Show Me Where It Hurts (part 1)

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

and i want it back, i want the old me.

Miguel O’Hara x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1072

A/N: Prequel to this. Angst, implied!established relationship, argument. Will not be doing another part so please don’t ask.

You storm into Miguel’s office, furious after having caught wind from Peter B. and Gwen about the chase with Miles. You were away on a separate mission at the time and weren’t there for the whole ordeal but you heard the general gist from your two friends. It’s dark in Miguel’s office as he stands atop his platform, staring at his monitors with his back turned as usual. “Miguel!” You yell, anger spilling out of every pore of your body.

Miguel simply sighs in annoyance at hearing your voice, turning around in obvious frustration. “Whatever you’re going to say…just don’t,” he threatens, his voice bitter and exhausted.

“Don’t?! DON’T?!” you laugh, outraged at his words and the audacity to dismiss you. “Tell me Miguel…what exactly went through your mind as you violently chased a 15 year old boy and told him he was a mistake?!” You were shaking at this point, voice trembling as you let out all your rage towards the man above you.

“He’s not supposed to be Spider-Man, he’s an anomaly! A threat to his universe!” Miguel raises his voice, dripping with anger.

“And you think he asked for this? You think he asked to be bitten by some spider that was never supposed to be in his universe? There has got to be a better way of handling this than by treating him like some monster.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” Miguel bursts, jumping off his platform to loom over your form. He gets close to your face, baring his fangs and eyes red with fury. “Don’t lecture me when I’m the only one keeping things together. I’ll be damned if I let some stupid kid ruin it all.”

You flinch slightly, his large stature appearing very threatening. Nonetheless, you glare back at Miguel, refusing to step down. “I understand how important your job is but this is not the way to do it,” you say, clenching your jaw. “I know you’re angry at Miles but of course he’s going to want to save his dad. He shouldn’t be punished for that.”

“Being Spider-Man is about making sacrifices.” Miguel begins to lecture. “And if he can’t accept that then he puts his whole universe at risk.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, looking around in disbelief at his words. You cross your arms and tilt your head at him. “Is that all you think being Spider-Man is about? Deal with sacrifices and just accept that?! Have you really forgotten why we do what we’re supposed to do?” You yell, waving your finger back and forth between him and yourself.

“Save me your useless lecture and just stay out of the way (Y/n),” Miguel rolls his eyes, moving to turn away from you.

“No Miguel, I’m sick and tired of you never taking me seriously,” you quip, webbing his feet to the ground. You move to stand in front of him again, maintaining eye contact. “None of us chose to be Spider-Man, okay? Yes our lives are hard and yes we lose so many people but the point of us is that we keep going. We keep fighting and keep helping as many people as we can because we have the power to do so. Miles believes he can save his father and his universe so of course he’s going to try to do that. Of course he’s going to go against all odds that it doesn’t work because despite it all, he knows that if there’s even the slightest chance he can save both then he has to try.”

Miguel glares at you with a pointed glare before moving his face close to yours. “And that’s what’s going to get him and everyone in his world killed. You can either help me stop him or get out of my way,” he threatens, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t say anything, maintaining eye contact. You can feel his breath on your face with how close he is and part of you can’t help but flicker your gaze to his lips. Miguel notices this and smirks, standing up straight and breaking out of your webs with ease. He goes to wrap his arms around you. “Come on (Y/n), let’s go-”

You move out his grasp and shake your head in frustration. Miguel is slightly surprised, you’ve never rejected his affections before. “You're not going to change your mind, are you?” you ask, looking down at the ground. You already know his answer but you’re struggling with the decision you now have to make.

“I can't.” Miguel replies curtly, observing your body language. He sees how tense your shoulders are and how you turn away from him after his answer.

“Then I quit,” you sigh, looking over your shoulder at him. You can’t see him but you can hear the fabric of his suit as he clenches his fists and his small grunt of frustration.

“Are you serious?” Miguel growls, eyes red as he looks at you. You two have known each other for years and the last thing he needs is your betrayal.

You turn and face him, nodding your head. You look at Miguel up and down and frown. He barely even looks like a hero with the way he’s looking at you, as though you were some horrible villain. “I can’t support what you’re doing.”

Miguel sneers at you and his breathing gets heavier with frustration as he grumbles. “I should have never wasted my time on you.” 

You feel your heart break as he says this, memories of all the time you’ve spent together flooding your head. The times where he used to look at you with so much love and now you can't find a trace of that in him. You feel tears of both anger and sorrow build up as you watch him go back to his platform. 

You open a portal with the device on your wrist, preparing to go in before you look at him one last time. “Goodbye Miguel,” you spoke, one last time.

Miguel grimaces and doesn’t even look back at you as he scoffs. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

You feel a tear fall down your cheek as you sigh. You take the device off your wrist and throw it to the ground, hearing it clatter as you walk through the portal.

The portal closes. Miguel is left alone in silence, the smallest mix of doubt and regret planted in his chest.

______________________________________________________________

Tags: @anidiotwhoreads

Deserve It - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 620, sorry chapters will get longer!

Warnings: Weight insecurity, anxiety, angst, age gap, loss, eventual smut. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

A/N: There is nothing wrong with being plus sized. As a plus sized woman I’ve dealt with and am still dealing with insecurities and this is pretty therapeutic for me. This is my first time writing any of my ideas down. Helpful criticism is always welcomed just please be kind because I will cry lol.

Continuar lendo

Nothing Stays the Same Forever: Chapter 4

fContent Warning: fat/body shaming.  Joel and Tommy aren’t having any of it, but proceed with some caution it is pretty mean. Also, Joel might be a wee bit ooc but I can’t help it.  I’m weak thinking about that gruff man being soft and sweet.

previous

It had been about two weeks since he had last seen her.  According to Ellie she had been by the house a few times to visit.  He wanted to tell the girl not to wear out her welcome, but it sounded like Y/N was happy to sit and listen to whatever the teenager had to say.  And Joel knew she had a lot to say.  So he figured that if it got to be too much Y/N would nudge her along.  It did make him happy to see Ellie had a woman she trusted, though he kept that thought to himself.  Not that she didn’t have a good relationship with Maria, but it was different.  

He might have gone longer, until the next “family” dinner, but that morning he realized there was a large tear in his most worn jacket.  The lining flapped open exposing the fibrous filling, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember when or how it happened.  He asked Ellie and the teen had just shrugged and said something sarcastic before going off with a group of kids.  So after helping out with some of the livestock he cleaned up and headed over to the building Tommy told him Y/N worked out of.  

He heard the sewing machine going when he stepped through the doorway, and she was hunched over, all her focus on the stitches.  An old tape deck played what he thought was an old Patsy Cline ballad from a corner.  There were neat stacks of clothing on shelves and boxes labeled ‘scraps’.  He didn’t want to startle her so he waited patiently until the machine stopped and she pulled her project away, neatly snipping a thread.  She held it up and he saw it was a sweet little quilt, the squares sewn into a heart pattern.  He tapped his knuckles on the door frame to get her attention and she turned sharply, her expression wide eyed.  When she realized it was only him she relaxed a fraction.  

“Oh, hello Joel.  I was a little worried you were Maria or Tommy.  This is a surprise for them.”  She gently set the material aside.  “Is there something I can help you with?”  He nodded and walked over to hand her his jacket.

“I saw this big rip this morning.”  She took the garment from him to examine, a little furrow between her brows.  

“Huh, it almost  looks like the seam was cut.  Maybe the thread came loose and you snagged it on something.”  She looked up with a soft smile.  “It’s a quick and simple fix.”  

“I can wait.”  He said.  Y/N blinked a few times and her hands fumbled a bit.  

“That’s fine,” she finally replied.  “There’s um, an extra chair right there.”  She got up to look through her supply of thread to see if she could match the original color.  “This isn’t an exact match, but it should blend in and it won’t be noticeable.”  She heard the chair scrape across the floor.

“That’s fine.  As long as it’s fixed.”  She was a bit surprised when she turned back to see he had moved the chair to sit more or less directly across from her at her work table.  Refusing to let him see that she was even a little bit rattled she quickly regained her composure and sat back down.  He carefully pulled the little quilt closer to him so he could look at the pattern.  Watching his dark eyes take in the details of something she had worked so hard on was nerve wracking.  He traced his calloused fingertips over the heart that made up the center of the blanket.  

“It’s for the baby.”  She told him in a quiet voice.  “I have a little teddy bear at home too.  Tommy came back from patrol one morning with his flannel all torn up after he stumbled into a pricker bush.  I salvaged enough to use so the baby has something made at least partly from something that belonged to their daddy.”  

“Very thoughtful of you.”  He told her.  “This looks nice.”  He tapped the unfinished quilt.  She ducked her head, but he saw the pleased grin on her face.  

“It’s not much, but sometimes I have a lot of down time.  I never made many blankets or quilts before…well, just before.  But I hate to see anything go to waste so I try to recycle any ruined clothing and stuff and turn it back into something useful.”

“Gets cold.”  Joel wanted to smack himself for his stilted small talk but she didn’t seem to mind.  

“It’s nice to give people something new, even if it’s made up of old parts.  There isn’t much that exists anymore that didn’t belong to a whole lot of other people first.”  He followed her nimble fingers with his eyes, watching her quickly and carefully stitch the lining back together.  Every once in a while she would pause and coax the fiber fill back in.  All too soon, she was finished, and if Joel hadn’t seen the damage himself it would have been impossible to tell that it had ripped at all in the first place.  

“You do good work.”  He said after inspecting it.  

“It ripped along a seam, really no trouble.”  She looked down and away again and he frowned.  

“Don’t sell yourself short.  I don’t see anyone else in here doing the work.”  She shook her head.  

“There’s lots of people in Jackson doing a lot more than I can.”  She wrung her hands together.  “Keeping us all safe, hunting for food…I’m just here with my needle and thread.”  

“I hunt.  I patrol.  I definitely can’t pick up a needle and thread and do this,”  he held up his jacket.  “Or take scraps of fabric and turn it into that.”  He gestured at the baby quilt.  “Jackson doesn’t only need hunters and guards.  It needs people like you that keep us all clothed.  That are thoughtful enough to make a blanket and teddy bear for a friend’s baby.  Or a quilt to keep someone warm at night.”  

“That’s kind of you to say, thank you.”  She replied after a few moments.  

“Thank you for the repair job.”  He said, putting the jacket on.  “Seems it’s about quittin’ time, buy you a drink?”  The invitation surprised him as much as it did Y/N.  

“Oh, that’s not necessary…” She began.

“Maybe not.  Still offerin’.”  He could see the struggle in her face, and he wondered why he wanted her to accept so badly.  

“Well, okay.  Thanks, that sounds nice.”  She finally answered.  “Just um, let me tidy up everything real quick.”  She hoped that setting her work space back to a clean slate would calm her frazzled nerves but she was no calmer when she finished putting things away.  She carefully folded the tiny quilt and tucked it into a box with spools of thread.  Taking a moment to press a hand to her chest to soothe her thumping heart, she steeled herself and turned to leave with Joel.  

…

She hadn’t stepped foot into The Tipsy Bison before then.  Alcohol tended to erode away people’s filters, and in Y/N’s experience that led to her needing to dodge insults and cruel critiques.  But Joel’s presence gave her a slight feeling of security.  He wasn’t the type of person people went after, he was the type of person that cleared a pathway through a crowd with an air of intimidation.  He was however, still a southern gentleman at his core and pulled out a bar stool for her.  She awkwardly climbed and slid onto the seat.  Joel sat next to her, his arm nearly touching hers.  It made the side of her body closest to him tingle just from his proximity.  She was happy to see Tommy behind the bar.  Seeing another familiar face was comforting in a place where she was more or less completely out of her element.  

“What can I get you two?”  He asked them with an open smile.  

“Usual.”  Joel grunted.  Y/N hesitated.

“I’m not much of a drinker…”  

“How about a glass of mead?”  Tommy suggested, pouring whiskey into a glass for his brother.  “They use honey from our own hives to make it.”  

“Sounds good, I’ll give it a try.”  

“Didn’t know people still made mead,” Joel said.  “Guess when the world ends you figure out how to keep getting drunk.”  He took a sip from his glass, savoring the smokey flavor of the whiskey.  

“Guess so.”  Y/N replied.  He sensed her tense up beside him when a few men wandered up to the bar.  Tommy set a glass of golden liquid in front of her and turned his attention to the new arrivals.  She was silent, her left hand clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, but she took a sip.  “Pretty good.” She muttered.  Joel turned his head when a table across the room erupted into raucous laughter leaving his bad ear facing her.  So he didn’t hear what was said that had Tommy furious and yelling; and Y/N looking like she had been slapped.  

“The fuck is wrong with you?”  Tommy demanded, pulling the drink he was about to serve back from a man with a smug grin on his face.  

“I’m sorry, I just haven’t seen a land whale since the world ended.  Figured with it being the fucking apocalypse they would have all gone extinct with nothing to eat.”  His buddy beside him laughed.

“Didn’t know Jackson let bloaters move in.”  Joel’s vision went red and hot with anger and he suddenly found himself with his hand wrapped around the first man’s throat.  

“Excuse me?”  He hissed through gritted teeth.  Tommy started to make his way around the bar.  “The fuck did you say?”  The man swallowed nervously but refused to back down even in his precarious position.  

“Hey man, I get it.  Chubby chasing was fun back in the day, but she’ll eat you out of house and home before the novelty wears off.”  Joel’s fingers constricted and the man’s face started turning red.  

“Joel, Joel!”  Tommy gripped his forearm and tugged.  “Let ‘im go.  He’s not worth it.” 

“Imagine getting so worked up over the little piggy that went to market.”  The buddy laughed, the sound sharp and cruel.  Joel threw the first man aside.  He hit an empty table hard, landing on the bar floor.  He pushed past Tommy and caught the other man by the shirt and watched his expression turn downright afraid with a decent amount of satisfaction.  

“If either of you ever dares to even breathe in her vicinity I will break all the bones in your hands.  If she offends you so much, don’t fucking look at her.”  He shoved the man away and shook his head, looking around to see where Y/N had gone.  

“Guess the fat bitch has a guard dog.”  The first man muttered as he picked himself up.  

“Joel…”   Tommy started, reaching out to try and hold his brother back.  But the older man was far quicker and the sound of snapping bone reached his ears before he could pull Joel away.  The man let out a shrill scream and fell back clutching his arm.  

“You broke my fucking wrist!”  He shrieked, and Tommy saw his hand hanging at an unnatural angle.

“You’re lucky he didn’t break more than that,” Tommy sighed and signaled for some of the other residents to come pick the man up.  “Take him to get patched up.”  He told them.  He knew the headache wasn’t over, but he couldn’t honestly fault his brother for his reaction.  Joel’s chest was heaving, the fury beginning to leave him.  He turned a few times, looking for Y/N.  “She left, Joel.”  His brother shoved past him, the door slamming closed behind him.  He let out another sigh and got to doing his best at damage control.  

She was nowhere to be seen in the town but he figured she would most likely head to her home, her safe place.  His pulse rushed in his ears, the adrenaline of anger still pulsing through his veins.  It shouldn’t have shocked him, to see that people still had the capability to be so vicious to a person that had never harmed them or anyone else.  His only worry right then was that he had frightened her, but in the moment he couldn’t help the violent rage that had bloomed in his chest.  Y/N was one of the kindest people he had ever met, even before cordyceps had plummeted the world into chaos and catastrophe.  

The further he walked with no sign of her the more frantic he found himself getting.  He broke into a quick jog, not stopping until he was on her porch and banging on her door.  He continued until it was wrenched open and his heart twisted to see her tear stained face. 

“What is it, Joel?  I’ve had enough of this night.” 

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, out of breath.  “But I guess that’s pretty foolish, you clearly aren’t.”  

“I’m fine.”  Her voice was tight, she was trying not to start crying again.  “I’m used to it.  Everyone always has something to say about my body, how I look.  The end of the fucking world didn’t change that.”  She turned and stomped further into her house, leaving Joel to follow.  

“Those things they said, they’re fucking idiots.”  

“You think saying that changes anything?”  She cried.  “I’m the fucking idiot, Joel! I

always think it’s gonna be different, that I’ll find some place that just lets me exist in goddamn peace but I’ve finally learned I’m never going to.  But at least here I won’t be turned into a fungus zombie or be forced to-”  She broke off and looked up at him, shocked at what she was about to say out loud.  He took a step towards her.  

“Forced to what?”  He said quietly, his soft tone dangerous.  She shook her head violently and her face crumpled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes.  “Shh, it’s okay, darlin’ you don’t need to talk about it.”  He stepped closer, and laid his hand on her shoulder.  “Come on, now, you don’t need to cry.”  Tears had always been his weakness.  Moving slowly so he didn’t upset her more, he gently pulled her closer, holding Y/N’s trembling form.  She gripped at his shirt like it was a life line.  “Let it out, it’s gonna be alright.”  He tried to soothe her as she cried herself out.  When she quieted back down he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping her face back.  The pure misery in her eyes was like a gut punch.  “You didn’t deserve that tonight, and you didn’t deserve all that shit in the past either.”  Her eyes closed and another tear slipped down her cheek.  

“I’m so tired.”  She whispered.  Joel wiped the tear away with his thumb. 

“You’re so beautiful.”  He murmured, taking them both by surprise.  Y/N’s eyes opened again in shock.  “I wish you could see it.”  

“Don’t.”  He could feel her trying to pull away from him.  

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Y/N.”  He cupped her cheek.  The way she looked at him with her big, sad eyes had his stomach twisting in knots.  “Prettiest lady in this whole damn place.”  She closed her fingers around his wrist, her fingers sliding across his pulse point made his knees feel weak.  

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”  

“I’m not a particularly nice man.”  

“No, you’re not.”  She dropped her arms.  “But you aren’t mean.” Joel chuckled lightly with a sort of grim smile. 

“I can be, but not to folks that don’t deserve it.”  When her bottom lip trembled again he soothed his thumb over it.  “And you don’t deserve mean from anybody.”  The gentle kiss he pressed to her forehead made her heart ache.  “You go on and mop yourself up and get some sleep, Y/N.  If you need anything you know where I am.”  She nodded, looking mildly dazed.  He turned to leave.  

“Joel?  I heard some commotion before I got too far away.”  He made a sound of affirmation.  “Did you fight that man?”  He paused in the doorway.  

“Wasn’t nothing he didn’t deserve.”  He said finally.  “Goodnight, Y/N.”

next

taglist: @boofy1998 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

agent whiskey would go WILD for a chubby/plus size gf pLEEAAAASEEEE tell me im not the only one who thinks that

Anon, this made me go feral- you're definitely not the only one, my love!! All bodies are beautiful, but let's be honest. Everyone has a preference. And Whiskey? Oh, you know he likes his women THICC 💅

Idk if this is an ask or just a shared opinion, but I'm making hcs- Idc loves 💗😩

(MDNI 💀😉)

Listen, Kingsmen missions can be lengthy and tiring. The man travels around whipping people's ass's all day. Literally. So, he loves coming home to you sitting on the couch, legs open and blanket waiting for him. He always plops down on the cushion next to you and dramatically falls into your open arms and legs, rubbing his head against your belly as his hands slide under your thighs to hold you as close as possible. "Missed you, sugar.. Gosh, couldn't sleep a wink all week without my favorite pillow." He'd mumble, already half asleep. You'd roll your eyes with a smile on your face, draping a blanket over him as he drifted off to sleep.

Summer is Jack's favorite season purely because you always wear those cute little sun dresses that hugged your curves perfectly. He was especially fond of this one little black dress you owned that had mini purple flowers all over and a built-in corset. You liked to tighten it more in the middle to accentuate your natural hourglass frame, which made Jack give you constant hugs from behind, obsessed with the way his hands fit along the dip of your waist and flared as they ran over your hips.

Listen, face riding was something you and Jack both thoroughly enjoyed, but it always made you super nervous no matter how many times Jack tried to tell you that he was more than willing to suffocate for your pleasure- Once, as you were about to gently lower your yourself onto his face, Jack hollered out, "Tell my mama I died a happy man!" and then wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you down onto his face without hesitation...

People are assholes; there isn't anything anyone can really do about it. You know this and so does Jack. That doesn't stop him from teaching them to mind their manners when they make a snarky remark about your weight- After all, manners maketh man.

Miguel’s Reaction to You Calling Him a DILF

Warnings: Implied Smut, Dominant Miguel, Profanity, Use of ‘Daddy’, Lyla Trying Her Best <3, Fem Reader.

Despite spending every day with Lyla, an absolutely chronically online AI, Miguel knows little in the way of internet jargon.

Thus, this term - DILF - is one he’s never come across before. Namely because Lyla has never seen it fit to implement it into a conversation.

But, when Miguel overheard you calling him your “Favourite DILF; just a gorgeous, scrumptious specimen,” he had to ask Lyla to translate for him.

Miguel swore he could see her eyes widen, her brow stiffen and crease.

“It’s…it’s — uh — well…”

Lyla scratched the back of her head, her stare sloping off to the side — away from Miguel’s cattish stare. Her teeth gritted, a gateway, a preventative measure to ensure your safety and wellbeing. The only barrier between your open secret and miguel’s discovery of it.

“Oh, come on, Lyla,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, as if to inhibit the anxiety starting to bloom there. He doubted that you’d ever bad-mouth him, especially given how close the two of you were, but Lyla’s apprehension was starting to spark some doubts. Regardless, he persevered, kept his stare hard and neutral. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It..it means…” Lyla sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. She didn’t look up at Miguel, instead finding you in her mind’s eye and cursing you. And wishing the best for your safety.

“Dad I’d like to fuck.”

She came out with it, the words almost poisonous and sour on her tongue as they passed through. And the fact that she’d had to say them to Miguel of all people didn’t help.

At first, Miguel didn’t think he’d heard Lyla correctly, his posture and face remaining unchanged in the fallout of his discovery.

It was only after three seconds passed, four, five, that he truly heard — understood — what Lyla had said.

“Oh.”

A warmth bled across Miguel’s face, a creeping blush hidden only by the console’s yellow hue. Without another word, Mifuel turned tail, unfurling his arms, unravelling to his broadest potential. He began his descent, his destination clear as day in his mind’s eye.

Lyla’s’s eyes widened further, almost bulging from her head. She called, stammering: “(Y-Y/N) probably didn’t mean it! Not like that! So-so don’t go too hard on ‘er, okay?”

Miguel searched the entire facility for you, his face a concoction of emotions nobody (save for yourself) had ever seen before, thus making his mood indecipherable to all that were not you.

He eventually found you, isolated, in a room. Practically begging for what was to come next. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him.

You turned and smiled, sensing Miguel’s presence; the impression of authority.

“Hey, Miggy!” you chimed, eyes crescents. You turned back to checking off your stock list, paying little heed to the shadow advancing on you.

“Playing innocent, I see,” Miguel’s voice swooped and glided as the greatest bird of prey does, coming to stand mere centimetres behind you, his warmth at your back; a dark sun.

“I thought you’d be at home, caring for our child.” His hands came to sit on your shoulders, heavy and large. For a second, you were befuddled, believing Miguel to be spinning you a riddle. Then, realisation. Your heart dropped; you knew Miguel could feel it. Oh my God, Lyla.

“We…don’t have a child, Miguel,” you laughed, humourless and breathy. You knew you had to play your cards right. Carefully. Miguel gave a heavy, brief chuckle.

“Not yet,” he squeezed your shoulders, hands slipping down the length of your arms, the feeling of spiders creeping along your skin. “But seeing as you’re so keen on calling me daddy, I see no harm in pretending.”

His lips came to your neck, pressing deceptively soft kisses there. 

You were frozen, though a fire stoked within you. One you couldn’t bring yourself to put out.

“After all, I am your DILF, aren’t I?”

You bit your lip, eyes squeezing shut as Miguel’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your back to his front where you felt something thick and large and bulging against your tailbone.

“A baseless accusation, don’t you think ?”

Your breath shuttered. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing—“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. What matters is it’s inaccurate,” Miguel spoke with a stoic logic you’d seen one too many times. He pulled you to him, tighter, closer, his heart pounding against your back.

“But, luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood. I’m not going to punish you for your little transgression. Instead, I’m going to give you an out.” He descended upon your skin again, nipping it between his blunted teeth, the threat of his fangs in your periphery.

“What…what’s that?” You almost didn’t want to ask, your heart creeping up your throat as if to muffle your words.

Miguel’s hand slipped from your waist, sliding sharp fingers down the expanse of your back, leaving trails of goosebumps. You felt his hand come between where the most prominent part of himself and you connected, his knuckles digging into the small of your back. He ran a hand over himself through his suit, palmed himself. His eye twitched. “You just have to be a good girl and lay down and take whatever I give you until I say we’re done.”

His grip on you tightened. You could feel how dark his gaze had become, weighing heavy on you like a robe.

You said nothing – could say nothing.

“Now, you wanna say that again,” his voice was muffled by your skin, his kisses becoming wetter, languid. He pushed himself against you, taking you by the hips and pulling you so he caught you just right. You spied his eye twitch in the reflection of the filing cabinet across from you as you cracked an eye open, a steady redness overtaking Miguel’s stare, his lips turning up at the corners, revealing his fangs.

“Or are you gonna keep that pretty little mouth shut and make me into a real daddy ?”

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