loganlermanstanaccount - Tumblr blog

[loganlermanstanaccount]

hello i would like to say that rigor mortis has ruined every other Miguel for me and I check your account every other day for updates (I have reread it multiple times, i discover something new each time)

he makes me cry so hard. i hope i find someone like him. thank you for writing him.

i am dating someone rn and he's soooo RM Mig coded... but like. in a healthy way. it has inspired me and i hope to post the next chap soon 👀

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Roasted chicken, ginger, daikon, shiitake mushroom soup with lime, cilantro, broccoli sprouts, and rice noodles

[loganlermanstanaccount]

i want to write, pinky promise. actually writing? yh idk abt that one

[loganlermanstanaccount]

I want his (fictional) balls in my mouth 😢

[loganlermanstanaccount]

I just want to tell you your RM fig is stuck in my brain. It's on loop and I'm constantly reading the chapters!!! I don't mean to rush you but just wanted to make sure you haven't dropped it right? (Ofc you're free to do anything you want but I'd be heartbroken 😭)

Aww anon this is so sweet!! No, I haven't dropped Rigor Mortis! I'm in a weird place rn where I'm unable to drop regularly anymore. Updates will be slow, but there will be updates, I pinky promise 🤞🏿

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Daze

(AO3 Mirror) (Main Masterlist) (Event Masterlist) (Event Info)

-> part of my 6k followers event!

Tape 1 // Side A Track 02: Daze - Steve Lacy Miguel O'Hara x First Love

summary: You pick out an outfit for New Year's. Miguel helps where he can.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, love confessions, PIV, nipple sucking (m-receiving). 18+, Minors DNI

a/n: this is so cheesy and lovey-dovey and self-indulgent. happy new year's everyone <3

wc: 2.3k

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Hey (you put me in a)

Daze (each and every)

Day (so in love with everything you do, I'm really feelin' you) 

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Miguel doesn’t think he’s built for love.

Really, well and truly; it fits across his frame wrong. He tucks it into a stiff waistband like the collared shirts his mamá made him wear to church. Maybe if he pressed it out - lain on your sheets like those pretty dresses you’ll drape on your shoulders - it would sit right. Settle across him like skin - something real. Human. And like Pinocchio on a stage; he rattles around your bedroom, searching for the strings. 

If you see him in the corner of your eye, you don’t react. Miguel tries to make himself look busy, flattening silky fabric with his hands. He’s distracted, thinking about puppets and widowers and love stuck between sharp teeth like blood and sinew. The more he ponders, the more resolute he becomes: Miguel doesn’t think he’s built for love.

Oh, but… you. Love looks like a dream on you, he thinks. You’re in front of a mirror, humming and hawing; tilting your head this way and that. It takes his breath away; lip tucked under teeth, delicate hands spread flat on the fabric, the way your lashes flutter in the light. It pools out from under you like dappled hues on a summer day: love, warm and ochre-tinted around your form. You… you were built for it; made to be loved. Like the first time he met you - and it always feels like the first time, for some reason - he’s drawn in, chasing your smile like a flash of light across the sky. Fireworks couldn’t compare, he thinks: flashbangs and roman candles, sparklers and their gentle fizz and crackle - they pale in comparison to the way your eyes shine when you see him.

“What do you think?” You turn, chewing at your cheek. It makes his heart skip a beat, the way you look at him.

He blinks, thinking back to the last time you wore it. One of your first proper dates, and he had opened the door to a vision. You’d look beautiful in it, you always do. “You look–”

“It’s not too plain? I like the fabric but I’m too sure about the waist.”

“Mi vida, it’s–”

“I could go with the green one…” You pick up a bundle of fabric by your feet. “But I think it’s too revealing. Dramatic. Too many ruffles, like a prom dress.”

He hums, thinking back to when he had bought you that dress. How you had looked at it in a shop window; wide, forlorn eyes like a baby deer; and the way you lit up when he arrived with it at your doorstep. “Baby, you could–”

“What do you think your coworker’s will be wearing?” You turn to him suddenly, eyes bright. “I need to see the invite again, want to make sure I’ve got the right dress code. It’s… I mean… I should look classy, right?”

“If you want.” He says, stepping closer.

You’re huffing, rummaging through the depths of your wardrobe. 

“That’s not a real answer, Mig.” 

He pads to your side, and you feel a hand curl around the fat of your waist. It's warm, poking underneath the little tank top you've been wearing. His fingertips, impossibly rough and soft at the same time, rub circles into hip bone. 

“Baby.”

You ignore him, grunting with frustration. 

“You're overthinking.” He says it soft, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

Steadfast, you continue to rifle through the wardrobe. You're stubborn, this much he knows, pressing gentle kisses into the juncture of your jaw. 

Eventually, you soften, hands on his as he hugs you from behind. 

“I just–” You start, turning around to give him a look akin to a half-drowned puppy. “I want them to like me.”

“You brighten up every room, mi vida. Why wouldn't they like you?” He smooths away a deepening furrow by your brow, kissing it better. 

And when you melt, sinking into his arms and burrowing your face into the crook of his neck, all he can hear is the pounding of his heart. 

“Don't laugh.” You say it into the side of his neck, creating warmth that blooms from his chest to fingertips. 

“Never.” He means it. Of course, he means it. 

“I want to look like I belong next to you.”

It makes him short circuit. Miguel blinks; once, twice. He blinks a third time, gently pushing you up by your shoulders. 

“You-” He's incredulous, hardly able to process the implication of what you've just said. “You want to look like you belong next to me?”

Shakily, you nod. 

“You're amazing. Smart and kind and talented… and if they don't know it already at work then they're idiots. So,” You chew your lip, as if mulling over the right words.” I know it's just New Year's, and it's a stupid work thing, and you probably don't care… but I'm so proud of you. I want to show you off, tonight. I want to shine like you do, Mig.”

It makes him smile, thinking back to all the times he gushes about you at work. Usually quiet, generally reserved; but everything reminds him of you. Your hair, your smile, the very first time you laughed at a stupid joke of his. The way your shoulders sag after a long day, the way you curl up to his side on the couch everytime, without fail. 

Your favourite foods, your favourite colour, the way you marvel at his long lashes in bed or poke his frown lines in the morning. The gentle way in which you love him. The way he would bend over backwards to make you feel just a fraction of the love he has for you. 

“Oh God.” You groan. “Don't look at me like that. I said… don't laugh… I specifically told you not to–”

He sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to bed slung over his shoulder. In a heap of giggles, you land on soft sheets with a gentle thump, chasing away cold hands pressed all over your body. 

Miguel tosses off the clothes littered across the bed, whilst you lunge for your precious silks. 

You're laughing, writhing at the strong hands that pull you closer to his chest. “What's gotten into you?”

He's breathless, pressing kisses to the fat of your thighs. His hands travel up, hooking underneath tiny shorts. Like a man possessed, he massages the rise and fall of plush flesh, eyes trained on yours as his mouth dips low. Lower, into the crease of skin where your thighs meet your gorgeous folds, where soft cotton underwear is eaten up by your cunt. 

“Mig!” You sit up on your haunches, hand in his hair to pull him up. 

He looks at you, entranced, red-brown eyes sparkling as he rests his head on your thigh. 

“I love you.” 

And he says it like the first breath on a cold winter’s day; letting the words curl into the air like crystal and vapour. Gentle, oh-so soft.

“Oh.” It knocks the wind right out of your sails. “Well… I love you too.”

He shakes his head, sitting up in a display that has you scratching your head.

“No, baby. I love you.”

You frown. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“I love you.” He grabs your hands, pulling them to his chest. “I love you. I love you I love you I love-”

“Miguel.” You say it slowly, cradling his head in your palms, tilting him this way and that to examine his face - currently cracked into a dopey grin. Unconsciously, you brush away a stray curl that springs up by his forehead. “I love you. But I don’t really understand what’s going on. Did you take something? Hit your head? Do I need to call Gabi?  Because he really wouldn’t–”

“I went to the mall about a month ago, after — I think it was the day after we had dinner at Pesci’s and you said that you haven’t had a good churro in years–”

“No, I said the last time I had a churro was at Six Flags–”

He looks at you blankly. “Same thing, babe. So I went shopping for ingredients, went to that market, passed the shop that sells the weird looking plushies and then…” He takes a breath. “I passed the hardware store. Key cutting for half-off, or something, and I didn't even think about it. Just did it. Got a copy made of my keys and put it in a little ring box that's been burning a hole in my pocket for God knows how long.”

“I've been waiting for a good time to ask. I mean… I thought it was too soon but Gabi thinks it's time and Pete says it's not soon enough. And you've already got half your clothes at mine, and your mugs, and that fucking… rat’s nest of a jewellery plate that I gave you and you refuse to throw away.”

“It's pretty, Mig.”

“Lyla made me go to a pottery class once and I will never hear the end of it. Say the word and I will smash it into a million pieces.” You giggle and it makes him smile even wider. “You said you've always wanted a cat, and your building doesn't allow pets but mine does. Which is such a shame, because you'd be a great cat mom. The best.”

He gives you a weak smile, voice shaking imperceptibly. But you notice - because of course you do. 

“I love you so much it hurts. Sometimes I lie awake at night and stare at you like a fucking creep because I don't know what I did to get so lucky. How did I find someone as brilliant and beautiful and bright as you? And you want me? When you could have anyone else?”

“So I'm asking now - and there's no pressure, of course,” He takes a deep breath. “Will you move in with me? Please?”

His sincerity bowls you over, knocks your hair back like a hurricane-force wind. Miguel, stoic and ever the voice of reason, spilling his guts out to you in a sickly sweet daze. He's usually so forthright and upfront - and the image of him tossing and turning about the perfect time to ask you makes tears swell at the corner of your eyes. God, and then you're laughing; lost in gasping peals of giggles as he looks on, confused. 

“You…” You wipe away fat tears. “You think the best time to ask me is when I've got my pants halfway down my legs?”

Oh. Heat rises to his cheeks, and he buries his head in the covers. 

Gently, you nudge him. “That's a yes, Miguel, if you couldn't tell.”

When he smiles; wide and lopsided and exposing deep dimples either side of his face; you wrap him up in a hug that turns carnivorous, pressing obnoxious kisses everywhere you can. Eventually, you toss off your shorts and wrap bare legs around his torso, flipping him over with your hands planted by his sides. You put your lips on his, hungrily, chasing that deep, rumbling laugh that always sets you on fire. 

You kiss it into skin, making sure he'll carry it around for as long he can: love - caring and unquestioning and blinding. It wraps around him like a well-worn sweater, the slightly-itchy kind his mamá would give him for Christmas. For the first time in his life, Miguel realises; it fits. 

It makes him swallow roughly, and open his mouth wider, slipping his tongue to those spots he knows you like. It makes him shudder and shake and press you up against him impossibly close, grinding his hard length into the thin fabric at your cunt. 

Before he knows it, you've pushed the gusset aside, enveloping him between your plush walls and sinking down on his cock with incredible heat. It burns, the way you touch him, fingertips tracing his torso as you lift up his shirt. Miguel doesn't know where to look as you peel it off him – back arched deliciously as you latch onto his nipple. 

“F-Fuck.” He stutters, one hand gripping plush thigh and the other at the back of your neck. You’re messy - and wet - slobbering at his chest as he grinds up into your pussy. 

He's so, so close in no time at all. Your cunt flutters around him like you know, and then you're both falling; sinking into each other's bones in a wispy haze. 

Settling in his chest, panting and fucked out, you look up. You trace his wispy lashes, stunned by the way light kisses its peripheries, caught in golden flecks in his irises. 

“I don't like it when you talk about yourself like that.” 

You put an ear to his ribcage, steadied by its slow thump. 

“Like what?” He says it lightly, hoping the slight shake to his voice doesn't betray him. 

“Like you don't deserve to be loved.” Rolling over, you wrap your legs around his middle once more. You want to look him in the eye when you say it, so there is no misinterpreting your next words. “Because you do. Because you are.”

Miguel cups your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart splinter. He kisses you with that same tenderness, stumbling over himself to show what his words can't. He’ll fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. He’ll wrap himself around you like two pieces of a puzzle; like you were made for one another.

If Miguel isn’t built for love, then this feeling that bubbles up in his ribcage must be something else: spreading to his fingertips and toes like hot chocolate and fresh churros whilst you watch the fireworks, light fizzing and crackling across a cool night. If Miguel isn’t built for love, then the ring he’s wrapped up in a sock won’t make its way onto your left hand during a gentle night like this one.

He surveys the mess you’ve made of the bedroom. Dresses and bedsheets and fancy shoes all over the floor, and you’ve fallen asleep in the midst of it all. Miguel pulls you closer; clearing his head of widowers and puppets and love woven into silk sheets and scraggly blankets all the same.

Oh well, he thinks. He’s got the rest of his life with you to figure that out. 

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[loganlermanstanaccount]

posting sumn sweet for the lover girls in the audience tonight 🌚🌚

[loganlermanstanaccount]

I've been debating on actually sending this but I just have to tell you that I think about RM Miguel almost daily. I think you've cursed him into my mind forever (not complaining). I was rereading some recent chapters of the series and I was like dayum.... and started crying 😭😭 I'm so excited for what's to come, genuinely one of the best things I've ever read, thank you for your service you deserve every good thing in this world because I believe that authors put pieces of themselves into their writing and for this series to be so raw and emotional, I just- I can't 😫 me rn:🙇🏽‍♀️

anyway, I hope that you're having a great day, if not I give you a virtual hug and kiss and hope that everything works out 🫂💜

I'm deceased, that is all heehee

omg I almost forgot Happy New Year!! 2024 better be our year 😃

ohhh this is so so sweet!!! if it makes u feel any better I think RM!mig has permanent real estate in my brain. I'm glad my silly little fanfic has affected people positively even a little <33

thank you op, have a good new years!!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

what if RM!Miguel meets someone who's just like him (caretaking as a love language)

who wins

they both explode

[loganlermanstanaccount]

if ur still taking requests could u do dbf!miguel? :3

he would be a brat tamer, change my mind.

DBF!Miguel O'Hara

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

DBF!Miguel O'Hara x fem reader

summary: fucking dbf!mig in a closet at a christmas party <3

warnings: Minors DNI. 18+. Brat taming, PIV, oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. established relationship? idk, this isn't the first time y'all are fucking

a/n: if you squint this is christmas themed. happy holidays everyone!

wc: 1k

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Dbf!Miguel but he has some semblance of a conscience. He has just enough self awareness, the wherewithal to feel guilty as he fucks you - sighing into the crook of your neck as you whine. 

And God, do you whine… simpering, breathy little moans that go straight to his cock. The way you squirm underneath him, legs shaking and shivering so he has to dig into the meat of perfect thigh just a bit more; lapping at that dip below your jaw in a frenzy. 

“Quiet.” He hisses, grinding his pelvis against yours, pushing your body flat against the wall. 

“F-Fuck, Mig… can't–”

When your head tips back, and it will - he's been fucking you long enough to know your tells, to catch every shiver and creak of bones before you come - he'll lick up those moans too. 

You keen, fucking back on his length, and Miguel shifts his hips just so - hiking up your leg even higher. With one swift movement, you've wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hand in his hair. He's pulled out, tip of his cock kissing your hole, and then he slams himself back in - a delicious curve that hits just the right place. 

“Look at me.” He says it soft, tilting your chin so your noses graze against one another, lips barely a hair's breadth away. “You're close, baby.”

He says it like a statement, so attuned to you in that little coat closet, batting away fur trim and padding. And it's intimate, tits pressed up against him, spilling out of a push up bra under an itchy jumper you wore specifically for him - but of course, you wouldn't dare say as such. 

The way your lips press against him is enough, desperate and breathy. He presses the flat of his thumb - deliciously rough, with just the right amount of pressure - against your clit, and your legs buckle under the pleasure that it brings. 

“Look at me.” He says it again, crooning and gentle. “Want you to look at me when you come, hermosa.”

Like a dog in heat, what he says, goes; and you're brought to the edge by just his words. Quiet, like he said you should, and you nip at the juncture of neck peeking out from that thickly knit sweater, biting down a moan. It rips through you, bubbling up at your chest, causing you to clamp down on his length.

“Needy girl…. O-Oh fuck….” Miguel whispers it into your ear, holding you close. 

Eyes lidded, you trace cheekbone and deep furrows, addicted to the way his dimples look in the low light. And when you tug, hand in his hair and pulling him closer, deeper, milking his cock; he rewards with you with hot cum and a sloppy kiss. 

Hips stuttering, eventually he pulls out; tucking his cock back into loose slacks. You're breathless, slumped back onto cool. wall. 

“Give me a second…” You huff. 

“Here,” He says, wrapping the limp limbs around his shoulders even tighter. “Don't be a brat.”

It’s said without any real venom, quiet protests kissed into skin. He sinks to his knees, using his thumbs to open up your cunt, marvelling at the way you glisten. It makes you hot under the collar, batting him away. Regardless, Miguel persists, swiping his tongue at your pretty hole and taking a careful taste. 

You squirm - half-heartedly, with a hand in his hair - as he presses pretty kisses, eating out his cum with a nose at your clit. You're close, tugging  That second orgasm, ever elusive, is snatched away.

“Fuck you.” You spit, watching him wipe a hand across stubble as he gets up. 

“Watch the attitude. S'why we're here in the first place.”

“No.” Adjusting your skirt, you step forward. If looks could kill, Miguel could give you a run for your money, you realise with a grimace. “We're here because you're a dirty old man.”

He rolls his eyes, arms crossed in the tiny space.

“Someone needs to teach you some manners.” He grunts.

…by fucking you in a coat closet? You raise an eyebrow. 

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He doesn't crack a smile, opting for a hand snaked under your skirt instead. Squeezing your ass, he presses you against him and gulps down subsequent moans. You both separate with a wet pop. 

He goes to bed with a hand down his pants, fucking his hand to the pictures you send him late at night. But you already know that. 

Miguel sighs, watching as you slip out of the little room, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt, adjusting a crinkly paper crown. After a reasonable amount of time, he follows the path you must have taken, across the hall and into the dining room, met with a dozen faces milling about. 

There you are in the corner, pressing manicured nails to a screen; ignoring the way half the people in the room ogle you: the boss's kid. His chest puffs up, protective. There's a line drawn in the sand, between him and them. When he looks you up and down, traces the curve of thigh disappearing under a too-short skirt…. it's different, he thinks. 

As if you can hear his thoughts, you look up. Catching his eye, he doesn't miss the way your thighs squeeze together, nor how you shift your red sweater to hide a blossoming bruise. 

Good. You're learning. 

Your dad asked him to take care of you - preening and dithering despite the fact you were grown; definitely not his wide eyed little girl. Spoilt rotten, sure. But Miguel will do anything to keep you safe, even if that means a few... corrective measures. 

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[loganlermanstanaccount]

I want his (fictional) balls in my mouth 😢

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Merry Christmas everyone!

[loganlermanstanaccount]

How about some Christmas themed oneshots 😋

on it boss 🙏

[loganlermanstanaccount]

RM! Miguel O'Hara headcanons (SFW)

(Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: In light of the most recent chapter of my college au fic, Rigor mortis; here are some headcanons I have for this version of Miguel <3 .

warnings: none, just fluff :)

a/n: trying to get out of bad writer's block with some drabbles. looking through my asks and making my way through them rn!

wc: 0.5k

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He's meant to wear reading glasses but literally never does. You see him squinting at shit all over the apartment, and it only really clicks when you catch him early in the morning (because I know he wakes up at disgusting hours in the day to be productive) and he's got a pair on.

He gives amazing gifts. I feel like he's really detail oriented so he'll take forever to choose meaningful gifts. Not even necessarily expensive; just something that shows he pays attention to conversations: like that item of clothing you loved but can’t afford, something super specific for your hobbies, a whole bunch of books you like because you just mentioned a specific author or genre you love.

Conversely, he's the kind of person that's really difficult to buy gifts for. Everything that he could possibly want, he'll just buy for himself; his interests are too niche for you to buy him tools and things; and he'd give you absolutely bs answers when you ask him straight up. You'd be like, hey, I know your birthday’s soon, what do you want; and he'll say oh, I just want you to be happy, or I have everything I need right here, baby. And you'll be like ok cool, is that yes or a no on the ipad? 

Coffee addict. Has all the expensive machines and fancy filters. He lives pretty modestly, but it is the one thing he'll really invest in. 

Similarly, will collect old tech and gadgets just to fiddle around with. He has a box of junk underneath his bed that lowkey he’s been building up since he was a kid. I feel like he was such a curious kid and all his tías and tíos would pinch his cheeks and pat his head and give him all their old junk because he shows an interest.

Sleeps like a dad on the couch. Especially after a long day. He stretches out on the sofa like a cat with his hand on bare belly and it is simultaneously super fucking funny and kind of hot??? Like you can see his happy trail and that peek of tan skin and you just knoww that v line is sharp asf.

He talks to himself. Especially after a frustrating day, and it's pretty funny to watch. He becomes so animated and will have a whole ass conversation with himself whilst chopping veg, or something. He'd wave the knife around, playing both sides of a situation. It helps him to decompress and logically reason with difficult problems. It's something he will 10000% deny if you bring it up. 

He's funny. Not necessarily laugh out loud, quippy one liners; but he has a super dry sense of humor. He's fond of a deadpan, and will often play it straight whilst saying something ridiculous. I feel like no-one usually gets when he's being sarcastic, but for some reason you do, and it makes his eyes go wide the first time. Like you catch something he says under his breath and laugh; and he's stuttering because people don't usually have the same kind of humor as him. 

long story short, he's a big ol' softie. more bark than bite :)

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[loganlermanstanaccount]

atsumu

[loganlermanstanaccount]

How old do you imagine RM Miguel as? 🤔

He is 25! I actually have a very complicated and detailed (scribbled on a napkin when I was drunk and eventually converted to my notes app) timeline to make sure reader and mig's ages match up 💪

[loganlermanstanaccount]

I am trying to get out of this massive writer's block I'm having... so I humbly ask for more requests as little writing exercises! I'm going through my asks so I can put out some drabbles too, thanks!