#dbf! Miguel coded | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gr0ggy · 1 month ago

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ᖴOᖇ YOᑌ (ᗰIGᑌEᒪ ᙭ ᗷᒪK!ᖇEᗩᗪEᖇ)

warnings: 18+ dbf!miguel o'Hara, age gap (reader is 25, Miguel is 44), all characters are adults, dad’s best friend Miguel, sexual content, gabriella exists, no use of yn, miguel x reader, Miguel is spiderman, Miguel is a whore, black reader, descriptions of hair and skin, slow, Miguel doesn’t know you’re his best friends daughter until later, swearing, mother father and brother's name mentioned, not set in 2099

wc: 4.3k

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Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ５：Ａｖｏｉｄａｎｃｅ

A few days had passed since the dinner, and you were a mess. Every time your phone rang and Dad appeared at the top of the screen, a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. You panicked, thinking this is it. You were sure he'd finally pieced it together, the tension between you and Miguel at dinner, the glances you tried to hide but failed miserably at. But the conversation never went that way.

When you finally answered one of his calls, his tone was casual. Actually, annoyingly casual. it was 11:34 am.

"So, about that babysitting thing you agreed to," he said matter-of-factly.

Your heart sank, your stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. "Uh, yeah?" you replied cautiously.

"Miguel needs you to watch Gabriella tonight at five. You free?"

Wait, what? Your brows furrowed, and a flicker of irritation sparked in you.

"Why didn't he just tell me that himself?" you asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. But inside, you were fuming. Is he seriously avoiding me?

Your dad didn't seem to notice the edge in your voice. "I don't know. Maybe he didn't want to bother you directly. Anyway, it's settled, right? You'll do it?"

You wanted to protest, to come up with an excuse, but instead, you sighed and muttered, "Yeah, fine."

"Great," he said, completely oblivious. "I'll let him know. Thanks, kiddo."

The line went dead, and you stared at your phone for a moment, your irritation growing. What the hell, Miguel?

Was he really avoiding you? You replayed the last conversation in your head—the charged moment outside his car, the tension that simmered beneath every word you exchanged. Sure, you'd both agreed it'll never happen again, but now it felt like he was going out of his way to keep his distance.

And damn it, you weren't sure if you were angry at him for avoiding you... or angry at yourself for wanting him not to.

____________________________________________

Later that day, at exactly 3:45, your phone buzzed. This time, it wasn't your dad—it was Miguel.

323 Edgewood Ct

The message was short, followed by a second one almost immediately.

The gate code is 0314.

You stared at the screen for a second, feeling an odd mix of relief, frustration, and something you couldn't quite name. Finally, you thought. He reached out himself. But the irritation lingered—why had he gone through your dad in the first place?

You typed a simple thumbs-up emoji and hit send. That seemed neutral enough. Still, as you locked your phone, your thoughts spiraled. Part of you wanted to tell him off, to demand why he couldn't just ask you directly the first time. Another part, a more reckless, dangerous part, wanted to slam your mouth against his and drag him back into the attraction you both kept pretending wasn't there.

You arrived 15 minutes earlier than expected. The cool autumn air bit at your cheeks as you stepped out of your car, your breath visible in little white puffs. You slipped off your glove, fingers trembling slightly, though you weren't sure if it was from the cold or the anticipation.

You punched in the code, 0314, and felt the gate click open. As you walked up the path, you couldn't shake the mixture of anger and excitement building in your chest. Why does he have to make things so complicated? you thought.

Inside, Miguel was rushing to tidy up. He'd spent the last ten minutes picking up stray toys, straightening the couch cushions, and wiping down the kitchen counters. Now, he stood in the living room, debating whether he should change his shirt before you arrived. But before he could decide, the knock came.

He let out a breath, ran a hand through his hair, and headed to the door.

When he opened it, there you were. Casual but stunning—how did you even manage that? You wore a cream colored frilly shirt and jeans. Your hair framed your face in soft coils, and the thick gold hoops on your ears caught the afternoon light, gleaming against your skin.

Miguel's eyes did that thing again, the thing where they refused to behave. They traveled down your body, lingering too long before he caught himself. He cleared his throat, straightening his back.

"Hey," he said, his voice raspier than he intended. "You're early."

"Yeah, sorry about that," you replied, shifting your weight awkwardly. "I should've texted, but... I figured it'd give you more time to, I don't know, go do whatever it is you need to do."

Miguel shook his head, stepping aside. "No need to apologize. Come in."

You hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside. The warmth of his house wrapped around you, and the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something earthy—whiskey, maybe—filled your senses.

"I—" You both started speaking at the same time.

"Oh, you go first," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"No, no, you."

Miguel studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on your face, your lips, as if trying to read what was going through your mind. The weight of his gaze made your skin prickle, and you cursed yourself for how easy it was to lose your composure around him.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice softening. "I was thinking... maybe we could talk? In private?"

His brow furrowed slightly. You could see a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity? Concern? Eagerness?

"Sure," he said, gesturing toward a door off the main hallway. "My office."

You followed him into a small room that somehow felt more intimate than you'd expected. The air was thick with his scent, and the dark wood furniture added to the room's warm, masculine feel. He closed the door behind you with a soft click and leaned casually against his desk, crossing his forearms.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his deep voice laced with genuine concern.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your nerves. "Well," you started, "I just find it... ridiculous that you couldn't just reach out to me directly."

His brows knitted tighter. "What do you mean?"

You crossed your arms, your voice growing firmer. "Using my dad to tell me to come watch your kid?"

He tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal—"

"It is a big deal," you cut him off, your words sharper than you intended. "I mean, yeah, we had sex, but that doesn't mean we can't be professional." to him, it seems like it's more than that.

Miguel's mouth opened slightly, then shut. His jaw tightened for a moment, and he looked down at the floor before meeting your eyes again.

"Look," he said evenly, "it wasn't about avoiding you. I just didn't want to... complicate things."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Complicate things? Miguel, it's already complicated!"

The room went silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling between you. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

"You're right," he admitted. His voice was softer now, almost apologetic. "It is complicated. But it's not like I'm trying to avoid you." He was so calm and collected, it was almost sexy.

"Then what are you trying to do?" you asked, your tone quieter but no less intense.

Miguel's eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, you thought he might say something—something real, something honest. But instead, he straightened up, leaning off the desk.

"I'm just trying to do what's best," he said, his voice measured.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Right. What's best." How is not talking to me 'what's best'?

Your words hung in the air, and neither of you moved. The tension was unbearable, the air thick with unsaid things.

You broke the silence first, your voice softer now. "You could've just texted me, Miguel."

He sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know. I'll remember that next time."

"Good," you replied, your tone still laced with frustration. But as you turned to leave, you could feel his eyes on you, the tension between you still simmering beneath the surface.

"Where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?" Your voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, a layer of curiosity you couldn't quite mask.

Miguel's gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. "I've got a work thing," he replied smoothly, his voice even, though there was a hint of distraction. His lips curved slightly, just enough to suggest the beginnings of a smirk. "Nothing too exciting—just one of those mandatory corporate dinners."

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. "I see..." Your tone softened, and the air between you shifted, growing just a fraction calmer.

Miguel, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle change in your demeanor. It intrigued him—your reactions always did. They were small, quiet things, but he caught them every time. His curiosity flared, his gaze sharpening as he tilted his head slightly.

"Why do you ask?" His voice held a touch of amusement now, warm and inviting, as he took a deliberate step closer. The distance between you shrank, and you could feel the intensity of his presence in the small gap that remained.

"I dunno..." You shrugged lightly, the corner of your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I guess I'm just nosy."

Miguel chuckled, a rich, low sound that filled the room. "Figured as much," he teased, his tone playful as his arms folded across his chest.

The way he leaned against the wall, so casually confident, made your heart race. He had this way of commanding a room without even trying, and the way his dark eyes locked onto yours only added to the magnetic pull between you.

"Anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" he said, his smirk deepening.

"Yeah," you shot back, matching his energy. "But anyone ever tell you satisfaction brought it back?"

For a moment, the energy between you snapped taut like a live wire. The banter was light, but the heat beneath it was unmistakable. You felt your pulse quicken as his gaze flicked down briefly to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes.

You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself and pull back from the edge. "I just wanted to know... in case Gabriella asks," you said, your tone softer now, though you avoided his eyes.

Miguel chuckled again, this time softer, as if he could see right through you. "Just looking out for Gabriella, huh?" His voice held that same playful edge, though the warmth in it was undeniable.

You shifted under his gaze, the weight of it making it hard to think clearly. "Mr. O'Hara..." The words slipped out, surprising even you. You'd never called him that before, and it came out with an almost teasing lilt.

His brow quirked, the smirk returning to his lips. "Yes?"

"I—" Whatever you were about to say was interrupted by the sound of tiny footsteps thudding across the floor.

"Daddy, look!" Gabriella's voice rang out, full of excitement, as she bounded into the room, clutching a small bunny stuffed animal in her hand.

Miguel's attention immediately shifted to his daughter, his expression softening in an instant. He crouched down to her level, a warm smile spreading across his face as he scooped her up effortlessly. "What've you got there, Mija?"

"It's my bunny!" she said proudly, holding it up for him to see.

"That's a good-looking bunny," he said, nuzzling her cheek affectionately before glancing back at you.

You smiled, crouching slightly to meet Gabriella's eye line. "Hey, Gabriella! Remember me?"

Her eyes lit up with recognition, and her smile grew impossibly wider. "Yeah!" she said, waving the bunny at you as if it were saying hello too.

"Guess what?" you said, your voice warm and inviting. "I'm gonna be babysitting you tonight."

Gabriella's face brightened even more, and she looked between you and her dad, practically bouncing in his arms. "Yay!" she squealed, waving her bunny excitedly.

Miguel chuckled, glancing between the two of you with a look that was both amused and appreciative. "Looks like someone's excited," he said, his tone soft.

You smiled back at Gabi. "We're going to have so much fun, aren't we?" Then, glancing back at Miguel, you asked, "Can I call you Gabi?"

Miguel noticed the subtle way your eyes flicked to him, even as you spoke to his daughter. He nodded, watching the way you connected with her.

"Yeah! You can call me Gabi!" she said happily.

Miguel stood, placing Gabriella back on the ground. "Alright, Gabi," he said, his tone serious but warm. "You be good for her, okay?"

"I will!" she promised, clutching her bunny tightly.

You straightened up, glancing at Miguel again. "Don't worry, Mr. O'Hara. She's in good hands."

His eyes lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. "Thanks," he said, his voice low and sincere.

Miguel crouched to give Gabriella one more kiss on the forehead, then straightened up and turned toward the door. But before he left, his gaze found yours again. It was the kind of look that made your chest tighten like he wanted to say something but didn't.

"Be good," he said softly, his voice directed at both of you, though his eyes stayed on yours for a moment too long.

You watched as he opened the door and stepped outside, the lingering heat of his presence still filling the space.

Gabi tugged at your leg, bringing you back to reality. "Are we gonna play now?"

You smiled down at her, placing a hand gently on her head. "Yeah, Gabi. Let's go play."

As the door clicked shut behind Miguel, you let out a quiet breath. I hate when he looks at me like that. The thought echoed in your mind, but you couldn't deny the warmth that lingered long after he was gone.

___________________________________________

The night unfolded effortlessly, a comforting rhythm settling in as you spent time with Gabriella. She was eager to show you her favorite songs, her tiny hands swiping expertly through a playlist on her tablet. Her face lit up as she sang along, her enthusiasm contagious. You couldn’t help but join in, laughing at her adorable dance moves.

Afterward, you worked on a puzzle together, the two of you piecing together a vivid picture of a magical castle. When that was complete, you moved on to board games. Gabi was competitive in the cutest way, scrunching her nose when she lost and cheering loudly when she won.

By dinnertime, you decided to keep it simple: spaghetti and asparagus. Gabi, however, wasn’t a fan of the asparagus. She scrunched up her face dramatically after taking a single bite, pushing it aside on her plate with an exaggerated groan. “Yuck!” she declared, making you laugh.

For dessert, you suggested making cupcakes, and her face lit up like Christmas morning. She insisted on being the “chef,” claiming the single apron in the kitchen for herself. It was far too big for her, the straps dragging on the floor, but she wore it proudly.

As the two of you mixed the batter, Gabi’s enthusiasm got the better of her. She accidentally tipped the bowl slightly, and a glob of batter splattered onto your shirt. Her eyes went wide with alarm. “I’m so sorry!” she said, her voice high-pitched with worry.

You laughed, waving off her apology. “It’s okay, Gabi. Just part of the fun.”

But Gabi wasn’t satisfied. “You can borrow one of my shirts!” she offered earnestly, already darting toward her room.

You grinned, shaking your head as you followed her. “I think your shirts might be a little… small for me,” you teased.

Gabi giggled, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward Miguel’s room instead. “Then you can wear one of Daddy’s!” she announced with a sense of authority, leading you to his closet.

You hesitated at the doorway, unsure if you should rummage through his things. But Gabi was persistent, pulling out a soft, oversized sweater and holding it up proudly. “Here! This one’s big!”

With a reluctant sigh, you gave in, slipping into the sweater. It was warm and impossibly soft, the fabric carrying a faint hint of Miguel’s cologne. The scent was subtle but distinct, and it lingered around you as you threw your batter-stained shirt into the washer.

When you returned to the living room, Gabi was already curled up on the couch, waiting to resume the movie you’d started earlier. You joined her, the two of you sinking into the cushions as you laughed at the antics on the screen. Before long, her little head began to droop, her eyelids fluttering shut as she succumbed to sleep.

You carefully tucked a blanket around her, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in her arms. The house grew quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the movie’s credits rolling in the background.

Not long after, the sound of keys jingling broke the silence, followed by the click of the front door opening. Miguel stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway as he looked around. His eyes softened when he saw Gabi sleeping peacefully on the couch, then flicked to you.

You were still in his sweater, your legs tucked under you as you looked up at him. The sight of you like that, comfortable in his home, stirred something in him. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave you a small, grateful smile, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before he walked further inside.

____________________________________________

The oversized sweater hung off you like a soft blanket, the sleeves loose and baggy, the hem just barely brushing above your thighs. The fabric was warm and carried his scent—a mix of cedarwood, spice, and something distinctly Miguel. You felt vulnerable and oddly comfortable all at once. You slipped out from under Gabi’s tiny grasp, her stuffed bunny still tucked into her arms, and gently placed her head on a pillow. She didn’t stir as you stood, her small chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

You made your way to Miguel, who was standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders still framed by the soft glow from outside. His gaze was already on you, lingering with an intensity that made your heart race. He glanced briefly at the kitchen, where evidence of your baking escapade was clear—a small dusting of flour on the counter, a bowl left soaking in the sink, a few stray cupcake sprinkles scattered here and there. His lips curved into a soft chuckle.

"Hey," you greeted him, your voice hushed to match the quiet of the room.

"Hey," Miguel replied, his voice low, warm. His eyes returned to you, dark and smoldering as they drank at the sight of you wearing his old college sweater. It hung loosely over your frame, the strings frayed, the material soft against your skin. Dios mío... you look too good in that, he thought but kept the words to himself.

"Um, sorry about the kitchen," you said quickly, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. You gestured vaguely toward the baking mess. "I’ll clean it up before I go."

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. "Don’t worry about it," he said, his voice soft but firm. His eyes lingered a beat too long on you, trailing from the messy bun atop your head to the way his sweater fell over your curves.

"You don’t have to clean. I’ll handle it," Miguel continued, his gaze snapping back to your face. Then his brows raised slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "... Is that my sweater?"

Your cheeks warmed instantly. "Yeah, uh," you began awkwardly, glancing down at yourself, tugging at the hem. "I got cupcake batter on my shirt, so I threw it in the wash. Gabi insisted I grab something from your closet."

Miguel leaned slightly against the counter, crossing his arms. The motion made his biceps flex just enough to be distracting. "It’s fine," he said, his voice dropping an octave. His smirk widened just slightly. "Looks better on you anyway."

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle the flutter in your stomach. "She had a couple of cupcakes," you said, changing the subject. "But she crashed pretty hard after her sugar rush."

Miguel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, that sounds about right," he said. His gaze softened as it flicked briefly to Gabi, still sleeping soundly on the couch. Then, it shifted back to you, and the tension returned, thick and heavy in the air.

"Thanks," Miguel said quietly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "She seems happy. Did she give you any trouble?"

You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest, unconsciously mimicking his posture. "No, not at all. She’s a sweetheart. Honestly, it was fun."

"Good," he murmured, watching you closely. His eyes traced the way you hugged yourself, the way you avoided his gaze when he looked at you for too long. Something about you seemed uneasy, guarded, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He moved toward the kitchen island, setting his briefcase down. The sound of the latches clicking open broke the silence, and he pulled out his checkbook. "How much do I owe you?"

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, stammering, "Oh, um... whatever you think is fair."

Miguel raised a brow, pausing mid-motion. "That’s not how this works," he said with a smirk. "Just tell me. Hourly rate?"

"Uh... seventy dollars?" you said hesitantly, cringing inwardly. You hated talking about money. "I mean, if that’s okay—"

"Seventy dollars?" Miguel interrupted, clearly unimpressed. "No. You babysat for four hours. Thirty-five an hour. That’s one forty."

Your eyes widened. "Miguel, that’s too much—"

"It’s not too much," he cut you off smoothly, his tone firm but not unkind. "It’s what I’d pay anyone else. And you’ve gone above and beyond."

He began writing the check, his pen gliding over the paper with practiced ease. "Besides," he added, his voice dipping lower as he glanced up at you, "you’re worth it."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your stomach twisting into knots. "Mr. O’Hara," you said, your voice shaky but your tone sharp, trying to deflect. "I—"

"Mr. O’Hara?" Miguel interrupted, setting the pen down and raising a brow. His lips curved into an amused smile. "You’ve been calling me that a lot lately. Why so formal all of a sudden?"

You hesitated, your heart pounding. "Maybe... maybe it’s to remind myself to stay professional," you admitted, though your voice lacked conviction.

Miguel tilted his head, his smile widening. "Professional, huh?" His tone was teasing, almost daring. He took a step closer, closing the space between you.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "most babysitters don’t end up wearing their client’s clothing."

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest, your cheeks heating. "You’re really stuck on this sweater," you shot back defensively.

"Not stuck," he said, his eyes flicking down to the oversized fabric draping over your frame. "Just saying—it looks better on you than it ever did on me."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he took another slow step closer. The space between you grew smaller, and his presence felt overwhelming, intoxicating.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. "Mmm..."

Miguel’s gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone still.

He reached out and placed a hand on your hip, slowly pulling you closer. The distance between you was almost non-existent now, your bodies pressed against each other. He could feel the heat of your skin as he looked down at you.

"You're really somethin'... you know that?" He whispered, my breath warm against your neck.

"Careful," He murmured. The hand on your hip tightened, holding you in place. "Don't fall."

You couldn’t help it, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and a soft laugh was about to escape when you quickly straightened your face, biting it back. His amused expression faded, replaced with something deeper, something intense. The air between you shifted, electric and heavy, as your eyes locked.

Neither of you looked away. It wasn’t just eye contact, it was a silent conversation, a wordless exchange. His eyes, dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name, held yours in place, refusing to let you go. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, your gaze flicked downward to his lips.

Big mistake.

The moment hung, fragile and weighted, before shattering like glass. It was as if both of you had reached the same decision at the exact same time. Without thinking, without hesitation, your bodies moved in perfect sync. His hands came up, one brushing lightly against your cheek, the other settling firmly on your waist, pulling you closer.

And then, your lips met.

It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was heated, desperate, as though the tension that had been building between you for so long had finally snapped. Your breath hitched as his mouth claimed yours, the kiss urgent and hungry. One of your hands found its way to his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, while the other gripped the fabric of his sweater that you were still wearing.

His lips were soft yet commanding, moving against yours in a way that made your knees weak. He tasted faintly of mint and something entirely him, a flavor you knew you’d never forget. You moaned into the kiss, making sure to keep quiet, gripping his neck. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, and you melted into him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Your pelvis grinded into him as you felt his hand pull you at the small of your back. Your mouth was warm, the kiss was fiery, passionate, needy.

The world around you faded. There was no kitchen, no couch, and no sleeping child nearby. There was only him, his warmth, his touch, the way he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever to do it. And maybe he had.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested lightly against yours. His breath was uneven, matching your own, his eyes searching yours as if to gauge what the hell you were thinking.

"That... probably shouldn’t have happened," you whispered, though your voice was far from convincing.

Miguel smirked, his lips still brushing against yours. "No," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But it did."

And neither of you moved away.

____________________________________________

Taglist: @keidilla

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