Miguel O Hara Fluff - Tumblr Posts

DEARLY BELOVED

a short mini drabble that was HEAVILY inspired by a tik tok and it sparked the creative juices. (think of vampire! miguel while reading if you like) this might flop as this isn't a smut and this is a drabble that came to mind after seeing a silly tik tok

hope you all enjoy this — dia 🪻

A muse — Defined as a person or personified force that is the source of inspiration for a creative artist, it feels like a vexation for the man living in the dark corners of the castle where he called his home. The strong pull of this magnet, this attraction, weighed his cold heart down to the earth’s core. A weight on his chest. A feeling that should have vanished over the last century. But it abides and becomes middling.

Nonetheless, he didn't overlook it.

/

His warm palms rub your back in a slow, gentle action. The familiar sensation of his warm palms after holding his mug of tea was always your favorite feeling in the morning. The induced warmness against his fingertips provided a healing touch, similar to a heating pad against an aching cramp on the body.

“Desperta, querida.” The rasp in his morning voice vibrates your ear. You tossed and turned on the bed, staying in your blankets. You peer them open but shut them immediately and hide in the mount of soft Egyptian cotton. “No, no. Ya esta siendo tarde.” His fingers gathered a small chuck of your hair in between his fingers and moved your hair away from your face. (Wake up, love. It's getting late.)

His fingers brushed against the shell of your ear before he took note of a tiny mole in plain sight for his eyes to see. “You have a mole here.” You feel his finger tap on the alleged speck.

“No, I don't…” Your voice is muffled by the blankets, along with your barely parted lips. “I’m not lying, my dear.” His fingers work to move your hair away from your ear and tap on the speck once again. “Mmmh, your skin says otherwise.” His hand ruffles your hair in a playful gesture, leaving it to be a muss for you to brush out — officially giving you a task to do when you get out of the warm bedsheets.

“It's adorable.”

“I know what you're doing. And it's not going to work.” You continue to mumble on, making colorful words that make no sense to the human mind.

“Whatever you say, querida.”

/

A particular night always stuck out for Miguel.

A rainy, cold, stormy night. Thunder rumbled in the space around you two, following the flashing white light of lightning that lit up the room momentarily. The loud crash was enough to send Miguel back to a conscious state. He rubs his face with the palm of his hand and lets out a heavy sigh.

He glances over at you and sees a wet patch on the pillowcase next to your parted lips. If you wanted to, you could sleep through a tornado.

“Jesus…” His hand finds its way to your hair, gently massaging your scalp, his fingers lost in a sea of darkness known as your hair.

The pads of his fingers worked dainty patterns before gently cradling you close.

The clash of warmth made him melt like molten lava against the cold marble stone, crackling and oozing down the crevices with such grace.

“Miguel…” You squirm close to him and savor the warmth on his chest. His chest hair ticked your nose and cheeks, but the sensation of extra warmth never failed to send chills down your spine.

“Shhh, just go back to sleep.” The warmth of his hand runs down the length of your spine, stopping on your lower back and rubbing his thumb against the stretch marks. “Just go to sleep, querida.”

/

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” He probes this question at you every time you leave the Victorian manor. “Yes, Miguel. I’m going into town to get more rosemary and herbs.” You pick up your tiny woven basket and look over to your concerned lover. You sigh and make your way over.

“Don’t worry, no one is going after us.” Your smile is enough to smooth the aching worry in his gut. “Are you sure?” He pokes the question again, earning him a small smile. You hum a yes, walking back towards him and holding his hands. “Yes, Miguel.” You giggle softly and massage his knuckles with your thumb.

“I’ll prepare your favorite dinner tonight.”

Miguel forces a soft chuckle before pulling you into a warm embrace. “Just make it home before sunset. Hunters have been around the forest.” His voice vibrates into your chest cavity, sending another ripple of warmth.

“I'll be careful.”

Hours slowly evolved into days, then weeks, and you never returned to the manor. At first, it was simple glances out the window, hoping to see that familiar silhouette Miguel adores whenever you come home. But nothing, as if you had ceased to exist.

A hunter who had mistaken you for a deer snatched you from the forest's shadows, leaving you alone on the forest floor, gasping for air.

Your hand loosens your grip on the small woven basket, spilling the contents out of the tiny basket and onto the forest floor. You always purchased nothing but herbs and two pomegranates for Miguel whenever you came into town.

/

The cobwebs and sorrows on the manor weighed down the environment over the next few decades, collecting a thick layer of dust bunnies and spiders crawling about. The tiny spiders crawl away at a door opening, letting candlelight pour in.

The room in question was a space you used to frequent. In the art room, he found you lounging around with a book or looking at his works of art, specifically his sketches of you.

There was an abundance of sketches on every flat surface in the room, varying from sketch to sketch. Sketches of you, lying in bed and tangled in your bedsheets. Some innocent sketches of you holding up a rabbit, showing its fluffy stomach to the world.

But the sketches were brushed off. Instead, Miguel made his way over to a particular pillar. A limestone blanketed with a worn-out bed sheet. He tugged off the fabric and saw the carved stone before him. The limestone before him showed a portrait of a young woman, specifically you. The curve of your mouth and the intricate detail of every strand of hair caught his attention. He remembered the tedious nights of his mallet and carving tools, having to alternate every other moment to capture the texture of your hair or the way your dimples appeared whenever you smiled.

His calloused fingers traced the sculpture's ridges and curves, feeling the cool marble against his warm touch.

"It's been a while, querida." He forced a small smile, his thumb stroking the cheek of the stone portrait. The smile was a pathetic attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes, blinking them away as if it would contribute to burying those feelings.

"It's been a while."

Priorities || Miguel O'Hara x Wife Reader

WARNINGS: Loads of fluff, a few mentions of blood, mentions of pain, slight angst, children, Mama O'Hara in action, Baby O'Hara, stubborn Miguel O'Hara, father Miguel O'Hara, etc.

SUMMARY: Miguel got injured after a mission and you insist for your stubborn husband to go to the medical center.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I got all of the medical information, especially the teething one, from the internet, so take it with a grain of salt since I didn't do much research on it. If it's wrong, please tell me and I'll correct it as soon as I can. :) And I know I'm a little late to publish this but I had to rewrite it twice because it kept on not getting saved.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Have some wine before you leave, or suggest a good brand to me. any form of messages are a delight.

"She won't like this," Lyla remarked as she observed Miguel who was focused on tying the wound on his arm with a bandage. He didn't respond to Lyla's words, leading her to point out, "That cut isn't small either. It'll bleed right through the bandage if you keep it for long."

Miguel merely grumbled in response, feeling discomfort from his wound, while Lyla studied his wounded arm, concerned about the potential of an infection.

"I'm only going to check on the recruits' reports for a minute," Miguel voiced under his mask, before narrowing his eyes at Lyla, "and don't tell her about this. She already has enough to worry about."

Lyla rolled her eyes at Miguel's command, but surprisingly, she stayed silent instead of pestering him to tell you about his recent injury. It was unusual for her since Lyla would usually insist for Miguel to update you about everything after he had finished his missions, especially if he got injured. However, Miguel made no comment about it, not wanting to jinx his luck or change Lyla's mind to not pester him about it like last time.

When Miguel went into his office, expecting to see a large pile of reports on his desk, he was instead met with the sight of you standing in front of his desk, holding the baby car seat that carried your sleeping baby boy. Miguel would usually be in awe at the sight of his little boy and his beautiful wife, and he would have done so at that very moment. However, it was impossible for Miguel to not notice the intense glare you were shooting at him, telling him that he had fucked up.

"Whoops! I forgot to tell you, she's already in your office," Lyla said casually, her tone nonchalant, as if she had known about your arrival and purposely chose not to tell Miguel. And he couldn't shake the feeling that Lyla did do it on purpose.

Miguel cursed in his mind and made a mental note to find a way to get Lyla to notify him of your arrival at HQ in the future, although he knew it would most likely fail due to how much she adore you over him.

"Miguel O'Hara," your voice was sharp and stern yet it was laced with concern as well, your eyes glancing back and forth between his face and his wound, "why aren't you at the medical center right now?"

"I need to check on the reports, cariño," Miguel stated, already expecting your disbelief and the scolding you were going to give him for his stubbornness. Before you could voice your protest to Miguel, he interjected, "I was only going to take them and check it in the medical center while they treat me."

That wasn't Miguel's original plan though. He had intended to put off going to the medical center for as long as he could to continue working, possibly only going to the medical center at the last hour of the day. That way, you wouldn't scold him for not treating his wound and ban him from going on missions for a while, which you have done in the past. You can be a really scary lady at times. Although he was very intelligent, Miguel tend to be obsessed with finishing his work at times to the point that he would dismiss his wounds and insist that they were only "small scratches".

They weren't just "small scratches".

And knowing your husband's tendencies, you found it hard to believe that he had planned to take the reports to the medical center with him instead of continuing his work in his office. Raising an eyebrow, Miguel was prepared for you to question him about it. However, instead of pressing further on the matter, you surprised Miguel by asking, "And have you eaten yet before your mission?"

"Of course I have—" Miguel paused mid-sentence, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten anything before the mission. In fact, the only thing preventing him from experiencing gastric pains was likely the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you had made for him that morning. However, at that moment, Miguel also realized the reason you had come to headquarters- he had forgotten to bring the homemade lunch you had packed for him before he left for work.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, he caught a glimpse of the lunch box you had brought for him on his desk, along with a small note containing your usual declarations of love for him, which never failed to bring him motivation. He cherished these notes, keeping them secretly tucked away in a special place.

"Mi vida, how long have you been waiting for me?" Guilt began to brew in Miguel's stomach, knowing that you wouldn't mind waiting for him to return from his mission just to catch a glimpse of him for a moment.

You shook your head gently. "I didn't mind waiting," you responded back, avoiding his question. The mission had stretched on for more than three hours, and with it already being around three o'clock in the afternoon, and the fact that you weren't one to delay meals, Miguel knew you had likely been waiting for almost three hours for him as well.

Before Miguel could respond, he felt something trickling down his arm. Looking down, he saw blood seeping from his wound. You quickly rushed to Miguel's side and inspected the injury, a frown forming on your face. "We have to go to the medical center now before it gets infected," you firmly said, taking no arguments from him. "The reports can wait. It won't be the end of the world, amor. Peter and the others will take care of it."

Miguel nodded and gently took the baby car seat from you with his uninjured arm, though you tried to protest, insisting that he was in no condition to carry anything and that you were perfectly capable of carrying baby Benjamin yourself.

As he carried Benjamin, Miguel felt a wave of guilt wash over him for forgetting to bring the homemade lunch you had worked so hard on to work, especially since you were barely getting enough rest lately from taking care of Benjamin who recently began having teething pains and became increasingly restless due to it.

Miguel had done his best to help soothe Benjamin's teething pain whenever he could, even taking a few days off work to care for him alongside you at home. However, he eventually had to return to work, as the Spider Society needed him physically for missions as well. At first, Miguel wanted to hide his injury from you to avoid adding more stress, but he knew you would find out about his wound eventually.

On the way to the medical center, Miguel made sure to be mindful of his steps, not wanting to wake Benjamin up. The last thing either of you needed was for him to wake up, especially since the poor baby was already struggling to sleep due to his teething pain.

When Miguel arrived at the medical center, the spider-healer in charge was slightly surprised to see him, knowing how stubborn he could be and how he sometimes insisted on treating his own wounds. However, it made sense to the healer when you arrived alongside him. The spider-healer pulled aside a chair for Miguel to sit on while they began treating the wound on his arm.

Throughout the treatment, Miguel remained quiet, only grunting slightly as the healer worked. You watched the healer's movements carefully, placing a comforting hand over Miguel's to soothe him. A moment after the healer was finished stitching Miguel's wound up, Benjamin began to cry from the baby car seat, slowly waking up from his slumber.

Miguel's eyes softened as he watched you lift the crying baby from the car seat, cradling him close to your chest. You rocked Benjamin gently back and forth, murmuring soft words of comfort as you rubbed his back soothingly. Benjamin's cries gradually softened, feeling warmth from his mother's embrace.

"Did you have a nightmare, Benji?" You asked the seven month old in a gentle tone, as he lifted his head from your chest, his eyes looking around his surroundings until he stopped at Miguel. With a soft noise, Benjamin leaned towards his father, seeking comfort in his arms.

Miguel's heart swelled with warmth at Benjamin's action, and he carefully accepted him into his arms, mindful of his stitched arm. Despite the caution, you could see Miguel's eyes sparkle with love and adoration as he held Benjamin close.

Miguel chuckled affectionately as Benjamin grabbed a handful of his dark hair with his tiny hands. "Did you miss me, tesoro?" he asked Benjamin, his voice filled with warmth. In response, Benjamin babbled happily, his tiny hands still tightly gripping Miguel's hair.

"I'm sorry for not telling the truth to you, mi amor," Miguel apologized to you sincerely, his voice laced with regret. With Benjamin now distracted by the toys you had brought, Miguel took a moment to express his remorse, gazing into your eyes for forgiveness.

He reached out, gently grasping your hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckle in a comforting gesture. "You were already stressed with Benjamin, and I didn't want to worry you any more with my injury," Miguel explained softly.

You sighed, expressing your concerns gently but firmly. "Miggy, I'm always grateful for how hard you work for our family, and I understand how important your role is in the Spider Society. But I sometimes get worried that you're not taking care of yourself properly at work like you used to, especially after what happened today," you frowned, knowing that Miguel's old work habits were hard to shake off.

As you intertwined your fingers with his, you continued, your voice filled with genuine care, "You getting injured worries me a lot, but what worries me more is the way you brush off your injuries and continue pushing yourself as if nothing happened."

Worry was evident in your eyes. "Please promise me that you'll prioritize your health over your work and treat your wounds properly after missions. And if you're struggling to remember to eat and drink, I can come by here everyday and remind you about it. I'm still on maternity leave, remember?" You added with a reassuring smile, showing him how much you care about his health.

He squeezed your hand gently. "I remember, and you're right. I promise to take better care of myself for you and Benjamin," He leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead, feeling grateful for your love and care.

Benjamin, ever the adorable child he is, wiggled his way between you and Miguel, continuing to babble joyfully. With chubby fingers, he repeatedly pointed to his cheek, a clear invitation for you and Miguel to leave kisses.

"Do you want a kiss too, Benji?" you cooed, your voice filled with affection and awe at the little boy's action. Without waiting for an answer, you peppered Benjamin with kisses all over his face, earning delighted squeals of laughter from him.

Miguel couldn't help but chuckle, staring at you and Benjamin with a smile, as he was silently thankful for the chance to have his own family again.

Papa, You're Getting Old

Soccer Family! Miguel x Reader

Warning: Fluff, slight smut, suggestive towards the end, introspection, body perception and insecurities. Married couple rants and moments, no proofread.

Summary: Miguel finally notices his white hairs, comfort ensues.

A/N: Like Miguel, got a mini crisis when I spotted my first white hairs today 🫠. Then remembered mom had them around my age too so jsksk. Then remembered (x2) I had this one sitting forgotten in my files jsksk, been forgetting this AU lately :'). Help.

A/N 2: Nearly done with the moving. So we're back, I guess? jsksj.

Soccer Family Masterlist

Papa, you're getting old.

Gabi's words had unintentionally pierced through his skull, engraving with emphasis the old part in his brain after his girl found out the couple of white hairs peppering his wavy locks. He was getting older.

Fourty years of his life had gone by within the blink of an eye. When did time got itself some wheels to roll faster? Who gave it permission to do that? Yet Gabi's words lingered in his thoughts longer than they should.

He was getting old. And the silver strands popping here and there, discreetly in his gorgeous hair you loved sinking your hands into, were the irrefutable proof to understand time never stopped, not even a single second.

For the umpteenth time, he brushed his damp hair away to see if he discovered more of them, and to his bad luck, he did. Specially on the front and side bangs.

He scowled at his reflection and pursed his lips. His body still kept the musculature his younger self nurtured. He truly never believed people whenever they said that exercise kept you active and young looking.

And besides the greying hairs on his head and some on his chest, the fine lines turning a bit more prominent on his features, he looked almost the same.

The same man you had been sharing a good chunk of your life with. Almost sixteen years to be more exact if you counted those two dating years. And now he was growing old.

Miguel didn't want to admit it, but sometimes his age reminded him that his body wasn't the same anymore.

You'd often find him sleeping midway in the couch during movie nights, or his office, whenever work from home was done. Sometimes, his body would ache out of nowhere, but in truth it was mostly his bad posture due his size.

Other times, his grumpiness ran rampant through the day, leaving his coworkers to deal with it, cause he didn't have the heart to pollute his home with his bad vibes. A term  Gabriella kept including during the conversations at night to talk about her unlikeable classmates.

And now, he was glaring at his reflection for daring to do such thing as graying. Even the happy trail you loved to nuzzle had a couple of white hairs.

"You're winning that staring contest, mi amor."

Your little laugh, earned a brief chuckle from him as his shoulders slumped, and if almost sixteen years of knowing eachother had taught you something, was to perfect to a T the understanding of his body language.

You came closer and hugged him from behind, keeping his towel around his hips in place while spanking his plump ass in the process, earning another airy chuckle from him.

"Wanna tell me why, you're glaring harder at yourself this time?"

His arm wrapped gently around you and caressed your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. Yours and his reflection in the bathroom mirror staring right back.

"I'm... getting old, mi reina."

You blinked before looking up at him to have a proper view of what he meant.

"More like aging like a fine wine, Miguel."

"No. You don't understand. Look at this," he pointed at the pluck of white hairs peeking out from his roots, "I didn't have them a few months ago and now I've got a bunch of them. Everywhere!."

You smirked, "Everywhere?"

"Mi amor." He warned and you giggled, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Relax, they look gorgeous on you."

"Oh, do they now?"

With a sigh, you took his hands and gave him that look, he knew by heart as a 'really?'

"I've known you for... How long?" It was your turn to hold onto his narrow waist, holding him exactly the way his hands held yours at the beginning.

"Almost sixteen years." He mumbled, still glueing his eyes on the decaying version of himself.

You nodded and looked at the mirror. Together and close, like most of your pictures together. As always.

"Basically almost half of your life. I met you when I was twenty one, gave birth to our Gabibi by twenty three, enjoyed her for ten years, then we almost made Benjamin in the car."

He snorted and nodded, tittering silently at the sudden memory of the cops calling you out in the lookout spot.

"Almost." He mumbled and you nodded.

"Almost, yeah. But we made him! And look at him, being the smartest boy in his class."

Miguel nodded, fond of his boy's achievements.

"And now we have Rosie. Crawling and trying to walk up in every room we put her in."

"Remind me to baby proof the stairs."

You smiled and smacked his ass, "What I'm trying to get at, Papa. Is that, those white hairs in your head and body are only a beautiful proof that you've lived and loved the right way. Look at us."

You pulled him down for a peck, and cupped his cheeks, making him to look your way.

"You, Papa, mi amor, mi niño hermoso, are the best everything I've ever get to experience. And I'm honored to be the one that you're growing old with."

His eyes softened and his hands trapped yours to then kiss them.

"I'm having white hairs too! Like, the other day a kid called me señora to get me pass his ball. SEÑORA!"

His chuckle turned into a soft and genuine laugh.

"Like, the audacity!"

"You're my señora." He murmured in the side of your head, kissing it afterwards.

"Damn right I am." You nodded proudly," Like we're Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara for a reason."

His smile turned sweeter as he placed your hands around his neck and sat you before him in the sink, looking down on your eyes.

"Would you love me-"

"If you were a worm, yes. I would."

"Cállate" he laughed and cleared his throat, "I mean, you... You still want this?" He pointed at his graying hair and chest.

"That question is offensive in itself."

His eyes darted away, but your soft and gentle hands made his gaze to hold against yours again.

"I'd love you if you were bald, had extra pounds, all tattooed, piercings and stuff, a worm, hell, I'd love you the same if you were an alien."

His brow quirked, but snorted, genuinely amused at your rambling.

"I'd love you the same even if we're going through natural changes as growing old. And yes, I'd still fuck and make love to you all the same." Your hands rested on his hips.

"Oh really?"

"Obviously. That makes me worried though. You're entering a dangerous zone where women see you even more handsome. And I'm not one to be jealous, but all of this," You tapped his butt gently, "is mine."

He pecked your lips with a loving laugh. "I'm all yours. And you're pretty jealous."

"Well, yeah, I'm not sharing your dilfness with anyone. Not when I have these for myself." Your hands squeezed his firm butt and spanked it, he pursed his lips, trying his best to suppress a bashful smile.

"And I'm pretty sure in a future our caretakers would find us having sex in the most random of places in the hospice."

That pulled a merry laugh out of him to then kiss your lips.

"You're crazy."

"For you, always. But in all truth, they'll have to put me in quarantine, because I'm still jumping your bones. Even if I have to use a cane, or ask for assistance to the nurses."

"You'd be lucky if still works."

Your eyes rolled and your thighs pulled him closer to you, between your legs. His teeth bit softly his bottom lip as your hands roamed up his chest, eyes widening partially at the sudden bold move.

His soapy clean smell tickled your senses, after all, you had caught him post shower.

"Trust me, it works wonders."

He groaned when your hand slid between the folds of his towel, cupping him with a light squeeze.

"Yeah?" He half mumbled, half moaned into your lips with darkening eyes. Your touch ever delicious, and sparking the arousal only you managed to ignite in his body. Your scent remained forever etched into his brain, almost conditioning him into enter a needy mode whenever desire oozed from your pores.

You nodded with a needy 'hmm' while your hand stroked him, as if with every movement you'd jerk and caress away all those insecurities out of his mind and body.

"Definitely, mi amor."

His hips stuttered into your gentle grip, heaving a deep and shuddering breath hovering over your inviting lips, relieved and proud to see your eagerness to have him. Gray hairs and all.

The silver strands mattered little, specially when you were set into worshipping and honoring your vows.

"I think I'd love to test it's performance, just to make sure."

A crawl rolled down his spine upon your words. He loved when you talked in his language, it turned him on im such a way he didn't know it could make that part of his cortex tingle. But this moment, had him delivering sweet pecks and kisses down your neck, drunk in your softness and want for none else but him.

You still wanted him, flaws and all. He still made you a mess. And that made his cock to twitch.

"Shall we go to the testing area then, mi reina?"

His flushed and broad tip poked urgently between your clothed folds and inner thighs, hoping to slip in your scorching tightness and wreck you completely, like in his younger years.

However, as much as he wanted to take you right there, the privacy of your room offered him more space to bend and meld you at his whims. Without saying much, he threw you over his shoulder and rushed to your bedroom, thrilled for the upcoming long hours of exhaustive, mind splitting testing.