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inkyquince · 11 months

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anyway, Miguel O Hara

content warning. spoiiiiliessssss, stalker and creep miguel o hara, extremely dubious at all times, invasion of the grandes tetas, strong scent kink, rough handling, nsfw but not written sex because its 1am and im sleepy and october is showing me ds2 sims 2 gameplay and i feel myself going insane. oh yeah, and, big ole size kink.

spoilers for the movie under the cut, but yknow its horny

So, canon Miguel sees another version of himself get fucking shot, right? Immediately slips through to prevent a canon event with his daughter, right? Takes over the old Miguel's life. Born to be a single mother, forced to beef with a teenager right?

Well, what if he saw something else in his other life?

He's broken and he's lonely here, but... He has a kid... And he has a partner. And it's someone he knows. Married to a distant friend in this life, but you're his in another one. The one where he's happy, with his kid.

It's hard, tearing his eyes away from what should be. What he should have, carrying his baby in one arm and the other around your waist. His other self looks so happy, so content, so fucking free. Unlike him in his entirety, where he's alone, against the world.

Not only does he become obsessed with this alternative world, he gets stranger and stranger around you. He knows in another life, you lead him into happiness, into being a father. Miguel is usually quiet and stoic, but his presence starts being almost oppressive around you. He seems to stare all the time, his broad, lithe fingers tapping along his muscular arm. Intense and quiet, with something brewing in his deep, dark eyes. He tries to talk more to you, even try to see you away from your spouse, but you never start to look at him like you do in the other dimension. Warm and soft and longing. It starts to irk him, something growing in his stomach. You're fucking his, in another life, yeah, but you're his. But he can't do anything. You're not his. So it builds in his gut.

There's some part of him that believes he can still get this happiness in this world. He can still be who he was meant to be. Miguel spends some evenings climbing the walls to look into your apartment windows, to catch you showering or changing. He doesn't even need to break the window to slip in, the second you leave through the door. A pair of your underwear in his hand, maybe a venture into the bathroom to sniff at your shower wash. Pick up your toothbrush, just to rest it on his tongue. He sits on your side of the bed and rests his broad hand on your pillow, skimming over it, as it to help him imagine stroking your hair as you awaken in the morning.

This isn't what a hero does. He knows that. He knows that Spiderman doesn't enjoy towering over you when the group hangs out, drinking in the size difference. Loves the little expression you look up at him with, like a doe in the headlights. He catches himself dragging a tongue over his canine was he passed behind you, ducking down just enough to catch the scent from your neck.

A hero doesn't follow you when you go out at night. Watches you from outside your window. Doesn't think about how it would be okay if your spouse bled out in the streets one night, and he'd be by your side in minutes.

Each time it all feels too much, he checks over with his other self. Laughing with his daughter jumping into his arms. His other self's hand on your knee as you sit next to him on the couch with a yawn. The way it slowly traces over your thigh as he lean over to give him a kiss.

The feeling builds even more.

Then, the day happens. He watches himself get shot, and he leaves his other life behind. Steps through and becomes someone new.

That night, your husband comes home. Miguel seems to walk straight past you to go to your daughter's room. You were surprised, but gave it no thought as you continued to make him some empanadas, rain lashing against the window.

Miguel hadn't wanted to look at you, not yet. Needed to look at his daughter, needed to take a moment. He kneeled down, by her tiny bed, stroking slowly against her hair as she breathed softly. She slept like there was no pain in the world, no loss... And thanks to him, she wouldn't wake up to her father being dead. Gone. Unable to tuck her into bed anymore. So he just tugged the blanket up to her chin and stood slowly. Leaving the room, he paused in the doorframe, giving his daughter a soft look before glancing towards the kitchen again. Not yet. Not just yet. He needs to make sure.

Turning on his heel, Miguel headed deeper into the flat, looking around until he found the master bedroom. Spick and span, but homey. Unlike his old bedroom. Pictures on the walls. Things on both bedside tables. A blanket laid over the duvet. His dark eyes turned towards the closet, and slowly opened the door, exhaling softly. Your clothes. Next to his clothes. His fingers dragged along the fabric, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb.

A shaky sigh left Miguel's lips as he gripped the garment tightly, almost ripping it. Shoving the item close to his face, he inhaled deeply, almost tasting your scent on his tongue. It's you. It's no one else. It's you and in this world, you're with him. No one else.

Miguel's clawed hands moved on their own accord as they yanked open the drawers below the hanging clothes, finding socks, bras and... Underwear. Few pairs of his, few pairs of yours. Snatching yours up, he crushed them against his face again, inhaling with his lips parted. He got a dizzying head rush. His eyes snagged on the laundry basket, exhaling loud and slow as he smelled the scent of you and detergent from your clean underwear.

He'll get a proper taste of you if he rooted around in there instead-

"Miguel!" He froze up and immediately stuffed your underwear into his pocket, as if he was a thief instead of your husband, and very entitled them. "Food!"

He dragged his tongue over his lips and stalked from the bedroom.

Miguel was acting strange when he got back from checking on your daughter, his darkened eyes drinking you in as you served up his plate first.

"Hungry?" You gave him a soft smile. "She ate earlier at her friend's house, don't worry."

He wasn't worried. He should be. It's one of those things he'll learn to do, as a new father. But for now, he just walks closer, dragging his broad palm over the counter. His fingers twitch as the distance between you two become smaller and smaller. Soon enough, he's at your back, with his hands twitching before settling on your hips. You hummed as he drew you closer to his towering body, lolling your head back to rest against his shoulder (against, not on his shoulder, Miguel was too tall for that).

Your lips were right there. Perfect and soft and unbitten.

He should change that.

Miguel slowly lowered his head to brush his lips against yours, slowly exhaling as he did so. You gave a similiar sigh and leaned into the kiss, which remained sweet and soft, until you teasingly gave his bottom lip a nip.

The feeling in his gut burst.

He ripped his lips away, just to grip your hips tighter and spin you around. You blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden movement, but couldn't say anything before his tongue was snaking back inside of your mouth, licking at your teeth before forcibly pressing down on your tongue. You could feel his hard cock through his trousers, digging into your stomach as he manhandled you.

"Mig-" You pulled away to breath but he quickly covered your lips with his again, desperation rolling off of him.

"Solo callate." He hissed against your mouth, sharp canines digging into your bottom lip. "Por favor, déjame tenerte primero. Si me amas, déjame usarte."

You couldn't even reply when he shoved you down on the kitchen counter, sending the plates crashing down to the floor. It was like you were immobalised, stunned. Miguel was never rough with you, not really. He was always too aware of how big he was compared to you. But all that seemed to have been tossed out the window.

Your husband roughly yanked your legs apart, breathing low and heavy. Lowering one of his hands slowly, he gave your crotch a squeeze, as his cock began to tent the front of his trousers.

"Quieres que te toque aquí? Te gusta?" Miguel whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, slowly squeezing your crotch, his sharp teeth coming in as you struggled not to moan at his ministrations.

He was scaring you enough for you to try and pull away, but he was too fucking big. He encompassed you. Totally and wholly. Miguel's eyes were two obsidian stones, pupils blown wide and staring down at you with an endless hunger that wasn't there before. He leaned down again and you just pressed your face to the side, avoiding his lips connecting with yours, instead pressing against your cheek.

With a low, almost animalistic snarl, his fingers dug into your jaw and wrenched your head back to stare into your eyes.

"You will let me have you. You cannot take this from me. Not now." You struggled to comprehend what he meant, but he took your silence in stride and pressed his tongue back into your mouth with a low groan.

You cannot stop this, Miguel thought, everything becoming hazy as he felt desire roll over him.You can't make him stop. Not when he finally has you.

rough translations (remember, im using my high school level knowledge, so the grammar is fuck):

"Solo callate. Por favor, déjame tenerte primero. Si me amas, déjame usarte." - "Just shut up. Please let me have you first. If you love me, let me use you."

"Quieres que te toque aquí? Te gusta?"- "Do you want me to touch you here? Do you like it?"

#miguel o hara #miguel x reader #nsft #quincewrites #im so sorry to everyone more fluent in spanish than me #but please message so i can fix it #anyway #its nearly 1am #i threatened to piss october's pants #and ive been shaming quiet #all is good #take tHIS #atspv

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