Comic of chapter 3 by rocklobster0 :D!!!
a lil flahsback for ur soul <3
TW: things get a lilll spicy, mig's an absolute piece of work, kind of fade-to-black smut
"You're going to interview Miguel O'Hara? That cocky genetics major?" Elle looks at me in disbelief. "You've got a death wish."
"My final submission is coming up," I reason. "I've gotta pick big news. A guy our age getting an internship and a full PhD scholarship through the biggest scientific organisation in all of America is big news."
Elle sighs. "You really would do anything to get the highest marks."
"Oh, come on. He can't be that bad."
My best friend sends me an incredulous look over her third coffee of the day. "Have you heard the rumours? The guy's an egomaniac! He'll bite your head off and stomp all over your decapitated body!"
"Exactly, E." I smile at her. "They're rumours. And journalists search for the truth."
Elle shakes her head at me before turning back towards our destination; the library, where we'll spend hours slaving away on our course study. "Your funeral," she mutters.
I roll my eyes at her serious lack of encouragement.
I spend my study session penning out ideas for interview questions appropriate for a third-year biology student genius. Elle sits across the table, bent over her laptop with a slew of brain snacks between us.
During one of our short breaks, she brings up Miguel O'Hara again while scooping for yogurt pieces out of her study-specific nut mix.
"Is there seriously no way I can dissuade you?" Elle asks.
"Elle." I shoot her an annoyed look. She raises her palms in surrender before popping a yogurt piece onto her tongue. "After we finish here I'm going to the science department to look for him. Do you want to come with?"
Elle bites her lip. "I really don't want to, but I also don't want him to murder you. It's harder to do that if there's a witness, you know."
I tsk. "Spoken like a true criminology student, but I'll take it."
Elle smiles painfully.
The science department is a massive facility on the Southern side of the campus, spanning across almost three city blocks. I feel out of place as Elle and I shuffle through the halls full of science puns on corkboards and cabinets full of awards.
"Excuse me?" I ask a passing student. He looks up from his phone in interest. "Do you know where Miguel O'Hara is?"
His expression twists. "He's in the genealogy block." At my blank expression, he sighs and points down the hall.
"Thanks!" I smile. When he turns his attention back to his phone and continues on with a grumble, I frown at Elle. "Are all scientists this delightful?"
"I guess Miguel O'Hara isn't popular even amongst peers," she murmurs.
"Hard to have people like you when you're an object of envy," I point out. Elle hums in agreement.
We follow the guy's direction until we reach a block clearly labelled 'genealogy labs.' A line of doors greet us, stretching all down a long, sterile corridor.
"Spilt and conquer?" I suggest.
"And risk finding him by myself?" Elle feverishly shakes her head. "Absolutely not."
I groan, before beginning our quest on peering at each of the little nameplates beside the doors that label which lab belongs to which students. It takes us a solid search and almost fifteen doors until we find his name.
I look at Elle. She shoos me forward with a flick of her hands, though makes no move to join me at the door's threshold. I send her a disappointed look before raising my fist and giving the door a solid tap with my knuckles.
A voice calls back before footsteps approach. The door's thrown open. A boy with dark hair and a lab coat over dungarees looks at us with a frown.
"You're not Carson," he says blankly.
"Uh... no." I peer at him, trying to work out if this is the rumoured O'Hara student that everyone seems to be afraid of. This guy doesn't look scary. "Are you Miguel O'Hara?"
"Ugh." The dark-haired boy turns his head back into the lab. "O'Hara! You've got fangirls again."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"Keep it quick," the boy complains as another pair of footsteps approach from around the door. "I hate the way your fans squeal."
My brows furrow. "I'm not-"
I cut myself off when a man my age replaces his lab partner before me. He rests his arm on the doorframe above his head and stares down his nose.
His hair is also dark, though tinged more slightly through with russet than his lab partner's, and tousled - evident of stressfully running his hands through it. His eyes are dark brown, smouldering circles of charred wood, and his sharp cheekbones should be classified as weapons. And he's tall. So tall. His shoulders are as broad as the doorway itself.
This. This is Miguel O'Hara. And with the irritated narrowing of his eyes, the downturned curl of his pouty lips, and the general, massive build of the guy, I realise swiftly that I am a fool and that the rumours are right. He is scary.
But what I certainly didn't expect was for him to be so attractive. Smart and hot? What a lethal, lethal combination. No wonder he has fangirls.
"What do you want?" he says disinterestedly.
My awe shuts down completely. Smart, attractive, and a total asshat. Got it. It's a miracle he has fangirls.
"Hi. My name's Y/n L/n." I force upon myself a facade of professionalism and stick out my hand for him to shake. "I was wondering if I can get an interview with you?"
He stares at my outstretched hand long enough for me to feel awkward. I peek at Elle. She subtly shrugs.
"Journalism major," Miguel O'Hara guesses. I nod. He finally takes my hand and a weird sensation flutters in my stomach. He shakes it once before dropping his arm. "No."
My face falls. Miguel picks himself up out of his lean and goes to disappear back into his lab.
"Why not?" I ask.
Miguel pauses and exhales, as if my mere question is the bane of his existence. "Because I've already turned down three of you this morning and my patience runs thin."
"What if I said please?" I tempt. Miguel sends me a baffled look and I raise my brows. "Pretty please?"
"You can beg until the sky turns green, chica loca, and I'll still say no." He sends me a thin smile and grabs the door to close it. "Adiós."
"Wait!" I stick my foot into the doorway before it can latch and I grimace when it hits a little harder than I was expecting. Miguel glances down at my shoe before giving me a shitty scowl.
"Y/n, let's just go," Elle insists, tugging on my arm. "It's not worth it."
"No, Elle!" I shoot her a frown.
"You should listen to your friend," Miguel suggests in a low voice. "Move your foot."
"I'll buy you a coffee," I offer. "I'll buy you two! A whole week's supply! You look like you need it."
Miguel's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I thought you were supposed to be a genius?"
"Y/n..." Elle tugs at my sleeve harder.
His nostrils flare at the insult. "I am a genius."
"Great!" I smile a little too sweetly. "So then I'll see you at the campus café at three tomorrow."
I slip my foot out from the doorway and grab Elle's wrist. We take off at a speed walk before Miguel can respond.
"I told you!" Elle hisses as we make our swift escape. She glances over her shoulder with wide eyes. "He's a total psycho! You really do have a death wish!"
"Relax, E. He won't even show up." I sigh in disappointment. "Guess I gotta brainstorm for a new idea."
We exit the building and are briefly blinded by the sun. The suffocating tension of almost going head-to-head with Miguel O'Hara slowly recedes the further we flee.
"I can't believe you had the balls to even speak to him like that," Elle says. "I was gonna pee my pants, dude!"
I send her an amused look. "He's just another guy with an ego bigger than his dick."
Elle shakes her head with incredulously. "Miguel O'Hara's right. You really are a chica loca."
••🕷️••
I spend the next day banging my head on the desk. Nothing. Nothing. There's nothing interesting that one of my course mates haven't already picked to report on.
I rest my cheek on my notebook in despondency. I may as well just pack my bags and go home. If I can't finish this assignment, I'm not graduating.
A knock on my dorm room door makes me sit up with a groan and trudge towards it. My addled brain suddenly snaps back into focus when I open it and find Miguel O'Hara at my doorstep.
He's scowling. I'm beginning to suspect it's his default expression.
"Hello?"
"It's rude to forget your own plans," he says. He looks me up and down and his scowl turns with disbelief. "Are you still in your pyjamas?"
I check my phone. Sure enough, it's half-past-three. I look back up at him again, utterly bewildered.
"I thought you weren't going to come," I say.
"Get changed," he orders, ignoring my comment. "My time is stretched thin as is. You've got five minutes."
I'm ready in three.
I quickly learn that wherever Miguel O'Hara goes, stares follow. I've never been ogled at as much as I am now, struggling to keep pace with his long strides, brain spinning at the turn of events. I catch the gaze of a girl who openly gives him the bedroom eyes and then glares at me.
Wow. Okay. Everyone's a feminist until Miguel O'Hara's in the vicinity.
I hold my laptop and notebook to my chest uncomfortably and glance up at Miguel. He stares ahead, ignoring the looks people give him. How does he do it? Doesn't it ever get to him?
Maybe he likes it. Maybe the rumours were right, and all this attention just feeds his ego.
We reach the café just before I begin to melt from the stress of the stares. It's a relief to shut the doors behind us, but it's only brief, because then everyone inside turns their eyes to us. They're all ravenous for gossip about Miguel.
"Black coffee," he says, the only thing he's spoken in the walk from my dorm, and heads to a booth in the far corner where it's a little quieter.
I pull a face at his back. Asshole.
I order our coffees and pay. He's writing down notes on one of those fancy transparent devices that would take my entire year's salary to pay for. My laptop seems decrepit in comparison. My notebook and pen is archaic.
I place both down onto the table and take a seat.
"Let's begin." I don't bother with pleasantries. He doesn't seem to be a guy who'd appreciate them. I flick open my notebook to the questions I'd written down the day before. "You recently received a full PhD scholarship through Alchemax. Can you take me through the process of how you received it?"
Miguel doesn't look up from his note-taking. On the opposite side of his screen I can see scientific equations and genetic formulas than make my brain turn to mush just from a glance.
"I'm just good at what I do," he says.
Helpful. "Can you elaborate?"
Miguel glances up at me. I match his unwavering stare. I don't dare look away; it's a challenge, a test, and I'm as competitive as they come. It's probably the move he pulls to intimidate everyone - a stare down.
He tilts his head and places his device down. I sit up straighter, tense under his full attention.
"Alchemax has what I'd call a... prolonged interest in me," Miguel says. I fumble for my laptop to begin typing, surprised by the start of a genuine answer. "This isn't my first scholarship with them."
Our coffees are placed on the table. The waiter lingers a beat too long, staring between the two of us. I can already smell the new breed of rumours that have sprouted - this time, involving me.
Miguel picks up his coffee and takes a sip. He grimaces at the taste. I raise an eyebrow, slightly amused.
"Too strong?" I ask.
"I don't like bitter things."
"Then why'd you get a black coffee?"
Miguel narrows his eyes at me. "Is this part of your interview?"
I stifle the urge to raise my face to the ceiling and pray for patience.
"So, not your first internship with them." I type out the bullet points of his answer. "What was?"
"An enrolment into Alchemax School for Gifted Youngsters," he answers. "I'm not sure how they found me. My mother never spoke about it. But they kept watch after I graduated and when I enrolled at the genetics course here, they came forward with the scholarship."
My fingers pause over the keys. "They... kept watch over you?"
Miguel nods.
"That's creepy," I comment.
He shrugs. "They gave me access to their labs and I'm interning on one of their projects. I'm not complaining."
"I'm sure you're not," I mumble to myself. "What's the project about? Is it classified?"
Miguel shakes his head. "It's public knowledge." He speaks freely now, not so stilted. The stick up his ass has been swiftly removed. "Do you remember the superheroes Nueva York used to have forty years ago?
"Of course."
"Alchemax is working on replicating the superhuman powers those heroes used to have," Miguel explains, words quick with eagerness. It's clear he's passionate. "We could bring back superheroes."
I turn fully towards him. "Why?"
"'Why?'" Miguel echoes. He leans towards, face scrunched with incredulity. "What do you mean 'why?'"
"What do you mean?" I ask in disbelief. "That age was terrible. There were a lot of civilian casualties by things like stolen tech, aggravated ideologies, super soldiers gone rogue." I eye him, and his gaze squints back coldly. "Don't you think it's dangerous to be replicating something from a time in our world that was so chaotic?"
"Don't you think this world right now needs protecting?" Miguel argues. "Because since the age of heroes, we've had a global war and a full scale Kree invasion that we barely survived."
I'd argue more, but this isn't what my piece is about and Miguel's time is short. I calm myself and turn back to my laptop. I can punch a pillow and imagine it's his face when I get back to my dorm.
"What superhero's powers are you going to replicate?"
"I'm not sure," Miguel admits. He crosses his arms and stares out the window, closed off once more. "We're still in the very early stages of streamlining the hypothesis to get funding."
"I'd pick Spider-Man."
Miguel's gaze jumps back to me at my unsolicited suggestion. I continue typing, unbothered.
"Spider-Man?" Miguel echoes. "Not Captain America? Scarlet Witch?"
"Nah. Spider-Man's my favourite."
He's quiet for a moment, staring at me. I finish my sentence and meet his gaze once more. There's a thoughtful intensity to them.
"Huh." He breaks the stare and focuses on his coffee mug.
A smug grin crawls its way onto my face. "Did a lowly journalism major just give genius Miguel O'Hara a good idea?"
Miguel's immediately pissy once more, just as I suspected he'd be. His buttons are so easy to push.
"Absolutely not," he scoffs. "What would you know about anything other than gorging yourself upon gossip and rumours? I know how you people are."
Well, that backfired. My smugness has immediately twisted into insult.
"Excuse me?" My face heats with fury. "I'm not a gossip columnist, thanks. I write the truth."
"I'm sure you're fun at parties."
"Alright, then." I slam my laptop's lid down harder than necessary and glare at him. "Is true you're a total whore? Rumours say you have a new girl in your dorm every night."
Miguel takes my comment as easy as water over a rock. He reclines back in his seat and crosses his arm, a look of total leisure.
"Not every night. That's just excessive." He sends me an intrigued look. "Why are you curious?"
My cheeks flame even hotter. "I'm not."
"Must've been thinking about it if that was the first rumour you ask me about." His smirk widens. "Are you thinking about me, L/n?"
"I wasn't-" I cut myself off with a heavy exhale of shock.
No, this is so over. I have enough material and I'm confident I can bullshit the rest - anything to get away from Miguel before I explode. I slap my notebook over my laptop and grab both, shuffling my way out of the booth furiously.
"You're a prick," I snap.
Miguel chuckles. The sound ramps my fury up to eleven. "You're fun."
I spin back around to scowl at him. "I'm glad I could amuse you, your highness."
"You have," he agrees. "It's been a while since someone's not cowered before me. It's exciting. Conversations get so boring when people are scared of you."
I scoff. "You're so full of yourself."
"See? That right there." He grins at me. "That confidence of yours. It's attractive on you."
God, why am I even still here? My entire face must be steaming from all the blood that's gone to my head. Miguel O'Hara truly has no fucking shame to talk to me like this in front of an entire café of people.
Miguel's gaze squints with a sly smile. "You liked that, didn't you? I take it you don't get compliments much."
I grit my teeth. Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead. I imagine myself kicking him in the balls and am immediately satisfied.
"You can't flatter me into taking off my clothes like all the other girls you take home." I lean towards him. "I'm not that easy."
Miguel tilts his head. "Everything's easy for me."
I smile at him with rage. "Enjoy your life, O'Hara."
I turn my back on him and leave the café. I have to gasp for breath when I exit, bewildered at how outraged I got back there. Jesus, and over a boy? You're losing your touch, Y/n.
I press my forehead to my laptop and groan.
Now I've really gotta pick a new topic.
••🕷️••
Two weeks after I stormed out of the café, Miguel O'Hara waits for me outside one of my lectures. The first thing I notice is the crowd parting. The second is the unmistakable, massive build of the same asshole I can't stop thinking about. I stop in my tracks.
He catches my stunned gaze. I turn on my heel and flee.
"Wait, L/n-" Miguel catches up to me easily with his long legs. I hunch into my shoulders unhappily when he keeps pace beside me. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Sorry, my time is too precious and I'm a massive asshole," I mutter. "Bye."
"Please?"
I don't think Miguel O'Hara's ever said 'please' before. I'm still unswayed.
"Why should I?" I shoot a glare up at him and curse the ridiculous height he has on me. "Last time I spoke to you, you embarrassed me in front of a bunch of strangers who I can't escape from because this campus is a goddamn prison."
Miguel groans. "I didn't mean to-"
I cut him off before he can make any piss-poor excuses. "Well, ya did, so!"
"Just a minute of your time-"
I halt my speed walking. Miguel reels backwards, stunned by the scowl that curls my lips.
"Why should I?" I seethe. "You've been nothing but awful! Your attitude is awful! You think you're so high and mighty because of your fancy scholarships but you're just like everyone else!" He watches me with wide, startled eyes as I poke a finger into his chest. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to give you a second of my time. I don't like you."
I turn away with a frustrated huff. Miguel stares after me as I storm away from him for a second time. And this time, I don't care about the rumours that will inevitably fly.
A week after that and it's a knock on my dorm room door.
It's almost ten on a Friday evening, and I've just booted up my laptop to watch my favourite comfort movie. The only person who usually comes around this late is Elle when she's picking me up for a party I didn't know I was going to.
It's not Elle.
"What do you want?" I ask Miguel O'Hara coldly. This is the second time he's come knocking while I'm in my pyjamas. I hope it doesn't become a pattern.
"I just need to talk," he says seriously.
"Unless it's an apology, you can leave."
"I'm sorry," Miguel says.
I falter at his sincerity. Despite me pretty much just setting it up for him, it was still unexpected.
"Okay..." I look around us awkwardly. 'Cool. Leave' is what I want to say, but unlike the man before me, I'm unfortunately not that rude. "Is that all? 'Cause I've got plans."
"No." Miguel O'Hara sends me the most imploring look I've ever been stabbed with. "Go out with me."
My mouth drops open with genuine fucking shock. I've been entirely blindsided. "Is this a joke?"
Miguel shakes his head. I can't quite comprehend the look in his eyes - the pleading, the frazzled bewilderment, like he can't quite make sense of this, either.
"You really expect me to date someone who still sleeps around with anything that has two legs?" I ask in astonishment. I grab my door and go to close it with a disbelieving laugh. "I have more self respect than that, thank you-"
"I haven't."
I pause.
"I haven't slept with anyone since you said 'pretty please' to me outside my lab," Miguel says. He places his hand on the almost-shut door and gently pushes it back open. The look on his face makes my heart give an unexpected flutter. "Dios mío, Y/n, you're all I can think about. It's driving me insane."
I can't speak for a moment, forced into silence by bafflement. Miguel drops his head towards me, almost begging.
"Please," he breathes.
I shake my head in disbelief. "Why do you even like me?" I ask incredulously. "We've done nothing but argue with each other."
"Because you're the only one who treats me like the asshole I am." He closes his eyes and sighs. "Because you're the only one who treats me like an actual person and not just... another scientific novelty to be used for something."
I stare at him unsurely. I've never had a man come begging to me like this before, and I certainly never would've expected one to be Miguel O'Hara. But him standing before me, saying what he says... it makes me feel things; new things, strange things.
He's smart, he's attractive, and maybe he isn't quite the asshole I thought he was.
"One date," I firmly say. "One. And if you're an ass again, it's over."
Miguel's face brightens with joy. I think this is the first time I've seen him truly smile, and my heart isn't just fluttering at the sight of it - it's spasming.
"Thank you," he says. His grip tightens on the door with relief. "Thank you."
"I'm still not going to sleep with you."
"I know." Miguel smiles. "You're not that easy."
I frown at him. "Exactly." We stand in my doorway for a few quiet seconds, just staring, as if neither of us can be quite sure of what the hell just happened. I glance over my shoulder. "I'm gonna... go, now."
Miguel straightens and recomposes himself with a clear of his throat. "Yeah."
I'm already inching the door to close. "Bye."
He nods stiffly. "Bye."
When the door latches and finally separates us, I press my forehead against it with wide eyes. When I hear his footsteps walk off, I slump my weight against it and slide to the floor in shock.
My heart can't stop racing. My face is hot - but not out of anger, unlike the past two times.
He can't stop thinking about me. The thought of me is driving him insane.
"It'll just be one date," I whisper to myself. "He'll be an ass again and you'll be disappointed, but it'll just be one date."
••🕷️••
Four months, seven dates, and two finals later, and Miguel O'Hara is finally in my bed.
"I thought you said you weren't easy?" Miguel whispers as he presses a line of kisses up my neck. I lean my chin away from him with a gentle sigh of pleasure. My hair tangles against the pillow.
"Mig, you had to clamber to get here."
"I still got here, didn't I?"
"On my terms," I remind amusedly and bring his face up. His brown eyes are dark with desire and I melt beneath them. "Face it, O'Hara. I've got you wrapped around my finger."
"You do," he murmurs against my lips. He doesn't even try to fight it. We both know it's true.
He kisses me, sweet and fierce like all of his kisses are, but this one's just a little more. It drives the breath from my lungs and fogs my brain. My fingers thread through his hair delightfully. I've been waiting for this, just as he has. Craving this just as he has.
Making the both of us wait four months might have been a bit much...
But Miguel never complained.
He sits up, shirtless, barely seeable in the darkness of my new flat. His hands stroke down my bare thighs that rest on either side of his hips, a long, slow caress. A promise. I shiver with anticipation.
"Y/n," Miguel murmurs, a velvet call in the shadows, a whisper of worship. His hands rest on my knees. "I think I love you. I think I've loved you for a while."
My breath hitches. A million butterflies make my stomach a home. The exhilaration I felt before ramps up tenfold, and suddenly our first time having sex doesn't even matter, because he's just spoken the words that's shifted my entire life.
My entire life.
I need to spend my entire life with Miguel O'Hara.
I yank him back down to the mattress and hook my leg over his waist. He gasps at the sudden movement, and sighs in reverence at the sight of me above him. His hands find the crook between my hips and my thighs.
"Have you only just now figured it out?" I giggle down at him, though it's through a sob and my eyes sting with happy tears, in-love tears. "I thought you were meant to be a genius."
He lifts a hand to wipe away my tears. His smile is nothing I've seen from him before; relief, adoration, devotion. My heart sings.
"When I'm with you, I'm just a stupid, simple man," Miguel whispers.
••🕷️••
Fourteen years, a marriage, and a daughter later, I wake in our bed alone.