Guys I Made Another Fancy Birthday Cake For My Friend Who Wants To See It

guys i made another fancy birthday cake for my friend who wants to see it

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)

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.

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jellyyfishdreamer

5 years ago

I’m gonna apply for a job at Gordon Ramsay new restaurant and I’m gonna get it

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jellyyfishdreamer

1 year ago

omg ☹️ I just had a thought so since miguel doesn’t see ai reader romantically, at least right now, what if there was this spider person (other than lego spider-man) who suddenly began popping up in miguel’ office more often and noticed that miguel seemed to not hate them being there. as this spider person shows up more often, ai reader gets significantly more and more bummed out because they think miguel likes said spider person romantically and does like a percentage check and gets upset when it’s above 1% lmao 😭

cws for gn reader/ai reader.

Cindy Moon, better known by her alias Silk, was the other woman—or, that’s what the internet told you when you had detailed your ‘problem’ on an online forum geared towards helping the romantically disadvantaged, leaving out the fact that you were an android and technically weren’t supposed to be able to experience these feelings for someone in the first place.

You hadn’t even known your feelings for Miguel had turned romantic until you had begun to wonder why you would suddenly grow displeased whenever he interacted with Cindy. You had originally assumed it was because his attention wasn’t on you, and you really liked when Miguel’s attention was on you, but after an internet query, you had discovered the concept of significant others, love, romance, affection.

You read countless people’s experiences with love, from happy tales that ended with lovers ending up in a quaint little house on a hill, to sad tales that ended in betrayal or heartbreak. You must have processed hundreds of thousands of words on the topic, and you felt as though you had a decent understanding of it, and in turn, a decent understanding of the foreign feelings brewing inside you.

Jealousy was the biggest one.

You were jealous of Cindy Moon, or more specifically, you were jealous of the way Miguel smiled when he spoke with her, not a hint of his usual negative attitude in his face. He looked carefree, light; shoulders lowered, fangs retracted, brown eyes bright, posture relaxed. He responded to her in low, soothing tones, nothing like the sharp quips he’d direct your way whenever he’d called you a ‘little nuisance’.

You began to wonder if perhaps Miguel felt the same way about Cindy, that you felt about him. The thought displeased you like no other, and you had a hard time focusing on doing the tasks that he asked you to do, but you didn’t like when Miguel looked at you with furrowed brows and heaved a sigh of…disappointment, so you ignored those feelings and did your work to the best of your ability.

The more you ignored your feelings, the stronger they became, and you had finally decided to do a few more queries.

“Love compatibility…” You tilt your head as you look up at one of Miguel’s many monitors. It’s late into the night, and the man has long since gone to sleep, leaving you to your own devices. He used to power you down, but after enough of your complaining about being shut off like a video game all the time, he had decided to let you stay on under the promise that you’d stay out of his stuff.

Your eyes take in the words on the screen. There’s two pink boxes surrounded by hearts, one box says ‘YOUR NAME’ and the other says ‘THEIR NAME’. You hum as you slowly pace in front of his keyboard. If you were understanding correctly, all you had to do was place your name into the box along with Miguel’s and then the machine would tell you how compatible the two of you were.

What a neat little thing!

You direct the cursor to the box on the right before climbing onto the keyboard, carefully punching in his name before you direct the cursor to other box. You’re suddenly hit with an idea, and you frown before slowly typing in Cindy Moon.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” You hit enter, and a feeling that perfectly matches up with the definition of anxiety rushes through you. A large heart (which is not anatomically correct, you notice) suddenly appears between the two names, a percentage just above it. Pink pixels slowly begin to fill the heart, and the 0 above it begins to rise.

Your anxiety grows as you watch the number go up, and up, and up, before it finally settles on a 57. You deflate, head hanging between your shoulders and boots scuffing at the metal table underneath you.

57 wasn’t a great score, but it was entirely too high for your liking! You had wanted it to go no higher than 0, and had been prepared to smile and cheer as you jumped around for joy, pacified in knowing that the two would never work out.

Less eager than when you had first started, you scroll the cursor over to the box containing Cindy’s name and delete it, briefly wishing it was this easy to delete her spot in Miguel’s life.

You glance down to the engraving on the inside of your wrist. ANDROID 007. You type it into the box, and the process repeats as you anxiously watch the screen, fingers tapping against your thigh as you wa—“What!?”

0% Even if these two were to defy the odds and become a couple, they are surely doomed to fail.

The words glare at you from the monitor, and you kick at the keyboard, angry huffs leaving you each time your foot hits a key.

What a stupid program! As if some sloppy coding could possibly predict—wait. ANDROID 007…was that really a name?

You stop your violent outburst and tap your finger against your chin. You weren’t given a name like how humans were. You hadn’t been born, but rather created, and the scientist that made you hadn’t been interested in being friendly with her creations. The label had been slapped onto your wrist just as your uniform had been slapped onto your body.

Androids didn’t usually have names, rather being called and identified by their number. Miguel chose to call you unfavorable nicknames, such as ‘pest’, ‘little nuisance’, or even ‘thorn’, derived from the saying of being the thorn in someone’s side. You didn’t dislike them, but you couldn’t really say those were your names, either.

Maybe I should just pick one myself, you think, and that leads you down a path of searching up name lists and trying out each and every one. You test them on your tongue, immediately giving some the boot while placing others into your ‘maybe’ pile.

The sun is just beginning to rise, and you’ve yet to find a name. You had grown more and more dejected as the hours passed, figuring you’d be doomed your zero percent for forever, but then you’re clicking onto a link that you hadn’t opened yet, and then you see it — the perfect name.

It resonates with you, and when you speak it, the word flowing effortlessly off your tongue, you smile and quickly head back to the compatibility tab, not wasting a second as you enter in your chosen name.

A few seconds go by, the number stagnant and the heart empty, when suddenly it fills up all at once, the number rising so quickly that it becomes a blur, and then a flurry of hearts are feeling the screen.

100% A match made in Heaven! Congratulations to the lovebirds! Send us a wedding invitation, will you?

Miguel enters his office to see you standing on his desk, hands clasped together in front of you as you regard him with a smile. He quirks a brow at your expression.

“Batteries got a full charge this morning or something?” He had been met with a sulk and pout every morning for the last week, and had been fully expecting the same thing today.

“I don’t operate on batteries, Miguel, we’ve been over this.” You walk to the end of the desk as he nears it, and he lowers himself into his seat, hand rubbing down his face as he relaxes into it. “You look more tired than usual. Are you not sleeping well? I can put in an order for stronger sleeping aids.”

“The pills I’ve got work just fine.” He yawns. The pills do work fine, on normal nights, nights where he doesn’t stay up late staring at his ceiling, thinking back on all his actions as he tries to figure which one upset you tot he point that you barely spoke to him, only moping about and casting him sad looks when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

His gaze slides over to you, and he blinks when he sees that you’ve zoned out, smile plastered on your face as you let out soft sighs. “Hey,” he calls, but you ignore him. He snaps his fingers beside you, “hey, nuisance.” You flinch, slightly stumbling to the side, and he steadies you with his hand. You shoot him a glare, but then a smile is quickly replacing it. He blinks again.

“Actually,” you lay your hands on the back of his, “I’d prefer it if you called me a different name, Miguel.”

“A different name?”

“Yes, I picked one out for myself last night.”

“Hm,” he slowly nods, “guess everyone needs a name, don’t they? Alright. What’d you pick out?” You give it to him, and he tests it on his tongue, letting out a soft chuckle afterwards.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. It suits you.” Your smile widens even more, and Miguel holds his hand out to you, finding the size difference comical when you place your own against his in an attempt of a handshake. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“You as well, Miguel.”

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jellyyfishdreamer

2 years ago

𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

...hear my prayer

➺ pairing: aged up!lo'ak x metkayina!reader ➺ series summary: lovesick!lo'ak does all he can to win the heart of oblivious!reader ➺ series warnings: minor mentions of death, tuk bullying lo'ak (he had it coming), throwing up (minor), general lovesick behaviour a/n: ♪ and they call it puppy loveee ♪ i strongly believe that lo'ak's goofy ass is ultimate rom-com material !! a couple yrs hv passed since the sea battle with the recoms so everyone's older.

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅰ -- ❝ eyes of liquid gold meet their aquamarine match and just like that, he is smitten ❞ (w/c: 1.6k)

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅱ -- ❝ If one movie trope is true then surely they all are, right? ❞ (w/c: 1.6k)

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅲ

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅳ

➵ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅴ

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