#any gabriely

[sscarred-starss]

im so hot

(^ delusional)

[fellhellion]

interesting but also confusing to me that Conchata, Miguel and Gabriel all apparently still have/go by the O'Hara name even after the divorce, unless it's still about Conchata feeling ashamed about the fact she originally came from Downtown and not wanting any connection to who she was prior to leaving it, even it means being nominally tied to a terrible marriage??

[multishipper-baby]

Thinking about soulmate AUs for my OCs because I'm in a romantic mood rn

[xxgh0st0fy0uxx]

im gonna cry so hard i just saw a really good sallyface artist but i looked at their stuff closer and they ship sal + larry :/// im so upset why do people do this

[pedriscroquettes]

what are thots? xx

just some spicy head canons you can find some on my masterlist !

[greensagephase]

For Better or Worse - Part 1

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Your siblings are marrying in two weeks and as the best man and maid of honor, Miguel and you are dragged to the dance lessons for moral support despite disliking each other. There, you're forced to pretend to be a couple. Word Count: 3k Warnings: slightly suggestive comments from the dance instructor, so MDNI; reader speaks and understands Spanish; unnamed sister for reader; reader and Miguel are grumpy with each other, so don't expect any smooching, but there's tension, hehe A/N: this was supposed to be a simple thought based on a movie scene (vid below the cut) that turned into something longer (a blessing and a curse). Thank you for reading! Masterlist

Source: The Wedding Date (2005)

Your little sister, or not so little since she’s all grown up, found love and is now getting married to Gabriel O’Hara. You’re elated about them marrying, truly. Ever since your sister met Gabriel, you could tell they were made for each other. They’re both so sweet and kind, sometimes they remind you of Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley from Pride and Prejudice, too good for their own good.

They’re truly made for each other and you have to admit, Gabriel squeezed his way into your heart fairly quickly with how great he treats your sister, so it didn’t take long before you started to see him as part of the family.

But of course, a rose comes with its thorns. Or, in your case, your sister’s now fiancé, comes with a brother.

Miguel O’Hara.

You cannot stand the man.

And he cannot stand you.

That’s the one thing you have in common, the mutual dislike.

You finally met him and Gabriel’s parents when the relationship between your siblings became serious. You expected to like Gabriel’s family, and you did, everyone except Miguel. The two of you simply didn’t click. It was dislike at first sight.

Of course, you try to be polite to each other for the sake of your siblings, but when they’re not in sight, keeping an eye on either of you, your dislike is shown through scowls and narrowed eyes.

You try to stay clear from each other as much as possible, something that has become harder to do as your siblings’ relationship has turned more and more serious.

And now, the proximity will be unavoidable. Gabriel popped the question a year ago and that’s how you find yourself parked outside a dance studio, two weeks before the big day.

With you being your sister’s maid of honor and Miguel the groom’s best man, that means you’ve both been in each other’s presence more than usual to support the couple as they’ve gone through the wedding planning.

And that includes the freaking dance lessons.

As soon as everyone arrives, all four of you enter the building. Of course, Miguel and you avoid each other as you both quickly scan the place before your gazes find your siblings’ sheepish smiles towards the two of you. The sight immediately makes Miguel and you tense.

Those sheepish smiles are no good, you both know that too well. Those are the smiles of younger siblings about to ask something from you. Something neither of you are probably going to like.

“So… we asked you to come along today for moral support,” you sister starts, fidgeting with her hands.

“Because we really do need it but there’s another reason…” Gabriel adds, trailing off.

“What is it, Gabriel?” Miguel asks, his tone low with a hint of impatience.

“So… the instructor is a well known one in the community. They’re really good at what they do! It’s why we wanted to get lessons from her, but she had a tight schedule and it was looking like we almost didn’t get a spot. She said she’d only do it if we brought along another couple, unmarried if possible, but one that might potentially marry in the future. You know, as a way to get more business in the future…” Gabriel replies, offering a nervous smile.

“So, Gabri and I figured that…” your sister trails off.

Both Gabriel and your sister stare at you and Miguel, with hope in their eyes as their little plan sinks in.

“No way,” you say immediately, declining anything related to Miguel.

“Aw, please. It’s just a dance lesson. Just for today! Two hours at the most,” your sister tries.

“No.”

“You guys just need to act nice with each other, that’s all. Easy,” Gabriel says, shrugging as if he’s never ran into someone he didn’t like, which might actually be true. “I mean - we’re family now. Not officially, yet,” Gabriel adds giving his future wife a smile that shows pure love. “Very soon, just two more weeks and finally.”

Miguel and you watch, your siblings forgetting for about five seconds about death glares they’re receiving as of right now.

Yes, they’re really too good for their own good. Or, maybe they’re just using their younger sibling privilege and the fact that they’re in love to get their older siblings to give in.

At last, Gabriel turns again as if he just now realizes - or feels - the glares.

“We’re basically family now. You’re going to see each other more often, unless you plan on not attending any family gatherings from here on now, or making some rotating schedule on who gets to go when. It’s just a dance practice, please,” Gabriel pleads, trying to reason with you.

“Gabriel, no,” Miguel says annoyed, exasperated that he and your sister would even think about this considering the fact that neither he nor you like each other.

“Please, if you don’t, she might cancel the session, or charge us double, or something.”

“She can’t do that,” you say. “Can she?”

“Please,” Gabriel and your sister say in unison, something they do a lot, which kind of annoys you sometimes, to be honest.

“It’s not like we’re asking you to kiss. Just - act like a couple,” you sister says. “Please, just for today.”

Miguel and you are both about to tell your siblings why this is inadequate, but you only manage to open your mouths before a woman comes in with a too cheerful smile on her face, stopping you from proceeding. Her presence in the room suddenly shuts all debating, leaving no room for Miguel and you to reiterate that neither of you wish to do this.

“Wonderful! Two couples. My name is Lyla,” she says turning to Miguel and you. “I’m your dance instructor. Let’s not waste any time, yes? The wedding is in two weeks! We need to start working immediately. Everybody, on the floor, please. Let’s go, you two as well, don’t be shy now.” Lyla walks over, immediately pushing Miguel and you forward. “You can be shy in each other’s arms, let’s go.”

You briefly wonder how this woman has so much strength to push the two of you into the floor but that’s quickly forgotten as she continues to speak.

“There. Ah - I see our engaged couple is ready to go,” she comments, making Miguel and you turn to find your siblings already in position, ready to dance. “Let me get these two going, they’re sooooo shy,” Lyla comments with a soft smirk, motioning to Miguel and you.

You both scowl when you hear your siblings laugh, something that cuts their laughter short and turn away.

“Sir, you need to place your hand right here. On your woman’s waist, come on, I’m sure you’ve held her before,” Lyla instructs, grabbing his wrist and placing it on your waist, making it so that Miguel’s hand grips you. Unused to his touch, you squirm when you feel Miguel’s warm hand on you. You try backing away but Lyla only pushes you forward, into Miguel’s touch.

“My, you two are really shy,” she says as she takes your hand and places it on Miguel’s shoulder, allowing you to feel his broad muscles beneath his top. “You need to learn to embrace each other. It’s intimacy.” She pushes you both together now, forcing Miguel to take more steps towards you. Again, you question how much strength Lyla has to move you like straw dolls, especially a man like Miguel. Maybe you’re both so dumbfounded by this situation, your bodies are just doing as she says, pushing you into this abnormal situation. The only sense of normalcy comes from the glares Miguel and you are shooting at each other. “Dancing is like - making love, I’m sure you two know what I’m talking about,” Lyla says before her eyebrows shoot up, thinking of something. “Unless you’re waiting for marriage then… that’s a tough one, but I think you might have an idea of what I mean.” At that, Lyla grins at the two of you.

Miguel and you silently groan at the thought of you two making love, meanwhile Gabriel and your sister are laughing in the back. You turn and give them a glare, same from Miguel, shutting them up.

“I can see you’re both tense. There’s so much - so much tension between you,” Lyla says, hand on her chin as if contemplating something deeply. “It’s that kind of tension only found in the bedroom, you know? Hm… Alright, you’’l be the leader. That means you lead the dance, sir,” she says patting Miguel’s arm.

You turn at that because why does he get to lead you?

“Why does he lead?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Uhh - okay, I see it now,” Lyla says with a smile, as if everything makes sense now. “That’s why there’s so much tension. You’re both - very dominant. I suppose you’re both - you switch, right? You’re switches?”

“What?” Miguel says with knitted eyebrows and a slightly opened mouth due to the shock because there’s no way this lady just asked that, right?

“Excuse me?” you manage to say, equally appalled.

“You take turns,” Lyla explains. “On who is dominant In the bedroom. The question is who will be the dominant one on the dance floor.”

You turn to look at Miguel, brows knitted. Not only are you being forced to pretend to be his partner but now you’re apparently “switches” and fighting for who dominates who. It’s stupid, you know that, but this has turned into a competition of sorts, and there’s no way you’re letting Miguel O’Hara lead you, even if it’s pretend.

“I assure you, it’ll be me. Just like how it is in the bedroom,” you state which earns you a squeeze from Miguel’s hand on your waist.

“We both know that’s not the case, amor [love],” Miguel replies through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lyla pipes in between you, amused. “I love your energy, though. Alright, time to dance!”

You exhale heavily. Just why did your sister have to drag you into this? Oh right, you’re her maid of honor and the man with his hand on your waist right now is the best man.

You’re stuck in this situation now, whether you like it or not. So, Miguel and you stand like two stiff boards against each other, meanwhile your younger siblings are in another dimension of rainbows and love. They already forgot about their older siblings since they got away with their little plan.

You sigh again and turn to face Miguel, standing in front of each other, like two statues. As the minutes have ticked by with Lyla’s talk about intimacy and dominance, your fingers are now interlaced, though neither of you have noticed yet.

“Just dance, guys. I want to see what I’m working with here,” Lyla says, hands on her hips as she watches the scene in front of her, music playing in the background now.

Stiffly, Miguel and you begin to move, taking steps side by side for a good minute or so before you look up at him. Staring at hm, you notice he seems… tense. Despite yourself, you can’t help but poke fun at him.

“¿Qué pasa, Miguel? ¿Tienes dos pies izquierdos? [What's up, Miguel? You have two left feet?]” You ask mockingly, which earns yourself a half scowl because Lyla is watching you.

Miguel grips your fingers and waist as you continue to dance. You still have a soft smirk on your face, satisfied with Miguel’s annoyance when suddenly, you’re tripping over his foot. Your breath hitches as you feel yourself falling but before that happens, you feel Miguel’s wrapped arm around your waist tighten, catching you. To further annoy you, he expertly uses his other hand and maneuvers you so that your back is leaning on his arm now, with you looking up at him as he leans down. For about three or four seconds, his dark eyes bore into yours before he spins you back to face him correctly.

Annoyed, you return the gesture and slam your foot on his, causing him to grimace in pain. Holding your hand, he pushes you back with a scowl before pulling you back harshly.

“Para tu información, princesa, sé bailar [for your information, little princess, I know how to dance],” he murmurs, staring down at you.

“Hm, I wonder where from? You never dance at parties.”

“And you do? All you do is sit at the table like you’re too good to accept any man’s offer for a dance,” Miguel replies as you move across the dance floor.

Somewhere, your siblings are already receiving help from Lyla, who’s instructing them on proper hand placement.

“And you? You stand around with the other men, talking about God knows what.”

“Women, of course,” Miguel sarcastically replies as he spins you around before bringing you back to him. “We talk about the women dancing and the ones who don’t, either because they’re too shy to dance, or just snobs, como tu… comprenderas [like you... understand, comprehend].”

You scoff. “Is that them, or your personal opinion of me?” you ask, pulling back from him, hands still joined.

Miguel snickers and pulls you back, your chest slamming right into his. You scowl in response. “Quiero decirte algo [I want to tell you something].” He spins you around again. “We are going to make this work.”

“Make what work?”

“This,” Miguel says as he pulls you back in. He stares at you while you keep dancing. “I’m not going to miss out on my brother’s life. Gabriel and I are close, always have been. I have no intentions of stepping out and missing out on his life, him building a life with your sister.” He turns you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms crossed over your body, as if keeping you locked in them to ensure you’ll listen clearly. “I’m going to be there, at every family gathering. If they have children, you better bet I’m going to be there at every birthday party, or soccer game. So, I want you to know that right now. We’re either going to make this work, or you’ll be missing out, because I’m not stepping out.”

You scoff again, and to his great annoyance and astonishment, free yourself from his arms to face him once more. You place a hand on his chest, leading him back.

“I have no intentions of missing out, O’Hara. Don’t even think about it. Being part of my sister’s life heavily outweighs the annoyance of seeing your unpleasant face.”

Miguel scoffs and wraps his large hand around your wrist before he pulls you forward, your faces mere inches from each other.

“Unpleasant face? You must be blind, princesita [little princess]. Maybe I ought to take you somewhere to get those pretty eyes checked if that’s how you see my face,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

You snort and pull back. “You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, O’Hara, but I digress. I’m going to be part of my sister’s life, too. So, get used to it.”

Miguel smirks, pulling you right back against his chest. “For better or worse, we'll tolerate each other. For them,” he murmurs, staring right into your eyes.

“For them,” you agree, meeting his gaze.

For the first time, you really look into his eyes. You’ve never been quite this close to the man, not enough to appreciate their color - a deep brown with a slight maroon undertone. You see the gentle wrinkles under his eyes and forehead, probably from his job as the CEO from some company you've never bothered to learn the name of. A quick peek at his slightly parted mouth allows you to really notice the plump lips. You’ve never noticed it before, but one side of his upper lip is higher than the other, adding to the full lips. You even manage to notice a crooked tooth at the front of his teeth, something that makes you pause internally for some reason.

In a society worried all about looks, Miguel hasn't had that fixed. You glance back into Miguel's eyes but his are somewhere else, somewhere around your mouth. You don’t have enough time to question why his eyes are there though.

His eyes meet yours again, his throat showing a visible gulp as the image of your lips flashes in his head. Staring at your eyes, he once again takes notice of your eye color and the way your eyelashes frame your eyes, something he’s noticed before.

“That!”

Miguel and you instantly pull away, releasing each other. Lyla quickly approaches you, smiling.

“That's the look I was hoping for,” she says. “A look of pure passion, tension, sexiness… love” she says, giddily. “That’s the way to dance! Oh, I have no doubt you two will know exactly how to dance when your wedding date comes. I have seen enough. Take five while I revisit my initial plan, our engaged couple needs a little more help than you two,” Lyla says giving you both a wink. “There’s a lot of love there but they can’t dance to save their lives, unlike you two. If you want to take a seat and just talk, you lovebirds.” Lyla nods and heads off to your siblings, immediately laying out what needs work.

Miguel and you stand side by side, watching in silence for a few seconds before Miguel breaks the silence.

“I need to make - a work call. I’ll be outside while they get finished,” he says, pulling out his cell phone.

“Sure, you go and do that,” you reply, staring at the other three people, not sparing Miguel a glance.

He faces you, watching you for a few seconds as if expecting you to say anything else, or maybe waiting for you to face him, but you never do.

“Great,” he mutters before he walks away. A few seconds later you hear the studio’s door close.

You sigh heavily. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath. He’s so annoying, so - You do a little head shake, clearing your mind. You’ve both agreed to tolerate each other for the sake of your siblings - to be part of their lives.

“For better or worse,” you murmur to yourself.

Next Part

A/N: Leaving it open-ended because this was only supposed to be a blurb and then I kept going! Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this!! <33

Edit: This became a short fic 💀

Alondra❤️

[miguelhugger2099]

Punk!Miguel who’s proud of his tattoos. At least most of them. He has some professionally done and others were stick and pokes from when him and Gabriel were younger.

Punk!Miguel who watches you with a smile when you touch up and down his arm. He hides the shivers down his spine when your perfectly manicured pink and green nails rake across the art decorated on him.

“What’s this one?” You poke at a terrible done smiley face, it was a little blobbed but barely noticeable with the much nicer ones done around it.

“One of the first tries my brother did on me when he was starting out.”

“And you kept it?” You tilt your head with a scrunch of your nose. Miguel laughs.

“Sentimental value.”

You scoff. “No way.”

“Yeah, way.” He takes your hands and pulls you closer, lugging you forward onto his lap where you belonged. Getting yourself comfortable you placed your hands on his chest.

“Are you just gonna have them on your arms?” You ask, tugging down his shirt for a peek at any new ones. Miguel smirks and stops your peeking by tsking and shaking his head—a knowing look on his face.

“Course not but tattoos cost money, babe.”

“You should get one of me.” You pout your lips, crossing your arms that makes you seem snobbish.

“What? Like get one of your face?” He laughs and leans back on his hands.

“No! Like—I dunno! Something sentimental about…me?” You look away, feeling the prickling embarrassment crawling up your neck. “Never mind!”

“Oh, so you want to be on my body, huh?” He teases, taking your hand and sliding it under his tank top to feel his warm stomach, faint dips of abs.

“You know what I mean!” You whine, feeling frozen with him holding your hand in place. He can’t help but find you adorable. Letting go of your hand to come around your waist as he leans up again, one hand coming down to cup your ass. He swallows your squeak with a kiss, unable to stop himself from biting into your sweetness.

Punk!Miguel who—even if he teased you about it—actually adored the idea of having a tattoo of you on him.

Punk!Miguel who thought day and night of what could represent you. Flowers he felt was done often, your name was cute but basic and anything else could very well be mistaken for something else. He wanted something that was obviously you.

Punk!Miguel who was rearranging his room again, bustling through various boxes for some spring cleaning.

Punk!Miguel who found his box of memories from when you two first began dating. It had been filled with all your gifts and letters you’d given him—every last piece saved securely in the corner of his room.

He smiles as he opens the box up again. Some pieces of papers falling out and the little broken keychain you got to match with him until it snapped when he accidentally sat on it.

He sits at his desk, flipping through the pages and tiny plushies you’ve given him. His heart swelling at the swirls in your writing with blue ink—the bunny pen you always wrote with.

The smile on his face continues as he reads through your words of love for him—words that you often found too difficult to say. He slams his forehead on the desk, blush coating his cheeks and ears while he groans loudly.

Each letter you’d given him ended with a print of your kiss mark at the very bottom. Some of it was a matte red, others was a faint glitter stain, but most of it was a soft pinkish color. The kind that was glossy and gave you just enough color that it looked tinted and natural.

His finger grazes the mark, an idea popping in his head.

Punk!Miguel who goes to a tattoo shop he was very well acquainted with, with an artist he knew extra well.

He slams his arm on the counter where a man was behind it, sucking on a lollipop and doodling in his sketchbook. The guy raises an annoyed brow.

“Do you have any space open for a walk-in client?” Miguel asks with a smirk.

“I don’t have space for annoying ones.” He sighs and puts his drawing pad away.

“I have money this time, Gabri. Plus, family discount.”

Punk!Miguel who is both afraid and excited to show you what he’s done to himself. He feels his heart hammering while he preps himself to show you. He’d done the aftercare as precisely as possible, taking extra care of it because this was no ordinary tattoo.

Punk!Miguel that lets you take off his shirt when he tells you he’s gotten a tattoo of you.

Punk!Miguel who smiles with amusement when you gasp and hit his arm that you were joking before! That tattooing is a permanent thing! He tells you that he knows.

His heart stills when you eyes land on his chest. On his left side, where his heart would be was your kiss mark. Just like the ones you left on the letters you used to give him.

You touch your lips subconsciously, your other set of fingers hovering over his lifted skin. You look up for permission and he nods, brining himself closer.

You marvel at the piece of work that replicated your lips. “Oh, Miguel…” You sigh, blinking back tears.

“Are you getting emotional?”

“No!”

He brings you to his chest in a tight hug, your hand still resting beside your kiss mark now permanently etched on his person—a permanent reminder that he is yours and that he loves you.

[arachnoia]

guilty pleasure | miguel o’hara

infidelity, p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public, drabble

— everyone has their own guilty pleasure. movies, soap operas, hobbies…

“oh fuck baby-"

you squirmed as miguel held his grip on your ass even harder, feeling his hard dick still thrusting into your tight walls.

fucking your boyfriend’s older brother just happened to be yours. without telling your boyfriend of course.

he leaned towards your ear, whispering breathlessly from the pleasure you gave him, “you need to be quiet, mami. what did I tell you last time?”

“t-to be quiet and t-take it…please miguel oh my god.”

the plan: go to a fancy boutique and get a nice dress for a date gabri was going to take you on.

great! that was the plan until miguel, his older brother whom used to have a crush on you growing up, came along.

when did the affair start: in your opinion, it wasn’t an affair and didn’t have a “start”. it was just something you did when gabri was away. you’ve always had a friends with benefits with miguel, even before gabri asked you out. remember he used to have a crush on you growing up? you told him you did too and one thing led to another.

cliché.

you considered wanting to drop miguel but due to some conversations and convincing from him, you didn’t.

it was just out of convenience. which is when miguel sneaked into your dressing room, you questioned why. it was usually out of feeling horny but now was random.

you bit your lip, peering from your left shoulder to see yourself in the mirror. it was quite a sight; you were sweaty and was standing up in front of miguel who kept thrusting in you from behind as he held your hips to adjust. his hands were all over you, from feeling and pinching your perky nipples and sensitive breasts to massaging at your hips and ass.

you clawed at the dressing room walls, hoping to not make any noise or be in too long to suspect gabri. there were seven dresses so hopefully that was a good enough excuse.

“fuck…you’re so good for me, princesa-“ he muttered before kissing your neck. the odds of getting caught was at 25/75, now that miguel’s need of being quiet affected his thrusts as they were almost painfully slow. it was like he was dangling candy in front of you, knowing you wanted it. and what you wanted was for him to go harder. you slightly frowned as it was almost quiet and all you could hear was breathing and quiet groans which someone could mistake for being injured.

it was in complete contrast to how miguel would fuck you until your ass felt hot and all you could hear were loud moans and the loud sound of skin slapping. better than any symphony out there.

“can’t you fucking go faster?!”

you heard him darkly chuckle which led a shiver down your spine, “whatever the princess wants, she’ll get.”

you closed your eyes as he obliged with a small grunt. you felt your legs almost shake from how good he was fucking you. it felt fucking euphoric.

you whipped your head to your phone which lit up to a notification from ‘gabriel <3’. you leaned over to read the notifications from your phone placed in your purse pocket.

‘almost done?’

fuck.

you shakily tried to reached for it before miguel stopped you. “who is it?”

“i-it’s gabri…fuck!”

he rolled his eyes and held your hand as he thrusted more, making you wanna roll your eyes in pleasure, “déjalo.”

he raised your head to make you face the mirror where he made eye contact with your worn out and tired eyes.

“you’re mine right now, mami.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Doppelgänger

Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst, self-image issues, mentions of childhood trauma, addiction, our mans has had it rough as fuck™

A/N: Brought on by this post from @tarjapearce and the comments i made (I'm sorry i am a ho for some angst sometimes) I'm merging ATSV stuff with comic stuffs because NO WAY IS HIS MOVIE DESIGN LIKE THAT ON PURPOSE WITHOUT IT POSSIBLY COMING UP IN FUTURE MOVIES ASDFGHJKL

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You came home and it was quiet. Quiet and dark; and already you knew something was up. You left Miguel sleeping so you could attend to some meetings and paperwork at your office, and pick up a few groceries.

Miguel had been acting strange the past few days. You'd asked him if it had something to do with work and he simply shrugged the question aside, like it was a small chip on one of his broad shoulders.

You'd asked him what was bothering him again, and he simply stared at the carpet, muttering something you didn't quite catch, and he went straight to bed.

You were so worried you'd even texted Gabriel on your walk home:

Hey, Gabe...

Heyyyy! If it ain't my favorite brother's girlfriend!

You couldn't help but roll your eyes with a soft snort. You only have one brother, Gabe.

No no, chica, I meant that you're my favorite of any girlfriends he's ever had. 😂

Gabe that sounds a little... Bad. 😬

Does it? Woops! Anyways, what's up? My big dumb, brick-house brother do something to make you mad?

No, Gabe... He's acting weird. Has been for the past few days, and he won't open up to me. I'm worried.

You could see the chat bubble pop up over and over again with '...' signifying that he was in the process of texting. With how many times it popped up and went away you were expecting a bible scripture's length of a text wall.

But what you got instead made your heart sink.

He saw our mom. She... She brought up Tyler.

Oh, god. You knew that Miguel and Conchata had a rocky relationship. Miguel had told you why. It was so bad, even just recalling everything, that you felt Miguel's pain like it was your own.

You also knew that Miguel's biological father, Tyler Stone, was the one that manipulated him, that used him, got him addicted to Rapture and almost killed him...

But it wasn't even the real dose of Rapture. It was simulated. Just another manipulation tactic. It was overhearing that conversation that Miguel found out the truth of his heritage, and you could tell that nugget of knowledge permanently chipped his sense of identity.

Even moreso when he confessed to you about Gabriela--

Your phone pinged.

They fought. It was... It was ugly. I... I didn't know about Tyler. God, chica, I didn't know. Dad was...

You felt your heart flop, knowing poor Gabriel was shielded by Miguel for so long so he didn't have to suffer like he did at the hands of their gaslighting and manipulative mother, his sadistic sperm donor... Miguel wanted nothing more than to protect Gabriel from that pain.

Your fingers flew fast on the little keyboard, a few spelling errors here and there;

God, Gabri im sory you had to fidn out that way

I know. It figures Miguel would have told you, before me, tho. He loves you.

He loves you too, Gabri. God, more than you know. He loves you.

I know. He was trying to keep me safe and out of Mom's drama.

No offense, Gabri, but if I ever see that woman I'm rearranging her face with a shovel.

OMG. I mean... After the things she said to Miggy, I... Kind of want her to at least feel consequences of her actions, y'know?

Oh, she will. Don't worry. Thanks for telling me this, Gabri.

Go cuddle my big brother and tell him I love him, k? Let me know how he's doing.

OMW home now, I'll text you when he's feeling better.

KK, see ya.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Yeah. You knew for sure Miguel was still heartbroken when you came home after that.

You put the groceries away, a somber expression on your face as a million thoughts went through your head.

God, of course Conchata had to come see Gabriel at the same time Miguel was there. You wouldn't be surprised if either she could have tabs kept on him, just to... to try and lord her power over him somehow, like he was still that scared little boy, holding onto his baby brother, being his shield and buffer from their parents' fights.

That bitch had to have had a hand in Tyler using him the way that he did, that she had to have known about--

Your mind was knocked away from those dark thoughts when you heard glass shatter.

You dropped the bag of apples onto the ground, the fruits tumbling out and rolling across the floor as you made a mad dash to your bedroom.

Noting Miguel wasn't in there, you turned to the adjoining bathroom door, seeing faint light come down from below, small wafts of steam rolling out.

"Miguel?" You frantically called out, knocking on the door and leaning your ear against the smooth metal.

You could hear shuffling and the tinkling of glass shards, as well as the shower running; but no verbal reply.

You knocked on the door again, hurried and a little too hard, your fingers hovering over the control panel.

Before you could push a button, the door slid open.

Miguel was in nothing but a pair of boxers, leaning over your bathroom sink, his hands gripping the marble countertops, threatening to crack the material. Beads of water rolled down his muscular, tanned skin; droplets of water dripped from the ends of his thick, wavy chocolate locks, the natural curls more apparent thanks to the water.

That's when you noticed it. Your bathroom mirror, shattered into a hundred pieces, scattering the counter, floor, and in the sink.

Bright, scarlet droplets were on the floor, steadily building into small puddle from his right hand, his knuckles split, shards of the reflective material sticking out of it.

"I'll pay for it." His voice croaked out, unable to lift his eyes to meet your horrified gaze. "I just--"

"Oh, god! Miggy!" You breathed, reaching out, taking a step towards him, only to wince and hiss when the pieces of broken mirror stabbed the soft, delicate soles of your feet.

You gritted your teeth as the glass crunched, but you grabbed Miguel.

Instantly it was like a switch flipped inside of him, Miguel's head snapped up and he looked down at you, seeing the bloody footprints you now left on your tile.

He looked terrified at what he was seeing. How you just ignored the shards in your body in favor of frantically digging around one of the cabinets for your first aid kit.

"Bebita... I..." Miguel choked out.

When you found it, you killed the shower and stepped into the glass once again, pulling him into your room, and onto your bed, your feet leaving bloody prints as you walked, like macabre rose petals being left in your wake. Miguel had a large enough stride that he was careful to avoid getting any in his feet, but the smell of your blood permeated the air, it made him sick to his stomach. Not with disgust.

With guilt.

Of course, you checked him over first, plucking out the shards of glass from his knuckles and cleaning the cuts out with wound wash, ignoring the blood welling up onto the tile floor of your bedroom from.

You carefully roll his hand as you try to wrap the gauze around his knuckles. "Miggy, can you hold your--"

"I'm sorry." He interrupts.

You looked up at him, and only then do you see his face. Framed in his wet curls, his face was shadowed and haunted, his eyes dark and as tumultuous in a maelstrom of anxiety and fear.

You bring your hand to his cheek, caressing one of his sharp cheekbones with your thumb. "Baby, it's okay. It's just a mirror, I can--"

He shook his head, as if your touch to his face burned him like a hot iron.

He leaned over, grabbing your legs and pulling your feet into his lap so he can assess the damage, and return the favor of cleaning and dressing them.

"You're hurt because of me." He whispered sadly, dabbing the blood away.

"I'm hurt because of the glass, honey." You tell him gently, letting him apply the "honey" to the cuts in your feet, sealing them.

His massive hands encapsulated your ankles, his thumbs rubbing small circles as the rough pads caressed your skin. Like you were made of the delicate gossamer of a butterfly's wing.

He sits like that, not meeting your eyes. And god, did that hurt you so badly. You knew how important eye contact was with Miguel, he almost always went out of his way to keep eye contact when he was conversing with someone. Having him avoid your eyes... hurt.

Because you knew he was hurting.

"Miggy." You breathed. "Talk to me."

You move your feet from his lap and scoot closer to him, moving your face until he locked eyes with you again, and you could see the pain and the tears fill his own as he looked at you; his full, pouty lips trembling in an effort to hold his emotions at bay.

His shoulders dropped low, and Miguel leans forward until he was practically bent in half, clinging to you, burying his face in your chest as he fisted your shirt in his hands.

You rubbed his shoulder with one hand, biting your lip as he softly cried into your blouse, your other hand combing through his messy wet hair.

You stayed like that, for what felt like hours. You weren't sure how long it was exactly, with the blackout curtains drawn and the lights off. The only light that dimly illuminated the room was from your bathroom, and the open door.

He finally calmed enough to speak, to explain why he shattered the mirror.

"...I look like him." Miguel said, his heart in his voice, his soul stripped down and naked with raw pain.

"Mig--"

"God, I look like him. That... that cabrón." He hissed, tugging your shirt in his fists.

"I look like that bastard that... that made me into this." The self-contempt in his voice broke your heart.

You kiss the top of his head, murmuring against him. "No, you don't, baby."

"Yes, I do!" He snapped, pulling himself away from you and throwing himself to his feet. He paced like an angry tiger in a cage, waiting to swat at whatever keeper dared enter his enclosure. He didn't notice that he was stepping into the sticky, dried blood trails you left.

"I have his--his face. His fucking face--" He said, gripping his hair in his hands, tugging as he started to hyperventilate. "My fucking nose, my fucking cheeks, my fucking lips--they're all him! I'm not allowed to be me, every time I look in the mirror I see him! I can't ever get away from him! He's a part of me, he always will be! I fucking look like him!"

You get to your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your soles as you dared to reach out, to touch the pacing tiger.

Your hands smooth up his back, gently, softly; then back down until they wrapped around his mid-section.

You feel him, how tense he is, how his muscles flex at your touch almost like he's bracing himself for some kind of blow that simply will never come from you.

You rest your cheek against his back, feeling how hot his skin was burning.

"Baby. You don't look like him. You aren't him, and you never will be." You whisper.

You plant kisses wherever you could reach, not letting him go, feeling his body shake with each shuddering breath as your soft lips made contact.

"More importantly, Tyler will never be you."

"I--"

You cut him off. "Listen to me... Did Tyler figure out multi-dimensional travel, build a strike force of super-powered people from across the multiverse? Does Tyler, almost every day, work to keep dozens--no, hundreds--of universes safe from monsters?"

He didn't answer.

"And did Tyler Stone protect your baby brother from your mother all these years?"

No answer.

"You are Miguel-goddamn-O'Hara." You tell him. "I love you, with trauma, quirks and all. I love your little scritch-scratches you make, the way your bottom lip pokes out when you pout, your crooked teeth when you smile. I love your ridiculously large body, I love how you hug me. I love the little snores you make when you fall asleep at your desk, how you crinkle your nose when you're about to sneeze.."

You feel his hands slowly rise to touch your arms where they're almost-locked around his larger frame.

"I love how sweet and gentle you are. I love hearing you curse to yourself when you shock yourself with your soldering gun... I love listening to you bicker with Lyla, or complain about one of the other Spiders bugging you." You place more kisses after each sentence; hoping each one plants a seed of love beneath his skin, to bloom into a garden that he can admire and love, not hate for the very skin he was born with out of illegitimacy and infidelity.

"Tyler Stone is not you. He never will be. He will never be as good as you." You sigh against his skin, feeling the goosebumps form in the cold of your room, now that the adrenaline of his anxiety was beginning to fade, and his body became aware of the water that was slowly drying and cooling his skin.

"I love you, Miguel O'Hara. You and no-one else. Don't ever think for a second that you don't have your own identity because of your genes."

He slowly turns in your grasp, looking down at you with raw, unclothed emotion as his hand touches your cheek.

"You're more than that. You're you, and I wouldn't have you any other way." You say, your tone set and jaw tight; every word you spoke carrying a hefty weight of seriousness and honesty.

He smiles, almost sadly as you feel the rough pads of his thumb against your cheek, the little talon there poking you but not breaking the skin.

"...I..." He said, his voice stiff as he swallows the lump in his throat.

"I really will pay for your mirror, you know."

You grin up at him and turn your face so you can kiss the palm of his hand.

"I know you will, Miggy."

"But I am curious... I felt like you were going to keep going with the affirmations." He said, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"Well, the last one..."

"The last one?" Miguel tilted his head down at you quizzically.

You grin at him again, your teeth showing and eyes creasing as you barely manage to reach around him, swatting his ass playfully.

"I also love the fact you have the nicest ass I've ever seen on a man."

He couldn't contain the snort that came out of him, and he reached up to cover his whole face with his other hand.

"Mierda..."

You giggle as you step around him, giving a playful swat to his ass once again as you walk by.

"C'mon, Miguel O'Hara. You got a broken mirror to clean up."

His shoulders lifted as he watched you, his eyes softer than you've ever seen as he smiled.

Yeah. You were right.

He was Miguel O'Hara.

And he was certainly going to pay you back for the smacks to his ass.

[feyhunter78]

By Any Other Name - Nerd!Miguel

Description: You + his last name? He knows it's all hypothetical, all circumstantial, but it's killing him. Artist cred: Lintufrikki on Twitter

Miguel remembers the first time it happened. You asked him if he wanted to get lunch before your next classes, it’s a two-hour stretch, one he knows you’d rather spend at home, and honestly normally so would he. But when you broach the topic, dangle it before him like a carrot on a string—though he knows you’d never do that maliciously, you just don’t understand what you do to him, how you make him feel—he can’t bring himself to say no.

Chick-fil-A, it’s the only food you’ll eat from the student center, and you lean against the pillar with him, your shoulder brushing against his.

“You didn’t have to do that; I would’ve gotten my own food.” You tell him, your expression a soft mix of guilt and gratefulness.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking down at you, at the way you fidget with your nails. They’re that same long almond shape you always get, but this time colored a smooth, glossy pink. They make a pleasant sound when you tap them together in thought, and for a moment he wonders how they’d look against his skin. Not in a vulgar way. Just your hand in his, or pressed to his chest, or resting on his back when you hug him. Or maybe around his throat as you ride hi—he stops that thought in its tracks and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Gabri: So, you’re finally on a date with your sorority girl? Took ya long enough.

Miguel: It’s not a date, we’re just getting lunch between classes.

Gabri: Yeah, okay, and water isn’t wet.

Miguel: Fuck off.

“O’Hara?” The girl behind the cash register calls out.

Before he can even take a step, you bound up to the register, with a happy "right here!" on your lips.

His stomach flips, his hand curls around his phone. You acted like it was nothing, sprang up before he could even react, as if O’Hara had been your last name all your life.

Y/N O’Hara, it sounds nice, he savors the thought, rolls it around in his mind before locking it away.

You hand him his bag with a bright smile. “Want to go sit outside?”

The second time it happens, he’s even less prepared than before. Miguel guesses it shouldn’t be as bad, no one is calling you O’Hara, you’re just walking around with his name on your back, in big white letters. He doesn’t even know why you’re here, this is a chess competition, it’s boring, well he knows you find it boring. He’s tried to teach you to play once, but gave up in favor of hearing you bitch about your sisters, and how no one on exec knew how to do their jobs.

Then he sees Gabriel, with his arm slung around Mina’s shoulders, and it all makes sense. His stupid but big-hearted brother brought you here for “support,” even though Miguel was sure he was going to lose now. How could he focus when you were sitting on the sidelines, proudly wearing his last name for all to see?

It takes all his concentration to not let his eyes flicker to you every free moment he has, and when the competition is over, and he’s come out in second place, he finally relaxes.

Which was a mistake.

You practically throw yourself at him, smiling up at him. “Miguel! That was amazing, you were so fast, and the way you moved the pieces and won—okay I don’t really understand what I was watching, but you did so well! Second place, that’s so good!”

He shoots Gabriel a look, then smiles sheepishly at you. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, Gabriel said people don’t usually come to support, but that he and Mina were going to come today, so I thought I’d take them up on their offer to join them.” You untangle yourself from him and turn so he can read the back of your shirt. “And isn’t this cool? Mina made them, we all have one.”

“Yeah, it’s—it’s really cool, thanks for coming, it means a lot.” He’s sure his face is red, and he pushes his glasses up, clearing his throat. “I hope it wasn’t too boring.”

“Miguel.” You drag out the L sound in his name, giving him a faux annoyed look. “You gotta stop apologizing. I told you; I like seeing you in your element.”

“Yeah, man, don’t be such a Debbie Downer.” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. “Now smile, I’m taking a picture for mom.”

Miguel smiles at Gabriel’s phone, and you turn towards Mina, whispering.

“They look good, huh? I like seeing Mina with our last name on her, feels likes I’m staking a claim without even having to do anything.” Gabriel says conspiratorially, nudging Miguel with his elbow. “How about you, feeling good?”

Miguel elbows him back. “Fuck off.”

You’re drunk when he finally gets the gift of hearing you say it yourself. You had called him from the bathroom of some frat house, all sad, and dare he say needy? You were whining into the phone, begging him to come get you because you missed him, you needed him.

He weaves through the house, nodding at Brett, who—after Miguel got over his jealousy that definitely wasn’t jealousy—he found to be a pretty decent guy. Maybe a bit too much of a people pleaser, but he was harmless. It was Brett who let him in, after all, who vouched to his frat brothers that Miguel would be in and out, just here to pick up a drunk girl.

His words, which will echo in Miguel’s head maybe till the end of time, were, “he’s cool, just here to get his girl, she drank too much, called him up, he’ll be quick.”

His girl. In the eyes of Brett and a few random guys whose names, he never learned; you were Miguel’s.

He finds you with a friend, leaning against the wall, your head on her shoulder.

“Y/N, your rides here.” She says, rubbing your bicep comfortingly.

Your eyes fly open, and you smile when you see him. “Miguel!”

He crosses the distance between you in two strides. “Hey, you alright?”

“She drank too much, I don’t know what’s up with her, she seemed fine when we got here, but then she just took a nosedive.” Your friend, Janey—he thinks—says, as she passes you to him. “Just get her something salty, it’ll balance her out.”

“French fries, I’d kill for French fries right now.” You mumble, as Miguel wraps his arm around your waist.

“Why don’t we get in the car first and then talk about French fires?” He suggests, leading you back through the house, and into the cool night air.

Once you’re away from the music and the heat of the crowd, you straighten up, and scrunch up your face, bringing your hand to your forehead. “Fuck, I am way more drunk than I thought.”

“Let’s get you home.” He says, trying to guide you towards his car.

You shake your head. “Too tired, can’t walk anymore.”

“Y/N, my car is right over there.” He points to his car that’s no more than fifteen feet away.

“Can’t do it, too far, I’ll just sleep right here.” You say, slowly moving to lower yourself to the ground.

Now he knows you’d never sleep on the ground, never sleep outside or even in a frat house. If you were by yourself, you’d be calling your friends, or an Uber and going home. And maybe he should feel honored that you feel safe enough with him to give into the drunkenness and act silly, but he really doesn’t want to stand here all night.

“No, no, why don’t you just…come here.” He scoops you up into his arms bridal style and starts walking.

“You’re so strong, how are you doing this?” You ask, amazed at his strength.

“You weigh less than the weights I use at the gym, this is nothing.” He says, unable to resist puffing himself up a bit.

“Miguel, you’re amazing, seriously, you’re like a superhero.” You say, looking up at him with such adoration it almost hurts.

“And you’re drunk.” He snorts, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other while you toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah, so?” You manage to undo the top button and are working on the second.

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying, or doing.” He says, his voice pitching up slightly at the end when you successfully undo a third button and press your hand against his chest.

“You know, it’s kinda funny, you’re carrying me like a bride. Like I’m Mrs. O’Hara, Mrs. Y/N O’Hara. I like it.” You look up at him through your lashes, head tilted to the side alluringly.

He nearly drops you. “Y-Yeah?”

You nod then yawn and rest your head against his chest. “I’m tired, no French fries, just sleep now.”

He gently sets you in his car and buckles you in. “Just sleep then, I’ll wake you up when we get to your apartment.”

“Okay, thank you.” You say sleepily, already curling up in the seat, eyes closed.

He shuts the door and rests his elbows on the hood, burying his face in his hands. You’re going to kill him one of these days, and he’ll happily let you.

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer

[kairiscorner]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEE IM BEGGING 29 FROM THE DIALOGUE PROMPT WITH EX-HUSBAND CO PARENT MIGUEL WHO WE’RE STILL IN LOVE WITH BUT HE ACCIDENTALLY TAUGHT GABRIELLA TO CUSS IN SPANISH WHILE SHE WAS WITH HIM FOR THE WEEKEND OR SOMETHING😭💕 I LITERALLY LOVE ALL YOUR WORK SMM TAKE YOUR TIME🥹🩷🩷

HIIII omg THANK YOUUU and i love that idea wHAT i hope you like this !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

i didn't teach her that. – divorced!co-parent!miguel o'hara x divorced!co-parent!reader

miguel's car was parked in the driveway, with miguel himself helping gabriella out of the car and walking her up to you. she greeted you with a big hug as she came inside to change her clothes and taking off her shoes, leaving you and miguel out here by the patio. it was just two adults, two adults who used to be married to each other... but now just two adults who are forced to see each other for the sake of their daughter. "how was she?" you asked him promptly as you leaned against the doorway of your house. "oh, as bright and darling as usual. my mom came over, and so did gabri--they took care of her more than i would've liked to myself." he said as he looked away from you, feeling the heavy tension between you two still, even though your divorce had happened years ago.

you couldn't shake off the awkwardness between you two, you were both stuck in a weird limbo, you both were in a checkmate with each other. and no matter how much it hurt for you to think you used to be married, you used to be in love with this man... you couldn't hate him. in fact, you loved him dearly still. being divorced to him didn't change the fact you loved him, that you still love him; it also didn't change the fact you had to see him more than you thought would be good for either of you due to gabriella, it didn't change the fact he was the father of your child and had every right to see her.

you nodded as you opened the door a little wider, with a small voice in your head asking you what the hell you were doing. "wanna, y'know... come in?" you asked him in an awkward voice as he looked at you in slight surprise. "ah, sure, sure. thank you." he said as he stepped in as you opened the door wider for him. you hated how kind he sounded right then and there, how soft he became. 'this isn't the guy i divorced, that guy was a piece of shit. who's this guy really? he can't be miguel, no way...' you thought to yourself as you shut the door, hearing gabriella and miguel's faint conversation from far away in the kitchen.

the father and daughter were laughing together as miguel picked her up and spun her around. you remember when he used to do that when gabriella was a toddler, when neither of you had any problems towards each other, when all was blissful and sweet... when life was good. you abruptly stopped reminiscing the beautiful moments you all shared as a family when gabriella called you back to reality, asking you if you wanted to play some soccer outside with her as her goalie, with miguel being dragged by her outside. you chuckled and agreed, following her and miguel outside.

you two played a few good rounds, with miguel being the referee and keeping track of every time gabriella scored a goal. though when gabriella kicked the ball too hard and the ball was thrown into the top of a tree in your yard, she muttered something you could not believe would come out of her mouth. "mierda, puta madre!" your daughter exclaimed in frustration as you turned your head to her, asking yourself if you heard her right. "what did you say, young lady? do you even know what those words mean, dear?" you asked her in a stern tone as she froze up and turned to look at you.

"um... papa says those words all the time when... when he gets angry over the phone..." she muttered in a semi-frightened way, as if she didn't realize what she did wrong when you looked at her angrily and furrowed your eyebrows at her. your expression softened as you realized she didn't mean to cuss, it was her father's influence.

you breathed in deeply and exhaled, smiling at her, you knelt down to her level and pat her head as you called miguel over. "gabi, baby, please go to your room. your papa and i have a lot to talk about." you said as you glared at miguel when you turned your head to face him, with miguel gulping and going over behind gabi, holding her by her shoulders as if she could protect him from your rage. "gabi, as your papa, i say protect me from the dragon that is about to breathe fire on me." he murmured as you gently pulled gabi to you and led her into the house as you shut the sliding door and smiled at miguel a little too sweetly.

miguel backed away slowly as you took one of your slippers on the steps into the house and, while smiling all the while, approached him and raised your hand to smack him with your slipper repeatedly, scolding him for teaching your daughter to have a foul mouth and for not even being responsible enough for teaching her not to repeat what he says. "but muñeca, please! i'm sorry, i'm really sorry! i didn't think she'd repeat what i say, believe me!" he tried pleading with you as you kept swatting at him with your slipper. "like hell i can believe you of all people on anything you say anymore!" "even... even if i told you that i still loved you, you really wouldn't believe me? because, i... look, i still love you, querida, okay?! at least... at least believe me there, because nothing else could be truer!" he blurted out in a genuine, sad tone as you kept hitting him, but soon stopped as his words sunk in.

he loved you.

he loves you.

he still loves you.

but like hell you could believe him anymore.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @arachnoia @melovetitties @meeom @fictarian @yuridopted0 @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

[theloveinc]

miguel o'hara x reader - little thing abt migs w/ a baby boy instead of a baby girl. takes him a bit to get used to it.

(warning: ref to you giving birth + the word "bosom" but nothing more than that, bad scenery)

-

Miguel is having trouble with his… son. 

It still feels strange to say it—a son, his son. Born covered in hair and slightly purple with a screeching cry that could’ve shattered even opera house windows. You, in the sterile white bed, not decorated in memories of pink but of blue. And him, by your side, not unhappy but surprised, because of all the things he knew and expected, it wasn’t this. 

In all the universes where he’s happy, he sees himself with a daughter. Beautiful, smiley Gabriella, with curls he’s able to tie up in braids, a passion for soccer he helps hone, a connection deeper than blood and DNA itself. He has yet to find a version of himself with both you by his side and a son in his life. 

“Pa.”

His baby babbles, strapped safely into the jumper you put him in for Miguel to watch while he works, plump legs hanging from the soft cotton that keeps him upright, chubby hands batting against the fake rainbow buttons that kept him entertained until now. 

“Son."

“Pa,” he gurgles again, little pout on his baby plump lips as he gazes, brown eyed, up at his father, “pa.”

"Gabriel," he says, and he can imagine your voice. The half-critique you’d pester him with about taking your son seriously, celebrating his feats of speaking with adult words to help him understand more, more, more… then he can imagine you nagging him for also being too formal. “What is it, mijo?” 

The acknowledgement doesn't work, and instead, the boy begins to cry: his sandy hair (that’s already beginning to darken and curl at its ends) flopping over his forehead with frustration when his feet start kicking but do not hit any ground.

Miguel thinks about calling you. Gabri’s always preferred your bosom to his, softening into your chest like dough the second you lift him into your arms, and smiling as though he it's where he belongs. It's almost as if all the other universes Miguel visited before he was born had laid claim on him first, a stain of sorts that only a baby could detect in trying to bond with someone who was already imprinted on.

(He’s never been able to admit his jealously, barely even to himself; is this the life he’s supposed to be living? Did he just want these things because he assumed he was supposed to have them? Is his son a punishment for the expectations he was never supposed to have? Miguel tries not to ponder it too hard.) 

“Papa!” Gabri continues to wail, little fists knocking against plastic so hard that Miguel is finally forced to turn away from his many screens and face the sight of... his boy reaching his little arms up, up, up in asking to be held.

And that’s all it takes for him to melt. 

[knightlas]

RIIIIIIGHT its so bad. its so bad and all of the characters look so static and bland ALL THE TIME too like. auuggfhhrjghh imagine keeping your posing stiff as cardboard for a spider-man 2099 comic run

will sliney really had so many chances to draw miguel well and just never got around to it huh

SERIOUSLYYY... the guy got nearly 50 issues of Opportunities and yet the way he drew the MAIN CHARACTER of ANAD sm2099 was just. fuckin. Plain-Jane Mannequin In A Jacket At Your Local J.C. Penney’s...... L of the DECADE

[xdrarry]

UPDATE ON MY LAST POST :

Steve Gabry, the game developer and CREATOR of the sally face game just tweeted on his X (twitter)’s official account today, regarding the saLarry situation, a fan asked what his opinion was on sal x larry and he responded with this :

He literally proved my point, clarifying and CONFIRMING that they are NOT brothers in any way nor do they have a sibling-like relationship, and also saying that he doesn’t have a problem with the ship at all.

He said that they didn’t even grow up together, which was exactly my point and what I talked about on my last post.

Since the actual creator of the game clarified this, I hope it’s genuinely a good enough reason to end this discussion in the fandom because all of it is getting exhausting.

They are NOT brothers and never were.

I hope most of you all will finally start being more open minded and take the word of the game’s DEVELOPER of all people.

If the person who created the game HIMSELF says it’s okay, then it is

If the person who created the game HIMSELF says they’re not brothers, then they’re NOT.

Thank you <3

[raphsmuneca]

Monster

This song is the reason I even decided to go for this!

Quick note: I have no idea where I'm going with this. I just wrote and it's all coming together as I go. Some of the stuff is inspired by ROTTMT, however, it is the bayverse boys! Aged @ 30+ ! Anything & everything may be found in this story. Folklore, supernatural, magic, tragedy, fantasy, and an added sparkle of romance?? Like I said, this baby can go anywhere. Don't be surprised if Dracula meets Snow White <-JK! but the possibilities are endless is what l'm saying! (A marvel OR DC character, however, may or may not make a brief appearance!) Undecided 🤷‍♀️

I haven't written much about my fav brother, aka the love of my fantasy world, Raphael. So this right here, NEEDED TO BE DONE! Enjoy part 1 of →

𝓜𝓞𝓝𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓡

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

The event had been elongated. Dwellers of the city had grown old of tonight’s stage performer. Even the comedian ran out of rope to keep the crowd from latching onto the slippery rails. The customers were hanging from the brim of their final heavy pours before making their way out of the bar.

The hour hand called for the midnight fallen, condemned, broken, and torn...the tags went on. After midnight, New York was the highest prized painting shell by visceral artistes; beyond that of the innocent eyes.

That was their optic view....

Mine? A Rhino and it’s side servant had more leeway in this sunken sea of darkness. Only because it was paid off. In New York, even the most ferocious beast of all, like Satan perhaps, had to pay his inordinate nightly bill, to get a lick of this evil.

It was the Paris of seduction and temptation. A shelter for the sinful Gods that fed behind the wan light shadows. The black shapes that were draped beneath each pendant sign at each hallow, drugged, and drunken setting, hung loose.

Titled seminal’s were derivatives of ancient battles in the form of diplomacy in the world’s most modern city. The Big Apple. The dirtied soil of Eve’s bearings. The home of ancient spirits that possessed foreign bodies, aliens, vampires, shapeshifters, and all other yokai alike. But somehow, here, in the midst of these savages and the mysterious phenomena that hid in the shadows...

I was the one they called, “𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻.”

✧༺♥༻✧

Against my brother’s will, I reached the surface and began my endless hunt. New York was my garden and all of it’s flowers wept tears of blood, save for the one’s kept hidden.

I wished always for my brother Leo’s understanding. Reluctant, as always, to let me run off on my own, Leonardo would give me the whole spiel of the “Ninja Way.” Why couldn’t he, for just one damn minute, agree to disagree? He was like an overseer and, I, the caged beast.

But, this last argument from an hour ago, wouldn’t let me think. It was more than just not knowing of my whereabouts. I needed to proceed, but somehow, my brother always found a way to get into my thick skull.

Sure, I was stubborn, but I had a reason to be...

✧༺♥༻✧

“You can’t keep going up there without my consent, Raph! We need to stick together, always. You know better than any one of us why it’s mandatory to keep it this way.”

“Just say it, Leo. Say it! Stop prancing around the words and spill it!”

Leo didn’t want to say it. His face was crimson with resentment. He hated me. My brother hated me. Mike and Don hated me, too. They all hated me! Ever since that fucking night.

“Say it!”

But, Leo, fucking Leo...he couldn’t, better yet, wouldn’t speak the words, afraid to relive the moments of that traitorous night. Suddenly, the flashbacks came, like a carousel, going round and round in my head...

She lain there, with my sai thrust deep through her chest.

A mother cried over her daughter’s lifeless body. The woman wouldn’t dare remove the weapon, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it was holding onto the one last breadth that could bring her kid back. But it was too late. There was no wind in her lungs. The young lady had had wasted it, as she screamed for help. Her last strive...

“You don’t need another dead body on your head, Raphael!”

That was it. In the calling of my full name, I knew I had struck a nerve. The flames in his eyes didn’t betray his unspoken denouncement of my own free will. But, like always, his loathing of me repelled off of my sage scales and I, again, betrayed his leadership.

I ran out of there as fast as my feet would allow.

✧༺♥༻✧

And now, here I was, climbing from one scape to another, brushing past the scarlet doused vines of New York’s demon-filled vast. There was only one brush of color that flushed my eyes...Red. I couldn’t tell one soul from another.

I saw only the portrait of the masses of anthropomorphic creatures below me, and like a true hunter, I jumped through it, in search of tonight’s killer. Whoever it may be.

There was a secret passageway that kept beneath the ghostly, brick structures. Only mutants could access it, but not all creatures were allowed entrance. It had to be earned. A few tricksters had been banned, but luckily, I was on the Deviant Knight’s list, meaning it took more than a grave blunder to get rid of me.

It was Mikey who got us in. The boss’s future son-in-law felt betrayed by a deal gone left. The idiot decided it was a smart idea to use his betrothed as bait for reimbursement. The guy was a nut job. New York city’s portrayal of the infamous “Joker.” It was Mikey’s first kill.

All of us, brothers, had to carry the weight of his heavy heart for quite some time after that. But now, Mikey was a turtle of few words. Lesser than mine.

An older gentleman, wrapped in makeshift rags of clothing, stood beside a dumpster. He looked me up and down, threateningly. He growled and I grunted. The ancient fool pretended to not recognize me, as it was his duty. His false moniker was, Old Bicker. Anyone who asked me how he got that name, met my with my fist. The man was old and he bickered. How fucking difficult was that to understand?

“Warp me in, Old Bicker, will ya?”

“Hahahaaaaa!” Old Bicker heaved, then coughed. “Red Eagle, is that you?”

He inched toward me, looking me up and down again, like if he was searching for something. He always strikes me as odd, but he wasn’t just searching, this much I knew. He saw something, but he would never tell.

“I’m guessing you’re in the mood for a fight tonight? You know better than to call me that lame ass name, Old B.”

“Oh, you’re always whining, kid! In my time, kids didn’t….” True to his name, the old man kept up with his bandy words.

“Warp me in already, will ya!”

As ordered, Old Bicker, harrumphed, and removed the grimy cloak from his back, and in seconds, his appearance changed, completely. Glowing blue dust spiraled around his entire body. His wardrobe, now a fine blue velvet, matched his ancient tongue. He channeled his magic and spoke the wicked language that opened the portal to Hell’s Deviant Point’ inter-dimensional, subterranean realm.

“Now, was that too hard for ya, Old Wizard?”

Charlisse; the Wizard’s actual name, when in his true form; huffed and turned about.

“You know, young Master, that that is not my name. Hm!” The little fairy-like man spoke and dressed like he came straight from an old English folklore, except this wizard wore no cloak. Only a scruffy blanket when in his forged form.

The change in his tone was eloquent and held indignation. I was careful not to insult him any further in his current stage. Charlisse was a fine wizard, but according to the boss, even us mutant turtles had to tread carefully around the effervescent snipper-snapper.

“So, now you’re the one who’s telling? If you’re gonna keep calling me “Red Eagle” it’s only fair that I call you Old Wizard.”

“If that’s how you want to play it, young Master.” Charlisse’s lips curled upward.

“No, no, no! I wasn’t...!”

With a flick of his wrist, the little fucker whirled his wand, and fairy-god mothered my 700 pounds of mutant muscle ass into the portal like a rag doll.

“Toodle-oo, young Master!”

His wicked laughter rung through the helix spiral until I fell, face-flat, onto grounds of the majestic realm. I lifted my head and looked up at the nothingness. Only a single figure stood before it. The invisible gate. Only yokai could see it.

A thick and familiar voice greeted me. It was Silver Wing; a dragon-bird yokai, who secured the gates of this wondrous point. He was a high-ranking warrior, that for some unspoken reason, chose to guard Hell’s Deviant Point.

“I’m guessing you pissed off Charlisse…again, Red Eagle?” The dragon jested. He was familiarized with the old wizard’s habits, and mine.

“You gunnin’ for me, too?”

“No, no. Easy, Raph. Old habits die hard among us night walkers. You should know this.”

I dusted myself off and looked up at the floating dragon-bird. He was regal in every sense of the word. I eluded the question of his position in this place, out of courtesy. Silver Wing was no bouncy little wizard. He was a warrior through and through. Still, I wouldn’t mind going head to head with the guy to test his wings. You know, for fun.

“I assume you’re here to visit with the Boss Master?”

And with that, everything from the previous argument with my oldest brother, came flooding back. Charlisse’s spell! Damnit! I forgot about his mood changing spells!

“Motherfuker!”

“Ah. He did it again, I see. Old Bicker doesn’t transform without cause or reason. He must’ve sensed your anger. He can see it, and I can smell it. Which begs the question, Raphael, just how angry are we tonight?”

His royalty knew just how infuriated I was. He could sniff out feelings, unlike Old Bicker, rather Charlisse’s, which were innate, yet somehow, never failing. Compared to these fellas, my intuition was highly defective.

“Real angry, Silver. I’m itching for blood tonight.” The red returning to my eyes, cautioned the dragon to keep a short, but safe distance. The memories were slowly beginning to dance around me again. I had to keep busy. It was the only way to bury this anger. This pain...

“I see. Enter at your own risk, Raphael-san.”

The invisible gate appeared before me and opened. Although no human or mutant could see it without an invitation from a full bred yokai. I hadn't taken a step, and yet the purple skies slowly colored the vast emptiness, and all it’s inhabitants and their dwellings came into view.

“Thanks, Silver.”

It’s been a while since I’ve walked into this place. The air was very different here. It was the darker and more twisted version of my hometown. I moved forward, taking in my friend’s cautionary words as I walked deeper into the creepy empire.

“Be mindful, Raphael-San. In this place, you’re not the only monster.”

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

@the-cauldron-witch @ninnosaurus @iridescentflamingo @ferox-imagines @sophiacloud28 @milykins @adebauchedsloth @justalotoffanfiction @thepinkpanther83 @inspiredwriter @replicasey @akari180 @iheartchv @leosgirl82 @moonlightflower21 @imthegreenfairy86 @happymoonangel @thelaundrybitch

Parts 2-3 will be uploaded soon!

*𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓭 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭/𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓵𝓶𝓴! *

𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭!

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ✮ K. YILDIZ

summary. an old friend of yours is in need of cheering up and it’s your job to fix him.

warnings. none! except reader is ferdi kadıoğlu’s younger sister and kenan is v sad in this.

gabri speaks! i’ve been seeing so many videos of the hate kenan is getting and just felt like writing this. oops.

THE NOISE OF scattered footsteps on your way to your brother’s room was enough to grab your attention. as you turned the corner in hopes of finding out what was causing such commotion you came across half of the team huddled around one of the rooms. your face instantly filled with confusion wondering what they were doing there and who’s room were they gathering around. were they planning some sort of prank?

“guys what are-” you try to ask but you’re shushed before you have the opportunity to finish your sentence.

“shh!” your own brother scolds you as you stand there bewildered. you quickly smack ferdi on the arm before joining the guys. you had nothing better to do anyways.

“wait, your sister!” bariş yells. “she’s a girl.”

you immediately turned towards him with a face of disbelief wondering what the hell was going on. not to mention your brother’s teammate had decided to just state the obvious and you were beginning to get anxious.

“she’s a girl?” your brother repeated mocking him.

“i meant that she understands feelings better than we do maybe she can help. maybe she can get him to catch his flight. it’ll be even worse for him if he gets in trouble with his club too.” and now you’re wondering who the hell he’s talking about.

“okay, ferdi you better tell me what’s happening before i call mom and tell her about that vase of hers you broke trying to impress sera.” you scold him earning a glare from him.

“it’s kenan.” you freeze at the mention of his name. “he hasn’t left his room since we got back and arda noticed he was reading some of the comments on his post. we think he’s upset but he won’t talk to any of us. he has a flight back to italy in six hours but he hasn’t so much as gotten out of bed. maybe you can help? please?”

it takes a lot of pleading and begging from the players but soon enough you’re carefully opening the door to his room. you’re careful to not trip on anything or cause the slightest little noise in an effort to not bother him. although you conclude that as soon as he realizes you’re in his room he might be bothered. your relationship with him wasn’t the best and the last time the two of you had talked he’d made it clear the two of you would never be friends.

you spot him laid down on his bed with a hoodie covering him. he lays still but you’re quick to notice the rhythmic beating of his chest. he’s either asleep or completely zoned out. either way it’s not good. you notice all of his belonging scattered around the room and his suitcase completely empty meaning he was more than ready to miss his flight. you felt bad.

“kenan…”

you notice his body tense at the sound of your voice but he doesn’t move. he stays still hoping you think he’s asleep, but you know better, you know him better. you had been friends once and although that was left in the past you remembered things. he was clearly upset and not just about the loss there was something more. you manage to catch a glimpse of his phone. it was replaying the same video over and over again and you noticed the comments open. every single one criticizing him. he’d probably spent the last few hours reading all of them. you quickly shut off his phone placing it on the counter, away from him.

“kenan, you need to get up.” you beg him but again he stays still.

you take matters into your own hands and walk towards his side of the bed. you spot his hazel eyes staring away into oblivion. it’s obvious he hasn’t slept at all but before you can reach out to him he rolls over. in any other situation you probably would’ve laughed and playfully smacked him but you weren’t even his friend anymore.

“you can pretend i’m not here but i’m not leaving this room without you.” you scold him.

he budges at that sitting up straight next to you. it’s oddly comforting the way the two of you sit next to each other. you notice he hasn’t taken his hoodie off and recall some of the comments that scolded him for touching it. you wondered if that was the cause of him having his hair hidden. you knew kenan, you knew he was confident, and this? this wasn’t him. you know it’s risky but you place your hands on his trying to break a barrier to make him comfortable. there was a time you’d hold him close and hopefully you could again today to help him. surprisingly he lets you.

“why are you here?” he whispers remaining still.

“ferdi told me that- they’re all worried- we’re all worried about you.” you struggle to say.

“why? i’m fine.” he scoffs.

“no, you’re not-” you’re once again interrupted by his loud voice.

“how would you know? you don’t know me anymore.” he scolds you.

“maybe we’re not friends anymore kenan, maybe we don’t make fun of ferdi’s messages to sera anymore, but i still know you and i know you’re upset.” you rub your thumb on his palm. “i’m here because i still care.”

there’s a brief silence between the two of you almost like an understanding. he knew you cared but he was scared to be vulnerable in front of you. he didn’t want to be hurt in front of you just in case you left again but he can’t keep his feelings in any longer. he’s leaning into you until his head is resting on your thighs. he seeks your comfort once again like he used to before.

“they all hate me.” he whispers. you begin to rub his back at that trying to soothe him. “it’s all my fault.”

“no, kenan it’s not. they’re just upset about the loss and using you as an outlet because all their girlfriends find you hot.” he laughs a little at the comment but you can still spot a little resentment in his voice.

“they’re right though i should’ve played better, i should’ve created more chances, i should’ve scored.” he ranted. “it hurts more because they’re right.”

“okay. you should’ve played better okay that’s fine but laying here and rotting into your bed isn’t. you want to be better? fine, but moping around isn’t going to get you anywhere. you want to prove yourself? let them know that you’re better than that? you need to get on that plane in six hours and become juventus’ greatest young talent.” you try and motivate him.

“what if i can’t?” he chokes out.

“sit up.” you demand and shockingly he does. “look me straight in the eyes.”

you’re careful with your next moves not wanting to invade his personal space so suddenly but you don’t feel that you have a choice. you grab him by the cheeks making sure he’s looking directly at you, making sure he’s attentive to your words, and making sure that he knows you’re on his side.

“hey! do they know you? do they know the sacrifices you put in day in and day out to be where you are today? do they know the pressure you put yourself through to be better? no, but i do. so i know that you can prove yourself to them. kenan, you are a star and you can’t let some silly comments about your hair take that away. you made mistakes so what? we all make them. there’s always a next time. especially for you. you’re one of a kind.” you look into his eyes hoping he absorbed in all of your words. you let go of his face soon after hoping you weren’t too pushy.

“you should be a motivational speaker.” the two of you laugh and that’s when you realize that he’s going to be okay. maybe not right now but he would be.

the two of you spend the next couple of minutes joking about and chatting. the two of you catch up with your lives mentioning future plans and past events. it feels like you have your best friend back with you. the conversation is flowing and secrets are shared once again between the two of you. and with that so are secret glances. as soon as you turned away he found time to admire your face and when he would turn his face another direction you’d do the same. you hardly noticed but his fingers would touch yours every once in a while practically begging to be enveloped by yours.

it’s not until you’re on the way out the door ready to announce to everyone that kenan would be out soon that she stops you. he’s finally taken his hoodie off and you can see him completely. it was comforting to see him like this, all joyful and less upset.

“be there for me.” he blurts out.

“what?” you stare at him dumbfounded.

“when i doubt myself again, when everyone is saying i only care about my looks, when i move leagues, be there for me. i want you there.” he pours all his emotions out for you.

“if you provide with the tickets yeah.” you joke no understanding the depths of his words.

“no, you don’t get it. i don’t want you there every other match. i want you there every match with my jersey. i don’t want you there as old friends or just best friends. i want you there as my person. i need you there as my person.” he confesses. “i let you go before i won’t do it again.”

“kenan…” you can’t finish your sentence because you’re leaning in. his hands are on your waist and yours are on his cheeks again. his hazel eyes bore into yours pleading to give in. your lips are full of fervor as they move against his. you can’t fully comprehend that you’re kissing kenan after all this time but it feels amazing. he tries to deepen the kiss but you stop him.

“kenan wait. i want this i really do but you’re still upset. i don’t want this to cloud your feelings.” you express.

“yeah, okay. you’re right. thank you.” his cheeks are crimson red as you separate from him. “i’ll text you before i head out so i can say goodbye.”

the guys wait anxiously as you slowly walk out of kenan’s room. you manage to hide your emotions as you head towards their large group. ferdi and bariş are dying of anxiety waiting for your words that will let them know what’s wrong with their friend.

“he’ll be out soon don’t worry. it’s probably best if you reassure him of his abilities in football, yeah?” you ask them and they all nod. how sweet.

“so, what’d you do to make him talk?” semih curiously asks you.

“i made out with him.” you say with a straight face. you receive a couple of gasps, some laughs, and a few screams.

“you what?” ferdi asks but you ignore him and begin walking away from him. the rest of the team watches in amusement as you walk away from your older brother. he is genuinely distraught as he chases after you and it’s quite hilarious. “did you actually make out with him? did his lips touch yours? answer me!”

from that the day forward you exchange weekends from istanbul and turin. one weekend with your person and the other with your protective brother. when you walked into kenan’s room the day you didn’t expect to walk out with a soulmate. unfortunately for you your brother is always there to remind you that the only reason you and kenan are together is because he forced you into that room. it’s a shame he’s right but you’re grateful for it because now you have your person and now you can be as annoying as he is with sera.