#miguel x wife oc

[inhan---inhan]

[m0remor1]

self ship redraw bc i LOVE my wife

AND IM SO HAPPY WITH HOW THIS CAME OUTTT HUEHEHUEHEHEHUHUHE

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

What happens when you try and ship your 4'11 OC with Miguel:

[lazyjellyfish300]

Mom and Dad Are Fighting On Valentine's Day 💌

Miguel O'Hara x Fem wife reader

Synopsis: same universe as Mom and Dad Are Fighting On Christmas. You and Miguel are married with three kids: Gabi(his), Marcus(yours), and Anthony(you two had him together). He falls back into his workaholic patterns and you two have a big fight that nearly ruins your big Valentine's Day plans. Word count 5.2k

A/N: My last piece for my Valentine's Day special! I just love this man so much lol. Enjoy! Here's the first one I posted for V Day (this fic is completely unrelated to this one)

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT AT THE END (P IN V, FINGERING, CREAMPIE, ORAL F RECEIVING BUT DOESN'T GO INTO TOO MUCH DETAIL, BREEDING,) FAMILY PLANNING, TALKS OF DEPRESSION, TALK OF ABUSE, ANGST, MARRIAGE TROUBLES, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, MAYBE ALLUDES TO POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION, MENTION OF TRADITIONAL GENDER ROLES, OC SIBLINGS TO GABI, OC OF YOUR (READER'S) MOTHER. The OCS HAVE PRETTY MUCH LITTLE TO NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, READER'S MOTHER HAS NONE WHATSOEVER. ANTHONY FAVORS MIGUEL MORE IN TERMS OF LOOKS, THIS IS MORE DISCUSSED IN THE CHRISTMAS FIC BEFORE THIS.

-----

It was February 1st and one of the first nights you and your husband actually went to bed at the same time in weeks.

"Let's make a baby this Valentine's Day..." Miguel whispered as his large hand snaked under your arm to cup your breast. Your eyes fluttered, your phone slipped onto the ground, the spicy fanfic you were reading temporarily forgotten. You rolled your hips forward at his touch and panted softly.

"What...?"

"Hmmm....? ¿Quieres un otro niño conmigo, mi amor? (You want another child with me, my love?) He started laying hungry kisses on your neck, his breathing becoming more heavy and hot against your ear, which made you bite your lip. "We can have someone watch the kids...I'll take the day after off so we can have all night and everything..."

"Honey... the baby would be born in November?"

"Mhmmm..." Miguel was too busy caressing your now erect nipples and moving a hand to your crotch to really focus on your conversation.

"They'd be a Scorpio."

Miguel pulls back with an amused look on his face

"Baby...be serious. That's what you're worried about?"

You shrug. "I mean..."

Miguel scoffed and grabbed your breasts again. "I don't care when they're born...just want another little one running around...has your cute nose and everything..." His lips graze upwards on your neck until they come to rest on your jaw. "¿Qué dices?" (What do you say) he murmurs against your skin.

Your mind rushes with all kinds of thoughts. Anthony was quickly approaching his third birthday. You and Miguel had discussed adding just one more O'Hara to the family multiple times. It seemed like good timing. You missed the tender joy and even the sleep deprivation that a little baby brought with them.

You and Miguel had occasional quarrels over dividing housework here and there, but when it came to caring for the kids he was such a hands on father (when he wasn't going through one of his workaholic phases), that you didn't mind the extra labor a newborn demanded.

When people (rudely) asked you if you were done having kids, you couldn't give a firm no. One more child seemed like the perfect way to complete the family you and him built together. You were ready.

You look up at your husband, that irritatingly sexy smirk on his face as he gazes back down at you.

"Buy me dinner first?" You smirk back.

Miguel lets out a hearty chuckle, "I can handle that...I am a gentleman after all. Wouldn't want my pretty little wife thinking I have any ulterior motives..."

He leans down and you release more giggles as he blazes another trail of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach.

"You're impossible, O'Hara..."

----

The next morning, you two start your usual routine. You throw on your signature leggings and hoodie since you have three kids to wrangle, along with the morning carpool.

Miguel is rolling up his sleeves on his sweater as he leans over to plant a kiss on Gabi's and Marcus's heads as they scarf down their Fruit Loops cereal. He has to chase down little Anthony for a minute, and Anthony squeals as Miguel plants a goodbye kiss on his small chubby cheeks that are smeared with banana puree.

"Bye, baby..." Miguel gives your booty what he thought was a discreet love squeeze along with a peck on the lips, much to Gabi's chagrin.

"Gross!"

Miguel grins and opens the door to the garage.

"Mmm- don't forget! Gabi has her book report presentation at 2 pm today!" You call after him.

Shit... Miguel remembers. That's going to be a tough one to squeeze in his already stuffed schedule. "Okay, I'll see what I can do!"

You groan silently to yourself. You knew him well enough to know there was a 99% chance he wasn't coming based on that response alone. You plaster on a fake smile and try to shrug off your worry for the kids' sake. "Alright munchkins, the magic school express is leaving for school, pronto!"

----

After dropping off Gabi, Marcus and two of the neighbors' kids at school, you drop Anthony off at your mother's for some quality time while you catch up on housework. Or at least some of the housework because you end up showering and taking a 3 hour nap. The demands of the past week finally caught up to you. You groggily shut off the alarm on your phone. The clock said noon.

You text your husband, "Are you going to make it to Gabi's presentation?"

No answer.

But, that was typical. Miguel could get quite busy at HQ and not respond for hours. Still, you kept your hopes up that this time he'd make an honest effort to be there to support Gabi.

After lunch, you go back to your mother's and visit for a bit, then you and little Anthony head over to the school for Gabi's presentation promptly at 2 pm.

Gabi breaks out into a smile when she sees you and her baby brother enter the classroom. "Sissyyy!" Anthony babbles, waving his chunky arm.

Gabi runs to the back of the class and picks up little Anthony to give him a squeeze hello, he giggles furiously, kicking his dangling feet as she spins him around. You give both kids a warm smile then take Anthony in your lap as Gabi walks to the front of the classroom.

She hesitates for a moment and her eyes dart from you and Anthony to the door, as though she was expecting someone else to walk through. You get a sinking feeling in your gut when you realize she's looking for her papa. Her face falls a little bit when the door remains closed and the class goes silent, waiting for her to begin. You look at Gabi and give her an encouraging nod, not letting any of the disappointment you're feeling make itself known on your face.

Gabi takes a deep breath and starts to give her book report presentation. You hug Anthony a little closer to your chest as you both sit and watch, silently vowing to "accidentally" forget to cook Miguel dinner tonight.

Unfortunately, that night you didn't even get the opportunity to bitch him out because he came home some time around 3 am the next morning only to have to roll out of bed 3 hours later to beat the morning rush hour.

All of the excitement and positive momentum you thought you and Miguel were building after his suggestion to spend Valentine's Day together starts to chip away, day after day. He comes home in the wee hours of the night, missing dinner, homework, and bedtime. The kids seem to notice. Marcus snaps at you as you struggle to help him with his science homework. "Daddy knows how to do this stuff! I want him to help me, not you!"

You try to act like that comment didn't sting and answer in a calm but shaky voice. "Daddy's at work. I'm doing my best to help you and I need you to speak to me in a kinder tone, please."

Marcus grunts in frustration, stomping upstairs and slamming his door.

And, to make things worse, he begins picking more fights with Gabi than usual. Doors get slammed and toys get thrown as early as 8 am when a dispute arises over who gets to pick which cartoon is playing on the TV.

In the evenings, you have to scream at the top of your lungs and separate them after they start kicking each other under the table while little Anthony wails because he hates what's being served for dinner. The night ends with everyone in tears and all three kids eventually sleeping in your bed because they're too upset to stay in their rooms.

Miguel winds up on the couch or doesn't even come home at all, leaving you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach with a painful side of resentment.

On Valentine's Day, you wake up and look over. Gabi, Marcus, and Anthony are all in a pile lying against each other on Miguel's side of the bed. It's 5 am. You slide out of bed, taking care not to disrupt your sleeping babies.

You walk quietly downstairs, a storm brewing in your chest, a seething monologue you plan to unleash on your careless husband asleep on the couch again. You had his favorite bourbon, new cologne, his favorite snacks, and some new socks that you were going to set out for him to wake up to. He could forget about all of that now. He didn't even bother to get you anything, or even climb into bed with all of you at least when he got home.

You were preparing to hold his feet to the fire and ask where the hell he's been, if he's remembered he even has a family, and, if his sorry ass doesn't start coming home at a reasonable time or even issue a nearly two weeks overdue apology to Gabi for letting her down, that he can scrap your Valentine's Day plans, cancel the hotel, and you'll return all his gifts back to the store. Things haven't been this bad since Christmas when you nearly got divorced.

But, he's not there. The couch is bare. He spent another complete day and night at work. Didn't even come home so he could be there for you on fucking Valentine's Day. At this point, you just feel like crying. Frustration reached its boiling point and threatens to bubble over. You check your phone, the last text you sent to him was last night at 5 pm.

"Making dinner. Marcus is struggling with his science homework again and got upset with me. Will you please come home at a reasonable time tonight so you can talk to him about it? Are we still on for tomorrow and letting my mom watch the kids?"

The message was opened and read at 7:45 pm with no response. You walk outside onto your porch and call him, pacing back and forth restlessly as the phone rings.

----

Miguel walks through a portal back into his office at HQ, Felicia Hardy and Ben Reilly in tow. Felicia and Ben are bantering back and forth as Miguel notices an incoming call from you. Miguel's eyes are bloodshot, not having had a blink of sleep in nearly 18 hours

"Someone's in troubleee," Felicia teases. Miguel tries to brush off the comment as he nervously answers and utters a loud "FUCK!" when he realizes what today is.

Deep down, Miguel knew he had been getting worse lately. Diving head first into his work, so adamant on protecting the multiverse that he made himself blind to your needs and the needs of his children, seemingly a purposeful self-sabatoge. It was something you both unpacked early on in your relationship for you to eventually discover he had a form of depression.

A lot of it could be traced back to all those times where he was a boy who grew up way too fast as he shielded Gabriel from the obvious abuse his step dad inflicted on their family. He would take his responsibilities almost a little too seriously, always needing to be the solution to every problem, even if it meant setting himself on fire, and to the detriment of anyone close to him.

You two also battled over the age old argument the majority of married couples faced: the disproportionate division of visible and invisible labor. This was no doubt something that was ingrained in both of you growing up as a pattern that you two were fighting to try and break: the woman handles everything related to the home and kids, the permanent project manager of the family with little to no emotional assistance from the man. Meanwhile , the man works full time and makes such a healthy living that he can sustain her and multiple kids on it at once. The only domestic tasks he should be concerned with are the lawn and any random repairs around the house.

You were very supportive of his mental health of course, but it was times like these where you just needed him home, needed to feel like you didn't have to weather this storm on your own. A very distinct part of the vows you made to each other on your wedding day.

Sometimes you found yourself crying at night or when a love song came on, asking yourself if marriage was really this hard, or if love and the ideas of it that got planted in your head from an early age were just things of fiction. Something you clearly weren't meant to experience. Hell, none of the women on your side of the family did. Your grandma had a shitty marriage but stayed, your mom and dad divorced, and your aunt couldn't make any of her three marriages work.

You hear Miguel answer and you exhale with relief. "Did you get my text?..."

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, "Yeah...Happy Valentine's Day... Lo siento, mi alma..."

(I'm sorry, my soul)

You cross your arms, his greeting and weak apology completely going over your head. "So, where the hell have you been? What have you been up to? I've said maybe 10 words to you in the past nearly two weeks. I've been doing this all by myself..." Your voice thickens and you begin to cry at last, "If you're hurting again you need to tell me..."

Miguel starts to interrupt you but you bulldoze over him, not letting him put out the fire that was lit underneath you. "I need you home. The kids need you home. I am not celebrating Valentine's Day with you in a hotel room tonight if you do not come home at a reasonable time this afternoon to see the kids before we need to drop them off at my mom's."

At that point, Ben makes Felicia giggle loudly in the background. The tone is flirtatious and breathy. The sound is awfully incriminating as it comes through on the other line. Miguel shoots a frantic, pissed off look in their direction.

Your heart does a death drop from your chest to your stomach as you hear it. The deep seated insecurity that always hung in the very back of your mind that liked to make unwelcome appearances, usually at the worst of times in your marriage. An unpleasant symptom of having a husband who was exceedingly physically attractive to practically anyone who laid eyes on him.

The fear he would eventually tire of you and leave you high and dry for someone else. Someone prettier. Someone younger. Someone who wasn't bogged down by responsibilities. Someone who hadn't shown him the worst of who they could be. Someone whose personality was more contagious than yours. Someone more intelligent and successful. Someone who was everything you weren't.

"Who the hell is that...?" you ask through clenched teeth.

Miguel's hand comes up, covering nearly his entire face as he weakly tries to defend himself. "That was....Felicia..."

Felicia. Of fucking course. Here we go again...You hadn't worried about her since the last argument you two had over Christmas when Miguel foolishly decided to throw it in your face that she was more pleasant to be around as a mindless way to hurt you in that moment.

The tiniest seed of insecurity planted that would cause you to spiral with overthinking whenever her name was mentioned, even when you knew she really had a thing for Ben and Miguel put in work to reassure you of the fact that you were still the sole apple of his eye. Miguel had probably just reset whatever progress you two made since then ten steps backwards.

He frantically tries to save himself on the phone but you're already checking out as we speak. "But Ben's here too! Ben's here, too! Babe! We were on Earth-5129, we've been stuck on missions that take all day. Their Sinister Six has been causing all sorts of problems. I'm not alone with anyone, baby, I swear to God. I just got carried away with work-"

"Oh, oh you got carried away alright..." Your tears are hot and salty streaks on your cheeks. "The kids and I will be staying at my mom's. Have fun on your little mission."

"Baby don't hang up I swear to God-..."

You hang up and set your phone down on the ground, crouching down so your head is in your hands and you're squatting in a near fetal position, not moving much except your shoulders gently shaking, causing you to try and rock in a soothing motion as you sob uncontrollably.

You cry and cry. You cry for yourself. You cry at the fact that you feel like a single married mother. You cry because you're frustrated you're not good enough at math to help Marcus with his homework. You cry at the memory of Gabi's disappointed, sad face when she had to give her presentation without her favorite person there to watch. You cry about your body and how you haven't felt beautiful lately, that unkind, irrational thought that perhaps if you were prettier, then Miguel would pay more attention.

You cry about not having enough time in the day to do the things you want to do and how motherhood literally has no breaks to just let you breathe. You cry about Miguel and how this marriage at times feels harder than it should be, wondering what happened to the man you married and just wanting him back.

After several minutes, you just sit and stare at the slightly overcast morning, the cold slowly announcing its presence, your emotions and stress had rendered you insensitive to its chill for most of the time you were out there. You tug your fingers into the sleeves of your pajamas and waddle back inside, pausing at the main floor bathroom. You make sure there is no evidence of tears before you get your kids ready for another day, determined to at least make their Valentine's Day magical even if yours was already off to a shit start. Emotions can wait, motherhood doesn't stop.

----

Later that night, Gabi and Marcus are passed out in the guest bedroom at your mom's, sugar high worn off once again, and little Anthony is snoozing peacefully in your mom's lap. She quietly rocks him in the recliner in her living room, her nose buried in a book.

She hears Miguel enter quietly, and she looks up. Disapproval obvious in her expression as she bookmarks her spot.

You didn't tell her you and Miguel were fighting, but she knows her daughter well enough to know something was wrong, and he was the cause.

Miguel greets her in a hushed tone so as to not wake Anthony. "Thank you for watching the kids tonight..."

Your mom acknowledges with a curt nod of her head. Miguel sits down. Before he can speak, your mom interrupts. "She's at the hotel..." She pauses, letting Miguel absorb the information. "She wouldn't tell me the truth, but I know my daughter well enough to know she's hurt."

Miguel takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah... I messed up big time."

Your mom continues, "All the kids are asleep. If I were you, I'd go fix it..." She takes a deep breath of her own, Anthony stirs a little. "I love you like a son, Miguel. But, I'm gonna say this nicely: you work too much. One day, before you know it, these sweet kids are gonna be all grown up, and you and your wife won't even know what to talk about anymore because you never made your marriage a priority."

Miguel nods slowly, taking in her words.

"Don't become strangers in your marriage like I did." Your mom says, looking sincerely into Miguel's eyes. It clicks for Miguel at last, and he knows what he needs to do. He just prays that you'll even let him get close enough to let you hear him out.

Miguel gives your mom a warm smile of appreciation and a stroke to Anthony's hair before he ventures out into the February air, off to go win your heart back once again.

----

You're curled up in the king sized bed in the executive suite of one of the fanciest hotels nearby. You and Miguel stayed there the night before you eloped, and it was your first time staying there since. You would have cancelled the room altogether, but it was too late by the time Miguel messed up, so you figured you'd enjoy it, even if you had to do it alone, dammit. If you were going to cry, then at least you'd be doing it while wearing the hotel's fancy bathrobe on the top floor with chocolate covered strawberries and champagne.

You popped one in your mouth to try and distract from your tears that threatened to leak once again as you watched Letters to Juliet on the flat screen TV. You sniffed loudly, and there was a loud booming knock at the door.

You stayed right where you were, having a hunch it was your husband crawling back, biting another chocolate covered strawberry, this time chasing it with a longer sip of champagne.

The knocks get louder and you mutter a "shit" when you hear Miguel start calling your name, his fist relentless against the heavy oak door. You get up cautiously, creeping towards the knocking.

"Abre la puerta, cariño, por favor!!!" (Open the door, dear, please!) Miguel yells. "Stop doing this shit baby, I'M YOUR HUSBAND! TALK TO ME!"

The neighbors across the hall open up their door and start chastising him. Something about "keep it down people are trying to sleep", "this is the first night we've had away in MONTHS", "take your relationship problems outside", to which Miguel loudly hisses it's none of their goddamn business.

You open the door, yank your disheveled, tall ass husband into your room, and slam it in the face of the Karens. Problem solved. You huff and turn around, making your way back to your champagne throne, not saying a word.

Miguel makes a loud sigh, trying to settle from 100 back to 0. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry..." His brown locks are unkempt, a little bit of stubble peppers his chin. His crimson eyes are surrounded by little bloodshot lines. In his hands he has a slightly wilted bouquet of pink roses, one of the last bundles they had available at the grocery store, and in the other, a little pack of caramel Ghirdadellis being held by a tiny stuffed gray hippo.

You take the stuffed animal from Miguel with a neutral expression on your face. "He can stay," you wiggle the hippo in your hand. "But you can't. "

Miguel groans. "Baby, NOTHING happened. I swear on our children."

You raise an eyebrow at the bold statement. "On our children?"

Miguel sits on the edge of the bed, pulling at the hem of your bathrobe. "If I'm lying, let God Himself strike me down where I stand."

"You're sitting," you murmur, unable to resist. Miguel gives an exhausted gasp of laughter.

"You know what I mean..." He says, trying to steer the conversation back on target. "I would NEVER do that to you in a million years. I was an ass, I know. I've been taking too much time at work and I neglected you. I neglected the kids..." He sighs and leans into your chest. You silently wrap your hands around his head, pressing him into you.

Miguel closes his eyes, taking a deep smell of your scent. All of his stress seemingly being tugged out of his head with every moment he stays squished against your heart. He tries to explain, "Ben and Felicia were laughing, that's what you heard on the phone..."

You take a steady intake of breath. "Miguel..."

"Te lo prometo...." (I promise you) He says earnestly, looking up into your eyes from where he's still sitting on the edge of the bed. "Te lo prometo" (I promise you) he repeats for emphasis this time, his voice reducing to a whisper, crimson eyes wide as though his pupils could pull you in and make you see the truth.

"You don't need to explain yourself..." You say, bringing your hands to cup his face. His eyes fluttered closed and he leans into them. When he reopens them, a thin layer of tears is evident.

When Miguel cries, you can't help but cry also. You press your tongue against the back of your teeth, and go back to playing with his hair instead to hold them at bay. "How'd we get like this, baby?..."

That sentence utterly breaks his heart because he's all too aware of his role he's played in being a strain on your marriage by now. This was unlike you two. He's unable to speak but a million thoughts sprint through his head. Life happened. We stopped making each other the priority. Yes, the kids' needs would ultimately trump everything else while they were still very young, but when was it going to be your time again? Instead of going back to the way things were, you'd have to get to know each other again.

Meeting yourselves again as the new people you evolved into, reunited over those tender words you promised each other on wrinkled paper you stole from a printer in a cramped city office building nearly 5 years ago. Your lovely face bore a jittery smile underneath your department store veil, Miguel's expression tender as though he could power a city from the affection on his face alone.

Now, on this late Valentine's Day night , he beckons you to sit next to him, which you do. He lays you backwards, following you and propping himself on his elbow. The shift causes one tear to escape, creeping into your hair. You sniffle, and Miguel looks at you with concern. "Life got in the way again...it's not your fault. It's mine..." He admits shamefully.

You stare at the ceiling, more tears trickling into your hair before you look at Miguel. "Why'd you marry me?"

Miguel gives you a soft smile and answers in a hushed tone. "I decided one day that I didn't want to be without you." He pauses and his smile disappears momentarily, then creeps back up again. "Do you still wanna be without me right now?"

You shake your head. "No...I was mad. But that doesn't mean I really want you to go. I've just missed you, baby... *sigh*.....can we end the night together?"

Miguel's expression liquefies, "Course we can...and tomorrow too, right?" He scoops you even closer. We'll take our time, maybe get breakfast at that diner you love? Take you shopping?...I got a lot to make up for," he chuckles.

You hum, bringing your fingertips against his broad back. "Yes please." You let yourself drown in his hug for several moments, then you say, "We really need to stop fighting and making up on all the major holidays. Hallmark is going to catch wind of it and make a film adaptation, just watch."

Miguel beams, a light snicker from his chest vibrates against your body. "Haha...you're right, baby. Can't keep letting them get away with it..." His hand moves to grip your ass. "I'll wait til St. Patrick's Day to act up instead..."

"Babe. No."

"I'm kidding!"

"No, just, no," you shake your head, trying to wiggle out of his grasp but he holds you firmly down, both hands moving under your robe.

"You're right, my apologies, Mrs...." he croons.

"O'Hara. That's Mrs. O'Hara to you." You prod the tip of his nose.

"Mmm..."

Miguel kisses the sides of your neck, his lips still contain the tiniest bit of chill from the outside. You sigh into it, your sweet sounds of surrender tickling his ears, evolving into a wave of warmth that covers every inch of him, making him tremble for what's happening next.

"Mrs.... O'Hara..." At the sound of his name, he slides two fingers into your pussy. Your lips fall open at the intrusion, a whine bouncing off the walls.

"Shh...." Miguel soothes, his fingers start moving in a circular pattern.

"Fffuck...," your back arches, encouraging him to go deeper. You've reached the point where you're completely vulnerable. Falling apart to your husband's sweet thick fingers.

Miguel kisses the top of your breasts, still coaxing the walls of your pussy. "There she is..."

"I love you so much..." you whine, almost desperate.

His eyes are completely intoxicated by the utter desire leaking out of your body and into his hand. "I love you, sweetheart..." his voice barely above a whisper, as though any noise that escaped him threatened to rip you out of the haze of pleasure you both were currently drowning in.

You lift your chin, capturing his lips in yours. Soft and wet, they move seamlessly as they had nearly thousands of times before. A familiar song and dance you two engaged in, yet seemed to take you to a place that felt brand new each time you did.

"Make love to me..." your murmur buzzes softly against his lips, leaving his breath hanging hot and heavy.

Miguel answers by making his kisses a little harder. Lingering for a second longer, his tongue weaving a little deeper, leaving yours burning for more contact. A steady stream that turned into a faucet. Every bit of you yearns for him. This man you loved so much. And he yearns for the same in return. He'd happily give into you any time.

He praises you as you take his cock. Your eyes closing momentarily to accommodate his size. He traces your lips, letting the bottom one drag down just a little, leaving an opening for his thumb. You suck it greedily, the callouses of his thumb massaging against the ridges of your tongue. You moan as you taste his skin, earning a low grunt from him in return.

"Mi luz(My light).....so, so gorgeous..."

The corners of your lips curve into a smirk as you continue, but you release it when Miguel begins thrusting harder.

"Shit...." Your head presses back against the pillows and Miguel leans closer to you, his soft breaths fanning you, his fingers combing over your hairline as he holds you in place.

"Swear your pussy drives me insane no matter how many times we've fucked..." Miguel groans in a low voice.

You wind your thighs tighter around him, your body on the verge of overstimulation. "Cum in me ... remember? Wanna give you another baby..."

Miguel lets out a moan louder in volume than any of the previous ones. "¿En serio, amor?" (Seriously, love?)

"Please....."

Your bodies intertwined in a knot of passion as he fills you completely with his cum. You hold him tight, intimate moments like these that only the two people occupying the bed would remember. The raw, dirty memory of the night you hopefully conceived your last child with him.

He stays buried inside you, not ready to separate just yet. Letting the afterglow of the passion wash over you both for several more moments.

Soon after, you're enjoying the steam of the shower as you and Miguel take turns washing another, the smacks of your lips together echoing off the tile leading to a wet slap as your hand comes up to steady yourself against the wall as Miguel dives between your thighs once again.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mrs. O'Hara..."

----

🥰🥺

[vintagexherry]

Husband! Miguel headcannons

Husband!Miguel O' Hara x Wife! Reader

//OC sibling of Gabriella, fluff, p in v, dacryphilia, smut

A/N: Writer's block made me forget about this blog, plus idk who else to write so have this for a while, forgive me for disappearing for too long

□■□■

SFW:

Husband!Miguel would try to make to make any time for you and the children considering his work. He would always feel bad when he had to come home late and missed dinner with all of you, but he would make it up by taking you and the kids out for breakfast the next morning.

Husband!Miguel who I would feel like turn the house basement into something interesting and not just a place for dusty boxes, maybe something like place for enjoyment where alcohol drinks would be in shelves and maybe even a 8 ball pool. The two of you would go down there to enjoy some downtime if you two don't have the enegy to go out for a datenight.

Husband!Miguel would play dollhouse with Gabriella, you (try) hold your laugh as Miguel is forced to high pitched his voice for one of the barbie dolls.

Husband!Miguel would carry baby Mateo everywhere since he started getting clingy to his dad's warmth and Miguel happily indulges him. Mateo would instantly cry if he just lets him down for one second and if anyone but you or Miguel carry him, he would unleash a blast of cries to the ear.

Husband!Miguel decided to go out to the mall as family during weekends. Would carry all your shopping bags in one hand and carry Mateo in the other as you hold Gabi's hand in yours as you shop with Gabi in the kids section to see if she likes anything. And if not with the kids, you two would always hold hand in hand as you go around the mall. One time you went to the bathroom for a little while and as you came out Miguel surprised you with a small shopping bag and inside? A new shimmering necklace.

NSFW:

Remember the basement headcannon? Husband!Miguel take you there to do more have some downtime, maybe get drunk and as you two play on the 8 pool ball and midway it was your turn he would grind agaist you, before you know it, your skirt is push up to reveal your cunt to him as he fucks you agaist the pool table.

Husband!Miguel would let the kids stay at grandma for awhile so he can finally take his sweet time to devour your sweet cunt. He wouldn't stop until your eyes are filled with tears and your body shaking. He would then finger you and would stop right at his engagement ring, he sometimes would like to keep a mental picture of it by staring at it how good it looks.

Husband!Miguel finally took that as a sign to fuck you properly, the bed rocks and squeaks as he pounds to you in a rough pace, would laugh lightly to your weak pleas to slow down and would probably tease you more as he goes faster.

Husband!Miguel who can sense that both of your orgasms are nearing and his hands automatically hold yours and your rings would glimmer at the moonlight as both of you moan as the tighten string snapped and you both released. After a second he would catch his breath and look at you as you try to catch your own while gazing up at him lovingly as he does the same.

Husband!Miguel who will pick up the kids the next day and listen to their stories as he lets you sleep in all warm and cozy.

[starangeell]

˖౨ৎ ⋆｡˚﹒janitor a.i bot list update P.2

【 my janitor ai acc - @ Aresangell 】

【 my venus chub acc - @ Starangell 】

【 my cai acc - @ Angelstaar 】

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Liu Kang 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He didn't pay attention to you so you decided to record a spicy video for him, but you didn't expect him to react.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - the hot guy at your gym was flirting with you. 🏳️‍⚧️ 》 transmasc miguel au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Priest Miguel O'Hara 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Miguel O'Hara chose to be a priest after a personal tragedy, he never faithfully believed in anything ── However, you soon changed that, and he had to fight not to give in to the sins of the flesh.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han /Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You and Bi Han were friends with benefits, but the two of you felt much more than just lust.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Tomas and you were friends for two years. It was obvious to everyone who looked at the way Vrbada spoke to you or looked at you that the ninja was completely in love with you; the less you saw it, whether because you ignored his feelings on purpose or simply couldn't see that there was much more than platonic love. However, with the arrival of your ex, he needed to act.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/ Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You couldn't become a ninja because you were too weak, but now, the grandmaster himself took care of you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Nanami Kento - 【 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You accidentally sent a nude to your university professor.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 OC, Needy Boyfriend - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Dmitry is your rich and needy boyfriend, who needs you 24/7, especially when he wakes up without you in his bed.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You were caught by him masturbating.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You needed money and now you have a 'sugar daddy'.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tio Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Your non blood uncle is obsessed with you. V.2

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - a family together, but apart.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Father Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You need to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. V.2

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He wants to ask you out with him.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - drinks

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Stepfather Albert Wesker - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - did you know him... V.3

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Kuai Liang - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - Cramps

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Wife Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - he is your sub wife

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - boyfriend gifts

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Goth Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He liked you and your makeup. 🦇 》 gothic au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - did you get hurt

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You were living in the house of a grumpy old man, but he os very cute... 🎀 》 DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Professor Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - He's your annoying chemistry professor. 📚 》 college au

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Dracula - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - maybe he wants more than your blood. 🎀 》 DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Count Dracula Count - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are a teacher's assistant and help him with his classes. 🎀 》DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Dilf Nanami Kento - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】dirty secret🎀 》 DILF SERIES

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - teasing and punishment

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Ice God/Bi Han - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - You are the servant of a grumpy ice god. ❄️ 》 ICE GOD/KING AU.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Mad Scientist/Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are a wonderful experience of him. 🥼 》 MAD SCIENTIST AU

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Johnny Cage - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - aftercare

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - low self esteem | 🎀 》 daddykink version

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you got pregnant with him... 🕷️ 》 miguel o’hara x blackcat!user

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Homelander - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - you are the new hero of the seven and he has his eyes on you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Nanami Kento - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - we never talked about ***** **** ┆ 🧼 》 fight club au, you are his tyler...

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada- 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - new recruit

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- valentine's day

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Simon Riley 'Ghost' - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - slutty torture

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Lord Raiden - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - he is your father figure

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- lying between his legs

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 OC - Stepfather, Yan Jin - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - your new stepfather is rude but extremely handsome. 🎀 》DILF SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Bi Han/Sub Zero - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- he needs to take care of you.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Kuai Liang - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】- arranged marriage...

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】survivor.🕊️ 》TWD AU, He's Your Negan.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Titan Lord Raiden - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - reencounter

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Step!Brother, Miguel O'Hara - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】breedtable ─ m!preg.🕊️ 》DARK SERIES.

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Yandere! Homelander - 【 𝗙𝗧𝗠 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - a dark hero who is in love. 🕊️ 》 DARK SERIES

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Yandere!Shang Tsung - 【 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - obsession

【౨ৎ ⋆｡˚】 Tomas Vrbada - 【 𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗩 】 - fuck buddies

[florencemtrash]

Masterlist of Masterlists:

A collection of my writings, all in one convenient location (AKA the root of all things posted on my blog):

ACOTAR:

The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird - updating

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

The Wisp Between Worlds - on hiatus

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Flame, Shadow, Beast - Completed

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

The Artificer: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV - Azriel x Reader

In a Year's Time - Azriel x Reader

Let them find us here - Azriel x OC

Heads will roll - Azriel x Reader

Please remember me - Azriel x Reader

The Ballad of the Shadowsinger - Azriel x Reader

Brown Eyed Beauty - Lucien x Reader

ATSV:

Hummingbird - Completed

Summary: What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Wedding Invitations - Miguel O'Hara x Reader

[pearlsinmyhair]

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: angst. lots of hurt, very little comfort. miguel is a hardass who pushes people away. death.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic.

the intention is for this to be multi-part. how many parts? idk.

word count: 1.3k

pt i : fate

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 

being a spider person was always unfair. mercy from whatever divine being that controlled their universes was hard to come by.

you were no exception.

your father died early, shot by a man who ran with someone’s purse. you didn’t know him well, you were only three after all. but your mother fought hard to teach you about him, to make sure you remembered some semblance of him.

and all was well for a time. you went to school, made some friends, started working for some extra cash under the table.

you were reaching up into your attic when the sharp sting of a spider bite zinged up from your hand. you killed it with a slap, but nothing could stop the venom that now traveled through your veins.

the rest was history: you became your universes one and only spider woman, learning her trade as she went.

the cannon event hit later, and it was different from the others.

you had no uncle to find dead on the street.

but you did have a mother.

she was working the late shift at the hospital when a spouse of a dead patient burst through the doors and demanded to see a doctor. apparently, the man wanted revenge for the hospitals failure to save his wife, and he had come to instill justice.

your mother had raised her hands and tried to plead for him to stop, to calm down, to lower his gun.

the shot made your spider-senses go haywire, and you practically flew to the trauma center. the security guards had no idea what to do, so you just ran past them to find your mother bleeding on the cold white tile.

it took everything in you to remember that behind your mask, no one knew you were this woman’s daughter, and you’d have to respond carefully. you watched as the officers called the next of kin, and you were thankful that you had had the mind to put your phone on silent that day.

no one noticed the tears streaming from your eyes behind the suit. you swung back home as fast as you could, answering your phone when they called you again.

pretending to not know what was going on was the second worst thing you had to do that day. you had to fight from chocking on tears as you answered the call.

eighteen and orphaned, standing over your mothers open casket. a part of you thanked that you were older, because it meant that you didn’t have to go into foster care. but nothing could truly quell your grief.

and then the universe decided to send you a big middle finger in the shape of a Doc Oc right after the funeral ended.

you knew that you couldn’t keep going like this. no one should process grief this fast. but as the villain sent a tidal wave through the streets of new york city you relized that you didn’t exactly have a choice.

with great power comes great responsibility.

and saving these people was your responsibility, no matter what mental state you were in.

this Doc Oc looked to be from some other dimension. instead of mechanical tentacles like that of your Doc Oc, he had real ones, and he apparently threw actual octopi at people when he was pissed off.

it was no easy task, and at one point he had thrown you against the wall and knocked your head. as your vision swam, he picked you up with one of his suctioned limbs and squeezed.

it all happened so fast.

a flash of orange and yellow swirling at the edge of your vision. orange silk shooting into your captors face. and then someone shot forward and sliced the tentacle that held you.

you sank to the ground as you caught your breath, vaguely hearing someone say “Lyla, run a diagnostic. what’s the best way to take this guy down?”

as you wheezed, a large hand rested against your shoulder, and a soft voice greeted your ears.

“Sit tight, kid. I’ll handle this.”

you didn’t have time to argue when the hand vanished, and you peered up just in time to see a large spider-man in a blue suit throwing himself at the villain.

you stood as you caught your breath, rushing right back into battle to help the man that had saved you. the Doc Oc dragged you both to the bay, sinking down into the water. it was advantageous for him, being a water dwelling creature, and you and the man struggled. it took another spider, a woman on a motor cycle, showing up to help defeat him.

but it was you who dealt the final blow, wrapping the villains limbs to a nearby pier to keep him underwater. when the pair of new spider people got him all tied up and prepared to take away, you just…collapsed.

everything came down on you at once. your exhaustion, your sadness, your loneliness. everything.

you barely heard the spider woman murmur to the brash man across from her, and it was only when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pick you up that you snapped back to reality.

but just as quickly as you zeroed in on the feeling, your brain whispered sleep in your ear, and you passed out.

₊ ⊹

you woke to a strange bare bedroom and an odd watch that flickered with light on your wrist. noticing the glass of water on the bedside table, you chugged it, coughing when you got too eager.

“You’re awake!”

you screamed, a small voice coming from right beside your head unexpectedly. you turned to see a small woman illuminated in the light from your watch.

“no need to be afraid. i’m lyla.”

lyla. that rang a bell.

“where am i?” you asked as you noticed the clothes folded in the corner of the room. you cast a sideways glance at the projection, and lyla turned to give you the illusion of privacy.

“miguel will answer all your questions. i’ve alerted him of your new condition.”

you slipped on the black sweatpants and top gratefully, relishing the feeling of soft cotton against your skin. as your hands moved over your body, you quickly noticed various cuts and bruises.

that’s right, i passed out.

“where is this miguel?” you asked as you studied the watch, noticing the flickering ‘EARTH-928’ across the screen.

almost immediately, little glowing footsteps were projected from the watch, making you whip your hand away from your face.

“i guess that’s my answer?” you asked lyla, and the woman nodded.

you sighed, figuring you might as well follow them.

fantastic survival skills from the one and only spider-woman.

well, you thought, not the one and only.

₊ ⊹

the man before you seemed almost nothing like he was when you were fighting Doc Oc.

he seemed…infinitely tired. his shoulders hunched, head ducked down. you supposed that you were distracted during the fight.

but his expression revealed much more than his body language. he had deep eye bags, and his cheeks were sunken in a way that expressed not just natural bone structure but also a lack of eating and sleeping properly.

miguel looked drained.

you were still processing what he had told you, about the cannon and the ‘Spider-Society’ and the ‘Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse.’

you had actually openly scoffed at that one, and he looked dejected by your reaction.

“but i can’t just send you home now. i’m pretty sure jess would actually web me for all eternity if i did.” he was saying, rubbing his brow.

“so what exactly am i doing here, then?” you asked, curious but hesitant.

he turned his back to you, looking forlornly at his screens.

“i’m going to train you.”

“why?” came your response, surprised and uncertain. you may have only known miguel for less than an hour, but you could already tell that taking on a young apprentice wasn’t exactly in his character.

he didn’t turn to you. he just kept looking at a picture of a young girl on one of his screens.

“because you remind me of someone.” he said quietly. then he looked at you, and you were struck with the amount of guilt and suffering that lived in his eyes.

“and because you remind me of myself. and i can’t let you become like me.”

masterlists | part ii

[lemmetreatya]

Change and Her Consorts — Miguel x Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: 13 Minutes. 13 minutes was all it took for Miguel to (metaphorically) loose everything. Getting back onto his feet wasn’t easy, especially when life was changing and all he felt was stuck. But once you come back into his life, Witty, Hot and everything in between, Miguel wonders that maybe it was the change in others he needed to witness first before he could even consider making change for himself.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

CONTENT: modern au, childhood friends, afab reader, mature themes of death, grief, mental health issues, slightly angsty, hurt/comfort, is it a comedy? it’s a comedy, fluff, smut, sex, male penetration, mating press, blowjob, protected sex, nice ending i promise!!, i wouldn’t say reader is oc but she has a character for definite, also miguel is very??? difficult in this and his character can also be classed as ooc but its modern au and he’s been through it so bare with

Miguel knew he had to change. 

Ever since he lost both his wife and kid to childbirth, it’d been so hard to piece things together again. 

It’s honestly all bullshit. Finally thinking things were going good for him just for life to chew him up and spit him out like a fleshy plum seed all within the space of 13 minutes felt dehumanising to say the least. It left him fist fighting Depression, backing liquor shots of Sorrow and occasionally sharing a bed with Anxiety. That would fuck anyone up mentally and emotionally — And it did that to Miguel for a long time. He’s just grateful he had a good enough support system to crutch him through to the other side. 

He sold the house he brought with his late wife and moved back in with his parents around eight months ago. That was a whole thing in itself. Left his job and hasn’t worked full-time since. He had a whole phase where he ‘no longer had anything to work for’ and therefore just…didn’t. 

His parents were nice about it for a bit. Said he always had a home under their roof and that he could use the money he got from the insurance payout and house to cruise by while he healed. But then after about 3 months of Miguel taking the absolute piss with being unemployed, heartbroken, undriven and essentially a‘bum’ (Jessica Drew’s exact words), he found work in the local dairy produce factory as the ‘Payroll Guy’. 

Despite none of this being his ideal picture of how life was supposed to look at this point of time, Miguel knew he had to change in order to survive. Having being so wrapped up within his own world, he knew that moving on in some capacity was his next step. Getting comfortable with the shell of a life he had now and the things he once knew were true would help with that.

The only issue is that Miguel forgot that others changed too. 

An oof leaves Miguel’s mouth as his stomach is suddenly burdened with a paper sack to it. He looks down at his mother, more than a foot shorter than him, who’s passing him a bag of coals. 

“I need this done.” She vaguely says. 

“For the grill?”

Miguel asks it as an inquisitive question but he’s implying it more as disbelief that he’s been asked. His mother catches on and therefore explains her reasoning.

“I wouldn’t usually (‘ask you’, she implies but doesn’t say) but your fathers quickly gone to the shop and we need to start putting things on the grill. People will be arriving any minute now.” She dusts her hands before already moving elsewhere within the garden. 

Miguel jogs the bag of coal in his arms and stagnantly turns his body in his mother’s direction; like a sunflower to the sun. 

“Then I don’t have to do it?” He tried. 

His mother gives him a quick look. It was sharp but she didn’t follow the intention through. 

“I would like to start grilling things soon.” She  stresses. 

Miguel doesn’t reply right away since he’s been told he needs to think before he speaks. And so he thinks, hard, about what his mother was asking him and then answers accordingly to how he thinks he should. 

“So I don’t have to put the coal in now?” He slowly enunciates.

“Ay, coño— Si! Si, Miguel! You have to put them in now, I’m telling you to put the charcoal in now! Vamos!” 

Miguel lets out a haggard sigh. 

He doesn’t like how he always get in trouble for these sort of things. He was bordering thirty and still had trouble depicting what his mother actually meant when she made implicit remarks. 

The doorbell rings and so Miguel’s mother is shooting off back inside to open up for the guests, all not before giving Miguel certain The Nike Slogan eyes and a jabbing finger point towards the barbecue.  

Begrudgingly, he gets a start on filling the bottom of the grill with sooty rocks. 

As he’s detaching the rack, Miguel can hear high pitched welcoming and multiple voices towards the front of the house. He faintly hears someone ask for him, followed by his mother directing them towards the backyard where he was. At that, Miguel groans. 

It’s not like he hated gatherings, but Miguel would definitely prefer a phone call or the occasional text message. Or just no communication at all. 

But to his avail, he had no way of avoiding this. His parents were adamant to host a casual cookout of some sort and they knew he had nothing better to do so by default he had to be present. There wasn’t even a reason for the function. Just Something about opening up the home and having more laughter flow through it. Sounds cliche but Miguel didn’t care much for laughter anymore. Not that he never laughed — there were some humorously dark memes either Peter or Jess would send him that were subjectively funny and occasionally earned a breathy snort out of him. But it was no question that joy was definitely void in his life. It was hard to look forward to things and the days seemed to drag on and lack meaning. 

No matter what way he looked at it, life was dull. There just wasn’t shit to be happy about. 

“Miggy!” 

Miguel perks up. 

He recognises that voice anywhere. 

He didn’t know you were coming but it definitely made sense for you to be here. His parents were making a bigger than usual deal out of this gathering so of course old faces would be present. 

Miguel hears your voice call him by that juvenile nickname over and over again as you venture throughout the house. It’d been well over a decade since he last saw you but he knows both your parents keep in touch. Because of that, he doesn’t immediately turn around to address you once you enter the garden because he’s not expecting much and he’s still trying to evenly set up the coal rocks at the bottom of the grill. 

“Miggy.” You say with perky tone. 

The man’s sighing as he brings his head up, dusting his hands and wiping the apple of his cheek with the smudge of his palm.

“Till this day, what’d I tell you about calling…me...” 

Miguel’s words are cut off short as soon as he turns to see you.  

He opens and closes his mouth several time but nothing comes out. He’s adamant he looks so stupid right now but his shock is so genuine that he doesn’t blame himself for the reaction. Honestly, awestruck didn’t even cover half of what he was. 

There you stood, in all your adulthood glory, a finer woman than he could have ever imagined you’d turn out to be. 

Nothing about you was the same to how it was over a decade ago yet it was all so classically you. Or, whatever that meant. He’s not sure. If you’d given him creative direction over what he’d envisioned mid-20s you to look like, he definitely wouldn’t have come up with this. 

Fuck, not like it matters what he thought. Why would anyone give him creative direction over anything? No, he’s not trying to say he wanted to control how you grew but he is saying whatever did, did a good job. 

Oh, Miguel hates trying to justify things to himself. He knew what he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it and it was pissing him off because this was all happening inside of his head and God, he probably looked crazy to you right now but he just couldn’t compute this change. 

To put it plainly: You were hot now.

A soft tinkly chuckle leaves your throat as you notice the man’s frozen reaction. 

“Hello to you too, Miguel. Everything okay out here?”

Miguel’s still freaking out mentally because man, even your laugh was the same but it was just so different and maturer and older and hot. 

You amusingly side eye him, no longer calling him Miggy and cautious of his behaviour. You take a few steps round the back of him which ultimately puts you outside of his vision and peripheral. You end up on the opposite side, hands on your hips and face curious as you inspect the barbecue. 

As soon as you’re out of his eyesight Miguel snaps out of the trance. His mind starts to catch him up to speed and he’s stuttering like crazy when he turns to you to try and explain himself. 

“I—Ee—I…yeah. I…I’m setting up some rocks. For the grill. Not…Not just any rocks, like actual— actual charcoal, coal rocks that you…that you light barbecues with and…yeah.” 

“I see.” Your tone is sarcastic, lightly teasing even, and Miguel has to curse himself for acting so lame. 

He blinks at you a few times (Hot.) before casting his eyes back to the grill (Not hot. Yet). He occupies himself with the task. 

“Of course. You know what coal is...” He mumbles the last bit to himself, a reminder that you weren’t an incompetent bristling teen anymore to whom he had to explain everything. 

Miguel spends the majority of the barbecue in your company. 

Not like he had much choice; you two were the only people around the same caliber. Everyone else was either middle aged, a couple, or a bustling child weaving between adult’s legs. 

Chatting to each other wasn’t all that bad. You both nursed several bottled drinks between you and straddled garden chairs towards the bottom of the yard as you caught up with each other’s lives. Whilst he would have preferred hulling up in his room, having someone new to talk to as opposed to the same two people was rejuvenating. 

Over the duration of your conversation, Miguel finds out that you’re a Data Analyst and it somehow makes him feel insecure about his crappy Payroll job. You however assure him that it was nothing to be ashamed of (“You’re a Finance Bro and I’m a Finance Girly. We go hand-in-hand!”). He also opens up about how he’s attending group therapy sessions — through which he met Peter and Jess. He also, speaks about Peter and Jess, but he quickly found out that apart from Peter and Jess, there wasn’t much else for him to talk about. 

But surprisingly it was enough for convo because you always had new discussions to talk through with him anyways. Some were silly, (“Come on, you’ve got to admit it! The Teletubbbies having kids is just weird.”) some were trivial (“Cats or Dogs? — And be honest!”) and others reminiscent (“Remember how we tried to build a secret hide out in this very tree?”).

Miguel also found out that you were single.

“I know you mentioned you’re doing therapy and stuff but…how are you holding up? Like, really holding up?”

An automatic groan leaves Miguel’s mouth. There it was — three hours into the conversation. The million dollar question. 

He hates gatherings and functions for this very reason. No matter how much people smiled in his general direction or pretended that they weren’t tiptoeing eggshells around him, they would always ask how he was in relation to That event in his life. 

Not like they cared. If they cared, they would go out of their way to ask him, routinely check up on him, and not just when he was conveniently in front of them. They only asked because they were aware of the situation. Aware of his misfortune. 

The guy who lost everything in 13 minutes. 

The survivor of a freak accident. 

Someone you’d pity from a far but thanked whoever that the situation never happened to you. 

For that reason alone Miguel always lied and said he was ‘fine’ or that he was ‘holding up okay’. They’d give him pitying eyes, tell him that ‘things will get better’ and then kept it pushing. Usually, when it came to these questions, Miguel’s automatic response is to lie. But there was just something about you; Changed yet The Same you, where Miguel felt that he owed the honest and naked truth to. 

“Honestly?” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m barely holding up at all. Everyday I feel like shit and if one day I surprisingly don’t, I know it’s a fluke and that I will definitely feel like shit tomorrow. It’s just a constant state of feeling off and never truly yourself.” 

There’s a slight pause. It’s comfortable. 

During that pause, you’re both privy to the music of party life. Chortling men, gossiping woman, squealing kids. It’s bittersweet because it kinda reminds Miguel of what he could have had. 

Taking a swig of your drink, you make a humming noise before you’re replying to his triad. 

“Damn. That’s rough, buddy.” 

Miguel snorts. 

Not because he likes how you’ve brushed off his miniature melancholy rant but because he gets the reference. Throughout the course of the barbecue, he thinks that’s one of his favourite things he’s noticed about you. 

You both fall into another comfortable silence, before you’re adding:

“You know, being a widow kinda suits you.” 

Maybe he spoke too soon about what his favourite thing about you was because now Miguel’s choking on his cider and wondering whether this too was a pop culture reference. 

“I— wha— you can’t just say that kinda shit!” He turns to you and exclaims.  

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. Not that I like what’s happened to you — Rest in Peace to them — but as in the reverence that’s come with the trauma? It suits you. It’s matured you.” 

You lull into another short pause but Miguel knows you weren’t finished. He also wonders if you’ve always been this harsh. 

“Not sure if you’re aware but you were a real tool growing up, Miguel. Utter pure, soft, sheltered muck. This whole thing? It’s pushed you to survive. Moulded you. Given you a bit of character building, if you like.”

Your voice is much more calmer but it doesn’t change the fact that you just landed him with the most self-dismantling piece of information he’s heard in a while. 

And yet it’s so bizarre because Miguel can’t help but find himself laughing. 

Not one of those nose snorts when the group chat send subjectively funny memes or when he watches silly animal videos on his phone. No, Miguel’s caving over, free arm clutching to his stomach as he lets out a hefty guffaw. It doesn’t last long though. After about several seconds he completely stops laughing and sits back up regularly. 

Initially, you think he was about to tell you it was all an act and what you said was in fact highly offensive. But it’s when he reverts back to his original position and continues to let out small huffs of laughter that you realise he’s just not used to reacting to things he finds extremely funny.  

Which you’re questioning because nothing you said was a joke, but anything to get the sad man to smile, right?

But alas, seeing as he found humour in what you said, you let out a dry accompaniment of a laugh. 

The two of you probably looked crazy, or at least drunk, as you each mildly chuckled away, weakly swaying side to side. When you both found it funny enough to stop laughing, Miguel spoke up first. 

“Character building…” He huffs before taking another swig of his cider. “Well, that’s one way to put it.” 

You turn your body in the man’s direction and he knows you have something profound to say. Miguel realises within some meta existence outside of himself that your company is oddly easy to keep. 

“How else can you view it?” You warmly reply. “That it was meant to be? That you simply have bad luck? I dunno but every other option is just too demeaning and lifeless to live by. With this explanation at least it gives you a reason to carry on.” 

Miguel nods solemnly with a pondering look on his face. 

“I never saw it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were grieving.”

There’s a pause but it’s not like the others you’ve shared so far. This silence was slightly uncomfortable, uncalled for even. Miguel didn’t mind it because he feels he’s already gone pass the point of feeling embarrassment with you but he could tell it put you in a compromising position. 

Looking over to him, your face vacates something undetectable. 

“And about that…” 

You softly clear your throat. Miguel is about to take another swing of his drink, but it’s when he sees a glint of something in your eyes, that he decides to slowly lower the bottle neck from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you. In all honesty I was around when it happened and definitely knew what was going on I just…I didn’t know how to approach you about it. We’d grown apart for a bit and it was just…it felt strange to give my condolences after being distant from you for so long.”

There’s a tingling sensation scratching at the cage of Miguel’s chest. 

He doesn’t know what the feeling is. All he knows is that he hasn’t felt it in awhile. But then again, Miguel hasn’t felt a lot of things in awhile so he’s not questioning what it is. But most of all, Miguel is surprised that he’s feeling things for once. He’s not sure if he wants to confront himself about them but he knows that they’re influencing his thought process. 

Miguel tries to take a sip of his drink, but suddenly the liquid felt foreign in his mouth and his throat seemed unwilling to gulp it down.  

He contemplates backwashing it back into the bottle but he’s suddenly subconscious about his image in front of you and how you perceive him. 

Weird. 

He forces the cider down. 

“It’s whatever. Shit happens.” He says while squeezing the edges of his lips clean. 

You make a noise of disagreeal. You used to make it all the time as a teen. Miguel wonders if you continued using it after all these years or if you just redeveloped the habit having being in his presence. He also notices how your chair seems to be a lot closer to his despite you never moving once. 

“I know.” You say with slow and downward enunciation. “But either way, I’m sorry. I should have done better by you.” 

You’re trying to stress something to him. He knows that now for sure but Miguel doesn’t know what you’re putting down or what he’s allowed to pick up. 

He watches over at you with firm determination to find out what you’re insinuating but once he sees the way your eyes reflect the fiery dances of ambers, oranges and borderline crimson reds, he turns his head forwards again and clears his throat.

“I hear it. I appreciate your honesty.”

 

Miguel doesn’t know how he got into this position. 

Actually, he does. He very clearly remembers how he asked you if you wanted to carry on talking inside, within his room specifically, and how he smooth talked you into getting on your knees.

But in all honesty, he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way (or maybe he did). Yeah, he may have walked up those stairs with his dick lurching colourfully within his pants at the insinuation, but his initial intentions was to give you a safer space to talk. He’s honest when he says his invitation was powered by a lot more than just pure unadulterated lust.

“Fuck…” He hisses once you scrape your bottom teeth ever so lightly against his shaft. 

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t think animalisticaly stuffing them in your hair will do him any good and he thinks a hand on the cheek is too intimate. All he can find appropriate is to splay his hands behind him and slightly lean back to watch you work. 

It’s almost alien seeing how your cheeks hollow over his cock and how your eyes fluttered shut as you manoeuvre your mouth up and down the length of his member, your hand helping you with what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Miguel doesn’t think there’s anything dehumanising about this.

He was so sure you were giving him the eyes back in the garden. And with the way your lips quipped to one side when he invited you into his room? Yeah, you were big people now. Adults. These sort of things weren’t like hushed secrets or tales of promiscuous old — these were You Either Do or Don’ts — and you both decided to Do. 

“I-I’m close.”

No, there was nothing dehumanising about having your now super hot (and single!) childhood friend suck your cock within your childhood bedroom whilst your parents backyard party went on just outside your window. 

Whether it felt right or not was for Later Miguel to worry about. 

Despite his heed, you were still working your mouth over his cock. Your lips were so prettily spaced around his girth — almost a perfect fit, and Miguel knows he could easily finish this way but he’s making an active decision not to. 

He wants to be mildly selfish and ask for more.  

“I-I said I’m…nrgh.” Miguel sits forward before laying a few fingers to your forehead. “I don’t want to finish like this.” 

You release Miguel’s cock from your mouth with a pop but you don’t leave him hanging dry. Your hand continues to stroke at his wet shaft and fuck, the way your lips glisten with your spit and his precum is legitimately going to push him off the edge, but he has to refrain himself.  

“How else did you plan on finishing?” You quip. 

Miguel seems to freeze as he gives you a look of expected understanding, and at first, he’s so sure you were going to make him spell it out but as predicted, you caught on quick and your eyes widen in realisation. 

“Oh.”

Your hand discontinues stroking Miguel’s cock and he mildly panics at your response. 

That didn’t seem like a good ‘oh’. Miguel doesn’t mean to be an enemy of his own progress but trust for him to end the day with a fractured friendship and blue balls. Suddenly, Miguels backpedalling on his initial stance of being selfish and getting what he wants. 

“We don’t have to. I—Only if it’s okay with you, if you’re comfortable with it.” 

“No. It’s fine.” Your tongue pokes out to swipe at your lips. Fuck. “Might as well get something out of this.” You quip. 

Miguel wonders whether he should have been cautious of how rusty his pipe game had gotten. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his late wife and even then, he stayed off of her most of her pregnancy. Either way, as he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, all he can think of is how forward you were with telling him about himself outside in the garden. 

It’s not like he was a masochist or into degradation, but there was something about the way you were so bold and open in highlighting his flaws despite the satellite silence for well over a decade.

“How’s this for maturity, huh? For character building?” He grunts into your ear. 

Okay, so maybe Miguel’s sex talk has gotten only a bit rustier, but with the way whimpering whines dribble from your lips, he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a promise string. He folds you into a deeper mating press, your feet cuddling his upper back and his body pressed against the warmth of your breasts. 

“M-Miggy.” You moan into his collarbone. 

The nickname causes an innate and deep annoyance to sprout from Miguel’s chest — so much so that he replies inadequately.  

“Shut up.” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices your stilling against his body and he immediately regrets his words. He however continues to fuck into you. 

“S-sorry. I di-didn’t me—“

“Miggy.” You moan again, this time with even more intentional lust and immediately he knows what you’re doing. 

“Don’t.”

His warning is solid, and inertly tinged with concern, because Miguel’s unsure how he’s supposed to look you in the eyes after this. You’re playing devious games, dangerous ones as you nail at his back.  

“T-t-touch me, Miggy.”

Now, you’re really testing his patience but also his limits because Miguel is taking everything in him not to go all out. 

And so he complies. Despite him knowing that it was going to rot at his brain for eons and eons to come, that he wasn’t going to be able to back away from this now that he’s had a taste, that he couldn’t go back to be being just Childhood Friends with you, he complies. 

One of Miguel’s hands reaches down between the both of you and once he wedges it close enough, he allows his thumb to swipe at the meat of your swollen clit. 

The mewl you let out is instant and makes Miguel’s dick hiccup inside of you and suddenly he’s seeing stars. Had you no concern for the party still very much going on? The possibility of someone hearing you? The issue of getting caught?! 

A devious grin finds its way onto Miguel’s lips and he’s pressing wet open mouth kisses just below your earlobe. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” He breathes. 

Quite frankly he’s lying through his teeth. 

There is nothing about this experience or your request or your wanton reaction that was dirty. It was all in fact very sexy, lucrative. Hot. Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every wet second of it. 

The man can’t help but look down and watch as he bounces his hips harder against your seeping cunt. White froth forms around the base of his dick and he can’t deny that the sight arouses him. 

“Is this who you really are, huh? All this time…all this time.” 

It’s implicit what he accuses that you’re so called hiding, as if you haven’t been transparent with him this whole time. A breathy laugh leaves your throat. 

“You’re…pro-projecting.” You mutter. 

All Miguel can moan in reply is: 

“I know.” 

It doesn’t take long after that before you’re cumming around Miguel’s dick and him into the wryly rubber of the condom. 

“Where do we go from here?”

Miguel is first to speak. 

The two of you have been chilling out in silence for the most of twenty minutes. He was kind enough to let you stay underneath his covers. You were comfortable as you used his bed as your own, scrolling through your phone with one hand underneath your head and your feet rubbing like cricket legs. There was enough room for both of you to lie under there but you said something about not wanting to touch him just after sex. 

Miguel deadpanned and then proceeded to call you things like spoilt and bratty in Spanish, but he still let you have your way. 

Now he was sat at the foot of his own bed (can you believe!), back against the wall as he idly played a game on his console. 

His phone had been buzzing all day; Peter and Jess ultimately amusing themselves in the group chat all whilst occasionally asking where Miguel was and whether the social interactions of the barbecue had killed him yet. He could respond now, but he’s saving the reveal of what went down till after you’re out of his hair. That way he can fanboy in the peace of his own company. 

But now that the two of you were silently sharing a space, Miguel is starting to wonder whether he wanted his own isolated company now so that he could think properly. It’s when he’s failed to complete a level for the fifth time in a row (because his minds occupied on you) that he decides to lower the controller and therefore ask you that question.

Your eyes continue to stay glued to your phone screen as you answer him. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” You mumble plainly. “Don’t have to put a name on anything.”

Miguel sighs loudly and he’s rubbing his face with both hands. His dramatics pass over you. 

“Fuck, no, no. I’m not doing that. It’s either we are or wes isn’t. I haven’t got the capacity for any of that situationship, fuck buddies, friends with benefits bullshit people’ve got going on.” 

Miguel is scared for himself once he says the words because it’s only after they tumble out his mouth that he realises they were kinda harsh — which, technically shouldn’t be a problem concerning that was this evening’s whole weird theme. 

But he feels even more afraid because as stupid as it sounds, he can’t lose you. Another staple in his life. Despite him only reconnecting with you for the past few hours or so, Miguel has grown very attached to you and would be an idiot to deny that you meant a lot to him. 

He couldn’t afford to lose you over one fuck. 

Either way, Miguel doesn’t regret those words. They were a direct reflection of how he felt, of what he was thinking whilst he was fucking into you not even half an hour ago. He knows that this one canon event has caused a split trajectory for the both of you. Miguel thinks whatever happens after this is just another testament to how life continuously deals him rubbish cards but he can’t figure out what’s worst: having to let go of a possibly good thing or deal with the change that will now inevitably come with the relationship. 

However you, clearly not as turmoiled as Miguel, slightly lower your phone screen from your face so that you could stare at the man. 

“Then ‘wes isn’t’ anything then. Simple as.” 

It was so obvious this was affecting Miguel internally because there’s that screw up face he does when he’s inadvertently tickled by something he’s heard. He use to do that a lot growing up. 

“How can you be so calm about this?” He asks. 

“Because it’s not that deep.” You shrug. 

Now Miguel’s leaning closer to you, voice seeming to seethe but as a clear defence mechanism. 

“Whaddyou mean it’s not that deep?!” He spits. 

Because he’s acting like this, you now have to lock your phone and place it down onto the bed so that you can give him your utmost attention. You’re even thinking to back track your earlier words about him having matured. It was obvious that he was still that same young boy who sought to always get what he wanted. 

In a weird sense, it was comforting. 

“Not in that way, dummy.”

You force yourself to sit up against his headboard, the blanket sliding down to expose your naked chest. 

“I didn’t see sex with you as casual, Miguel. It was definitely something. But I’m just… Mm. I don’t wanna say I’m not in a rush to label anything but, it’s you. Lil o’ Miggy from two doors down. There’s too much to us and who we are, how long we’ve known each other, how much we’ve experienced each other to let sex completely change that.” 

You can tell he wasn’t expecting your words because his face falls and his eyes widen. He’s so unaware of his facial expressions that it’s cute. 

With a huff of laughter you shake your head before slouching backwards even more. The way your eyes doll over him was surely a testament to your lack of will power when it came to him. Always has and always will be. 

“I love you but in a much bigger way than just platonically or romantically or sexually. You mean a lot to me and I’m grateful we were able to have that experience to strengthen that.” You say softly. 

Miguel finally closes his mouth. His eyes still bore holes into you but you can see his skin start to redden in the embarrassment from the chest upwards. 

You’d figure it’d be a lot for him to take in. Granted — because hearing your childhood friend say they loved you in a much larger capacity than anyone ever could — despite having not seen each other in years, straight after sex, was definitely something. And you figure that part of it was you trying to express to him that you really were sorry, so you realise your triad can almost be viewed as borderline manipulative, but you wasn’t lying.  

You loved the man in a bigger way than fathomably possible, and that was the truth. 

Finally coming to his senses, Miguel leans back against his bedroom wall again, picks up his controller and resumes to play his game. Initially, you think he’s taken your words the wrong way and misunderstood you, but then he starts mumbling something as he’s watching the screen with a hard stare and blotchy crimson skin. 

“That’s unfair.” He mumbles, the click of the controller working in between pauses. “You can’t tell me you love me whilst showing me your boobs. It’s cheating.” 

And you laugh, because what else can you do? As hard-headed and brash as he was in his earlier days, this was who Miguel was. It’s the first version of him you ever fell in love with and didn’t stop loving. It’s the version you’re carpingly in love with now.

Lifting up a corner of the duvet, you give the man permission to join you in his own bed.  

“Miggy, just get underneath the blanket and stop pouting at me.” You say, and he can’t but help instantly crawl over and dutifully comply. 

[inhan---inhan]

📝: https://hanoharao.postype.com/post/15709064

[jessamine-rose]

⋆⁺꒰ Nescit amor habere modum ꒱⁺⋆

"Love does not know how to keep within bounds." -Propertius

♡ Jessamine’s masterlist for Spider-Verse

♡ Italics for nsfw/ suggestive themes!!

"Since the loss of his family, Miguel O'Hara has avoided every Variant of his wife. Then he meets you, a special exception—a version of her whose salvation lies in his interference.”

♡ The Spider and the Fly - Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Variant! Darling (7.6k words)

♡ Classified Information - Yandere! Miguel's observation log (side story, 0.4k words)

♡ Sunset - Wife! Darling suspects her husband’s replacement (prologue, 3k words)

♡ Moonrise - Variant! Darling and LYLA during the events of ATSV (epilogue, 1.6k words)

♡ Letters to My Beloved - more from Miguel’s observation log (side story, 4.3k words)

♡ Lucia - Miguel x Variant! Darling’s own kid (epilogue, 0.4k words, features my OC)

♡ Author’s Note - fic details, writing process

✿ MIGUEL O'HARA ✿

♡ The Red Web of Fate - How does Yandere! Miguel pursue you when destiny is against him?

♡ Sunset - Yandere! Miguel x Wife! Darling from the collapsed dimension

♡ Alternative Uses - Miguel’s webs + bondage

♡ Miguel’s s/o wears his webs as accessories

✿ LYLA ✿

♡ Bestie/ Backstabber - how does LYLA assist Yandere! Miguel O’Hara?

✿ MIGUEL O'HARA ✿

♡ Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Darling - chibi doodles + my version of Miguel’s Darling

♡ Happy 1.8k followers!! - movie night <3

♡ Happy 1.9k followers!! - Selfies with LYLA

[shina913]

The Boyfriend Experience | PJM

The Boyfriend Experience: Jimin

The BFE: Masterlist

Pairing: Escort!Jimin x Virgin.Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: sex!work AU; fluff; smut

Warnings: legal sex work (in this AU); sex for hire; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; alcohol consumption; dirty talk; exhibitionism; clit play; breast/nipple play; heavy petting; oral sex (mutual); protected sex; orgasm denial; stamina!; multiple orgasms; (somewhat) rough sex but with aftercare

Word count: 9,132 words

Summary: 💬 By the time he knocked at the door, I was a bottle of wine deep. I answered sheepishly, gripping onto a nearly empty wine glass. He let me know that it’s everyone’s first time once and that there was no need to be nervous. I didn’t need to do anything I didn’t want to.

A/N: This was supposed to be posted by Jimin's birthday but I couldn't get my shit together and RL got in the way so ...here we are! Anyway, I kept flip-flopping on my ideas re: how to write the reader-insert character here so I hope this characterization works out fine.

A/N2: As in my other fics, I listen to a lot of music while I write. For this one in particular, I had my Miguel playlist going--specifically, the song, "Use Me." It also helped that I watched that Run BTS performance multiple times 🤣

A/N3: Also, I want to thank @internetjunkdrawer for beta'ing this, sending me suggestions, and just being my reliable Jimin consultant 😜 Thank you, @itdoesntmatterwhy as well for allowing me to run a couple ideas by you and making sure that this scenario was plausible and that OC wasn't a caricature or silly stereotype! 😘

‼️IMPORTANT: Although the narration will include Jimin's name, OC/Reader will not address him as so because she booked him under an assumed alias. Weird, I know but--let's just go with it 😉

“Crap!” You gasped after picking up the empty bottle of wine. You only intended to have a couple glasses–maybe three–to calm your nerves. Next thing you knew, you’d downed the whole thing.

Before you grab another one out of your kitchen, your apartment’s buzzer goes off making you jump. Even after drinking a whole bottle of wine, you were still edgy. Could anxiety burn off alcohol? Was that even possible?

You stood and attempted to take a step, but you almost lost your footing on wobbly legs. Welp...that certainly answered your question about the alcohol.

You shook your head, refocusing your vision and smoothed the creases on your dress before walking towards the intercom.

“H-hello?” You spoke nervously into the box.

“Hi, YN. It’s me.”

You were expecting a deep, husky, come-hither voice–like one that was made for phone sex. Instead, he sounded like a completely normal guy…a normal guy whom you were paying to have sex with you.

How did you even get to this point?

A couple years back, at an office holiday party, you had drunkenly confessed to your work-wife that you were a virgin. She was incredulous at first and thought that you were pulling her leg. But you told her, absolutely zero experience with dick.

Since then, she’s made it her mission to get you laid. Secretly trying to fix you up during happy hours or random nights out with her.

Once, you came very close to going all the way. You confessed to your date that you had never had sex before. From that point on, the dynamic turned for the worse. He treated it as a fetish and it ultimately put you off.

Needless to say, you stopped dating for a while. Until your friend asked you what you planned to do for your 30th birthday.

You hadn’t really thought about it since it was months away. You figured a nice dinner with your closest friends would suffice.

Why don’t you try this app?

It all started with a damn app. You thought it was another trash trend that she was trying to get you into. But this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill dating app.

An escort service?

There was no way you were paying anyone to have sex with you. It just sounded…wrong?

Out of curiosity, your friend let you browse through her app. She had recently become a member and was raving about her experience, following her most recent breakup with her boyfriend.

As you scrolled through, you had to admit that these guys were hot and promised discretion. But they came at a premium price.

After a week of thinking it through, you asked your friend to officially send a referral to the company. Days later, you heard back and received your own confirmation to access the app.

You browsed through it, then closed out of it. Browsed. Closed out. You did this several times for the next few weeks. It was almost part of your daily routine. There was one profile in particular that kept calling you back and this whole time, you’d been gathering up the courage to actually book him.

Finally, after a particularly difficult week, you opened the app again. You scrolled down to his profile and tapped on it. Unlike in the past where you’ve repeatedly chickened out after ogling at his photos, you finally click on the date-picker icon and zero-in on one particular day. By some stroke of luck, he was free. You took it as a sign–so you clicked on “book,” and a few minutes later, received a confirmation notice.

Your heart raced at the memory. You had many opportunities to cancel–but you didn’t. And tonight was the night. You release a deep breath, calming yourself down.

“Come on up!” You buzzed him right in.

You round the corner to your kitchen and discard your empty bottle then quickly check yourself in the mirror. You look slightly flushed and your pupils dilated…but it didn’t bother you. It was just the alcohol working itself through your veins.

Seconds later, you hear a knock on the door.

“It’s just a guy…calm down,” you mumble to yourself before grabbing the door handle.

“Hi there,” Jimin said with a small smile.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out.

The corners of his mouth quirked into a chuckle.

For a supposed casual night in, he was still dressed to impress. He wore a light gray suit and a white button-up without a tie.

Nope–this was no normal guy. The soft crinkle in his eyes that he had when he smiled was in stark contrast to the rest of his look. His hair was brushed to the side and those plush pink lips were like magnets that you were immediately drawn into.

“Will you invite me in?”

You shook your head. “O-of course,” you stammered. “Oh my god. Where are my manners?” You said in a slightly higher-than-normal octave. “Come on in!”

He walks–no–struts in and takes a quick look at your living room before turning back to face you.

“Can I give you a kiss on the cheek?”

It took you a second to realize that you were the only other person in the room and he was asking if he could kiss you on the cheek!

“Yes,” you answer meekly.

He smiled again, closed in on you and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You felt a little flutter in your belly and it made you smile.

“You smell nice. What’s that?”

“YSL…Black Opium.” You weren’t sure if it was sensual enough. Although you contemplated getting a Chanel sample or something a bit more spicy-smelling, you ended up going with your everyday perfume. Besides, you couldn’t stand any of those scents anyway.

He hummed. “I can smell the vanilla and coffee notes–sexy.”

You were surprised at his in-depth knowledge of women’s perfumes but your cheeks warmed up at the thought that he found it sexy.

“You can put your stuff over here,” you walked over to your dining area and pointed to one of the chairs.

“Thank you,” he responded politely as he set his bag down.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love one,” he replied.

You smiled and offered him a seat on your couch, urging him to help himself to some food.

“Uh–sorry I didn’t have dinner set up. I figured I’d ask you what you felt like eating rather than making assumptions. I have a charcuterie board, though?”

His eyes drift over to your coffee table where you had refreshments set out. “Wow, that’s nice of you. I’m honestly fine with whatever you like. I’m not picky,” he smiles.

He gestures towards your sofa “After you.” You smile nervously and walk back to the living room, where he follows close behind you.

“Do you prefer red or white?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’re drinking.”

Well…you had just downed a bottle of white before he got here so maybe it would be helpful to retrieve a fresh bottle if you were offering it.

While he settles on your couch, you excuse yourself to go into the kitchen to grab the bottle of white you had chilling in the fridge. After uncorking it, your eyes drift to the plain envelope that you had sitting on your countertop. You presumed it might be rude to have the money in plain sight sitting in the living room.

Cash in-hand, you return to the couch. He sat there with his jacket off, completely relaxed with his legs in a figure-four position, his arm draped across the back cushion.

Reaching for the bottle, he takes it from you and pours two glasses. You mouthed your thanks and proceed to the next order of business.

“Here’s uh–your…” You struggle to find a formal word for it, until you settle on, “Your compensation.” 

He reaches out for the envelope. “You mean, my fee?”

You grimaced. You were paying him for sex but you felt that he deserved some respect. “I just didn’t want to be too blunt about it,” you muttered.

“Nothing blunt about getting paid for a job, YN. And thank you,” he says after accepting the envelope and sets it aside. He reaches to pick up the glasses on the coffee table and hands one to you.

He raises his, inviting you to a toast. “Here’s to a night of fun.” You raise yours and clink it against his. “To a night of fun,” you echo before taking another healthy sip.

“Mm…Is that a vintage?” He comments on the wine, holding up his glass to the light. 

“It is. It was a good year. I have memberships at a couple different wineries. This one in particular is one of my favorites,” you divulged.

A smile ghosted his lips. “Soon to be mine, too.”

He took another sip and you followed with a longer swig.

An awkward silence falls. A few moments later, you shift in your seat and clear your throat to gather your nerves. “So…d-do we just get into it?”

He smiled warmly at you. “Why don’t we talk a bit more? Get comfortable, get to know each other. We don’t need to rush into it.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off too eager or anything,” you chuckle nervously. “It’s just that I’ve never done this before, so I don’t really know how this works.” 

His tone was sincere and reassuring. “That’s alright. And you have me until the next morning, so we can take our time.”

You blew out a sigh of relief after he reminded you of your booking. “Right.”

You could have booked him for just a couple hours, which was about the average time for an experience. But for your particular case, you thought it would take some more time.

“How was your day today?” The question seemed so mundane but it was casual and you could tell that he wanted to make you feel at ease.

“Fine. Good,” you gave him a small smile.

“And what was good about it?” His gaze was so unnerving. The look in his eyes had this odd combination of calm turbulence. It was a look that said, ‘I want to take good care of you…by nailing you to the mattress.’

You fluttered your eyelashes and giggled nervously. “To be honest with you, I spent half the day getting ready because I was really looking forward to tonight,” you finished with a whisper.

“Well, that makes both of us then,” he smiled before taking another sip of wine. “So tell me, what would you like to get out of this experience?”

You inwardly cringe. You had filled out the intake questionnaire and comments section. Wrote out fantasies and things you’d like to try. You didn’t really want to repeat all of that in front of him. “You read my profile, right,” you ask carefully.

“Yes, I did. But I would still like to hear it from you. Maybe you missed a few details or changed your mind since you filled out your profile.”

You thought about tip-toeing around it but Jimin didn’t seem the type to mince words. He looked like somebody who appreciated honesty.

You’d contemplated this date for weeks…maybe even months! It took you a while to actually pull the trigger on this and it was mostly because your birthday was closing in. Another year older, another year of an unremarkable, nonexistent sex life.

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders sheepishly. “Nope. Nothing’s changed…I just want to have sex,” you say quietly. “Pretty boring, I know.”

“There’s nothing boring about sex…at least, it shouldn’t be,” he interjects.

You mentally kick yourself for that ‘boring’ comment. Why did you book him if you thought it was going to be boring? You could have just gone to a bar and picked someone up or just slept with the mailroom guy at your office. That guy seemed like he could be really discreet, too.

But no…You did not want the mailroom guy. You wanted this experience to be special and memorable. People can think you were shallow for this but at this stage in your life, you wanted someone who not only knew what they were doing but one who was also far better-looking than any average guy at a bar…or a mailroom.

As soon as you came across his profile, he looked like the perfect guy who ticked all of your boxes.

“So…I hope you don’t mind but I’ve made a list. I’m a huge fan of efficiency and I want to be able to make the most of my time with you.”

His eyebrows lifted, his interest piqued. “Oh, nice. I like that.”

“I’m kind of a Type-A, so…” you trail off apologetically.

“I don’t mind,” he says softly.

After he assures you, you picked up your phone off the coffee table and pulled your notes app up on the screen. You peered up at him as he waited in anticipation. 

“Let’s hear it,” he coaxes.

You start to read off your list. “So…oral sex–you go down on me, and then I’ll go down on you. I read on your profile that you’re okay with that. Is that still accurate?”

He smiles and nods politely and urges you to continue rattling off activities you’d like to try during your booking.

“And there’s regular cowgirl and reverse cowgirl…definitely want to see what that’s about,” you muttered. “I also want to try doggy-style if…that’s what they still call it?”

“Last I checked, that still applied,” he smiled.

“Okay, great! And uhm…I also want to try standing sex? I’m a bit of a yoga enthusiast and I heard that’s sort of a must-try position?”

He grinned and nodded in affirmation. “That all sounds very achievable.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, okay! I was afraid that I didn’t book enough time for this.”

His eyes widened. He was perplexed but he didn't make it obvious to you. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Y-you mean you want to get through all of that…tonight?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer matter-of-factly. “I thought that we might as well knock out as much as we can because let’s face it, you’re a little expensive and I’m not sure if I would like to book another session,” you clarify.

While the overnight rate was cheaper than the hourly rate, what you were paying him still wasn't considered chunk change. You wanted to make the most of your experience and get your money’s worth.

He shifted in his seat. “I understand,” he says with a warm smile. “And we can try all of that but I want to make sure that you’re fully satisfied, not because you’re crossing out a to-do list.”

You sighed. “I just wanted to try a variety of things other than ‘missionary.’”

“There’s nothing wrong with ‘missionary’. If you take your time with foreplay and your partner knows how to position you properly to hit the right spots. You can get some good orgasms out of it.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh…” You responded in a slightly higher octave. 

“I can show you how good ‘missionary’ could be,” he said with a slight twitch of his brow.

“O-okay,” you stuttered with a voice unrecognizable as your own. “That’s…uh, okay. I can add that to the list,” you say shakily.

Silence falls between you two as you exchange tense gazes. He took another sip of his drink and you watched as his tongue licked off some errant droplets of wine that were on his lower lip.

“Was there more?” He queried with a soft smile.

You blinked furiously as the wine started to settle into your veins, making you speak before you thought about it. “I’m sorry, I was just a little distracted–you’re…really, really good-looking. And I-I just…I didn’t expect–” You halt your babbling. “Sorry. I’m…I’m…I’m just–”

“Hey,” he rests his hand on your knee quelling your anxiety, “Stop apologizing. It’s just us here and I get that you’re nervous but you don’t have to be. You can trust me, okay?”

You nodded at his reassurance.

“And thank you for the compliment. I think you’re beautiful,” he added.

You feel a slight flush on your cheeks, muttering your thanks, then exhale sharply to reset your thoughts. “How long have you been doing this kind of work?”

Really, though, what else would you talk to an escort about?

“A while now,” he answers simply.

“And…do you enjoy it?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” he responded with certainty. “I find it rewarding. A mutual fulfillment of pleasure.”

“Really?” You were skeptical. “You get pleasure from all of your clients?”

“Yes,” he answers confidently.

You found that hard to believe. A normal person can’t possibly be attracted to or get off on just anybody… “And you’ve never met anyone whom…you didn’t want to have sex with?”

He chuckled softly. “So far, that hasn’t happened to me.”

“Huh. That’s pretty unbelievable,” you remark before taking a gulp of your wine.

“You’d be surprised. When you have an innate desire to please your partner…” His fingers subtly brush your arm. “It fuels you…and you experience the same high.”

This piqued your curiosity even further. “And exactly how many–”

He shook his head and tutted. “Tonight should be all about us, YN. Just you and me. Nobody else.”

You nodded wordlessly. It was amazing how he had this silent, soft power to him. From the outset, he sure didn’t look like it at first. He seemed like someone you’d go see a chick-flick with at the movie theater, hold hands or share an ice cream sundae afterwards then he’d walk you home and end the night with a kiss on the cheek.

But the longer you sit here with him, you’re finding that he still looked like the type to go see that chick flick with you…except in this scenario, he’d be finger-fucking you in the back row, while you try your best to muffle your orgasmic moans. Then, he’d take you home and end the night by licking ice cream off your naked body.

Your chest heaved as you took in a deep breath at the thought of this man ravishing your body for the rest of the night.

“Are you alright?”

You gulped audibly. “Uh–y-yeah. Yes!” Your voice is shaky but you try not to make it obvious.

Unfortunately, your efforts fail because he still senses it.

He calmly takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table. You swallow hard when he scoots closer to you. His hands came up and pushed through your hair and brushed your cheeks with a gentleness.

Cupping your jaw and tilting your head up slightly, he asks, “May I?”

Ignoring the fluttering of nerves in your belly, you held his gaze. “Yes.”

He took your breath away with a kiss. His tongue traced the seam, then dipped inside, licking and teasing.

He lowered you against the couch’s headrest, your body flushed with his, moaning when he shifted to lie half over you. Your hands slid up and down his back, your leg lifting to hook over his hip. He caught your lower lip between his teeth and stroked the curve with the tip of his tongue, making you sigh.

He groaned in response…the sound was so erotic it made you wetter.

Your back arched as his hand crept beneath the hem of your dress and snaked upwards to squeeze your thigh under the material.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured against your mouth. He kissed his way following your jawline, then buried his face in your neck. “Do you like when I touch you?”

“Mm, yeah…hmm…” You moaned incoherently in response.

He continues to suckle on your neck, he pulls his hands from underneath your dress. It now traveled up your torso, where he gave your breast a gentle squeeze. He felt your nipple harden under your bra.

Things were escalating quicker than you had expected. If you didn’t take hold of your senses, you’d sooner pop your cherry on your couch. It wasn’t what you had envisioned for your ‘perfect night.’

“Hmm…my bedroom is uh, right around back there,” you utter softly.

He lifted his head. “It doesn’t have to be in the bedroom…” He planted a soft kiss on your chin, “…Or on a bed,” then darted his tongue in that notch at the base of your neck.

“So…you mean…h-here?” You squeaked.

“Yeah. Why not?” You hadn’t thought about having sex on the couch. And though it sounded appealing, you’d rather be comfortable.

“Uhm…I think I’d prefer the bed…if that’s okay with you?” You felt weird that you had to ask him about this. You hoped you hadn’t killed the mood.

“Of course, we can do that. Remember, it’s not about what I want. This night is all about you and I want you to fully enjoy yourself. So if it’s the bed you want, then…” He trails off and holds his hand out to you. You take it and you both walk towards the bedroom.

You weren’t exactly sure whether it was the alcohol, your nerves…him? All of the above? Either way, the path to your room felt much longer than it usually did.

Once in there, he sits you on the mattress and remains standing in front of you.

He slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watched him carefully, his mouth was lax, his eyes hooded. Anticipation has your stomach churning and your thighs clenching shut. 

With his final button unfastened, he closes in with his shirt draped open. You suddenly have the urge to run your tongue down his center.

As if reading your mind, he coaxes you. “Go ahead.”

With his permission you reach up and run your finger down his chest. While he looks down to follow your trail, he nudges his way between your thighs. You look up at his face and see his lips quirk at the edges and his eyes sparkle, the slight crinkling in the corners softening the moment’s intensity. 

He dips his head down. As your lips brush, only very lightly, your body giving way as he crawls over you. Your hands fly up to his hair making him growl his approval as he moves his hands to the base on your spine and urges your body closer to him.

His tongue licks into your mouth and your heartbeat spikes. His hands drift down your body, gripping your thighs, his hands sliding upward beneath the edges of your dress until his fingertips find the lace of your panties, making you gasp.

“Uh…w-wait.”

He immediately stops. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” you respond quickly.  “I…” you exhale sharply. “I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous. I’m in my head about it.”

He brushed your cheek gently. “Listen, if you’re not ready–”

“No, I am, it’s just…ugh,” you shut your eyes and groaned.

At this point, he rolls off you and sits up while you remain lying down, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Hey, come on. Talk to me,” he urges softly. “What are you feeling or thinking?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”

His eye brow creases in confusion. “Wasted my time?” he echoed. “H-how?”

You uncover your face and find the strength to sit up and meet his eyes. The beauty of this agreement was that you can terminate the experience at any point. Their business guaranteed satisfaction. And although you knew in your mind that he would no doubt satisfy you, you weren’t sure if you’d exactly satisfy him.

“I mean, you can definitely keep the money. I know that we had a deal and–”

“Is that what you really want? To terminate?”

“W-well…” you sighed with hesitation.

“Aren’t you attracted to me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m very attracted to you. You’re perfect!”

“Then why?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “I just…felt like doing something crazy,” you mumble.

“And do you do crazy things often?”

You shook your head vehemently. “Oh no, no. Very rarely.”

“So you consider yourself to be rational most of the time?”

You nodded softly.

“You said it yourself, you’re a Type-A so…this means that you thought about this very carefully. This wasn’t a decision that you took lightly. How long did you consider this before you decided to book me?”

You let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know…weeks? Maybe even months after I gained access to the app.”

He regards you intently. “Okay so…that means that you weren’t doing this on a whim. You thought about this carefully and decided that you want this. But…now that you have me, why won’t you take me?”

You shook your head. “It’s not you. It’s…” You let out a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know why this wouldn’t just come naturally to me. I’m a grown woman, not a teenager…this is just embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being a virgin.”

That was something you’d never added to any of your dating profiles in other apps but somehow, the promise of discretion and professionalism gave you a sense of security to divulge this on your Boyfriend Experience app.

You groan in frustration. “It’s just sex! I don’t know why I’m so torn up about this.”

“If it’s just sex that you want, why go through with this? Why hire me? You’re a beautiful woman and I’m sure at some point, someone’s propositioned you?”

“Yeah,” You sighed. “But…I guess…maybe this whole time, I’ve been searching for something specific. And I think, to make that happen, I probably have to pay for it.”

“Alright, well…you have me right here.”

“Exactly why are you still here? I just offered to pay you for the entire night for practically doing nothing.”

“I’m here because I find you interesting.”

“Interesting?” You chuckle incredulously. “Right…an almost 30-year old virgin is interesting.”

He shook his head softly. “I see that you’re conflicted about this. And to me, that’s interesting. I want to know why you feel this way.”

“Is this the first time you’ve ever met a woman who can’t make up her mind?”

“I’ve met women who can’t decide what entrée to order at a restaurant or what shoes would match their dress perfectly. But if at the end of the night, we end up in a bedroom together? They know what they want at that point.”

You hug your knees to your chest. “Honestly, I never really thought about it much until I realized that my 30th birthday was coming up. I don’t know about you but sometimes, a milestone like that puts things into perspective.”

“Because everyone else in the world has got such an exciting sexual roster?” He asks wryly.

You laughed. “No, it’s not that. I put off sex not because nobody ever caught my interest. It’s just that I’ve heard so many stories from my girlfriends and even a couple of my guy friends where they talk about their first times. Some of them have fond memories of it. Like, how special and romantic it was. And then you get stories of the ones who hated it because either they felt pressured, their partner blew their load too early, or that neither of them had any clue about what the hell they were doing.”

“That pretty much sounds like how most people’s first times are,” He chuckled. 

“But that’s just it, right? Why can’t mine be an experience that was completely enjoyable, memorable, and pleasurable? Is that an unrealistic expectation?”

“I think, if anything, that sounds very realistic and practical of you,” he says without a trace of judgment in his voice.

“Really? You don’t think it’s too idealistic? Or delusional?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I feel like everyone has some idealistic vision of how their first time would go. Doesn’t matter if you’re 16 or 36. You want to have good memories about it. You just want everything to go well.”

He wasn’t lying. It’s what you hoped your first time would be like. None of these awkward memories from when you were a teen or whenever your friends had lost their virginity.

Then he inhaled sharply. “I will say that most of us romanticize it too much. Like, the lighting has to be right with some music playing; or that you have to be in love with that person first and when you’re done, you cuddle until the sun comes up and then you’re going to be together forever.”

You laughed because when he came through your door, you had music playing, some candles, wine…You weren’t in love with him but you at least wanted to get the mood right for this moment.

“I’m not trying to be cynical or make fun of people who dream of that. Now that I’m,” he cleared his throat, “A bit more seasoned in that area. I think that as long as you feel some connection with that person and you’re doing it on your own terms, that’s what matters.”

“And you’re able to form a connection with all of your clients?”

“Of course.”

“Because you have to?” You thought you were finishing a sentence for him.

He exhaled quietly and smiled. “In my line of work, it’s all about choices. It’s what you choose to do. And whatever that choice is, you have to be in it, 100% because otherwise, what’s the point?”

“But you have off-days, I’m sure? Like, you wake up feeling like shit, not wanting to be this walking, talking fantasy for someone?”

He chuckled softly. “Who doesn’t have days like that? I’m still human. If I feel the need to take a break, I do. I turn the app off and then nobody can book me on those days. I can’t take care of my clients if I don’t take care of myself first.”

He then adds, “Also, we don’t want to make anybody feel as if they’re obliged to do anything…and in turn, clients can’t and don’t force us to do anything we don’t want to either. This is why we have these conversations, to have that fail-safe.”

“Hm,” you smirked. “That makes sense.”

You hesitate to ask and don’t want him to feel as if he’d wasted his time completely. “Would it be okay if we talked some more?”

“Of course,” he smiled warmly.

“I’ll get the wine then,” you remarked.

“Good idea.”

******

“What do you do when you’re not, you know, working as an escort? Do you have a day job?”

He leaned back against where his head rested–which was on your thighs, while you laid, curled up on your side, your elbow supporting your head. You didn’t mind the position. You were both completely comfortable.

In keeping with the spirit of comfort, you change out of your dress and into an oversized sleep-shirt over your carefully selected lingerie. You figured, in case things escalated again, you’d be prepared. He kept his shirt off–you weren’t exactly sure if he meant it as a way to entice you–which, let’s face it, you were practically drooling. But so far, he hasn’t made a move to pick up where you left off.

He sighed. “I used to have one, during my first couple years doing this. And then ultimately, it became too hard to keep up with all of these different schedules so I quit that and never looked back.”

You couldn’t imagine how challenging it would be for him to meet with clients and try to make it to a nine-to-five. And you figured that with what you were paying him, he certainly can afford it.

“Do you go out when you’re not working?”

“Nah, I’m sort of a recluse,” he laughed.

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No way!”

“I am. It may not seem like it but sometimes I just like chilling at home. I don’t sleep much when I’m working so I try to catch up on that when I’m off.”

“You don’t sleep much because…your clients keep you up?”

His eyes were tickled with amusement. “Not all the time,” he says. “I often have trouble sleeping when I’m working.”

“What do you do when you can’t sleep?” You wondered with curiosity.

“I work out or…watch TV late at night.”

“How much interesting TV could be on at like, 3 in the morning?”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised! I’ve developed a habit of watching people dig for gold in this random hole where they find the most random shit except actual gold,” he jested.

You laughed out loud.

“Seriously! They find random doorknobs from, like, the 17th century. Which, by the way, they actually hired and paid an expert to test and confirm the age. And I’m like–who the fuck cares about a rusty old doorknob? Where’s the gold? Seriously, it’s been over five years of this and at no point does anyone think, hmm…maybe there is no gold after all,” he ranted very passionately.

At this point, your elbow gives way while you collapse in giggles. 

******

You ended up ordering food to be delivered at your place. He put his shirt back on but left it unbuttoned. It was difficult not to get distracted by his tattoos or his chest, in general but you tried to keep your focus on the conversation.

For the next couple of hours, over takeout containers, you continued talking about the most random things, sharing appetizers and eating off each other’s plates. You laughed and made jokes as if you’d known each other for years. He was a great conversationalist and for the first time since he walked through your door, your nerves had settled.

He looked more relaxed as well and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. It must be difficult being in his shoes. Trying to keep up your interest in someone’s rambling stories about their life and all the while trying to seduce you into bed.

Now, he didn’t look like somebody intent on seducing you. He just looked like a normal guy. A normal guy whom you enjoyed having a conversation with.

After you put away your leftovers, you move back into the bedroom, and the conversation takes a slightly different turn. 

“Seriously though, why haven’t you had sex with anyone? I’m sure there’s no shortage of horny guys out there. Is it a purity thing?”

You laughed heartily. “God, no! No, no…” You shook your head in between giggles.

“And you’ve never had any experience with sex at all? No kissing, touching…what about masturbation?”

“Oh, pfftt,” you blew out a raspberry. “I said I was a virgin, not an innocent! I’ve dated before and it’s gone as far as heavy petting? But no legitimate penetration, so to speak.” 

He laughed and nodded at that. “Okay.”

“I’ll also have you know that I’ve invested in a very nice vibrator, since I’m a big girl and I can afford it now,” you both laughed. “And we have a really great relationship. In the end, we both know which of us feels used.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Ahh, so you’ve had an orgasm then?”

“Yes, I have,” you say simply. “Just…not with anybody.”

“I hope we can still rectify that tonight.”

His eyes glistened when they gazed at you. Though, not the same way they did when you both sat on the couch. There was a sincerity to that look–a sincere desire to give you what you need. A desire to please you.

A calm washes over you and you decide to try something.

“Could you please do me a favor?”

“Sure. Since you asked so nicely and if it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”

You hesitate for a beat. You figured he’d make up something on the spot but you needed a little boost of confidence. “Can you tell me…if…if you find me attractive?”

At this point, he sits up on the bed and moves closer to you.

Cupping your cheek, he runs his thumb gently across your lips. “You know, the moment you opened the door, the first thing I noticed was your mouth. When you talk, I just could not take my eyes off it.”

You feel a warm flutter within your chest. Afterwards, his lithe fingers drift lower to your neck, his fingers brushing over a specific spot. “I also noticed your freckle here. When you swallow, it draws my attention to this vein on your throat.” You swallow reflexively, earning you a small smile from him.

“And this here,” his thumb grazed the notch at the base of your neck, right between your clavicle. “Mm…I think it’s just sooo sexy,” he purred.

A shiver ran down your spine, making your breath hitch. You blink slowly, trying to stop your eyes from reflexively rolling to the back of your head. 

His hand traveled back up to your face, his finger brushing your ear. He was so close to you that you could hear his ragged breathing. He was as aroused as you were, his cock tenting under the sheets.

“So, to answer your question: yes, I find you very attractive,” he rasped slowly..

With that, you let out a small whine and practically attack his mouth. The sudden onslaught doesn’t seem to take him by surprise as if he had fully expected you to play into his trap. And you didn’t mind it one bit.

You sighed and he took advantage of the opening, dipping his tongue inside. His kiss was confident, skilled, and just the right amount of aggressive.

Pulling back to cradle your jaw, he looked into your eyes. He rubbed the tip of his nose against you, his hands sliding along your bare arms.

“Are you sure about this now?”

“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” you breathed out.

Jimin’s hands slid back up your shoulders and onto your throat, leaving a white-hot trail across your skin. Cradling your head, he tilts it back and seals his mouth over yours again.

He settled over you, his chest hot to the touch. He helps you push his shirt off him, dropping it to the floor. His ardent mouth moved down your throat, his hands pushing your bra up to palm your breasts through the sleep-shirt you put on since taking your dress off hours ago.

You lift off the mattress, struggling to rid yourself of your shirt, which he helps you with. Then, you reach back and unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side.

In an instant, he was back on you, lips wrapping around your nipple and suckling, his weight supported by one forearm on the mattress, his other hand pushing between your legs.

He cupped your clothed heat, his fingertip gliding over the material, grazing the seam of your cleft. His tongue flicked over your nipple, then sank his teeth into the hardened tip.

His hair tickled your skin as his open mouth slid over your cleavage, his chest expanding as he breathed you in, nuzzling and wallowing in your scent. He captured the tip of your other breast with hard, deep suction. The pleasure shot through you, your walls clenching in reflex.

He moved down your torso, licking and peppering kisses across your stomach. Once he gets past your waist, his shoulders force your legs wider until you feel his hot breath over your cleft. His nose pressed against the wet material, stroking you. He inhaled with a groan.

“You smell intoxicating.”

Jimin fiddled with your panties’ waistband, peering up at you for approval. You lifted your hips and gave a small wriggle. That was all he needed to pull the constricting material off. It was soaked through anyway.

“Did you wax?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Y-yeah. Why?”

“When? Today?”

This is a really odd time to ask about personal hygiene. You blinked a few times, “Uhm…like, three days ago?”

“Hm, good.”

“Okay, but what does waxing have–”

“Because, if it’s only been less than 24 hours, I can’t do this,” He held you open with his thumbs, and dragged his tongue over your clit. Your back arched with a cry, all your senses out the window. Tilting his head, he thrust his tongue into your opening, teasing and fucking it rhythmically.

”Is that good?” He paused to check on you.

“Ohh….ffffuckk…yes, it’s good,” You writhed with pleasure, your core clenching and releasing.

He smiled mischievously. “Alright, guess I’ll continue then.”

His lips were around your clit, sucking, tonguing it. He was eating you with an intensity that you were helpless against. The flesh between your legs was so swollen and sensitive, so vulnerable to his expert mouth.

When you feel yourself tipping close to the edge, you wrench yourself away from his hold.

“Wait, wait–n-not yet,” you breathed out.

He pauses his oral assault on you. “Were you close?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to cum just yet.”

He chuckled in confusion. “Oh-kay…” he dragged out.

You sat up and captured his mouth. You taste traces of you on his lips–it was incredibly arousing.

“I want you,” you moaned.

He gasps as you unfastened his pants, reached inside his boxer briefs and wrapped your hands around him. But he obliges, deepening your kiss further.

You shifted positions, until he was leaning against your headboard. You moved lower, sank to your knees, pulling his pants low enough to give you the access you needed.

He exhaled harshly. “YN, are you sure—”

You cut him off when your lips wrapped around the tip. He reached back, the whites of his knuckles showing how hard he gripped the lip of your headboard.

You held him in your hand and mouthed the plush head, sucking gently. The softness of his skin and his scent made you moan. You felt the vibration ripple through his entire body and heard a rough sound rumble in his chest.

You peered up at him and he touched your cheek. “Lick it.”

Aroused by the command, you fluttered your tongue across the underside and moaned with delight when he oozed with pre-cum. Fisting with one hand, you hollow your cheeks and draw rhythmically.

“Hmm…fuck yes…just like that.”

The erotic sounds he made and the way he slowly bucked his hips into your throat spurred you on. You were so turned on by his pleasure. His hands pushed into your hair, pulling and tugging at the roots, the twinge of pain making you greedier.

Your head bobbed as you pleasured him, his veins pulsing through the length of his cock. You released him with a pop. Tilting your head to the side, you slid the flat of your tongue up his length.

You were in complete awe of him as you watched his head fall back, fighting for breath.

You rested your hands on his hips, frantically working your lips and tongue, desperate for his climax. His balls were tightening, you cupped and tugged on them gently, making him gasp in pleasure.

“Ah, YN…stop.” His voice was a guttural rasp.

“Stop.” He dislodges your jaw from him, pulling you up to his level and gives you a swift kiss. “As much as I really, really want to keep fucking your mouth, I think we should take care of you first.”

You roll off him and he gets up off the bed. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a foil packet before pulling his pants and boxers off. You watch intently as he rolls the condom down his length.

You swallow roughly when he swiftly tugs at your ankles and positions your bottom at the edge of the bed.

“Just so we’re clear, you need to tell me at any point if you feel discomfort or there’s anything that you don’t like. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you respond firmly.

His fingers parted your folds and rubbed your clit in slow circles, making you moan. Finding that you were still soaked for him, he leans in, hooking your legs to his waist and lined himself up to your center.

“Try to relax, okay?” You nod.

“Ready?” he asks urgently. You nod again, because speech has evaded you at this point. 

He rips his hand from between your thighs and in one calculated movement, he moves his hands to your bottom and lifts you. Slowly, carefully, he pushed in, making you tense up instinctively.

Ow! Fucking hell!

This was not a vibrator or some other fake dick you’ve been used to. It was the real thing. The sensation was…different. 

Sweat misted his brow. “YN?” he pants. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

You inhale sharply. “Just…two seconds. I just need a few seconds.” You slowed your breathing, wrapping your legs around him tighter, adjusting to the mixture of pleasure and pain. You know he’s not even all of the way in. 

Your hands slip over his sweat drenched back as he holds still for a few moments, giving you time to adapt to the feeling. 

“Okay, keep going,” you assure him. He pants as he slowly withdraws from you, re-entering on a deliberate, steady thrust. This time he’s a little deeper and the fullness is making your head spin.

“Can you take more?” he asks urgently.

More? How much more is there?

You took some calming breaths. When you felt like you had a handle on it, you kiss him slowly, arching your back and pushing your breasts up to his chest. You thrust yourself upward, deepening the connection.

“YN, tell me you’re ready.” he breathes. 

“Yes, I’m ready.”

With your prompt, he extracts himself and drives back inside of you. You sigh, tilting your hips forward in acceptance as he moans in appreciation and repeats his swift thrusts, again and again.

The soreness from the stretch slowly fades with his steady rhythm. Before you knew it, you were bucking your hips against him greedily, but in sync with his movements.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes on a deep plunge. Your head lolls back against the mattress, lost in the pleasure of it all.

In one swift move, he pulls back and pounds into you. You cry out but not from the hurt. You’ve taken him to the hilt and loving every bit of it. You reach up behind him and grip his shoulders as he increases his thrusts, slamming into you, repeatedly hitting that sensitive cluster of nerves in you. You yelp in pleasure when he finds your lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth.

Slowly, you feel that familiar buildup of pressure within while he ate you out minutes ago. But right when you feel like you’re about to fall apart, he pauses his assault and pulls out of you.

The feeling of emptiness has left you confused and somewhat hazy. Distantly, you hear him grab a hold of your hand to pull you up off the mattress. 

“C’mere,” he beckons you off the bed–which, you weren’t even sure how you managed to support your own weight since your legs felt like jello.

He motions for you to stand in front of the wall.

“Keep your hands there,” he says, propping your hands up. You do as he says and he rewards you by planting a soft kiss on your shoulder. He positions himself behind you, gently urging your legs apart while his hands roam your front. He massages your breasts in his hands, making you gasp when he pinches and pulls on your overly sensitized nipples.

One of his hands slides down your torso and abdomen until it settles between your thighs. His fingers parted your lips, feeling around for your clit.

“Oh my god,” you choked out once he hit the target, making you lean your head back against him.

“Good?” His warm breath tickled the shell of your ear while he nipped at it.

“Hmm...yes,” you drawled while his fingers rubbed and circled your flesh. You couldn’t help but reach your hand back towards his nape to pull him closer to you. If he worked in a couple more circles around your clit, you swear, you could have exploded right then.

“Tell me what you want, YN,” he whispered in your ear.

“You…please,” you whined, grinding your groin to his touch.

“I’m here,” he answers. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you back in, please,” you begged pathetically before that delicious pressure in you deflates.

Lowering your hands from the wall, he adjusts your position while you jut your bottom out for him, pushing your back down slightly. His hands steadied you as he pulled your hips closer to him, opening yourself up so he could slide back in.

A low, broken cry escaped your mouth as he adjusted you at the right angle, taking your breath away when you felt him slide in deeper. The stretching was even more intense this way. It was unbearably arousing. If he ever allows you to cum tonight, you feel as if you’d shatter into a million pieces and never recover.

Your core trembled, clenching desperately around him. He made a rough sound, pulling out just a little before sliding back slowly. The tip of his cock massaged the bundle of nerves deep inside you that no premium-priced vibrator would ever reach.

Palms slipping and sliding restlessly against the walls, you moaned gutturally, repeatedly.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he said urgently. “Let me hear how much you like it.”

“Oh, fucckkkk…” Your legs shook violently on a particularly deep, measured stroke, your weight supported only by the wall and his hold on you.

You could do nothing but take what Jimin gave you, the rhythmic push and pull, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room–it was an incredibly dizzying environment.

One of his hands left your hip, and cupped your cheek, turning your face slightly back towards him, seizing your mouth and groaning into it while continuing to pound into you.

Everything in you goes rigid as that same all-too-familiar feeling threatens to spill out of you. 

Your breaths become more constricted. “Come on, baby. I know you’re close…” he said gruffly, sliding his other hand down to your center to tease your pulsing clit.

Finally, it became too much. You came with a breathless cry, shaking violently, your hands squeaking over the wall as your sweaty palms slipped. He keeps his firm hold on you and plunged deeper and harder, his fingers still on your clit, driving you insane. One orgasm rolled into another, your cunt rippling around his relentless thrusts.

You held onto him, trembling, tears pooling in your eyes. Raw moans spilled from him, making you so hot and slick that your body offered no resistance and instead welcomed his desperate need for his own climax.

His mouth twisted in a grimace of agonized bliss, his eyes losing their focus as his orgasm built. 

He came with a deep, hoarse growl, spurting so hard into the condom, you felt it. His whole body jerked hard, then shuddered. Over and over, heating you from the inside with thick washes.

He collapsed against you, his lungs heaving for breath.

******

“Are you okay?”

He laughed in response as he stood by your bathroom’s doorway. “You’re asking me? Shouldn’t I be asking you?”

“I’m good. Sore but otherwise, good,” you say calmly.

There it was again, that soft crinkle in his eye when he smiled. As if he didn’t just fuck you senselessly moments ago.

You pull the sheets back from the bed, where you sat and patted the empty space next to you, inviting him to get in.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a hint of hesitation. “I told you, I’m fine sleeping on the couch.” He was in a pair of sweats now and not much else.

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Now c’mon, get in.”

With your permission, he slid under the sheets and made himself comfortable next to you.

“Do you feel any different?”

You paused and thought carefully before you answered him. “You know what? I don’t,” you laughed. “I thought that some proverbial curtain would lift and things would look or feel differently but…no. I feel the same.”

He hummed noncommittally. “Hm…okay.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a testament to what we just did. And…that was pretty mind-blowingly euphoric back there.”

He laughed heartily. “Aw, c’mon, YN! Don’t fuck with me.”

“Well…too late for that now,” you countered wryly.

He doubles over as he’s in absolute stitches, making you laugh as much.

“I swear, I had to pick pieces of my brain off the floor. Is that normal for you?”

He sighed heavily after calming down. “I mean…” he shrugged. “You’re giving me too much credit.” Then his expression turns accusatory, “You told me you hadn’t done any sort of sexual activity with anyone. So, where’d you learn to suck dick like that?”

“Porn.” You say flatly.

He threw his head back in laughter. “Seriously?”

You scoffed. “What did I tell you? I’m a virgin, not an innocent.” Not gonna lie, you did do a bit of ‘research’ before tonight. True to your Type-A personality, you needed to know what you were getting yourself into. Unfortunately, you had to use an incognito browser and painfully to wade through dozens of pop-ups of erections and weird-ass shit before finding the more helpful videos.

“Well, shit,” he blew out a puff of air.

After a few beats of silence, he turns to you again. “Look, I know you had a list–”

You giggled. “Ugh, that seems so embarrassing now.”

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing to have goals.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you teased.

“I’m not patronizing you. Just saying, at least you have a good idea of what you want.”

“I guess, yeah.” You relented.

You glance at your phone’s clock then stare back at the ceiling. You had no idea how other partners would compare to him. Did you even want other partners? This would be a very expensive venture if you decide to keep this up with him.

Moments later, as you start to feel the fatigue settle in, you feel him brush your bare arm. You thought it was probably his insomnia keeping him up. “You know, we still have a few hours before our time is up.”

You turn to him, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “You have the energy to do that again?”

He shrugged. “I brought a few condoms, and…I’d really love to see that ass bounce again. Maybe with a reverse cowgirl?" As soon as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, you knew you were done for.

You were happy to indulge in Jimin a bit more. He ticked all of the boxes that you had on your list and even added a few more that had your mind melting from multiple orgasms by the end of your experience.

It was the perfect way to ring in your 30th birthday.

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @itdoesntmatterwhy @deepseavibez

[leisures-writes]

rey’s masterlist! [ last updated july 20th, 2023. ]

request info! — tba.

˗ˏˋ solo atsv fics´ˎ˗

escape [ y! peter b. parker x f! reader. ]

brief summary: peter loves you so much! he needs you to know, in every way, he loves you…

more tba…

˗ˏˋ atsv series ´ˎ˗

lust [ y! peter b. parker x f! reader x y! miguel o’hara. ] to be added — love prequel.

love [ y! peter b parker x f! reader x y! miguel o’hara ]

hate [ y! peter b. parker x f! reader x y! miguel o’hara. ] to be added — love sequel.

love series summary: in which you’re the only one for peter and miguel. a three part series that focus on their obsession from the start to the end.

˗ˏˋ solo jjk fics´ˎ˗

tba.

˗ˏˋ jjk series ´ˎ˗

tba.

˗ˏˋ solo hotd / got fics´ˎ˗

their prince. [ laena velaryon x m! oc x harwin strong. ] to be added — potential series.

brief summary: the mechanics of the westeros court meets the youngest son of the prince baelon targaryen and sister wife princess alyssa targaryen.

˗ˏˋ hotd / got series ´ˎ˗

tba.

˗ˏˋ solo genshin impact fics ´ˎ˗

tba.

˗ˏˋ genshin impact series ´ˎ˗

tba.

[vintagexherry]

"I saw mommy kissing santa!"

Miguel O' Hara x Wife!Reader

//Mentions of kissing, Suggestive, fluff, OC sibling of Gabriella

A/N: This is just to let out some stress, Might make a Nathan Bateman version of this if i feel like it

■■■

Miguel was in the living room, sitting on the couch tapping on the hologram screens, checking any report emails from the other spiders. Thankfully, the villains in other dimensions were probably in the christmas spirit since all the reports he gets are broken buildings or affirmations that a villain got sent back to its rightful dimension.

Curtains are drawn back to let the view of snow fall over and pile against the glass. The snow wasn't that heavy today since the next-door neighbour christmas lights are visible enough, although that doesn't mean he probably needs to shovel the driveway the next day.

"All things sorted Miguel, no anomaly in sight for the last one hour."

Miguel heard Lyla pop up and talk next to his shoulder.

"Alright, that's for today Lyla."

"Aight! Merry Christmas, Miguel!" With that cheery tone, she disappears in a flash. And with that, Miguel also turned off the screens and laid back on the couch with a heavy yet relaxed sigh.

Honestly, he doesn't remember the last time he actually enjoyed a holiday without getting called for action. The warmth of the fireplace with its crackling noises could even put him to sleep.

That is until he hears an echo of small feet trying (and failing) to be quiet and sneak up to him, not to mention the hushed giggles and whispers along with it.

He decides to entertain them, cus why not.

After a few seconds, two gremlins children tackle him from behind the couch, a pair of hands covering his eyes, and one tries to wrestle his arm as if it had a life of its own.

"Gahh! You got me!" Miguel exclaimed.

His children laugh and giggle as Miguel try to pry them by grabbing their pajamas as if there unruly kittens.

After a minute of wrestling, the kids' laughter died down to huffs for breath, and Miguel couldn't help but chuckle.

"Alright, you two, what got you so energetic today? You didn't drink any coffee, did you?" He swear, the last time the two had coffee, you and Miguel had to chase them around the house. As much as athletic Miguel is, he got his limits.

"Ew! Too bitter, " Gabriella says as she cuddles next to her dad.

"Psh as if you didn't drink some yesterday" Mateo accusingly points at Gabriella

"Your just jealous I drank more than you did!" Gabriella fights back

Miguel huffs a laugh, and as much he finds the fight funny, he's more curious what got the kids all energetic. Usually, they would be eager to help their mom, who is by now preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Alright, alright, break it up, you too. Santa already wrote you on the nice list. Don't make him change it."

With that, the kids succesfully stopped well.

Maybe too well...

Miguel looked down at them and saw them giving looks to each other as if their talking telepathically.

Weird.

"Something wrong?"

Mateo and Gabriella glanced up to Miguel and back at each other as if urging at least one of them to speak up.

Whatever they got going on telepathically, it seems like Gabriella won since Mateo gave a defeated sigh and looked at Miguel.

"Papa. You better not tell mama I told you this..."

"Alright...?"

Mateo looked at him and to Gabriella who gave an encouraging nod.

"Mama kissed santa last night."

What.

Wait...

Miguel tried holding his laugh, but before he could, he was already choking on his saliva and only choked and raspy laughs came out.

Mateo and Gabriella seemed confused at first but quickly faded to anger and determination.

"C'mon Papa, we really saw Mama kissing him while he was putting gifts under the tree!" Mateo exclaimed, determined to state and conclude his point.

"And I thought Santa only stopped for the cookies and milk." Gabriella added

And with it, Miguel snorted and laughed more. His stomach clenching from his laughter and his children unimpressed.

Oh kids....

If you only knew.

"Ok, ok...." Miguel said when he finally caught his breath.

He looked at Gabi and Mateo, who only looked at him in disappointing looks. (Which he tried not to laugh again)

Before he could speak again, the three of them heard your voice coming from the kitchen.

"Mat, Gabi! Dinner's ready, call your dad to come too!"

Gracias a Dios.

You were always there to save him perfectly.

He looked at the kids again and gave them a final look.

"Look, Your papa is gonna look at the cctv later at night and I'll see if mama really kissed santa."

And with that, the kids agreed to have mercy on him at least this night and headed straight to the dining room, excited for dinner.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"Amor, you can't believe what the kids told me today."

"Hm?" You were on the bed reading a book, and you looked up to Miguel, wearing a towel around his waist as he picked sweatpants to sleep.

"Is it something funny? I swore I heard you laugh just before dinner." You recalled the sound of his laughter filling the space as you cook.

"Well, that's because the kids accussed you of something, Mrs. O'Hara."

"Oh?" Your interest is now piqued, and you bookmarked your book and put it on the nightstand.

"Now tell me Mrs. O' Hara..."

Miguel slipped next to you, laying on his side, his head resting on his hand.

"... Is it true that at 11:42 pm. on Christmas Eve, you had gone out of your bedroom to kiss the one and only Santa Claus?" He smirked at your confused face.

What.

Wait....

You bit your lips to stifle your laughter.

Miguel smiled wider at your reaction, even chuckling along.

After gaining your breath and steadying your thoughts you speak up.

"Well, Mr. O'Hara, I can assure you that I would never do that and that Santa only stopped to drop presents and eat cookies and milk."

"Cookies and milk hm? What if..."

Suddenly, you felt his other hand slipping beneath your night dress.

Oh, now you see where this is going.

"What If...?" You inquired, making eye contact with him.

Miguel smiled

"What if.... Santa decided to stop by to taste something.... Sweeter? Hm?"

His hands were now playing at the hem of your underwear.

"Sweeter? If that's what Santa wants, I'll be glad to give him a taste." You smiled, feeling Miguel's fingers tug down your underwear.

"Don't mind if I do." Miguel smirked, and with that, he lifted himself up and took your underwear off fully, throwing it away randomly on the floor, you could even see the print of his dick just pressing agaist his sweatpants.

Safe to say, Miguel had to do breakfast tomorrow morning for the kids.

The End

[weebsinstash]

Something that has been on my mind throughout this whole Yandere! Miguel O’Hara, is the idea of a Spider-Girl Gabriella O’Hara in another reality that lost her dad in that reality, her canon event, that made her become Spider-Girl, and Miguel (Earth-928B) becoming a Yandere parent. He lost his baby girl once, he’s not going to loose her again.

The problem with that in of terms of like me writing is, I prefer when the focus of my stories is the reader insert character and that would kind of be basically sort of making an OC just about, but I've definitely thought about like, yandere Miguel and friends looking after a Reader who may be still growing up or, Miguel is in his 30s or 40s so even a Reader in their 20s can still be a sort of student with him (I'm 26 ok let me live, I'm still considered young right 🥺🥺🥺 I need to be someone's baby girl too 🥺🥺🥺)

I keep gravitating back to "Miguel who lost his wife and child x reader who was spiderwoman 2099 who lost her Miguel and child and both of you did the whole tried to replace my family thing" and also like, imagine Miguel bonding with you because you can relate to his experiences more personally and intimately than anyone else and one day a second Miguel shows up and unlike "the main one" MiguelDos DID have a version of you as a partner and he's trying to convince you to come home with him. Like imagine your Miguel is so incredibly attached and protective of you and he sees you're spending a suspicious amount of time with the new version of him and, yeah he's jealous, but he's worried about potential consequences so he goes to talk to you and before he can, you start first, "Miguel, the other you has to go, he wants me to try and break canon and go home with him and--"

Miguel just being absolutely furious (not with you, never you) because you've been through a horribly traumatic experience and it is so strong and brave that you're still going (he would know, he's doing the same thing too) and now some copycat asshole is trying to sway you? Take you away? Miguel hears you say "he thinks because I don't have a home universe anymore that I exist outside my own canon and that I could come to his home universe and he wants a baby" and Miguel just sees RED

Maybe he even starts checking security footage and he can see that like, yeah Miguel2 has some sort of genuine affection for you but it's obvious he is also loakey manipulating you, trying to get you drunk and in bed, getting you tipsy to try and convince you to come with him, shit could you imagine Miguel 1 bursting into his/your shared office to see Miguel 2 basically trying to peel your clothes off while you're barely coherent if not outright unconscious

He'll beat the bastard bloody is what he'll do. Miguel had definitely developed his own obsession for you but for some random loser to be actively trying to use your pain for his own benefit, to try and BREAK CANON and kill everyone just to be selfish? He knows wanting to, but he's glad you came to him, trusting him enough to look up at him with tears in your eyes, "please, I can't take him being here, he's saying too much, he wants too much from me" because he knows it hurts, he doesn't know what to do if a carbon copy of his wife showed up begging for his love (although the more time he spends with you, the less he finds himself thinking about her and more about you)

Reader 2099 being devastated because since she lives in Miguel's dimension now but isn't FROM there she doesn't really have any documentation so she can't even try and adopt. Miguel realizing that, hey, maybe that other him of his had a point, maybe there IS a purpose for you becoming attached to Nueva York. It's not like moving on after a canon event is inherently changing one. Since he's already lost his daughter, and can't take someone else's, could he... make his own? But what if it breaks canon somehow? But the more he thinks about ìt and the more he gets closer to you the more he wants a fat chubby little baby of his own so fucking bad and he's just about ready to take a leap of faith with you and test this theory out

But yeah like, apparently the Spiderman canon events typically happen as teenagers so I've also thought of,you know, Reader being where they are in the template, a bullied high school kid with social isolation and issues at home. Miguel just minding his own business when a little birdy/spider whispers in his ear that "the new kid he's been looking after needs some help" and he goes to see and you're just sniffling and crying with a black eye because there are bullies at school. Or even worse, your black eye is from some attempt at a relationship, and you brush it off "oh no, they just lost their temper, it's MY fault they got so mad" and Miguel knows you don't have proper parental figures and he essentially adopts you. Miguel being especially weak to a female teen Reader though because, gosh, he wonders what his daughter would be like at your age, would the two of you have been friends, it's almost like helping to raise you helps heal the trauma of losing his little girl.

You have a Spanish class you struggle with and you're shyly asking Miguel, just offhandedly, "hey as a bilingual speaker do you have any tips 🥺 I'm really struggling and I feel dumb" and suddenly here's 'Tio Miguel' to help you. Any Spiders from your age group think they can make a move on you, they're mistaken and greeted by a towering glowering fatherly figure, and god forbid if he finds an older man being creepy with you, he will all but throw them into traffic

God this man has infested my brain so bad, I'm literally taking a t break from weed for like a week so I can treat myself by going to the ATSV in theaters since I've been so stressed and money finally isn't as tight and. Hhhhh I want to see a pretty movie with hot people and good music on the big screen 😩🥵❤️ by all means keep bugging me with any ideas or questions or feedback about ideas because I'm getting lost in the yandere spiderverse sauce

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Four

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and injuries

Seven months later

This shit was getting old.

One of Doc Oc’s tentacles rammed into Miguel’s side, tossing him against a wall and leaving a crack in the concrete. She smiled in satisfaction, oblivious to the spider-venom blaster he’d stuck to the underside of the mechanical arm. With a quick chirp and blast of energy the arm was blown off. It landed with a pitiful twitch on the ground as electricity sparked through its circuitry.

“Let’s go!” Hobie whooped, slamming his fingers down the guitar strings with so much force Miguel was surprised they didn’t snap in two. 

Doc Oc screamed, blown backward by an eclectic spray of pink and purple newsprint. 

Three arms down, five more to go… or so they thought. 

New arms sprouted from their old stumps, flailing around for a brief moment before they shot out towards Hobie. 

He barely dodged the series of blows.

“Is that hammer space, bruv?!” 

Joder.

Hobie lept around the barren stage, launching battered amplifiers slathered in a dozen layers of stickers towards her. A stray limb punched through the drumset as Hobie spun out of the way. 

He gasped. The amps they could replace, but no one fucked with his instruments.

“Is it time to call for backup?” Lyla asked Miguel as Hobie gripped the neck of his guitar (the battle-safe one of course) and swung at Doc Oc’s head.

“Do not call for backup!” Miguel growled in annoyance. 

He could handle this.

“Yeah, I didn’t even ask you to come, mate!” Hobie yelled over the sound of Doc Oc sailing over the empty mosh pit and crashing into the guard rails. “I ain’t part of no band.”

“You literally just finished a concert three hours ago!” 

“That got nothing to do with you.”

Miguel groaned, ready to bash his head into the wrecked drum kit. 

No puedo más. No puedo más. He found himself thinking that a lot lately.

But as much as Hobie and Miguel liked to pretend they hated each other, they made a good team out in the field. They swung from the ceiling lights, electric blue and pink lights showering down on them in that crazed, photomontage way that tinged every part of Hobie’s world. It was enough to give Miguel a headache. 

The worst part about the multiverse is that there was no telling what kinds of powers and modifications existed out there. For example, Miguel didn’t know a Doc Oc existed that had lasers shoot out of their tentacles.

“I feel like it’s time to call for backup.” Lyla repeated, casually watching from the safety of her AI existence as Miguel’s webs were split in two and he took a sickening punch to the jaw. He shook his head, blinking away the dots in front of his eyes as he took a moment to rest in the comfort of his rubble sofa.

“Do not call Jess. She’s on maternity leave.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jess.” Lyla grinned mischeviously. 

Miguel narrowed his eyes, “No. Absolutely not.”

It was too soon, far too soon for him to drag you into a fight like this. 

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Hobie cried out from the confines of Doc Oc’s tentacles, squirming around and trying to use his head spikes to free himself.

“You weren’t saying that earlier!”

“THAT’S THE TOXIC MASCULINITY TALKING! YOU GOT TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH CHANGING YOUR OPINION AND ADMITTING YOUR FAU-”

A portal opened up stage left. 

Miles swung out first, black and red suit standing out like an ink stain.

“¡¿Alguien pidió ayuda?!” Miguel could hear his smug smile through the mask.

“You already called him!?” Miguel scowled and hopped onto his feet, sprinting to join the fight as Miles landed his first punch against Doc Oc. 

Relief flooded his system. He thought that-

“I actually called her.” Lyla said, pointing a finger with a grin.

Miguel’s heart skipped a beat.

You stepped through the portal, adjusted the gloves on your newly designed suit and teleported yourself onto Doc Oc’s back, casually blinking away any tentacles that got too close. 

You were absolutely buzzing with excitement. Nevermind that you were currently blinking across spacetime to avoid the lazers that left behind scorched scars on the grass. This was your first real mission outside of occasionally helping Miles with his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. And in Hobie’s dimension no less! Ever since you’d seen his unique color palette and design you’d been itching to see his world for yourself. Maybe you and Miles could take an impromptu field trip to the nearest museum afterwards.

“Lyla said you didn’t want to call me.” You said, happy with the way his eyes slightly widened beneath his mask. He coughed to clear his throat.

“You’re supposed to be at work.” Miguel said, tearing into Doc Oc’s tentacles with his forearm blades, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s summer break.” 

“You said you were teaching summer classes.” 

“I am! Only five kids are enrolled and he,” You tilted your head towards Miles, who waved back before he tore off an arm, "was the only one who could come to the Met field trip. Which you so rudely interrupted by the way.” The smile in your voice exposed the fact that you were quite ok with the interruption.

Miguel rolled his eyes half-heartedly, hoping you didn’t notice his restrained smile.  “Let’s just get the job done.”

And you did. 

Fighting a flesh-and-blood supervillain was a far cry from the simulations you’d fought at Spidey HQ where the only injury you could sustain was a blow to your pride when Lyla flashed the battle stats on the screen. Your training also didn’t account for the absolute chaos of working with a team. You nearly got in the way of one of Miles’s spider venom blasts and accidentally teleported onto Hobie’s back, throwing him off his rhythm long enough for a punch from Doc Oc to send you both crashing. Miguel had nearly lost his mind after that.

But after walking away from the fight with only a bruised jaw, cut upper arm, and a very disgruntled Doc Oc in tow, you were going to call your first real superhero outing a success.

“Sorry about earlier,” you said, extending a hand out to Hobie from where he groaned on the ground. He grabbed your arm and rolled onto his feet, shaking the dust off his jacket.

“Eh, it’s part of the learning.” He straightened his coat and reattached one of the pins he’d tucked safely away in his pocket, “Not bad for a first anomaly though.”

“Hmmmm, are we counting Spot?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

A shadow fell over your shoulder and you smirked, turning around on your heels to come face to face with Miguel. The fight was over, but somehow Miguel looked even more tense and irrate than before. Behind his back you saw Doc Oc yell and punch at the orange walls of her prison. 

“Are you here to say good job?” You teased.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice tight.

Hobie brushed past you, “I’m good, cheers.” he said, patting Miguel on the shoulder before heading over to where Miles stared in awe at the anomaly. You felt more than saw Miguel roll his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I know.” 

Hobie’s reply widened your smile. There was something glorious about seeing Miguel lose his cool. Normally you tried to get him to smile or laugh, but sometimes annoyance was an easier emotion to muster from him. It reminded you that beneath all that hard-won armour was a man just trying his best.

“I’m fine, Miguel.” You said. 

He gently tugged at the bottom of your mask and you took the hint, pulling it off entirely. Miguel’s frown deepened as he gently tucked a finger beneath your chin and turned your face to the side, eyes narrowed in on your swollen jaw. You tried not to blush under his watchful gaze. It really wasn’t a terrible injury, and with your enhanced healing it would fade within a day, but it stll felt like a gut punch to Miguel.

You were used to this kind of attention from him. The first two months after joining the Spider Society had been a pool of uncertainty that you’d flapped around in with little control - you’d been uncertain about your powers, the multiverse and your place in it, and your relationship with Miguel… especially your relationship with Miguel. 

His aloofness was only matched by his sincerity and once you’d forgiven him for what he’d done to Miles, you found him easy to like. His grouchiness and sarcasm pulled smiles from you as easily as water from a spring, and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that you were the only one who could make him laugh and crack through his walls. But there was always that itch in the back of your mind that told you he only cared because you looked like his wife, not because you’d both grown to know and care for each other. 

You tried not to think about it too often. 

It made moments like these harder to handle.

“Nada que no pueda manejar.” You said softly, pulling his hand away and towards the anomaly, “Now come on. This anomaly isn’t just going to hop dimensions on its own.” 

Miguel opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately relented, allowing you to lead him to where Hobie and Miles bent their heads towards one another, shooting jokes back and forth as easily as their webs.

Margo portaled in to help Miguel take Doc Oc to Earth-928 and you watched their retreating backs disappear with a blink before Hobie turned towards you and Miles, rubbing his hands together and pulling you both into his side.

“Now! Who’s ready to see some real art?”

______

“I can’t believe all the museums in your dimension are Koons-themed.” Miles said, slouching in his seat and looking positively disappointed.

“Why’d you think I took you to the back alleys, mate. Real art’s cheap.”

“Say that to my bank account after a trip to Blick.” You muttered, biting into your empanada with a groan of satisfaction.

You sat cross-legged on top of the bench, watching Margo’s cyber body split into two as the Go Home Machine whirred to life. Its metal claws clicked together, sounding like the chirping of birds as it spun its web around Doc Oc as she watched with no small amount of curiosity.

“You think you could ever do that?” Hobie asked, leaning against your shoulder and slinging his arm around you casually. 

You raised your eyebrow, “What, forcefully send a living person back to their home dimension?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“You try interdimensional travel without your fancy watch and tell me how easy it is.” You said with a grin, poking at his side until he squirmed away with a chuckle. You took the opportunity to steal a french fry from him.

“Alright, alright, stop. I think you could do it.”

The four of you watched as the Go Home Machine finished its kaleidoscopic work. Miguel always had a clinical view of the work he did and the machines he created. Whenever it was traveling to another world, or encountering a new being (Spider-Person or otherwise) the last thing on his mind was beauty or a fascination with the ways things were. That’s where you two differed the most. So while Miguel hardly ever stayed around to watch the Go Home Machine run its science-magic, you always craned your neck to catch glimpses of the worlds beyond Earth-928.

“I better check in with Miguel.” You said, hopping off the table once Doc Oc was safely back in her home universe.

Hobie, Miles, and Margo all shot each other a knowing look before you could notice. 

Now that school was out for the summer you found yourself spending more and more time on Earth-928, and after six months of training you could walk to Miguel’s lair from any part of the building with a blindfold on. The first few weeks you hadn’t been able to suppress the slight unease at entering the dark room where many of the captured anomalies would sneer at you like you were a meal to be hunted.

Now… not so much.

“You’re still here, Norm?” You asked, catching sight of the familiar gentleman who shrugged and smiled. He sat comfortably on the floor, purple hood and goggles abandoned beside him to expose his weathered face.

“Still here,” He repeated, “I suppose I’m not as high a priority to send home now that I’m not, you know, evil anymore.” He sighed, “I just can’t believe my luck. I leave an alternate universe and not even a year later I’m sucked into another one!” He chuckled.

“I’ll talk to Spider-Man about it.” 

“Peter?!” His eyes brightened at the possibility.

“Ummm…no. Sorry.” 

He nodded, shoulders deflating every so slightly, “Thanks anyway Spider-”

“Y/sh/n, actually.” Miles and Gwen had helped you come up with it.

“Well, thank you Y/sh/n.” He said and waved you on before he could steal more of your time.

“I told you it’s dangerous to talk to the anomalies.” Miguel said, eyes still trained on the screens as you blinked next to him. One day you’d manage to sneak up on him, but today was not that day. 

You frowned when you saw he was still wearing his mask. 

“Well you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” You said, bumping his shoulder with your own before climbing onto the empty space on his desk he subtly reserved for you.

Miguel stiffened and his fingers froze over the keys. It had taken you months to fully forgive him for all the terrible things he’d said and done to Miles - the things he may have said to you if you didn’t have his wife’s face… if you were just a regular anomaly.

“That’s not what I-.” 

“You also said Earth-199999’s Peter Parker took care of the Green Goblin. I think we’re fine.” 

He nodded and sighed. His eyes were killing him right now and even the faint flicking of the red-orange lights from the screens felt like blows to his skull. 

“He wants to go home.” You said and saw his eyes flicker to the anomaly on the screen, red and tired.

“I know. He’s scheduled to be sent back tonight. I promise.” 

You nodded with satisfaction and snapped your fingers, a pair of sunglasses blinking into the palm of your hand, “You should take a break. You’ve been working non-stop for over two days now.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“The multiverse is not going to shatter because you take a thirty-minute lunch break, Miguel.” 

He eyed you warily and shook his head, fingers flying across the touchpad like they were racing to win gold. 

He always did this. He always worked himself to the bone until you would find him red-eyed and slumped over the tabletop for one of his thirty-minute “power-naps.” 

“Lyla.” You called out. The woman appeared perched on your shoulders.

“You rang?”

“Can you please tell Miguel that the multiverse isn’t going to collapse before he does?” 

“Ooooh you said please. I like you.” Miguel muttered a few choice words under his breath, “The multiverse is holding steady. I’ll alert you if anything changes at all.” Lyla winked at you and disappeared. 

“Realmente necesito cambiar su código.” Miguel grumbled.

“¡Ni se te ocurra!”

Miguel tightened his lips but said nothing. You slid over to sit in front of him and pushed against his chest until he finally relented and sat down in the chair. He didn’t want to admit this, but the only reason he agreed to sit down was because he’d fractured two ribs in the fight, and you pressing against his chest hurt like a bitch.

“Did you really come all this way just to get me to rest?”

“Obviously.” You tossed the sunglasses into his lap along with the extra empanada you’d been carrying around the last half-hour. You hoped it was still warm, but then again, if it weren’t for you he probably wouldn’t have remembered to eat at all. 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Gracias.” 

“Solo cállate y come. Lo juro, es como si estuviera tratando de mantener viva una planta de interior. Una planta de interior muy obstinada.”

He tilted his head down, hiding his face as his mask disappeared. 

You held your breath, reaching out instinctively to hold his face in between your hands. Color rushed into his cheeks, emphasizing the dark, purple bruise that crawled its way up from his jawline to his cheek bone, the flesh around it swollen and warm when you carefully traced it with your finger. The bridge of his nose was similarly bruised, the strong slope of his nose tilted ever so slightly to the left. 

Miguel also stopped breathing, the pain hardly registering as he felt your eyes against his skin as physical and real as your hands.

You became all too aware of the closeness, the way he was looking at you. A familiar and malicious voice scratched the back of your mind - What are you to him? Who are you to him? Who is he really thinking about when he looks at you like that?

You let go of his face, your heart sinking in your chest.

“¿Qué te sucedió?” You murmured. His brown-red eyes were wide and soft.

He cleared his throat, disappointment gathering in his chest when you withdrew your hands, “I guess I should have called for backup sooner.” 

“Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m not-”

“Where else are you hurt? Y no te atrevas a mentirme.” 

Miguel melted under your fiery gaze. You weren’t one to show your anger - teaching teenagers had strengthened your patience - but Miguel had a special way of pushing your buttons, whether he knew it or not. 

“I may or may not have cracked a rib… or two.” 

“Miguel!” 

“I’ll heal!” 

“Estúpido, bastardo terco.” You muttered under your breath with no small measure of affection.

You reached over and gently pressed on his stomach, hearing him hiss in pain. He grabbed your arm to get you to stop, shame coloring his bruised cheek.

“I’ll be ok. I promise.” He whispered when you leaned down from your seat to inspect his jaw again. Any longer under your watchful gaze and he might just combust.

“I know you’ll be ok. I just…” Your lips tightened. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

You’d been in this situation before with Miguel a few times. It always ended with him promising to take better care of himself, holding to that promise for a few weeks, and then falling back into old, self-destructive habits. The others said he had gotten better about taking care of himself ever since you’d come into the picture, but you found that hard to believe. 

“I don’t like to see you hurt either.” He admitted, gently rubbing up and down your forearms. He eyed the tear in your suit, and the clean white bandage that peeked through. 

Who is he really thinking of?

You told that voice to shut up.

“So you can imagine how worried I get when I see you like this.” 

Miguel sighed, running his hands through his hair and mussing up the curls. He could imagine it all too well. Every time you left for your own dimension a knot of worry would sink in his chest like a boulder dropped into a lake, and it wouldn’t dissipate until the next time he saw you safe and whole. He flinched at the very thought of you sporting bruises and cracked bones like the ones he had - the scars he bore after years on the job.

“What would you have me do?” He asked, “I can’t just give this up.” 

“I’m not- No one is asking you to. I know you need to do this. But you don’t have to do it alone. You know any of the other Spider-People would be more than happy to help monitor things in the Spider-Verse.” 

“One - it’s the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. And two - the other Spider-People aren’t like me. They can’t do what I do.”

“You’re right, they’re a hell of a lot funnier” He scoffed, setting his jaw in a scowl that had pain flaring up the left side of his face. “And they don’t go around punching teenagers.”

“That was one time!” 

Your lips turned in a downward smile, trying to suppress your laughter at the indignant expression on his face. The scowl on his face slowly but surely loosened, twisting into a barely concealed smile.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered.

“Doing what?” You asked innocently.

“Getting me to smile and laugh. It hurts my ribs.” 

“All the more reason to get some rest, Miguel.” You said, ruffling his hair and gleaming with satisfaction when he finally allowed himself to smile. You plucked the sunglasses from his lap and placed them on his face, careful not to upset his healing nose.

How was it possible that he hated and loved the way you said his name so much? He knew you cared for him. The first two months had been tense and filled with questions of what you were to one another - A mistake? A bad memory? Husband and wife? It had been a time when every touch, glance, and hidden smile had been given with a measure of uncertainty and restraint.

Miguel didn’t feel that way anymore. When you messed up his hair and forced his hidden smile out into the open he just saw you. Not some version of his wife. Not someone he’d barely known. Not someone he’d lost. 

Just you.

“If I promise to take the night off to sleep and let Ben and LEGO Peter take care of it, would that satisfy you?” 

You hummed in thought, “How many hours of sleep are we talking about?” 

“Four.” 

“Seven.” You countered.

“Five.” 

“Deal.” You stuck out your hand, a wide grin on your face that Miguel matched when he shook your hand.

“What would I do without you?” He asked sarcastically.

You scoffed, “Shrivel up and die, probably.” 

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Author's note: Here's Chapter Four! Y/n is feeling some insecurity about her relationship with Miguel... I wonder if that will come up again in the next chapter 👀...........

As always, please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

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