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★20 ★Miguel O'Hara Enthusiast ★She/Her ★Spanish and English ★Mexican ★Minors DNI ★PFP by @harleyhasguessed ★Asks Open
561 posts
"Like I'm Holding The World In My Arms"
"Like I'm holding the world in my arms"
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[miguel o'hara] holding the world
This is reposted from my AO3!
After a nightmare all about your deepest insecurities, Miguel is quick to comfort you.
In other words: I was having fun reading a filthy as fudge Miguel O’Hara fic, and all of a sudden, literary SUBDROP hit me in the face like Peter Porker had just pulled an anvil out of nowhere. SO--this short little blurb is for all my fellow Miguel O’Hara simps who need something soft to follow up that kinky shit. Not quite aftercare, but a whole--“you exist as a human being outside of sex” sort of thing. Especially when that sort of “post-nut/fic” clarity hits and you need some love. So yeah!-- love y’all.
tags: hurt/comfort, praise kink (that isn't really a praise kink but just comforting), fluff, angst, can be taken in a post-sex manner
His palm presses down harshly between your shoulder blades, forcing your face into the mattress while his free hand bruises your hip.
“This is all you’re good for–” he whispers– “and to think you’re not even that pretty.”
To say that you were innocent would be a lie, but to say that you could take little blows like that on a high without realizing how much the doubt built up would be doubly so. And while your Miguel never degraded you like that–would never even dare to go near such a thing–the insecurities had built up. The dam overflowed.
It’s what made you wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, imaginary hands on your neck lingering in the cool dark shadows.
“Mm… mi cariño? Por favor–what’s wrong?”
Miguel’s voice comes out as a mumble, muddled with sleep. And yet, his arm, formerly rested across your waist with lazy affection, is still strong as it pulls you into his chest. His face now nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
“Bad dream,” you answer in return. “It’s nothing… Go back to sleep.”
But he feels the way your body is stiff against his, and the way your chest rises and falls in the wake of frantic pain. He doesn’t believe you.
“I won’t until I know you’re okay. So don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
His voice is clearer now that his concern has further awakened him. But you don’t respond right away – unsure of how to do so. It was a nightmare, you tell yourself. A fear from past trauma and situationships and exes that shouldn’t – and wouldn’t – apply now. You tell yourself he loves you. Miguel loves you. You know you do.
And yet, your brain doesn’t trust him. Refuses to. He’s too good to be true.
You overthink so much that your words don’t come out natural.
“I– I just… You– you love me, right?”
As you glance up at him, hands on his chest, you see Miguel’s soft expression harden. It almost makes you flinch: you’ve seen so many faces before that it’s hard to distinguish different types of stress. Or more like your own stress keeps you from determining his exact mood. So much so that, for a moment, you think he’ll answer no–
–but better than a yes–
–he sighs and presses his forehead against yours. Lets you feel small and safe and vulnerable all at once. In a way that you let him. And he traces the tips of his fingers down the side of your face–not quite cupping it, but brushing strands of your hair away.
“When I call you mi vida, mi amor, mi corazón – I don’t mean that you’re the love of my life. I mean that you are my heart in its entirety.” He gathers up your hands in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That I am yours as much as you are mine.”
It’s his kindness that makes you break.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just– I trust you– I swear I do. But a part of me just nags that you don’t really want me. That all I do is annoy you. That I’m not enough and never will be–”
Miguel doesn’t say anything to halt your rants. He knows you need this moment to vent, and as such, does nothing but shush you gently as he sits upright and holds you in his lap. Once your cries quiet down, he wipes away your tears with his thumb, places a kiss to your forehead. All that, and more.
And seeing you pout, he gives you this half-soft, half-teasing smile.
“... Do you need me to praise you? I’ve got a lot of those up my sleeve, you know.”
You can feel how puffy your eyes are right now. Hell, you can feel all the side-effects of ugly crying–snotty nose, congested throat, raw skin. But Miguel doesn’t seem to care as you come to nod, only complying with what you need, and speaking gently as though singing a lullaby.
“Alright, then. You’re a good girl, you know. No–the best girl. I know you try your best in everything, but when it gets hard and you just want to exist for a bit, that’s okay, too. And have I mentioned how pretty you are? Ay por Dios, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. The smartest, too. She’s got me like a fool on a leash. Imagine that…”
You can feel sleep take you once again as he speaks. And you can feel the way he moves your shared blanket over your shoulders as your eyelids droop.
What you don’t hear is how he ends his little speech, long after consciousness has departed.
“And you’ll never believe how much I love her. Like I’m holding the world in my arms.”
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Doodle of Spiderwebs :3
Hi everyone! I made a doodle of @harleyhasguessed beautiful and handsome spidersona, you probably know them from the drawing on my pfp :3 either way go check her out
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ONCE AGAIN YOUR GIRL IS LATE LMAO
Made a fanart of Miguel and Aph for the 9th Anniversary for Undertale which is one of my favorite games and got me into story based and choice games, aka my favorite type
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Yes, I know Toriel and Asgore are not together in Undertale (Atleast not anymore) but Aph and Miguel fit them too much not to draw them as those two :3
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