Remember: everything Miguel O’hara says is made up.

Miguel fucks with a lot of girls. You know this. The whole campus knows this. It’s one of those times where he’s pistoning in and out of some girl— God, he can’t remember her name. He was pretending it was you, anyway. But she wasn’t as tight. Moans and mewls weren’t as sweet as yours. He guesses his brain caught up with his mouth and a grunt of “F- Fuck, you,” as he came. The poor girl went home crying with an unfinished orgasm and a broken heart— but Miguel couldn’t care less. He calls your phone right after, sighing as he stretches around his dorm. “You awake, pretty?” His voice is breathy and husky through the phone as he calls them.