#hard luck

Guilt. It's an overwhelming feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach in a way he's far too familiar with.

Miguel can name all the good and bad things about guilt. The way it allows you to be held accountable for your actions makes, your mind fray with culpability. How it can prevent someone- him- from doing something that will drive them- him- insane and remind them- him- that they have to have morals that keep them- him- grounded. Or else… or else.

There have been plenty of times Miguel has felt culpability and they have all been about something much more drastic than this. He's lost people, a family, so, so many versions of his family.

He needs to get this universe right. The thought of losing Gabi again makes his gut clench and that ticking in his jaw form again.

The first time it had happened, people had been upset for him, Peter had left him alone without being asked more than once and Jess was just the right amount of critical and loving. They were his guilt.

Then it happened again. And again. And again. And then people were becoming concerned for him, but the kind where they scolded and questioned him so he stopped telling people each time he found a universe he could live in. That first universe was the only one he destroyed he's made sure of that.

And yet he's feeling so intensely guilty for his stalker-like tendencies when he's done much worse.

He knows he shouldn't have followed you, waited for you to enter the shop and prayed to anyone above that your card would cancel. But he needed to get your number- for parental reasons of course. And now he has it.

“I can't do that again,” Miguel groans, hand sliding down his face as he slumps into his chair.

Lyla snickers at him, hands covering her face while her legs kick in the air. Miguel looks over at her, expression unamused.

“It was a complete betrayal of her trust,” his fingers drum on the smooth wood of his desk.

“Don’t think the two of you had a trusting relationship, considering you only just got her number.” her teasing earns her a wave of dismissal.

“I’m this close,” he holds his hand in the air, thumb and index finger millimetres away, “from replacing you.” His leg bounces up and down, jaw tightened and lips pursed.

She scoffs at him and waves a blurred-out finger at him before slumping down on his desk. “But if you replace me how will you watch your girlfriend?”

“You aren't funny. I was watching her because I needed… her daughter is Gabi’s friend I can't have her being some scumbag.” his tone is harsh, fed up, and irritated, but he can't bite back the grin that forms at her teasing.

“She isn't a scumbag…”

Lyla hums in feigned disagreement, her minute pixelated frame now perched on his shoulder as she smirks up at him.

“She’s nice… to me, and old people.”

He glances out the window, dark clouds threatening rain as they swarm the grey sky. He sighs and looks back over at Lyla. He came to this universe for Gabi.

But he can't stop himself from thinking back to the way you smelt. The faint coconut and the mellowness of your washing powder settled gently against his skin like a thin, taunting mist, teasing his stiffening cock.

He relishes the way you let him pull you near. How easily you submitted to the man who hasn't even had a proper conversation with you and pretended to be his partner- his wife. How you put up such a lazy fight against it that it felt almost playful. How your eyes softened the moment you saw him. How you allowed him to help you despite the embarrassment that followed it.

“When you’ve finished being hopeless lover boy,” Lyla chirps, “you might want to y’know be Spiderman.”

***

Miguel didn't expect his offer to go so well. He just assumed that being stuck with two nine-year-old girls for a few hours would be hell but it's surprisingly entertaining.

He knows Gabi inside and out, yet when she's with Raya she's different. And it doesn't feel forced.

The two of them spent ages trying to figure out a flavour because they obviously had to have the same one. They both ended up choosing chocolate, much to Miguel’s distaste. And then when Gabi wanted a sprinkle cone but Raya wanted a plain one they ended up getting tubs.

“It's because she's my best friend, papá,” Gabi had stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which had made him chuckle.

“How was school?” he asks, feeling a little left out of the conversation.

Raya’d attention is immediately diverted towards him, wide eyes following each movement of his face. “It was fun,” she says quietly- shyly, making sure to swallow before speaking. It’s good table manners

“Papá, we’re talking!” Gabi whines with a pout, “Raya doesn't want to tell you about her day because you're boring.”

So he sits there, practically spilling out of the tiny metal chair, watching them laugh at him and whatever else makes girls their age giggle the way they are. He keeps a smile on his face and his phone on vibrate, waiting for you to reply to his text, or read it at least.

***

Your back arches with ecstasy, hips jolting upwards towards the source of your pleasure. You can feel your gummy walls clenching and when you look down to see what it is that's sliding inside your cunt, you’re met with the sight of the top of someone's head.

Thick, brown curls, all unfurled as you slide your fingers away. They look familiar in a way that makes you feel giddy.

Desperate to see who’s providing this bliss, you push their head away. You’re left with an achy, empty feeling as they pull their fingers out of you and drag their tongue off your puffy folds but you'll have to push past it. Maybe whine a little, but you'll manage.

You look down, brain too fuzzy with arousal to even process Miguel’s deep, chocolatey eyes gazing up at you. He's smiling boyishly, fangs poking over the tops of his perfectly formed, lips that are coated in a deliciously thick layer of your arousal.

“Can I keep going, Hermosa?” his velvety voice rumbles, sending chills down your spine.

Before you get a chance to beg for more than his skilled fingers and soft tongue, the sound of a traumatic radar sound blares and you’re forced awake.

You lie there for a moment, one hand lazily slung across your forehead while the other grips your mouth.

You can't tell if it's guilt or arousal but you can't think straight. All you know is that you just had a painfully realistic dream of a man you barely know eating you out. Part of you wishes it lasted longer but that's beside the point.

There's an uncomfortable slickness between your thighs and you're slightly tempted to do something about it but the constant ringing of your alarm reminds you that you do, in fact, have some form of common sense.

Ignoring the guilt that's swimming in your gut, you sit upright, legs dangling over the edge of the sofa. You sit there for a moment, trying to figure out if you should be feeling that guilt or if it's your brain’s fault. You settle for the latter.

Yawning, you pick up your phone, scanning for notifications you know aren't there. A few from the weather app, another from a period tracking app that says your ovulating (that explains the dream- hopefully) and then… a text from Miguel.

It's one of those texts that you don't know how to reply to, it's got a simple answer but that's rude and all of the emojis are far too informal for someone you have saved as ‘Gabi’s dad’

You stare at Miguel’s text. Let the letter jumble up and scramble into unintelligible blobs as your eyes start to sting with tears before you allow yourself to blink.

I’ve got the girls. Could you text me your address so I can drop Raya off later?

He’s got the girls and now he wants your address. That's the part that makes it so hard to reply.

You don't live in the nicest of areas, graffiti in the stairwell that you have to use because the lift stinks of piss, loud neighbours and a possibly dead cat stuffed into one of the bins at the entrance.

It's embarrassing.

Miguel’s a tailored man, with slicked-back hair and freshly ironed clothes. You contemplated lying about your address, tell him it's some random house, meet him outside before quickly running off with Raya to get the bus.

But you don't want her growing up ashamed of not having money. You can't have her becoming a pompous brat who whines about not getting things. Because that's not who is she now, nor will she ever be.

You tap the smooth glass of your phone screen over and over again with your thumb before forcing yourself to reply. And almost immediately you get a reply

‘👍’

You can't stop the smile that forms on your lips at how fast his response is, he was probably on his phone or coincidentally looking checking his notifications when you sent the text.

But now you have nothing to do. You couldn't pick up an extra shift because- thanks to your stupidity- you somehow forgot that you can't randomly change your hours as a carer. And apparently, you can't even sleep without being a pervert.

Sleep sounds nice though. Your eyes are heavy with countless nights of single-digited hours of sleep. It's pulling at your brain in a way that makes your thoughts fuzzy and your body slowly sinks back into the sofa again.

A loud thudding noise startles you from your sleep. It's repetitive and loud so your first instinct is to slam off your alarm but when you see a blank screen you divert your fatigued brain to the front door.

Completely forgetting about Raya being out with Miguel and Gabi, you pull the door open. You look a mess, mascara smudged and eyes heavier than the weights he probably lifts with those delicious arms…

“Mum,” Raya mumbles, her face buried in her chest as pulls you close.

You stumble back, fighting back a yawn, and nearly fall onto the sofa but Raya pulls you forward. “Hey, baby,” you smile down at her, laughing awkwardly at nearly making a complete fool of yourself.

You drag your gaze up to Miguel, his board shoulders filling out the doorway while his hand clutches onto Gabi’s.

“Miguel,” your voice is groggy but cute and it makes him feel safe on the inside, “Thank you for having her.” You go to playfully nudge Raya but she's no longer next to you, now shyly hidden behind you, clutching into your shirt.

“She has beautiful manners,” his voice is like velvet that's been melted by a log fire and poured on top of Valentine's chocolates.

He looks down at you, eyes briefly tearing away from you to discreetly inspect your apartment. It's cute, homely, you. Lots of blankets and cushions, picture frames dotted around, and a random coat stand that stands bare.

“Would you like to come in?” you offer, attempting to stifle another yawn, failing to succeed as pleasantly the last time.

Miguel opens his mouth, pretty lips parted so perfectly that your half-awake brain might just fall for him on the spot.

“Please, papá! Raya said she has a bunch of teddies!” Gabi pleads, her accent bearing a striking resemblance to Miguel’s.

Before he gets a chance to decline, she pushes past him and skips over to Raya. She grabs her hand and almost immediately her awkwardness melts away as they run into her room.

“Sorry, she's really-”

“Bold?” you offer, head cocked to the side.

“Yeah... Let's go with that version.”

The two of you share an awkwardly dry chuckle before you both look away.

“Coffee?” you break the silence.

“Would be nice,” he finishes for you.

Nervously, you lead him to your minute kitchen island, kicking random toys out of the way before he gets a chance to see them.

As he walks through your apartment, your home, Miguel can't help but feel at ease. It's messy but not in an unhygienic way, you can just tell it's lived in happily.

The waterrings on the countertops, a random bag of bouncy balls left on the floor for someone to trip on. Miguel can imagine himself here, not living, but staying.

Maybe his shoes lazily kicked off in a slobbish pile on the sofa, Gabi’s coat slung on the unused coat rack next to Raya’s and yours.

“Sorry it's a mess, I was going to tidy up but I got… sidetracked. But I promise it's not normally this messy, just today. Which is strangely coincidental but it really isn't. And-”

“It's nice in here,” he cuts you off as if he couldn't hear what you'd just said.

His small slither of praise makes you smile. That toothrottingly sweet smile that makes every fibre of his being burn with arousal.

“Thanks.”

You turn your back to him, searching for your coffee before you grab a small glass jar that has instant coffee in it.

“Fuck,” you grumble, “its empty. So… no coffee for us,” you laugh.

He shrugs his shoulders and takes the jar from you.

“Bin?” he asks.

“There,” you point, “left side is recyclable and right is the other stuff.”

He opens the bin and drops the jar, smiling in satisfaction as it lands with a soft third. He lifts his foot from the pedal before catching a glimpse of red. Curious, he presses down on the pedal again and reads the block writing.