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roxannarichie · 8 months

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Daddy’s Home |Miguel O’Hara

Au: Miguel arrived home to his wife and two children, but Miguel noticed his wife’s dismissive and distant mood. My Inspiration video 👇

TW: Smut, Rough Sex, P in V, Size kink, make up sex, Mentions of Potential Infidelity

Miguel would be a fool if he tried to convince himself that he hadn’t noticed the downfall of his wife’s mood. It started on Saturday and has trickled into the the next week. It was so sudden, that he couldn’t pin point the start of her bad mood. She had been doing what she always done. She would make breakfast for the kid and make him lunch when he asked. She would watch television with the kids when they wanted and then she spent the rest of her day outside in the backyard in her garden, one of her favorite places, he noted. Her action were the same but her mood shifted. She had less patience with the kids and would even distance herself when she felt like she needed. She spent the majority her time in her garden, more then she usually did, By the time she came inside the sun would mostly be down, Miguel would have put the kids to bed and would wait around for her to come back inside which she usually did before it was time for him to go to sleep for work the next day but no, it was like she purposefully waited until it was an hour after his bed time to come back inside. She was avoiding him.

She would spend most of her time cleaning and taking care of the kids just to avoid him, she wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He wanted to ask her why but Miguel felt the need to observe her first, it’s what he always did before confronting his wife when she was not in a good mood. She was not a violent woman, it was just he wanted to see if he can catch a glimpse of the inner emotions on her face when she thought no one was looking.

It was the night before he confronted her, she was folding her laundry. He observed her from a dark corner in the house just around the wall of the large dark room to the dinning room. He caught his much she sighed and how much her eyes blinked as if holding back tears, he caught the movement of her throat and her constantly swallowing. She sighed extensively one last time before she completely dropped the shirt back into the laundry basket. He saw the quick pained expression on her face before she placed her hand on her hips, stressfully waking back and forward in the living room. She cursed under her breathe and leave to the back yard. Miguel had to fight the urge to comfort her but if he approached her while she seemed to be slightly panicking, it may trigger her and worsen her mood.

He went to bed worried, had he done something for her to feel like she wasn’t able to share or was it something else she heard that bothered her? He wasn’t sure but he spent his entire day at work thinking about how he was going to confront her tomorrow night.

•

Y/n grudgingly rose from her shared bed with her husband. He was already awake and was fixing his tie. Miguel wasn’t the best at putting his tie on correctly, so she always had to do it. She walks over to him, avoiding eye contact, she smoothly places the tie down on his chest, making sure it was correct. She could feel his eyes on her, trying to read her. Once she was done she walked away to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time she was done, Miguel was on his way out the bedroom door. She followed him down the stairs into the front door, she usually will give him a kiss and a hug before he left, but ever since her mood changed, she has been just simply saying goodbye and giving him a weeks tired smile. She could totally bother him, but right now her mood and irritation and disappointment and frustration was way stronger.

This time, instead of walking away, and going to his car, he just stares down at her. He was in his thought, thinking about what could have possibly made her move so sour, and made her so distant, but not distant at the same time. For the first time in weeks she looked him straight in the eye wondering why he wasn’t going to his car and driving off.

“Wha—”

Miguel suddenly kissed his wife on her lips, she was surprised, and her hands instinctively touched his shoulders as he grabbed her waist and pulled her in. She leaned in enjoying the touch of her husband, but remembering what he did cause her to pull back. She try to call his name to get him to stop so she could speak but his kiss became a little more passionate and assertive. Her face began to warm up, he could smell the light hints of arousal coming from his wife. Miguels lips moved on to her neck, his thick rough fingers made their way under her nightgown and made their way under her nightgown. The roughness of his fingers against her made her all the wetter.

#miguel o'hara x reader

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roxannarichie · 10 months

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A Misunderstanding (part two)

Part one | Part two

summary:

You and Miguel have been married for two years now, unfortunately for you he’s been a bit negligent after a few months of marriage. To keep your mind off of things you start to hang out more with a male friend you met at a coffee shop, soon Miguel realizes that you leave the house more and more to hang out with your friend and he’s now determined to make you his again.

paring: Miguel O’hara x Fem!Reader

cw: jealous!Miguel, angst(???) mb y’all I lied there will be no smut in this one maybe in part three.

wc: 1.4k

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roxannarichie · 10 months

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Boiling Point - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)

Next (coming soon!) - M.list - Ao3

A/N: hi I'm very normal about miguel o'hara. come be normal with me.

reasonably if you are under 18 I can't stop you from reading or interacting with this, but if you as a minor communicate your age to me, I will be blocking you for your safety and my own. thanks for understanding.

Summary: You are determined to put an end to the onslaught of your toy collection. In your quest, you set out to re-train yourself into some discipline.

Warnings: smut, vibrator use, masturbation. reader is afab and a sub.

Word count: ~3000 words

You are really starting to hate Miguel O'Hara.

Oh, sure, you’d follow him to the ends of every earth, Earth-47 notwithstanding—fuck Earth-47 and its migraine-inducing everything—and you will never thank him enough for everything he’s done, for you and all the other dimensions saved by him, directly or otherwise. He’s brilliant, he’s a genius, he’s easy on the eyes, his leadership is instrumental to holding together All of Everything, all that which you can comprehend and conceive, all that which you cannot. He does not always have all the information, but you trust him to do as much good as he can with the information he has. He is fundamentally good to a fault, and while he can be abrasive at times—perhaps more often than not—we can’t all be winners all the time.

No, your issue with him has nothing to do with any of that.

Your head is more than a little fuzzy right now, given your current circumstances, so I’ll be nice and put this in a way you can understand:

Miguel O'Hara keeps breaking your fucking sex toys.

Like I said, he’s easy on the eyes. Maybe too easy. Maybe, more than once, you’ve fought at his side and had an entirely separate fight in your head just to keep your mind on the matter at hand. Maybe, one time too many, you’ve seen his fangs flash during a flare of the temper or a slip of his guard and not quite forgotten the sight. Maybe you’ll need to be lobotomized if you want to forget that time you’d gone on a mission with him and he’d leapt directly at you, claws out, fangs bared, eyes vermilion, to tackle you out of the way of some particularly dangerous debris and stayed on top of you for a full eternity after that to make sure you were okay.

If that final image was the one seared behind your eyes as you sighed and pressed your vibe into yourself this fine afternoon, that’s between you and no one. And, in fact, it wasn’t, because you are never admitting to getting off to the general thought of your—boss?—your boss, not today or ever, under oath or the threat of death.

That being said, it had started as a bit of a coping mechanism.

He was stupid hot, and he walked towards you like you were quarry he had hunted, and the first time he’d done it, your brain had gone completely offline for a full five seconds. Getting off that night had been unrelated, you tell yourself—you didn’t think while pumping two fingers into your cunt, let alone about him, let alone when you’d added the third because you were certainly not imagining something thicker plunging into your heat. Fingers hadn’t been enough, not for a job like that, and by the time you overheard him finish a playful spat with Lyla with the words “good girl”, you’d given in and broke open the vibrator collection, a relic of a much more impulsive time, before you were fucking yourself on toys definitely not to the thought of your boss.

The first casualty had been your green rabbit vibe. It was a mainstay, and your oldest toy—a thruster, thick, good insertable length, great battery life, not so loud you struggled to get off for fear of your next-door neighbor hearing its buzz. Miguel had bitten someone during a mission that day, just held them and sunk his teeth in and set them down as they slumped, paralyzed, and wiped his mouth of the blood afterward like it wasn’t the hottest thing known to man.

Monsterfucking porn had been your saving grace. You’d turned to werewolves and tried not to overthink the image in your head when you pictured their teeth scraping your flesh, and then your old reliable rabbit vibe had made an odd noise between your writhing that tore you out of the image entirely. Seconds later, it stopped thrusting whether you wanted it to or not. When you hit the button, it made a pathetic noise like a spent lover, wriggled a moment, and went right back to motionless.

You’d groaned in frustration, pulled it out, told yourself it had just died, except it was still making that buzzing noise and the clitoral stimulator was still working fine. You pulled the third orgasm of the night out of the clit stimulator and your wrist work alone—it had been a bit better, because the ruined orgasm 2.5 had ultimately turned out to be an edge, and a name that no one would ever be able to prove was Miguel’s ghosted your lips by then. A good cleaning, a good charge, and some cooldown time, and you determined that the thruster of your poor little green rabbit would never work again.

Miguel O'Hara’s second casualty among your collection was nearly as tragic. You’d come to see him at the wrong time that day—walked in, said his name, and he’d turned to you with red eyes and actually growled at you, and holy shit, you couldn’t calm down for the next hour or the rest of the night.

Your green rabbit had been relegated to a glorified dildo and clit vibe, and as you thrashed on your bed, desperately chasing just an echo of the things that ran through your head when he growled at you, pressing the vibe into yourself as far as it would go and nearly there nearly there nearly there, it buzzed oddly and its power suddenly fell away.

You’d choked back a sob at that one. Again, you assumed it’d been a case of poor battery life, though you hadn’t charged it all that long ago. When you reluctantly pulled out the dripping vibe and saw its indicator lights flashing and flickering in the dark room, you did sob, and then, because you were still thinking about the growl in his voice and the flash of his fangs, you dragged yourself out of bed, dumped your old friend in the trash, and found your backup vibrator to finish the job.

The next casualty of your collection had been your pink vibe—she was an upgrade in every way to the green one. More speed options, rotating beads in the shaft, an attempt to imitate “tongues” on the clit, however the hell that was supposed to work, and more money to have discreetly shipped to your apartment.

This time, Miguel hadn’t even done anything in particular to catch you in his toy-breaking throes. He’d just been existing. Vibing, if you will. And your horny ass—by that point you were starting to suspect yourself some kind of nymphomaniac, and that was before casualty number three—saw him just sitting there and eating food like a normal-ass person, had some really fucking horny thoughts (first about just cooking for him, nice, domestic, sweet) (second about him pulling up the apron you’d wear for him in the first scenario and splitting you in half over the kitchen counter), and that was it for your evening post-shenanigans.

So, naturally, when you got home, you took off the bracelet, stashed it in another room, leaned over your kitchen counter, and revved up that rotating-beads-in-the-shaft thruster, pistoning it into your cunt with obscene squelches like your life depended on it. You’d kept it up, free hand clasped over your mouth, until you were forced to finish on the couch lest your legs give out, and the poor thing overheated from the strain of trying to keep up with the image you had in your head of Miguel and the thruster never moved again. Great investment, that one.

It was at this point in time that you had two options:

First, seek therapy to help you through the excruciating condition of being sex-crazed for one Miguel O'Hara.

Or, secondly, you could funnel those feelings through a surrogate and fuck someone else’s brains out so you didn’t have to think about him.

You, in all your overwhelming genius, decided that the city’s superhero could not retain the services of a therapist in any way that mattered, let alone any of the Spider-Therapists abound at HQ, and instead found your way into a myriad of fuck-buddy relationships with perfect strangers.

You found your pool of eligible fuck-buddies wanting, to say the least. You never used to be all that picky—I mean, sure, you were never exactly all that attracted to anyone before the whole Spider thing, and then you were a little too busy to worry about it, but you still probably would have slept with someone if they were decently pretty enough and nice to you—but then you tried to find someone and filtered out half of them on looks alone.

Hair too light. Too waifish. I could snap this one in half.

Some were just generally not great candidates as you swiped through: weird thoughts about domming, one whose bio mentioned how he would expect you to throw out your toys once you were “dedicated” to him (those were expensive and you’d been forced to throw out one too many already), misaligned kinks, one guy who literally said “I don’t believe in safewords” and didn’t see how that was the biggest red flag in the universe.

It took too long, once you’d settled on a few choice matches, to figure out what they all had in common beyond making profiles on a hookup app and claiming to be dominants:

They all reminded you of Miguel.

This, admittedly, did not become clear until later, when you slept with the first one for the second time and it wasn’t all that bad and while he had you blindfolded on the bed, you forgot yourself and moaned a name.

Not ‘sir’, like had been discussed in your initial meeting.

At first, you’d frozen because you’d forgotten to use his title, and that meant you were due for punishment. Then, it was because you realized the real mistake:

That hadn’t been his name you’d moaned.

You broke it off shortly after that. When the second guy went the way of the first, you gave yourself one last shot with this whole diversion idea, and that went pretty well. You lasted three whole months with this one—he was sweet, he was funny, and when it came time for you to be tied down and have your brains fucked out, he respected your hard stops and made your head fuzzy by the time he was done with you.

He bit you in the heat of the moment, and you moaned the wrong name again, and this time, you gave up on having any sort of sex life, even though he tried to be understanding of the misstep.

His teeth weren’t sharp enough to live up to who you wanted him to be, anyway.

How many casualties had Miguel O'Hara racked up in your bedroom, now? Three partners, two thrusting mechanisms, one vibrator, and now, as you sit on your knees on your bed and ride the half-defunct pink rabbit, the still-functioning vibrator buzzing in the night, you give in and admit to yourself that what you need more than anything is for him to break you in half. To chase you down, clamp his teeth on your throat, and have his way with you.

Riding this stupid toy isn’t enough. You slump face-first onto the bed, ass in the air, and try to imagine how his hand would feel on the back of your neck as you reach a hand back to pump the toy into your weeping pussy.

This, too, is not enough—you resort to full-power vibrator, nearly spasming as you try to reach the heights you need to feel satisfied tonight. And you even nearly get there, before Miguel O'Hara’s stupid everything claims its seventh casualty and the vibrator sputters out with a noise that you’ve come to associate with a profound sort of grief.

You throw the broken vibrator aside, reach for the shitty purple bullet vibe that had come as a free gift with one of your collection. In your haste and with the strength that comes with being a Spider, the fucking thing snaps in your hands. Another casualty of his. At least you didn’t pay a hundred dollars for that one.

It’s little consolation. Tears slip down your cheeks as you reach back to do the job manually, but no amount of fingering yourself or frantically rubbing at your clit is going to be enough, and fuck it, you know that by now, but that was your last toy and now there’s nothing left and his stupid pretty face is still in your head and you have to do something!

It’s no good.

Nothing you’ve tried has ever quite been good enough, and you know that.

Short of buying yourself a fucking machine, too expensive and noisy and hefty to even really consider, you’ve got nothing.

After fifteen frustrated minutes of crying and trying to bring yourself up to that climax you so desperately need, you throw yourself down fully onto the bed and actively cry into your pillow.

He’s stupid.

He’s burned through every sex toy in your collection, every vibrator and thruster, every partner you’ve tried to lay with since meeting him.

You are really, really starting to hate Miguel O'Hara.

Okay, so that’s one unhealthy coping mechanism lost to your complete inability to be chill. Luckily, you’re not just a sex-crazed simp for him, you’re also an adrenaline junkie, and if your substitute for all the lost sexual outlets happens to be taking some bigger risks than you normally would when caught up in some fight or another, that’s between you and the wall you went through.

Keep telling yourself it’s sustainable, and maybe you won’t have to worry about the weird look from one of the many various Peters running around or the stern look on the face of Miguel when you report back in. Which Peter? Fuck if you know. You were faceblind before joining the society comprised of 95% the same guy in different flavors. They don’t take it personally. At least you almost always get the name right.

And really, it is! It is completely sustainable! Bruises are a thing you wear with pride, and you’re beyond the worry for broken bones and serious injury by now. If anything, the dull ache in your back could be a useful grounding point to keep yourself from thinking about things you shouldn’t, a skill you probably should have been practicing well before you broke the first vibe.

Nothing you try works, of course, not when he’s standing in front of you looking an awful lot like he has something to say.

“I should head back, too,” you say when your backup Peter has moved to leave. A perfect segue to heading back to your home dimension and—

“[name]. Stay back a moment.”

He doesn’t word things like requests. You’ve learned, over time, that he is requesting, in a way, but his voice is forever just a bit too deep and rumbly for your body to interpret it as anything but an order, and god you’re useless. So much for not thinking about the things you’re trying not to think about.

You have to remember that you can’t stay here and chat, so you remember that you can’t stay here and chat, and so you turn to leave anyway. “I can’t really stay and chat—“

“That was stupid,” he interrupts.

Ah. He was watching you fight today.

He raises a single eyebrow as he studies you. (You hate his stupid face you hate his stupid face you hate—)

“You could have moved out of the way.”

You snort, brush it off. “He was just some villain of the week type. I thought it’d be cool if I could get him before he hit me.”

“You let him hit you because you thought it would be cool?”

“No, I waited too long to move the way I wanted to, because I thought it would be cool. It’s not like I really got hurt, anyway.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, muttering something in Spanish you don’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“I can’t decide whether you’re stupid or just need discipline.”

That is decidedly not what he said. You caught enough shreds of his muttering to know that much. And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because it takes all your willpower not to reply with discipline me yourself then, coward and you’re so focused on that thought that it clicks.

Oh.

What you need is not to get over your monumental attraction to him.

It’s discipline.

Before you fucked the life out of every vibrator you owned, you had discipline.

Before you met him, you had discipline.

It was something you’d given over to sexual partners to handle—to tell you when to masturbate, when to cum, when to pull your toys away regardless of how needy you were.

And, in the absence of any such partners between your newly exacting standards and inability to sleep with anyone without thinking of someone else, it’s once again going to have to come from you.

You meet his eyes, a new fire within you. “I’ll do better.”

He holds your haze a long moment, his expression one of those enigmas you could spend centuries trying to crack and still turn out to be wrong in the end.

He breaks it off first, turns away from you.

“Then do it. I’ll be waiting.”

You slip out of the room and clear out of the dimension.

You’ll get your discipline back if it kills you.

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roxannarichie · 11 months

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The Anomaly | Miguel O’Hara

Someone on my google formed asked me the inspiration for “Anomaly” and this TikTok video/ audio inspired me. For a week I just was infatuated with Miguel character and then after watching this video, I felt bad for him.

CHAPTER TWO: FIVE SENSES

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of arousal

Miguel walks through the pixelated portal into a seemingly normal world. Observing his surroundings, it was two hours away from midnight. He gazed at the device on his wrist. In this world, it was 2023, New York City— instead of Nueva City like in his universe—10:47 pm. The device vibrated, alarming Miguel of the location of the anomaly. He hummed to himself, there was no way this woman was out at night this late— in New York City.

Knowing that this woman was not Spider-woman in her world made him wonder who was? This also meant it wasn’t smart to just snatch her off the street…

That is what you would think Miguel would have thought but no, he literally was planning to snatch her up, paralyze her with his teeth and take her back to HQ for tests and questioning. Staying in the shadow, he follows the anomaly. Spotting the anomaly, he tilted his head to the side. She was exiting what seemed to be karaoke club. She was smiling and laughing at whoever was on the other side of the door. She waved at the unknown person and walks to a light and cross the street and coming down the street he was on.

“Buena niña, coming right into my we“ Miguel wavered. As he inhaled he was overcome by an immense amount of… he didn’t even know what to call it. It’s was strange. Miguel has never in his life, no matter the universe smelled something so…good. His heart began to pick up pace, his breath was short and his forehead had a brand new layer of sweat. He quickly climbed down and back into the alleyway, where he first appeared. His eyes wide under his mask, why was he shaking. His body trembled and he felt a knot and a burning sensation in his belly. He held his underbelly as the sensation swelled. He groans in confusion, “W-what the fuck–“

He moaned as another wave of sensation came over him, the smell was getting closer. He didn’t even know if this was supposed to be painful, he gasped as he felt the blood rushing not only to his face but to—

“Hello? Is someone back here.” A voice of a woman, who he knew was the anomaly called into the dark alleyway. As her smell got closer and more suffocating, the more woozy, he became. He felt blood fall down his mouth and on to the floor. He would absolutely not let this be how the anomaly saw him. “Stay back!”

He yelled at her, a trowel from deep in his throat came out. “But you smell funny..” She replied. This caused Miguel to think, this affect on him must be something that only happens in the universe. He already has heightened senses but it seemed everyone on this earth emitted a large and noticeable amount of smell. He finally noticed the lingering smell of other people that didn’t seems to affect him much. He turned to look at her face but his vision was blurry, shit.

Was he about to pass out? there’s no way? His body leaned over, slowly loses his senses, and he loses consciousness.

His hearing was the first thing he gained back and he was rewarded with a constant beeping sound...What is that noise? The first thing he saw was a white ceiling and an IV line. He slightly shivered as he felt the cold air. Observing his surroundings, he laid eyes on her. The anomaly...

Hearing his movement, she looked over to see him staring at her. “Yr’awake, how do you feel?”

Now that his vision was no longer blurry, he got a great view of her face, a spider's view. She had big brown eyes and big auburn curly hair. She has a dimple on her left check that appeared even if she wasn't smiling and showing her pearly whites. Her dimples were accompanied with a round face and a little baby fat on her round high cheeks that didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Her lips where full and... inviting, no! If he had seen her on the street he would have most definitely not have thought she was twenty-five years old. As all his senses returned panic began to rise as he realized he was in a hospital. His hand ran over his face, he exhaled a breathe of relief when he felt his mask was still in place, “I made sure no one touched the mask, gotta be a reason you wearin’ one.” Miguel noticed the accent as his body started to calm itself down, the accent then explained the reason for the odd name. “Who are you?” she asked.

It seemed she had not taken a peak under his mask, at least she has integrity. “Miguel.” He answered plainly

“What happened?” he asked referring to the event that caused him to lose his pride and consciousness. He looked over at her waiting for an answer. “You don't know, that strange, everyone know—”

“I'm not from here.”

Willow was confused, even if he wasn't from New York, he would still know what happen to him because this isn't a cultural thing, it's a biological reaction.

“Ion understand, did your parents shelter you or sumthin’?” She have him a odd look as if he was the weird one. “No– how am I going to explain this..” he looked over at his wrist.

“Oh wow that looks advanced.” Willows interests were peaked as she watched his type something into his ‘watch’. Miguel groaned internally has it turned off the “do not disturb” button, he was about to hear a mouth full from Lyla.

“If I was human I would put you in a watch for over 12 hours and lock you away so you know how it felt to be in a watch. Do you know how nerve wreaking it is to be able to have access to you vitals and to watch you go unconscious and not being able to do noth— oh my gosh it's the anomaly– hi!” Lyla rants until she finally noticed the woman on the other bed, Lyla frantically waves at Willow with a big smile. Willow hesitantly waved back.

“Can you please explain what goin’ and who you people are?” Willow asked, she had never seen something so futurist. Miguel sighe, Lyla gave him a knowing look. He hated this part of the job...

“My name....is Miguel O’Hara. I lead an elite strike force dedicated to the security of the multiverse…”

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roxannarichie · 11 months

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THE ANOMALY | Miguel O’Hara

Chapter One: Willow-Dean

“It…she… isn’t… hasn’t even been bitten… by anything!” Lyla yelled confused, her knowledge about this anomaly was extensive. She had detected her weeks ago but quickly realized the difference from past anomalies. Absolutely zero attachment to any kind of supernatural activity or phenomena. Nothing. Then why did the system detect her as an anomaly?

“What?” Miguel questioned, also confused, he walks toward his computer screen while putting on his Spider-suit. There was no way— there has to be something wrong with her— something that have away that she didn’t belong in that universe. His fingers tapped quickly and softly his watch– he pulls up a holographic screen of information about the woman. As he read the information, he gave intense look.

Looking at his from his peripheral vision, “Lyla, how long have you known about this anomaly?” His voice was calm with a hint of knowing and depth. The pixels assistant chuckled, her guilt was evident.

“Well you see– Miguel, it’s” she stammered.

“Lyla…” Miguel said sternly.

“Three to Four weeks”

“Three to Fo– How does that make any sense! A month? You know the damages this anomaly could have caused to that multiverse!” He lectured. Everyone knew the damage but how could an innocent woman who was blissfully unaware of how out of place she was cause so much harm and how!?

“Miguel, I only did it to watch her and study her. She lives an normal life, she not even a superhero of ANY kind.” Lyla argued. In her defense, the system glitched when it detected this woman which cause Lyla to doubt if she should warn Miguel immediately. Instead she did her own research. He glared at her still not seeming to loosen up.

“She was born September 16, 1998, she was raised by her mother and grandmother. Her father died while serving in the military months before she was even born.” A pixelated sweat droplet rolled down her forehead. She didn’t not want Miguel to put her on “do not disturb” like he did last time. It was absolutely torture.

Miguel sighed in defeat, placing his thump and pointer finger on the bridge of his nose, “Dios, dame fuerza, okay, what is her name?” He scrolls through the anomalies file, not seeing a name.

“Willow-Dean Jones” She said proudly.

“…..Willow what?” Miguel twisted his face, it was an odd name, and not unique odd though it was unique, more like weirdly odd.

“Willow-Dean Jones”

“So Dean is her middle name—“

“No, it’s her first name–“

“I’m not understanding.”

“It’s a double— a double name have you not heard of double names?”

“Yes but her name is already odd—I don’t understand the point of a double— WHATEVER!” His frustration and annoyance was obviously, he typed her name into the file.

Lyla was excited, “Yay, are you bringing her here?”

“Where else would I bring her?”

“Yes! Finally, some female company, though Jessica is lovely, she is pregnant and sleep most of the time, and—“ She looked at Miguel with a smirk, “Possible a new lady friend for—“

“No” He replied quickly

“—you and it gonna be so much fun, we can talk about girl stuff and then We talk about—“ Lyla chattered ignoring the brooding spider.

“Lyla. No–“

“–how mean you are and– oh, maybe you two can get married!”

“Lyla– for heaven sake, I’m 32!”

“That is only a seven year differe—“

Miguel had reluctantly put her on “do not disturb” which he knew she despised but anything to get her to stop specking about the anomaly with the weird name.

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