friend as you lay down in his bed smelling his scent from his blankets. “Where are you, Miles?..” You mumbled softly as you slowly sat up seeing his mother Rio coming in with a warm smile on her face. She could tell you missed him, it was written all over your face clear as day.

“Hey. I brought you some snacks..” she said softly as she placed a small kiss on your forehead the scent of freshly fried Arepa's filled Miles’s room. You began to drool slightly as you sat up fully as took the plate out of her hands gently.

“Thank you..” You whispered as you looked at her and she looked at you with a large smile as you took an Arepa and bit on one of the corners and instantly felt in heaven... Rio’s cooking was your favorite whenever you weren't at home. You wouldn’t want to eat anywhere that wasn’t at Miles’s home. You smiled and looked at her swallowing the bite you just took. “Good as always Mrs. Morales.” You smiled as she smiled back at you and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“Of course. I’m sure Miles will be here soon..just stay tight amor.” her voice was soft as she pressed one last kiss on your forehead and left the room. You sighed and continued to eat the plate of freshly fried Arepas Rio made you. Once you finished you placed the empty plate on Miles’s nightstand. You began to grow bored as you stood up slightly and looked around his room to find his sketchbook. You chuckled slightly and grabbed it gently. Usually, Miles would hide his sketchbook from you let alone let you look inside of it for some odd reason.

You then sat back down on his bed and started flipping the pages skimming through his messy sketchbook gently as you stumbled on a drawing of Gwen, you flipped to the next page to see another and another, and another. The man was this boy lovesick. You sighed as you continually saw photos of Gwen drawn in his sketchbook with hearts all around her. “This is the girl you like huh Miles?..” you chuckled to yourself as you flipped the last page of his sketchbook to see something falling out.

You looked down at the floor and placed his sketchbook down as you stared at a Spiderman mask that was from a costume. You grabbed it gently and sniffed it to smell it reeked of sweat as you gagged slightly regretting your decision. You tilted your head slightly as you placed the mask on your lap.

“Why would he have something like this in the back of his sketchbook..” You wondered as you opened the last page that held the mask as your eyes grew wide, it was Miles. Wearing a Spiderman suit. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was your childhood best friend Miles Spiderman? You instantly closed his sketchbook and placed it back where you found it as you continued to hold the damp mask in your grasp. You began to rethink, trying to think back to when the other Spiderman appeared in Brooklyn. You examined it, it looked like the same one the teen wore along with the other Spidermen that you saw on the news. It then clicked. Miles Morales. Your childhood friend was Spiderman.

You placed the mask under his sketchbook quickly hearing his doorknob jangle a bit. You wiped your sweaty hands as you stared at the door. Once it opened you were looking at your best friend..he had this dumb smile on his face as he latched himself onto you tightly. You were taken aback as you tumbled lightly, leaning on the wall for support.

“I missed you Y/N..” he spoke softly as he rested his head on your neck breathing in your warm scent..your perfume and your natural scent filled his nose and he instantly calmed down. You looked at him a bit confused, he wasn’t touchy nor affectionate towards you as he started to talk with Gwen and hang out with her instead. You slowly wrapped your arms around him gently as he gripped you tighter.

“Everything ok Miles? You're not usually this..touchy with me anymore ever since you've been hanging out with Gwen..” You mumbled feeling a little bit jealous as you felt him chuckling against your skin as you felt his gaze on yours.

“You jealous or something Y/N?” He teased as he inched a bit closer your noses almost touching as you stared at him with a confused expression on your face, he was never like this maybe he just wanted to mess around. You didn't know.

“Maybe I am jealous, I am your childhood best friend remember..not her.” you slowly pried Miles out of your grasp as you sighed and sat on his bed while swinging your legs back and forth gently. “You stopped hanging out with me and saying hi to me ever since she transferred what or how do you think that makes me feel? And now I find out your Spiderman? What are you gonna tell me next, that you have a secret girlfriend you’ve been hiding?” You said sarcastically as you looked at Miles.

Bro was pale as a rock. Frozen like a statue, he didn’t know whether to be happy or confused, has he always wanted to tell you? Yes, but his identity was supposed to remain secret. He promised Peter. He blinked a few times registering what you said to make sure he wasn’t hearing things as he walked towards you.

“H-how did you find out..” he mumbled softly as he crouched down to meet your gaze, his eyes were filled with panic and worries and you could feel his aura radiating off of his body. You needed to calm him down as soon as possible before he started spiraling.

“Your sketchbook..” you mumbled softly and sighed slouching your shoulders as you looked away from your friend. “I know you said I couldn’t look but. I was bored and you were late so it just piqued my interest! Then. I saw the mask and put the pieces together, why you were absent., always late..you not having human-like symptoms, your nightmare about his parents being killed by villains, etc..” you smiled faintly and looked at your friend as you felt his bed shifting slightly as he was now sitting next to you, his hands locked with his own as he hunched his back down staring on the floor.

You hated to see him in this state. You slowly ran your hand up and down his back gently as his body leaned against your lap. You looked down at him to see his gaze facing down instead of looking at you. You could tell he was processing a lot and what to say as he scrunched his eyebrows.

You began to slowly make your way to his hair as you began to play with his curls gently as he leaned into his touch gently his glossy eyes slowly making their way to yours. He was too precious for this world. You thought to yourself as you felt his hand holding yours gently you could feel the sadness radiating from him. You looked at him and smiled weakly and tried to change the mood of the room.

“I think it’s pretty cool if I'm being honest Miles..” You said softly as his attention went to you instantly you could see his worries wash away like nothing as he smiled at you widely his chocolate brown eyes staring into yours.

“Really?.. Do you think so?.. You aren’t upset at me?” you couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose and kiss his temple lightly as his cheeks slowly turned red, he looked at you in shock but his shocked expression changed to a smile as he continued to stare at you.

“Why would I be upset at you? Your my childhood best friend you have a good soul... Am I a little upset you didn’t tell me sooner? Yes, I am but..now I know. my best friend is fucking Spider-man how cool is that! Not everyone can say that they are personally close to a hero you know? I promise to not tell anyone you can trust me, dork.” You teased as he tackled you hugging you tightly and pushing you onto his bed. You felt him resting his face in your neck as you wrapped your arms around his torso to secure him in place you chuckled lightly seeing him in this sensitive attention-seeking touch-starved state. You slowly began to rub his scalp gently in circular motions as you heard him whimper into the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to tell you so bad. It hurt me so much to not tell you..so bad. You had no idea the number of times when I had to lie to you broke my heart. sometimes we must keep things a secret to protect the one we want the most. Please understand..” your heart began to melt as you squeezed him tiger chuckling slightly as you kissed his forehead gently causing him to whimper just a bit as he hid his face in your neck still breathing in your scent.

“I understand Miles..don’t worry, your secret is safe with me forever and always... I'm so proud of you.” with those few words, he felt pride swelling his chest as he got out of your grasp and stood up taking his jacket off to reveal his Spiderman suit as he pulled his mask down to cover his face. You sat up and blinked slightly a bit confused about what he was doing let alone if someone would see.

“What are you doing? Someone can see you..” You said in a low hushed tone as you stared at his hand a bit confused you chuckled slightly taking his hand as he pulled you up out of his bed. Your body pressed against his as you heard him laughing through his mask.

“How about we take a swing yea? Show you how cool this is,” he said, before you could even register or think of a response he flicked his web to open the window, and off you both go. His arm was surrounding your waist gripping you tightly as he began to swing out of his room connecting his web to a nearby building as the two of you swing through the loud city of your home. You latched your arms around his neck tightly closing your eyes shut as you heard him laugh once more.

“You’ll miss the view if you keep your eyes closed! This is the best part of being Spiderman! Cmon just open your eyes for a quick second and if you don’t like it you can close them until we get to the train station alright?” he said as he continued to swing from one building to the next, the wind blowing through your body as you felt your heart racing, you didn’t want to open your eyes but you trusted your friend so you did what he suggested and boy did you instantly regret it. You began to scream and wailed as you felt his grip on your waist tightening your screams soon began to overlay with his sweet warm laugh, he shook his head and sighed.

“Maybe do keep your eyes closed..” he said chuckling softly as he swung from building to building as the sounds of the chaotic city began to die down... Once you both arrived at the abandoned train station he landed on the ground perfectly.

“You can open your eyes now.” he sighed chuckling still, you were practically clinging onto him like a baby, and your eyes began to twitch as you slowly opened them to see how close and tight you were holding onto your friend, you felt your cheeks heating up as you laughed awkwardly as you stood on the ground.

“We are never doing that again..” You said panting slightly as you bend over, your hands on your knees as you tried your best to catch your breath and slow down the pace of your racing heart. You heard Miles’s laugh echoing through your ear as he patted your back gently.

You couldn't even say anything until you felt his hand holding yours as he pulled you into the dark abandoned train station the two of you spent the rest of the day together graffitiing the sides of the station. Even though your childhood best was Spiderman you couldn’t love or care for him any less..it didn’t matter if he savers people. In your eyes, he was a hero already. And he trusted you with his whole heart something you would never give up or change whether he was a hero or not.

The bond between the two of you grew and grew, Miles showed you all the new tricks he could do in the air with his webs, and all the flips and combo attacks just amazed you more and more.

He liked showing off to you, he says it makes him feel good about his hard work and you couldn’t blame him. He was a hero after all..he was lucky to have you by his side wherever he felt guilty after missions, whenever he felt upset or sad he would swing by your place in the middle of the night to cuddle.

Whenever he got injured he went to your place to get patched up while also getting a tongue lashing out of you but he knew it was because you cared so much. He was a hero and you were his nurse.

He sleepovers almost every night after his patrol

Random jump scares seeing him hanging on your window

Brings you snacks after his patrol as a way of saying ‘thanks’

Lots of cuddles after a long day of saving the city

He loves loves loves when you tell him how proud you are of him, it makes him so happy and makes him push through it just so he can hear you say those three words.

You cover for him when his mother questions where he is on the phone. You were his backup excuse right off the bat if his mother questioned where he was.

You gave him advice when it came to him opening up to his parents about him being Spider-Man.

At this point, the boy should just live at your house cause he leaves everything at your place, his clothes, toothbrushes, computer, sketchbook, electronics, chargers and so much more stuff you had a buy a mini drawer for his clothes. That's how much he spends time with you after late-night patrolling.

Late-night calls, end in you comforting him and him staying the night at your place.

You were his ‘why’ was the person he wanted to protect the most besides his family.

He was glad you found out he was Spiderman because now your bond grew deeper than it ever was and you both supported and guided each other in the right path. Guess that's the perk of having a superhero as your best friend.

#spiderman #miles morales #x reader #miles morales x reader #fluff #xeenybobean writings #one shot #headcanon #beyond the spiderverse #spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman into the verse

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angelofsmalldeath-codeine · 6 months

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Hemmy's Recommendation List | Javier Peña - Part 2

Javier Peña - Part 2

Hi! I am Hemmy and live in a delusional world where I am the female companion to Frankie Morales, Joel Miller and Javier Peña. The amazing banner by the incredible @proxima-writes @pr0ximamidnight; mid-banners and dividers by @cafekitsune

This is my first-ever recommendation list and I am trying to figure out the best format.

These are fics that I have read and enjoyed. I am sure there are many more out there that I have yet to discover. If you have any suggestions, please comment so we can all add them to our 'to be read' lists.

Link to Masterlist

Self-plug: if you need a beta reader or want help with Spanish for the ones who write Javi P and Frankie, hit me up!

Disclaimer:

These creators are putting out content for free and do not have to cater to your personal preferences or expectations of how this or that character should be written.

You are not forced to read through it. Feel free to abandon a series or one-shot halfway through if it is not working for you.

If a creator has not explicitly asked for feedback for their work, keep your opinion to yourself.

Heed warnings and tags, if you don't like soft!Javi, don't read anything with that tag. It is THAT simple. Apply that logic to everything else that is not to your taste.

Warnings and tags on each fic. Read at your discretion. You are responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Javier Peña - Part 2

GIF by spookycora

Series - cont.

Love, Javier @itsjustsemantics Married Javier Peña Masterlist @lokischocolatefountain Mi Cielo @venusandromedadjarin Mi Luz @pedrostylez Monday Morning @joels-darlin More Than Just Friends @darkroastjoel Not Qualified For This @blueeyesatnight Nowhere To Run @mvrdvckmvtthew @metalnecklace Nowhere To Run @undercoverpena-fics Paperwork @blueeyesatnight Paranoid Heart @goodwithcheese Perfectly Intoxicating @gracieispunk Ring @notjustjavierpena-fics Running Like Water @freshlyrage Salvatore @devilmademewriteit Saturdays With Javier @wildemaven Scathed Series @dancingtotuyo Scenes From A Marriage @pennyserenade Secret Smile @thelightsandtheroses-fics She's Got The Tickets @vanemando15 Somewhere To Start @chloeangelic There Was Heavens In Your Eyes @metalnecklace When Javi Met @jedifarmer Worth The Wait @kteague You Are My Best Friend @autumnleaves1991-blog

One Shots

A Whole New Man @jawabear Again @javierpena-inatacvest Arde Tu Piel @fhatbhabie Arepas @undercoverpena-fics Back to December @nonexistent-introvert Comatose @absurdthirst Coming Home @undercoverpena-fics Cookies & Whiskey @jake-g-lockley Dance With Me? @beecastle Every Inch @javierpena-inatacvest Family Recipe @beecastle I Can See You @proxima-writes I Got You @yeollie-plz I'd Love To See Me From Your POV @tightjeansjavi Just Keep Breathing @swiftispunk Let Me Be Your Anchor @beecastle Meant to Be @wildemaven Mi Cielo @pedrostylez Missed You @pedrostylez Over & Done With @loquaciousferret Phone Sex… Amrite? @tightjeansjavi Picture Perfect @absurdthirst Pool Sex With Javi P @tightjeansjavi Rendezvous @frannyzooey Say No To Me @lokischocolatefountain Stubborn When It Comes To This @metalnecklace Sunburn @metalnecklace Sweet Dreams @javiscigarette Swipe His Nose Like A Credit Card @tightjeansjavi Take Me Where Your Heart Is @pennyserenade Tanlines @metalnecklace The Third Date @lowlights Tie Me Up Like I'm Surprised @tightjeansjavi You Are My Home @javierpena-inatacvest You'll Always Have Me @eideticallys

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h-c-u · 1 year

Text

No longer a secret pt 5

Summary: The one with the race and plans for the immediate future.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x fem!reader

W/C: 6.2k (I honestly don't know how and when that happened)

Rating: PG, age gap

TWs: none

A/N: We all love protective Toto. but what about protective reader...? Also - me...? Doing a fade to black...? It's more likely than you think!

Taglist: @crimeshowjunkie, @omgsuperstarg

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | List of tags | Playlist for the series

The first thing you noticed after waking up was a familiar scent, but it wasn't enough to force you to get up just yet. The second thing was that you were no longer on the couch, but in bed, which meant Toto must have moved you while you slept. Third came the realization that the familiar scent was masking another one, much more bitter and smokey, which could only mean... Toto was cooking.

You couldn't help but laugh quietly, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. It's not like he was bad at cooking, because you knew he could make a few really good dishes, but when it came to going out of his comfort zone - well, he was focusing too much on instructions and either lost track of time reading them or was following them to the letter, even if whatever he was cooking definitely didn't need more time in the oven. Or needed much more. But the fact that he was trying his best to do something for you was enough to put you in a good mood.

You quietly opened the door to the living room, and walking only on your toes, you came closer to him and wrapped your arms around his hips from behind, which didn't even make him flinch. At the beginning of your relationship, he would always jump and once he even accidentally elbowed you in the face, but now he had developed this 6th sense and he could just feel when you were close, no words needed. And when you weren't putting almost any weight on your heels, making your steps silent - it became useful to him and irritating to you, because you weren't able to scare him so easily no more.

You pressed your cheek to his back for a short moment, before taking a quick look at what was happening in the pan, and you almost instantly turned down the flame, wrapped your fingers around his hand that was currently on a panhandle, and guided it off heat.

- The pan is too hot, that's why they're burning so fast... - you said with a smile. It's not like the arepas were burned to a carbon crisp, but instead of being golden, they had some very dark brown spots and that’s what was causing a bitter smell in the suite.

- Well, they are made with love, not with skill... - he chuckled and turned the last few in a still extremely hot pan. He knew arepas were your comfort food, especially with potatoes, mozzarella cheese, onions, garlic, and rosemary. And by the looks of what was happening in the kitchen, you could say that he made this variant. You also knew that it must have taken him quite some time to prepare everything; time which you spent blissfully asleep.

- Well... I love that you made them. - you pressed a gentle kiss somewhere around his shoulder blade because you couldn't reach higher without standing on your toes. - Thank you. I know it's something out of your comfort zone, and I appreciate that you left it to make me feel better. - you said quietly, leaning against him, but instead of letting you stay like that, he turned around, put his hands around your hips, and lifted you in the air to put you on the kitchen island, so your faces were on a much more similar level now.

- You are my comfort zone, Schatzi... - he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your lips and the warmth spilled all over your body. He was so unapologetically in love with you that there were moments when it took you off guard because you weren't used to people around you behaving like that. And it's not like you loved him any less, you just expressed it... differently. But that might have been a fault of your inner Brit still struggling to be so open with your feelings, although you were actively working on changing that, at least around Toto.

He put the least burned but still hot arepas on the plate and passed it to you, but you just put it on the counter next to you, took one in your hands, and bit into it. It was actually pretty well seasoned and tasted all right. If you were the one doing them, you would have changed the ratio a bit, but they were still perfect because he made them for you.

- Are you ok to talk about something not exactly pleasant? - he asked, while he started tidying up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher. Your heart got heavy for a moment, the images from earlier today flooding your brain, but you couldn't let them win. Not like that. And you knew that if you said no, Toto would immediately drop the topic, so you felt safe enough to dive into what happened.

- Yes... - you replied after you swallowed another bite. You were actually a little bit curious about what he wanted to say.

- Two things... - he closed the loaded dishwasher, turned it on, and threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. - I spoke with our media analyst about this whole situation, and we unknowingly poked a hornet's nest... The mystery of a secret relationship being revealed right after your departure from the Network combined with me being in the middle of a successful race season when a good part of my life is constantly being documented created a very... interesting story, so people are interested more than usual - because the relationship is not the only thing that's happening. And when you add our age gap on top of that, people start to have stronger opinions, and that means engagement. - you could feel your shoulders slumping because this was exactly what you thought about on your way back to the hotel, and you were angry at yourself that you haven't thought about all that earlier. - Hey, none of that... - he put his hand under your chin and forced you to look at him. He wasn't saying any of that to show you that what both of you did was a mistake because he wasn't like that. There was a problem, and he wanted to solve it; he just started with a short summary, so you could be on the same page.

You smiled and moved your head a little bit, so his fingers could rub over your skin. You ripped a small piece of your arepa and fed it to him, which made him smile.

- Ok, so he proposed two paths... - he continued after swallowing. - One, we do an official interview together and talk about everything we feel comfortable enough sharing, but that means more information out there, which also means that people will want to dig into everything even more, but it would be on our terms. Path number two - we go in the defense and stonewall everything. No interviews, no public outings for a while until people get bored because there will be nothing to feed that hunger for information. But that also means - more theories and rumors for a while. - he explained, leaning on the counter in between your legs, and when he finished you fed him another piece from your hands. - And I know I was the one who didn't want to hide, but seeing the reaction, I feel like not saying anything would be a better option for now. - you considered his words and took another bite, thinking about the consequences of both solutions. You understood where he was coming from, but you had a bit more insight into how this hellish machine worked.

- I see why you would think that, but we have to consider that the season is just starting, and there is no way for you to avoid media to this extent. And coming back to hiding would mean that I wouldn't be able to be around the track much, because of all the photographers, and I want to be there with you... - he nodded, acknowledging your words, because he hasn't thought about it that way. - It would also mean that the focus would be on us and not on the team for longer. Not from every station, but I can already point at a few that would be completely disrespectful because our story would get more engagement than for example - if Lewis won another race. And they might even try to get a rise from them by asking inappropriate questions about us, just to get a reaction from the drivers on camera and blast it all over. - Toto nodded again and put his hand on your thigh in search of comfort.

- I haven't considered that... - he sighed heavily. There was no good solution to get out of this unscathed.

- This time - I am considering it... - you smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes. - And since the next race is in the UK, I would be able to set up an interview with one of my independent friends, so we could be in control of what information would be released. - you said, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. - And if I'm being honest, I think we should do that as soon as we'll be back home, so there will be as much time as possible between the interview and the next race for our relationship to become irrelevant to the media. But I think one long, extensive interview, and that's it. - you finished presenting your point of view and there was a short moment of silence.

- You're right, Schatzi. - he said, gently rubbing the skin on your thigh with his thumb.

- And I think the "no public outings" would be also good, at least for a while, because it would mean no content, we wouldn't have control over. - you added and he nodded.

- Sounds reasonable. - even with everyone knowing, you would still be confined to hotel rooms and sneaking around. It was supposed to end, so the frustration you both felt was more than justified.

- I'll make some calls tomorrow to see who would be available for this kind of interview and when I have names, we can make a final decision together. - he nodded and took another piece from your hand straight in his mouth. - What was the second thing you wanted to talk about? - you asked, pushing the empty plate away.

- I hired an independent security company for us for tomorrow, just in case... - you froze for a good moment, but you quickly concluded that it was a good idea after what happened, but you still hated that there was even a need for that. - I know it's not ideal, but...

- It's fine, I understand. - you cut him off and pulled him closer by the band of his sweatpants. - Thank you for taking care of me. Now let me take care of you... - you smiled and pulled him into a deeper kiss.

The next morning was crazy. It was the first time you were with him before the race because, in the past, you were getting ready with your own crew. Toto was on his phone before the sun was up, doing his best not to wake you up, but you eventually did. It wasn’t something you were used to but had no plans to complain. And it was nice to see that even after a year-long relationship you had still so many things to learn about him.

You had to force him to sit down and eat breakfast, although, through the big part of it, he was on his phone, but to be honest - so were you.

You've messaged four of your friends who you knew could be trusted with conducting your interview. One declined, and you were now hashing out the details with the other three. You were open about the fact that the final decision will have to wait till tomorrow, but all of them were game. And one pointed out something that happened yesterday, and something you completely missed, because you didn't even touch your phone in the evening.

Somehow your yesterday's interaction with the paparazzi went viral, and your words became a hashtag that was being used under many articles, leaked photos, and other situations where the media was less than fair to their subjects. And currently "NotAJournalismItsAssult" already stood at over 90k users on Instagram. Even some celebrities used it to share their stories. You didn't mean for it to grow so much, it was something you just said in the heat of the moment, but your fanbase took it and ran with it almost to the extreme. You noticed some people trying to dox the bastards taking those types of photos, but even though you hated them with passion and you wanted some revenge, this was not the right way to do this, because it would victimize them, so you commented a few times that you don't condone this type of behavior to make it clear you were not connected with the doxers.

But before you were able to dive deeper, 8AM came and there was a loud knock on the door. Toto stood up to see who it was, and when he was passing you, he let his hand gently glide from one of your shoulders to the other, which instantly made you smile.

As it turned out, the security team he ordered yesterday arrived. It was easy to tell what their job was, because all three of them were giants compared to you, and one was even taller than Toto, which was impressive. They introduced themselves and went over a few ground rules with both of you. One of them was responsible for planning your routes in and out, securing any paths you were about to take around the track, and making sure there won't be any trouble in a general area you were in. The other two were your personal guards - one for you, one for Toto, who was currently holding your hand under the table. You were not to engage with larger crowds if possible, and they said that they'd appreciate a heads-up about a minute before changing locations. It wasn't necessary, because they were well trained, but it would make all of your lives easier and safer, so you made a mental note to do just that. They would not interact with anyone unless necessary and would be basically your shadows for the day. They already had signed the NDAs about whatever they were about to see around the pit and in the garage, so you were ready to go.

You had to take their car to the track, which - honestly - wasn't that bad, because you were able to lean on Toto's chest and listen to his heartbeat for the whole ride there, while he absentmindedly traced abstract patterns on your back with one hand; the other still on his cell, but you honestly didn't mind.

There weren't many people on track this early, but you still were nervous after what happened yesterday, and your personal body pillow instantly realized what was happening, put his phone in his pocket, and pulled you even closer, giving you his undivided attention.

- We're ok. - he whispered and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

- We're ok. - you echoed and the confidence in your voice surprised you. You glanced up just to see his smile because you could tell it was there without having to look, but you still loved to see it. - I love you... - you added quieter, and he chuckled lightly, the vibrations in his chest making your skin tingle.

- Ich liebe dich auch, Schatzi... - he whispered, and the car stopped in front of the gate, so he couldn’t do anything more because he had to show his pass to the security at the gate.

It wasn't long before you were in front of the motorhome and your guards were opening the doors for you both, and as soon as you crossed the threshold of the garage, you realized how well everyone worked together. It was like watching a well-designed, well-oiled machine. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to do. They anticipated each other's moves and they were all so in sync... Everyone except you.

You awkwardly stood next to the wall, sticking out like a sore thumb, at least that's how you felt. Because even though you were dressed almost like everyone here, in a white Mercedes shirt and black pants, you felt... alien. Like you didn't belong. And you didn't want to move too much, because you weren't exactly sure where you could and couldn't go, and what you could and couldn't see. Technically you weren't an employee, you haven't signed any NDAs, and you didn't know what legally you were allowed to witness.

- Y/n...? - you heard a familiar voice, and when you turned you saw Lewis getting closer, which made you smile. He pulled you into a giant hug and leaned on a wall next to you. - What's wrong? - he asked, almost immediately clocking your nervousness.

- Nothing serious. - you tried to brush it off, but he just stared you down and you eventually caved. - Well... I'm not an employee, I'm not part of the team, I basically showed up yesterday and I honestly feel like I... - you hesitated for a moment, but you finally finished. - Like I don't belong here... I mean, look at all of you... - you gestured vaguely in front of you. - You all work so well together, and I don't even know where I'm allowed to sit. - you admitted a little bit embarrassed.

- Oh, you poor thing... - Lewis wrapped his arm around you, trying to comfort you, and you sighed with relief. - You're right... You're not an employee, or a part of the team, at least not yet.. - his words didn't exactly fill you with comfort. - But you are something much more important... You're his family, and by extension - you're our family. - you were... not expecting that. - And short of messing with the car, you can do literally anything you want here. Get to know people, ask questions, mess with Valtteri.. - you couldn't help but laugh. - And if you're not sure where to sit and you're nervous about it... - he pulled you by the elbow in front of the fantasy island, next to his own car. He looked around for a second until he located a blank piece of paper and a sharpie, scribbled something on, and stuck it to the seat that looked like it was taken from one of the cars. Only when he moved to the right you were able to see what was written on the piece of paper in his messy handwriting. "Y/n's chair". You couldn't help but laugh.

- Thank you for that, Lewis... - this time you were the one who pulled him into a hug. It wasn't about the seat, but the fact that he made you feel... connected. Like there was a metaphorical place for you, not just the chair.

- No problem... Shorty. - he flashed his teeth at you in a smile, and you laughed again.

- Shorty...? - and you just knew you won't get rid of that nickname for a while. - Ehhh... Could have been worse. - which was true. You were shorter than almost all of them, and at the beginning of the relationship with Toto, you felt self-conscious about it, because there were over 35cm in between you two, so for the first few months you wore exclusively high heels, which was killing your feet. It took a bad pair of shoes that made your feet bleed on a date and him buying you a pair of Vans on the spot to realize that he didn't care. He immediately took you back home, disinfected the abrasions, put band-aids on those which needed them, and put a cold compress on your feet. He also wouldn't let you walk the next day, which was completely unnecessary and absurd in your opinion, but he didn't budge, and who were you to refuse such a handsome and powerful man? Coincidentally it was also the first time he cooked for you...

- True, true... Are you good with me leaving you here? - he made sure, and you nodded. You already had plans to find Georgia and - if she wasn't super busy - to pick her mind about what was happening in the garage, and how could you be the least in the way. - Great, because I have some press to do pre-race. Gonna miss you out there, cause you always had the best questions. - he gave you one last quick hug and just like that, he was off; you didn't even manage to wish him good luck.

It took you a minute of silently hyping yourself up, but you eventually started talking with people you met yesterday, one on one. Not everyone was super busy, but those who were, simply said so and apologized, and that made you realize that if you were in a way, they'd simply tell you, so you didn't have to worry so much that you were disturbing their work.

Around 1 PM, when you were sitting with Emma, who was explaining the manufacturing error of the rear wing that was discovered yesterday and how they managed to react so quickly, Toto came to you and pulled you in a bear hug from behind, apologizing to the aerodynamic performance engineer, because he was planning to steal you away from her. You could feel the tension radiating from his body, but as soon as you turned around and pressed yours against his, he started to relax. It wasn't stress, because you knew how stress looked on him, but it still must have been exhausting.

- Lunch...? - you proposed, with your face still smashed against his chest because he needed to have you close and didn't want to let go. He groaned in response, which was supposed to mean that he has more things to do. - Toto, you need food... - you rarely used his name when you addressed him directly, so when he heard it - he knew it was serious and he needed to pay attention.

- Fine... Just... Stay close, ok? - he didn't have to ask, but it made you realize something - he wanted you to be near him because having you in sight just wasn't enough today.

- Ok... - you smiled against his shirt when he was letting your security guards know you will be leaving the garage in a bit to get to the motorhome, and you squeezed him a bit harder, before letting him go. But even though he wasn't holding you so tightly, his hands were still on you seeking the comfort and peace your presence gave him, so you leaned on him the whole way to the cafeteria. You didn't eat there though. He took you to his small office, so you could be alone for a few moments and just talk… Although you were the one doing most of the talking; telling him what you learned, whom you got to know better, and what you noticed on your own around the garage... He smiled the whole time listening to your voice.

- Do you want to just... cuddle on the couch for a moment, before you go back? - you asked, and he didn't have to say anything, because the relief on his face told you everything. It was new for you to see him so touch-starved, because usually when you were near, he just did what he wanted, constantly hugging you, pulling you in his lap, holding your hand, laying on your thighs... Today was different because it was the first time ever when you were near while he had other important things to do, and couldn't hold you like his own, personal teddy bear.

You kicked your shoes off before reclining on the couch, and Toto immediately followed, wrapping his arms around your torso, and putting his head on your chest, almost crushing you with his weight, but you loved it; he basically acted like a weighted blanket, while he melted into you. You started humming a familiar tune and playing with his hair, which made him smile and he looked so peaceful like that... If you didn't know better you would have said that he fell asleep, but you were familiar enough with his breathing that you knew he didn't; he just really needed this moment of relaxation with you.

After about ten minutes you noticed Lewis peeking through the glass panel on the door, and with a gesture he let you know that Toto is needed. You nodded and that was enough for him to trust you to get him back to the garage.

- Mon Chéri... - you said quietly, and he let out a sigh in response. - You have to go; people are looking for you.

- Eine minute... - you almost didn't recognize him like that, but you could definitely get used to it...

- Is today that draining...? - you asked, not stopping playing with his hair just yet.

- No, everything is going smoothly... - he mumbled into your shirt.

- Then why this reaction? Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, it's just new. - you smiled and wrapped a lock of his hair around your finger.

- I don't know, I have to think about it... - he replied, still not moving anywhere and you gave him a moment. - I think it might be because I know I can finally have you with me everywhere I am. I selfishly expected you to shadow me today, but you were making friends, which is very good, but my brain hasn't caught up with that and was expecting to have you right beside me, so it reacted like a drug addict during withdrawal. And I think I might have the need to overcompensate for all the times you weren't there with me. - he finally said and looked up at you.

- I wasn't near you, because I didn't want to disturb or distract you on such an important day. - you explained, gently brushing away a few strands of hair from his forehead. - I can definitely try to be closer for the rest of the day.

- I would love that. - he replied, and you could tell he was ready to go back, but before he got up he placed a quick kiss on your chin. He helped you sit up, and reached for your shoes, but instead of just passing them to you, he unlaced them, put them on your feet, and tied them again. It was about small things...

He helped you get up and you went back to the garage, your security guards shadowing you without saying a word.

You did your best to try to keep close to him, and when you went away to talk for a few minutes with someone else, you made sure to give him a tight squeeze, or a quick kiss, if he wasn't in the middle of the conversation. But most of the time, you were around the fantasy island, getting to know Bono and Ric better, which meant you were in hand reach of Toto because they always sat right next to him.

But then the race was about to start.

You didn't want to interrupt anyone in the garage in anything when so much was at stake, so you would have been perfectly happy with watching the race from the sidelines, but Toto just... plopped a headset on your head right before the race, when you wanted to get ready to get out of the way and put you in front of him. He wrapped his left arm in front of your body, hooking his thumb in your pocket, and pulling you closer, so you could lean on his left thigh. His right hand was free, so he could still control the monitors and switch between the channels to communicate with the rest of the team. And even though the stakes were high and the atmosphere was tense - when he could, he was pulling your right headphone back a bit, so you could hear him through his mask, and explaining what was currently happening and what were his concerns, especially with Valtteri's rough start.

It was the first time you had the opportunity to watch Toto so close during a race, and your admiration only grew. For you everything was so hectic, so fast-paced, that you had trouble following what was happening, but he seemed to see all the patterns in his mind and predict the moves of this well-oiled machine, managing to keep calm and collected in the middle of this storm. In the beginning, you mostly focused on the map in the bottom corner of the monitor, where all the current positions of the drivers were marked, because that was the only thing you could understand without him having to explain more. But by the end of the race you started to pick up on the temperature graphs and what they meant, and even though you didn't understand the whole window with aerodynamics, you have begun to understand how the drag changed based on speed and location of nearby cars. And maybe with time you'd learn more and ask more questions, but definitely not during a race, because even with Toto's calming presence, you were far too stressed that because of you he might miss something.

When Lewis crossed the finish line, everything in the shop erupted with such intensity, that you almost got scared, but the adrenaline of your team winning caught up quickly and in no time, you were jumping and screaming with everyone else, and Toto wrapped his arms around you, lifted you in the air, and twirled holding you for a good half minute. Only when Bono and Ric started tapping his shoulders to congratulate him, did he put you down, and placed the softest of kisses on your lips, such a contrast to the hurricane around you.

- Go celebrate... - you whispered against his lips, with a huge smile on yours, and gently pushed him in direction of the rest of the team; you didn't want to hog him all for yourself, and you knew that all those emotions had to get away somehow. And it was so good seeing him this excited and elated, because you usually got to see only snippets of him celebrating on TV, and now, here... You could finally take it all in person. And it was amazing.

When the drivers came down to the pit, you stayed a bit behind, because you didn't want to impose on something you were technically introduced to yesterday, but as soon as Lewis realized you weren't there, he shouted your name and beaconed you in, and how could you say no? You gave both him and Valtteri a giant hug and congratulated them both on the podium finish and then you felt Toto's strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

- Get used to it, Schatzi... You will be celebrating with us every time from now on. - he said and placed a soft kiss on your temple, much calmer now, but still extremely happy. - You're family, and everyone already feels it, look closely. - he added, and you did... All those waves and smiles were also for you. Not just for Toto, or whoever stood behind you at the moment. You were there, a part of it, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You couldn't help but smile, when someone from the pit crew shot a confetti cannon, covering everyone in the area in black, silver, and teal.

It didn't take long for the press to get to the pit to do the interviews, and for the first time since you met Toto, you weren't part of that, so you took a few steps back and looked for any familiar face until you saw the blond head of hair, so you walked to Georgia, gave her a congratulatory hug, and you both started listening to what everyone had to say to the media. Maybe it was the fact that you were a similar age, or maybe something entirely else, but you already knew you were going to be great friends. She was able to follow your - at times hectic - train of thoughts, immediately got your veiled jokes and references, and it went both ways, so for the most part, you were just standing there giggling at something one or the other said.

It was Toto's last interview before the ceremony, and you could see him getting more and more frustrated with every question he was asked, even though he was masking it pretty well with laughter. You knew that there would be some questions about you two, but previous reporters just congratulated him on such a loving relationship and moved on, but this one... When you heard the last question asked by a woman whom you sat next to just a few days ago in the briefing area, you could feel your blood boiling, and you could have sworn that your vision went red for a moment.

- No, stop. Don't answer that, because that's private. - you walked unceremoniously into the frame and took a stand in front of your partner as if you wanted to protect him from the viciousness you were more than familiar with. - And you... - you looked at the reporter who was trying to grill your partner about your relationship instead of the race, disgust co clearly visible on your face. - You should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you ask about our private lives when both Lewis and Valtteri are on the podium today? How dare you ask about that when Lewis had the fastest lap today, and Valtteri second fastest? When Lewis just tied for the record of most wins at a single circuit? How dare you call yourself a reporter, when you don't even report on the event you're at, instead focusing on something that's none of your goddamn business? - you were speaking so quickly, that you were honestly impressed that you haven't stuttered even once yet, but anger had that effect on you, although now you were far past anger, and reached the levels of rage. - Next time I will be asked why I departed from big media, you can be sure that I will direct them to this exact moment, to show them how low some of the reporters are willing to go. The lack of respect for both sport and professionals who spend decades honing their skills and pouring them into being the best... You don't deserve to be here. This interview is over. - you said and the cameraman almost immediately lowered the camera, clearly a little bit afraid of you, because you just made sure that the reporter you were in the trenches with just two days ago, will never get a serious job in media again.

And it looked like it just dawned on her how serious the consequences of today will be, but instead of apologizing, she dropped the microphone and lounged at you, claws first. While you were getting ready to defend yourself, someone reacted quicker than you. You didn't even see your new security guards coming closer, but they were suddenly there, holding the reporter by the elbows, while someone else was calling track security to the lovely soundtrack of you being called a bitch, a whore, a cunt, and every other obscenity under the sun, but you couldn't care less. You turned around and took Toto's hand into your own.

- I'm sorry... I should have waited with the announcement till after the race... - you should have thought about the consequences more, because you knew how shitty some reporters could be, and you could have protected the team from that for a few days longer, and now you felt like you took away part of what they achieved here today.

- Are you kidding me, Schatzi...? That was fucking impressive! - he pulled you into a hug because he noticed that you were still shaking from anger and frustration. - It was just one interview, the rest was boring, and you have nothing to apologize for. - he whispered, so only you could hear it, and kissed the top of your head. You closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself as quickly as possible, because the day wasn't over just yet. - I need you to look at me, love... - you finally took back control over your own breath and looked up. His smile instantly blew all the worries away. - You were amazing. You defended the whole team, not just the drivers, you were passionate, yet professional, and you didn't even swear... You were perfect. Don't you dare to apologize for that. Do you hear me...? - you managed to force a small smile on your lips and nod, and Toto took your face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on your lips, while the security was handling the situation with the other reporter. But you didn't see that, completely focused on your partner. - They will be awarding trophies soon, we should go and celebrate with the rest of the team. - he gently put the rogue strand of your hair behind your ear, and you could only smile in response. When you started walking in the direction of the podium, he put his arm around you, rested his hand on your hip, and the last 15 minutes completely disappeared from your mind, leaving only pride from the team's success.

Part 6

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #Toto Wolff fanfiction #Toto Wolff x reader #🖤#📏#No Longer a Secret by G.

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