miguel o’hara x reader || “te amo” (masterlist)
the first night miguel is in your universe fills him with all sorts of conflicting emotions.
cw: an angsty line or two, light mention of blood. (minors/ageless blogs don’t interact)
when miguel quite literally inserts himself into your life he‘s not always sure what to do or what to say.
yes, he’s watched your miguel; he’s seen all his similarities and all the intricacies of this earth and memorized them through screens and study but he hadn’t plotted or planned to be here.
this earth’s miguel died. he saw an opportunity and he took it. a spur of the moment decision to pursue this happier life.
but when he first comes through the door of his house so early in the morning that the outside is covered in darkness, being “miguel o’hara” is the hardest thing in the world.
this is not his home. its layout is similar, but it’s filled with a love he’s never had before.
the fridge is decorated with baby photos and newspaper clippings of spider-man, a suit identical to his own. love permeates through every inch of the place.
it permeates through pictures of a precious baby girl who couldn’t be more than a few months. the daughter of the other miguel. the one he gets to father.
and you - the wife. his wife. the most beautiful woman in the world.
the woman who doesn’t know that her real husband is dead and replaced. the one rushing towards him before he can even process any guilt of what being that replacement might mean.
“¡míguel! do you have any idea what time it is?!”
he knows it’s 3am and that you were like likely waiting up for your husband - for the miguel o’hara of this earth to come back. he knows all to well that the bloodied, beaten miguel he walked by never will come back - there’s only him for you to chastise for worrying you so badly.
and he knows this is the moment where it is too late to turn back, too late to leave to his own nueva york because how could he? it would be unbearable to leave you alone with your sweet little girl to wake up in the morning in a world with no husband, no father and no spider-man.
he’ll take the anger and worry of coming home late if he can prevent that.
it’s better for the both of you.
it’s better that he’s your miguel o’hara now. it’s better that you’re his wife now.
it’s better this way, he convinces himself.
“we made a deal, papí!” you huff, all too ready to reprimand him. “tonight was your night to put her down! we said no web-slinging unless there was a total emergency…”
you trail off, eyes meeting his. they look relieved and tired and overwhelmed for a reason you can’t configure. your voice immediately softens once you realize your words, be they english or spanish, have no way of getting through.
he doesn’t respond, and when you put your hand on his grizzled cheek he sinks into your touch wordlessly as if it is the first time he has ever felt such romantic softness.
“qué te pasa, papí?” you stroke his face, taking a long look at him. “there…was an emergency, wasn’t there? you know you can tell me anything - ay!!”
you let out a yelp of surprise as he pulls you into him, leaning down to smell your hair and squeeze your small form tight - he wants to memorize everything. all the sensory details that he couldn’t get through lyla or a screen.
he mumbles, gruffly. “we lost a good one today… couldn’t save him. i’m sorry…”
and you whisper his name and hold tight, unaware of what he really means because how could you be? but he doesn’t feel any remorse for deceiving you - for letting you think he means some good natured cop.
after all, so many spider-men have lost one before. how is this any different?
how could he feel remorse when you hum in sympathy and kiss up and down his face? your lips are so soft and reassuring, as is your voice.
“it wasn’t your fault, papí. even spider-man can’t save everyone. i’m just happy you’re home safe and alive.”
that almost breaks him and his hold gets tighter. your fingers are in his hair - your breath calm and unsuspecting. he could get used to this.
finally, after a hold that seems to lasts an eternity, your voice rings out and breaks the two of you apart.
“estás herido, mi amor? there’s blood on your suit…”
“no. i-it’s… not mine.” he’s both lying and telling the truth. it isn’t his blood, it’s that of the miguel left behind. but right now and forever, they’re the same.
“i’ll wash up. get some sleep, querida.” he takes your hand from his cheek and kisses your knuckles - relishing in your touch before letting you go off to bed.
“i’m sorry for making you wait so long for me.” he barely manages to whisper out and you give this gentle smile and coo, arms around his neck.
“you don’t have to apologize for saving people, miguel. it’s what you do and it’s why i love you.”
for being a man so much bigger than you, he seems small and soft. he melts at the proclamation and puts his forehead to yours, desperate to hear it all again.
“dime de nuevo.” tell me again. he needs to hear it again - that he’s loved. that he’s celebrated by someone as kind as you.
all his anxiety melts when your soft lips slot against his once. “te amo, míguel.”
then twice. “te amo, spiderman.”
and then a third time. “i love every part of you. good and bad. the one who saves people, the one who looks out for others, the one with secrets, the one who fails sometimes and has to come home late because he’s doing what he thinks is right. sharp teeth, webs, scars and all, entiendes?”
and for the first time he kisses you - because this means you love him. every version of him including the one he is now.
“eres una bendición.” he murmurs, kissing the shell of your ear. you’re a blessing. because only a blessing could have given him the opportunity for something as amazing as a beautiful you and your daughter.
if only he could have found a way to make it last forever.
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