#rapture drabbles

[patchwork-crow-writes]

67 - Patience

Thank you for taking your time with me. Thank you for staying. It... means more to me than you can ever know.

W-would you be patient with me a moment longer...? Just while I get my words... my f-feelings in order...? I've been waiting... waiting oh-so-long to tell you... to tell you that I, um...

...a-and you don't need to answer right away! I-in fact, I don't think I'd really mind if you, umm... didn't give one. Just now, I mean. B-but soon, okay? I... don't mind waiting a little longer, haha.

But anyway! I just, umm... I really... l-like you, a lot. N-not in a creepy way or anything! Just, um. A normal way. I... like you, and I like spending time with you, and I would like to spend more time with you. That's... I just wanted you to know. If that's, um, okay.

...it feels pretty good to have finally said it out loud, actually. Even if you're not exactly... well, here. B-but it's okay! Because I can be pretty patient too... and just knowing you'll be back soon is enough for me right now.

...though perhaps it wouldn't be so bad... if I didn't tell you anyway.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 67

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[intcritus]

one would question the validity of thoughts at this hour, whether the need for coffee was more pertinent than the need to scurry back under the covers. grayson's groggy brain decided that staying beneath the cool sheets was more important. not that he could've moved if he wanted to. saint's arm was tight around his waist, one thigh thigh wedge between his slender legs.

sleepy smile tugs at pink lips and he shifts, cheek smooshed against his boyfriend's bicep, watching him sleep. it still feels surreal somedays -- knowing he has someone in his bed, in his life, in his heart. it's not fleeting; the very thought of saint being some flouncing bed partner is disconcerting. no, this beautiful man was his life, his heart -- hell, the very epicenter of his world.

first peek of sun rays come through the slitted curtains, casting a glow over saint, and it makes him ethereal. a soft coo of admiration vibrates grayson's tongue and he leans in to brush a kiss over his lover's forehead, then over eyelids. his heartbeat is sluggish, the fluttering in his lower tummy plentiful. but he doesn't hesitate to touch, to glide his fingers over every inch he can reach without jostling saint awake. it's an easy affair and the first place he starts is at saint's wrists, the vines he used last night had certainly left their mark and he kisses them gently, more than a little awed that he was able to do so. but then his boyfriend encouraged these things. it was sexy as hell. the very memory of lastnight makes him want to clench his thighs together.

shadows are cast with the rising run, but grayson is unaware as he leans down to nuzzle into saint's throat, fingers and lips caressing gently over exposed flesh. he's so warm. the thought flits through his mind unbidden, lids growing heavy as said warmth seeps into his own flesh.

like a sun source without needing to shine so brightly. and who was he, a child of the earth, if the sun didn't provide him sustenance ? ah, his heart beats a little faster, a soft giggle escaping his lips as he shuffles closer, cheek pressing to shoulder. he doesn't question the claws of slumber slowly but surely dragging him back under with the continued warmth and smell of saint surrounding him, but the smile that curls up the corners of his mouth prevail even in the face of sleep. he's happy. and the man who holds him so securely will always be his sunrise.

[ liminal space; your bedroom at 5 am; saint x grayson ] / @villain-he

[ervotica]

fix your head

pairing; perv!stepbro!rafe cameron x fem!stepsister!reader

warnings; stepcest, smut 18+ only, fingering, p in v sex, somnophilia, free use kink

a/n; just been having brainrot abt stepbro!rafe so here’s a lil drabble/thot abt him! (yes i am insane)

A rough palm presses to the small of your back as the covers lift, a chill twining around your suddenly exposed skin that has goosebumps raising even in slumber. You whine, brows scrunching as lax fingers loop around his wrist and you twist further into the sheets. Your eyes open and desperately try to acclimatise to the darkness of your bedroom, but all you can decipher is a looming silhouette that begins to crawl on top of your slack body.

"Shh, shh," Rafe soothes. His breath is hot against your prickling face. "'S just me. Go back to sleep. Just g'na fix your head a little."

"Mm, okay." You settle once you realise it's only your stepbrother, eyes fluttering closed once more. His touch immediately has your pert nipples hardening, the soft sheets beneath you enough stimulation to make you squirm even in your half-asleep state.

Bruising fingers curl around your hips, lifting them until your back arches and your face smushes into the pillows beneath you; he makes light work of your panties, pushing them to the side as his big palms knead the fatty flesh of your bum.

A finger sinks into your weeping hole and you gasp, pushing back into the touch as he curls it just right to rub over your g-spot. Your gummy walls contract at the newfound pleasure and an arm flies back in seek of purchase against Rafe's wrist.

"I know, I know," he coos, slipping in another digit and picking up the pace until the delicious friction has you stifling moans into the sheets. "Keep quiet for me, kid. Wouldn't want your mom finding us, would we?"

The feeling of fullness is gone as quickly as it appeared and you're still for a few moments, features crumpling in vexation.

"Don't get bratty on me now, you little shit," he chuckles, watching as your face falls once more when he lines his mushroom head up with your drooling entrance. You garble and gasp as your cunt parts and flares around him, fluttering walls hugging him and moulding to the shape of his curved cock.

Fingers splay against the base of your neck, effectively silencing you as he starts to rock his hips; fingernails dig into the delicate flesh there and you whimper, tears tickling at your waterline as he presses you further into the pillow to keep you quiet.

"Got this pussy trained f'me, haven't I, kid? Attagirl, nice and quiet for me."

He twines an open palm into the length of your hair and tugs to reveal your blissed visage, watching with rapture as your expression changes the more he toys with you.

You squeak as he reaches down to pinch and roll your swollen clit between two fingertips, teeth baring into a growl when he clasps a merciless hand over your whining mouth.

"I told you to be fuckin' quiet, slut. Too much of a whore to take it nicely, hm? Too ungrateful?"

You shake your head vehemently, tears pooling at the base of his fingers as his thrusts pick up speed, head of his cock kissing every spot inside of you until you can't think of anything but how good he's making you feel.

He wrenches his hand free and you sag like dead weight, a punched breath of air expelling from your lungs with every cruel rut of his hips.

"There's my girl," he croons with a wicked smile, satisfied now you're fucked too dumb to do anything but drool onto the pillows beneath you. "You just, relax, kid. I'll be finished with you soon.”

[mystra-midnight]

Holy Roar

summary: eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. he listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

tags: 18+ only. unprotected sex; p in v. praise kink. pet names; good girl, sweet girl, baby. overstimulation. mentions of squirting if you squint. teeth-rotting fluff. eddie being a simp for his girl. soft!eddie but also hints of mean/dom!eddie.

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: eddie might not be religious but he's pretty sure heaven is between your thighs. requested by anon, thank you so much. <3 i needed a reason to be sappy and sweet today after all the drama going on. also, for the record. this was meant to be a drabble but evidently i have no self control.

Eddie Munson wasn't religious, but he did believe in heaven.

He'd swear up and down that he'd seen heaven, and no one had been able to convince him otherwise. The truth was, when he was buried in the tight warmth of your pussy with your arms wrapped around him, he could hear the sound of angels singing. It was a beautiful melody, a crescendo that rang in his ears and brought him to tears.

When he was with you, wrapped in the velvet embrace of your walls, his face hidden against the slope of your neck, the world would melt away. Nothing else mattered in those moments. He wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t a freak; he was just Eddie, and you were just you, and when he moved in you, the holy dark moved too.

And when you came, trembling and twitching beneath him, with pretty moans and whimpers pouring from your kiss-bitten lips, it was like he was born again. When he watched your features twist with rapture, he saw the world through brand new eyes—eyes that were filled with the vision of only you, an angel come to life beneath him, your holy light shining so brightly that he wasn’t sure you were real.

He often had to remind himself that you were.

Sometimes Eddie had to pinch himself just to convince himself that you weren't a beautiful, haunting illusion about to slip through his fingers. It was why he touched you with greedy hands at every opportunity. He touched you because he could, gripping the fat of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the pudge of your stomach, your tits, your cheeks, and your hands.

He was never cruel. Firm, yes; mocking, sometimes, but he could never hurt you. Eddie would hold you with strong hands that never stilled unless he was pounding into you, forcing unholy moans from your pretty mouth.

And unless he was kissing you, his tongue in your mouth, twirling and dancing with yours, he couldn’t stay silent. Eddie loved to whisper sweet nothings in between searing kisses. He would growl in your ear while carving his way to your guts. He would babble mindlessly as he chased his orgasm, fucking you through one, then a second, and then a third.

Some nights he was wild and untamed, whereas others he was kind and gentle.

No matter what, it was always a religious experience.

And tonight was no different.

Eddie had you on your back with your hands pinned above your head; he was holding both of your wrists in one of his larger hands. Your legs were around his waist, and the heels of your feet were pressing into his backside to draw him deeper as he rolled his hips and found that sweet spot that made you sing. Tears ebbed at your lash line, and he chased each one that fell with an eager tongue.

It was a cool evening in Hawkins, Indiana. Sometime past ten, a light rain had settled over the town. Eddie could hear the pitter-patter of droplets as they hit the roof of the caravan, the slide as they cascaded down the awnings, and the splatter as they hit the ground. The window was open, and a cool breeze was playing with the curtains, leaving his sweat-slicked skin goosepimpled.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. His voice was rough and heavy with lust. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he continued, mumbling the words against the slope of your neck, where he scrapped his teeth over your racing pulse. You arched beneath him when he dragged a ringed hand down your body, cruising from your throat to your chest, where he paused to brush a thumb over your peddled nipple before tugging on it a little meanly.

He listened to the way your breath hitched and the needy moan that tumbled past your lips when he moved his hand lower to the apex of your thighs. Eddie Munson was a simple man who loved you in this state—cock-drunk and floating in the clouds.

He loved to watch you come undone for him. He loved the way your back would arch, the way your muscles would tighten and flex, how you pulled him in and pushed him away when the pleasure mounted, and the way you couldn’t seem to get enough air while riding each orgasm. He couldn’t get enough of you; he was addicted to you.

“Bet you’re sensitive, baby.” Eddie said, gliding his pointer and ring finger on either side of your clit, which was still buzzing from the last orgasm he’d pulled from the depths of your soul. He felt you twitch beneath him, heard the sharp intake of breath, and heard the muffled whine that escaped your pretty mouth. “But look at you—still s’fucking wet. You’ve soaked the sheets, girl. But you're gonna cum again, aren’t you? Good, I need to hear those pretty sounds.”

He posed it as a question, but he wasn’t asking. Eddie took advantage of your delirious state, licking a long, wet strip up the column of your throat and moaned deeply as he savoured the sweat-slicked taste of your skin. Eddie didn't care that you were sweaty, that you were dishevelled, or that you were making a mess of his sheets. He cared that you were here and that you were beneath him.

He watched your face as he rolled his hips, his cock piercing through your velvet walls and his balls slapping against your ass as he drove deeper. Your lips parted in a perfect 'o', and you squirmed, straining to close your legs only to find his slim waist holding them open as a familiar heat sparked to life between your hips.

“I can’t.”

He said the words with you, as he already knew that you would say them. Eddie Munson was a menace that ruled your life, and you were a marionette on a string, so sweet and eager to please him. He could play you like a fiddle. He knew what words built you up and which ones sent you tumbling down again. As though to prove this, he circled his fingers around your clit, slick with arousal, left, then right, then spread them again, trapping your clit between his fingers with just a hint of pressure.

You keened loudly, throwing your head back and exposing your throat—an invitation that he quickly accepted. Eddie smeared hot, wet kisses along your skin, listening to the whimpers and whines that spilt from your lips as he rubbed your nub, enjoying the way you tugged at your wrists and writhed beneath him. “S’too much, Eddie. Eddie, please, please.”

You sounded so pretty when you begged; your voice was breathless and ethereal as you begged for something you couldn't decide on. Mercy or more—you didn't know.

But he did.

"You can," he replied. Eddie buried his face against your neck, his hot breath balmy against your skin, as he nuzzled his nose below the curve of your jaw before sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Just one more, I promise, baby, then I'll let you rest." It was the devil's lie, one that came easily from his tongue.

Eddie Munson was an addict, and you were his drug of choice. In truth, he knew that he would be going to hell, so he was going to enjoy heaven while he could. He kissed you without warning. Hard, slowly, thoroughly, just because he could. It made you moan and made your toes curl.

“Need you to cum again—fuck—just one more, that’s all I want."

“Mhmm, okay,” you whimpered, high-pitched and breathless, as he moved his fingers in tight circles around your nub, switching direction once, then twice. And then he moved. Eddie sat back on his haunches, threw your legs over his shoulders, and pulled you closer so that he could drive deeper, until you felt him in your lungs.

Your obedience and willingness made him smile. Eddie licked your calf, his teeth scraping teasingly at your ankle. Your pussy clenched hotly around his aching length. "You're such a good girl, aren’t you? S’fucking pretty, s’fucking sweet. Fuck, I love you,” he rambled, lost in the moment. The taste of you swimming in his mouth and the sight of you flooding his eyes were too much for him to bear.

You were beautiful; an angel trapped it in a rhapsody of pleasure—all his. Eddie pulled out slowly, your velvet heat clutching at his cock. He watched with wide and wondrous eyes as your hole clenched and winked at him, but it was the combination of pre-cum and slick dripping from you—the way it slid down the crack of your ass and joined the mess you'd made of the sheets—that broke his resolve.

The groan that clawed up the back of his throat was something feral and all-consuming, calling to something buried inside of you. Your answering whine was desperate. Eddie grabbed your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, so that he could watch the blissed expression in your eyes as he filled you again, hard and to the brim. "Look at you, girl, so cum-drunk that you're leaking on my cock. My pretty, perfect girl."

Time began to slow down. Heat slithered like a snake through your veins, slow to start as it set your body aflame, and then faster, striking with venom and fangs until your eyes rolled so far back that Eddie was sure you'd see your own brain. You were in a trance, and it was no one but Eddie’s fault.

You couldn’t answer him, even if you had wanted to. Each time he fucked into you, his cock spearing through your walls and reaching the depths of your being, the air was forced from your lungs, leaving you breathless and floating higher in the sky. He left a trail of wet kisses along your ankle, lapping at each bite with an eager tongue while he found your mound with the opposite hand, thumb swiping left and right, then, round and round, your clit.

The piston of his hips didn’t slow when you pushed against his abdomen, nails scratching the surface of his skin as though you wanted to burrow beneath it and live there. Eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. He listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

“Too much, Eddie,” you gasped, all breathless and sweet. Eddie smiled down at you, a beautiful lopsided grin that had the snake in your veins pulling tighter. It was so tight now that you thought you might die—that your bones would break and your heart would give. But the look in your eyes—that sly come-hither stare—told him you needed that release almost as much as you needed to breathe.

"You're going to be a good girl and cum for me, yeah? You're squeezing my dick so tight, baby, you're going to fucking break it.” Eddie chortled. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped from his nose, and landed on your chest as he bent to brush his mouth against yours. Your legs fell from his shoulders, knees coming to rest in the crook's of his arms as he shadowed over you like a perfect machiavellian devil.

His lips smashed against yours in a kiss made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. It was messy, sloppy, and desperate, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when you finally parted. Eddie was lost, chasing his own release that was hurtling towards him like a semi with its brakes cut.

And then it happened, all at once and without warning.

One moment you grabbed at him, clawing at his back and pulling on his hair, and then you were breathless, your limbs locked and your head thrown back. It was like the sky split open and a bolt of lightning speared through you, connecting with that sweet spot Eddie was abusing, only to arch throughout your body. You came screaming his name, and it was the sound of heaven, and he rejoiced.

"You're so good to me, sweet girl," Eddie said. His lips left a trail of blistering kisses from your chin, down your jaw, and to your neck, where he hid his face against your sweat-slicked skin. His breath was wild and balmy as he panted against your skin. His muscles twisted and knotted as the force of his impending orgasm grew. "I'm going—fuck—I'm going to marry you. I'm going to put a ring on your finger and buy you a fucking house."

And he meant it. If there was one thing on God's green earth that Eddie Munson was completely and irrevocably certain about, it was you. He was going to make you his wife. He was going to give you his name. He was going to give you his kids.

He felt you grab him again, your nails reclaiming their position on his shoulders as the world started to fade into background ambience. A haze overcame his vision, glowing orange from the fire raging within him. And then the tension in his body broke, ricocheting through him with the force of a hurricane.

Eddie speared through your walls one last time before settling deep within you, so deep that you could feel him pressing against the back of your throat. His weight above you was like a weighted blanket that is smothering but comfortable. It kept you grounded while you ride the coattails of your orgasm. Eddie came with a guttural groan, his abdominal muscles flexing as he filled you with thick ropes of his seed.

Seconds slid into minutes before he withdrew and collapsed to the bed at your side. The sheets were a mess at the foot of the bed, and the sound of the rain was louder now. The room smelled like sweat, sex, and fresh rain. You were both quiet as you floated through the clouds, content to lay side-by-side and let the silence bloom. There was nothing either of you had to say—the moment was already perfect because, while Eddie Munson wasn't religious, he did believe in heaven.

And with you, he felt born again.

tags: @hideoutside

[hans-wh0re]

A.N: this is a drabble that m thinking of expanding as a fic

"Fuck, that's it baby..." Hyunjin rasped out in a low, filthy growl that made you shudder. His scorching gaze raked over your lewd display through the phone's lens - spine in a debauched arch, mouth fallen slack with blissed-out moans as you eagerly speared yourself on his thick length again and again.

The harsh smacking of skin on skin reverberated through the room in tandem with your desperate, cloying whimpers. Each time you ground your asscheeks flush against his pelvis, Hyunjin's cock would split you apart with that soul-shattering *stretch* that had stars bursting behind your screwed-shut eyelids.

"Nnghh...that slutty little cunt just can't get enough, huh?" he rasped out, voice gone rough with lust. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."

Hyunjin shifted positions then, grabbing a fistful of your sweat-damp locks to wrench your head back at a punishing angle. You gurgled out a pitchy whine past your spit-slick lips as he brought the phone up unbearably close, the lens zeroing in on your ruined, slack-jawed expression with sadistic focus.

"Look at you..." he sneered in dark gratification, studying your glazed, vacant features. "Such a desperate cum-hungry slut. Is this what you wanted? To be my personal fuck-puppet while i records just how much of a messy little whore you are?"

Despite his cruel vitriol, you could only keen out a shuddering, mewling whimper of bliss. Lost in a hedonistic vortex of sensation, you mindlessly shoved your hips back to impale yourself in one long, shuddering grind on the punishing density of his cock.

Hyunjin hissed out a harsh breath through gritted teeth at the feeling of your abused, sloppy hole fluttering and clenching around him in spasming milks. That iron-hard length somehow managed to split you open even wider as he surged in with a vicious snap of his hips. Thick ropes of your essence immediately started to dribble free in vulgar gouts, trickling down over your puffy folds to soak the bedsheets beneath you both.

"That's right you little whore..." he growled, nostrils flaring. Using his grip in your hair, Hyunjin pulled your face up and forced you to meet the camera's gaze while he treated you like a twisted little pocket pussy.

"Give the people what they want. Drool all over yourself while i utterly ruins this messy fuckhole..."

He punctuated the threat with a series of harsh, pounding jackhammer thrusts that instantly punched a shrill, gurgling wail past your swollen lips. Drool collected obscenely at the corners of your mouth as your eyes rolled back in delirious rapture - you were completely gone, nerves thrumming from the onslaught of sensation.

Everything became a spiraling vortex of feral rutting, filthy squalor, and erotic bliss. Hyunjin's physique glistened with a sweat-sheened sheen as he plowed into your squelching, convulsing cunt with relentless, animalistic fervor. The room filled with a cacophony of your pitchy howls, his rough grunts, and the lewd wet sounds of your essence being messily reamed.

The camera (and subsequently Hyunjin's burning stare) didn't miss a single degrading second - greedily capturing every graphic detail of your debauched defilement. And still you craved more, grinding back to meet his brutal thrusts with wanton keening whines.

Stars exploded across your vision as Hyunjin buried himself in one last cruel, obliterating grind that had you choking out a ragged, open-mouthed sob. He held you there impaled on the swollen, pulsating crest of his cock as rich, viscous ropes of seed immediately began pumping into your abused, fluttering hole.

"That's it, sweetheart...fucking milk me..." he snarled against the sweaty nape of your neck, voice utterly guttural with possession. "Take every fucking drop like the filthy cumdump you are..."

[pin-k-ink]

distraction ⋆✦⋆ ushijima wakatoshi

tags ➸ mutual masturbation (kinda), creampie, dirty talking, would this count as voyeurism?, daddy kink, unprotected sex but it’s just a flashback, it’s just smut ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

wc ➸ 2.7k

a/n ➸ this is just a little drabble to keep yall occupied for a while more

The hotel room door clicked shut behind Ushijima with a dull thud, sealing off the muffled sounds of the bustling hallway beyond. He stood unmoving in the entryway for a suspended moment, simply letting his deep green eyes adjust to the shadows cloaking every surface in a dim navy haze.

Despite the plush carpet muffling each footfall, Ushijima's imposing presence seemed to saturate the very air as he crossed the space to deposit his luggage on the nearby dresser. Even alone, surrounded by stark unfamiliarity, he couldn't shake the innate restlessness buzzing beneath his skin any more than rid himself of the phantom ache blossoming in his broad chest.

You. Everywhere his gaze settled, your delicate essence lingered in wisps of half-formed memory teasing at the corners of Ushijima's senses.

The hint of shampoo and fresh laundry caressing his nostrils as he tugged his duffel open - immediately transporting him back to countless mornings spent nuzzling his face into the fragrant cascade of your bedhead while you grumbled sleepy protests against his chest.

Unable to resist the temptation, Ushijima dragged your favorite well-worn t-shirt free from where it lay bundled amidst the rest of his gear. Immediately, the airy softness brushed his calloused palms in such bittersweet familiarity that a low groan nearly rumbled free.

How many evenings had he spent watching you lounge in this very article while pursing those full lips around some playful jibe or sassing remark aimed to rile him up in the best way? Nearly every inch of cloth had molded itself to every lush curve - twin valleys of cleavage peeking over the neckline as you stretched out languorously, one shapely leg hooked over his thighs so his gaze roamed unchecked over the delicious swell of your ass...

Ushijima sucked in a harsh, shuddering inhale through his flared nostrils as the memories flickered through his mind's eye in searing clarity. Already, he could feel his rapidly swelling cock straining against the tight denim as muscle memory transported him right back to reality for one excruciating heartbeat.

Back to those smoldering nights spent basking in the velvet bliss of your slick cunt gripping his cock in rippling ecstasy, his name punched from your kiss-swollen lips in desperate moans as he plunged into your convulsing heat over and over until—

A viscous pulse of arousal throbbed between his legs, jarring Ushijima back to the dismal present once more. He stared down at your ratty tee clutched in one massive fist, fabric already damp from the harsh panting breaths ghosting over the thin cotton. God, just the mere ghost of you lingering around him was proving hazardous to his self-restraint within mere minutes of being apart.

How in the hell was he supposed to maintain focus clear across an ocean when your addictive essence swamped his senses at every turn? When every stray thought kept circling back to craving the exquisite rapture of your entwined bodies, lips, and souls blending together until individuality became a meaningless concept?

Not for the first time, the treacherous notion of abandoning his obligations and turning right back around whispered through Ushijima's lust-fogged mind. It would be so easy - show up on your doorstep unannounced, haul you against his hulking frame for a searing reminder of exactly whom you belonged to before barricading you both away for days on end in carnal abandonment. No distractions, no shred of the outside world to penetrate your cocoon as he lost himself to claiming you over and over until his bones hollowed to sanctified husks...

A tiny glint of color among the tangle of his gear snapped Ushijima's attention back like a vice before the smoldering fantasies could obliterate his crumbling grasp on composure entirely.

There, nestled half-concealed between the folds of a wrinkled button-down, peeked a slender oblong of lurid pink plastic.

Ushijima's brows furrowed slightly as he reached in to extract the unfamiliar item - recognizing the construction of a basic USB drive even before his fingers wrapped around its surprising heft and warmth. As soon as the smooth edges grazed his calloused skin, a resonant prickle tingled over his nerve endings in a frisson of undeniable recognition.

You...this was one of yours. The same cheerful pink model you used for client drafts at your publishing job, vibrant enough to never go missing among scattered work debris.

A throaty rumble vibrated up from Ushijima's sternum at the realization, every bit of his frame tensing with renewed intensity. Of course...of course you would slip in some form of intimate connection amidst his luggage before departing. As if there were any possibility of you slipping his mind for even a heartbeat, even under the most arid of conditions.

Yet this tantalizing token still beckoned with wordless promise, didn't it? Your siren's call echoing through each silent pore in invitation for him to cease denying himself a long overdue taste of rapture...

His calloused thumb traced over the lurid plastic reverently as he fished for the slender drive's storage key. The unassuming object radiated your radiant warmth through every unseen groove and crease like an incorporeal brand seeping into his senses. Surely you had left this behind as a blessed indulgence to sustain him in your absence? A much-needed temptation to reroute his floundering thoughts back towards the searing light of your love no matter how far you receded on the horizon ahead?

Within seconds his probing fingertips found purchase around the USB's slim circumference—only to halt abruptly when his tactile hunt unearthed an unexpected addition. Something small and papery clung to the vibrant plastic like a fading afterthought, taped on with clear intention.

Despite the numerous memory sticks you carted back and forth to work, Ushijima would recognize the delicate flow of your inimitable script anywhere without hesitation. A subtle thrill thrummed beneath his ribs as he registered the precise curve of each letter loping across the minuscule notecard in slapdash flourishes, rushed yet weighted with profound familiarity...

Don't you dare say I never think of ways to keep your attention, Mr.Ushijima...

A wry, feral grin tugged at the hardened seams of Ushijima's expression as your breathless timbre seemed to ghost over his tingling senses with blistering intimacy. He could practically envision the coquettish lilt tugging at those plush lips as you hastily scrawled this siren's promise, could already taste the heady musk of arousal he knew would cling to your feverish skin at his answering rumbles of praise.

Always and forever my devious little wife, are you not? He found himself rumbling aloud in the stifling quiet, gaze honing in on the lurid flash of pink nestled between his palms with mounting intensity. One taste may prove utterly ruinous this evening...but what exquisite indulgence awaited should he dare to slake this pious thirst you always roused so effortlessly?

With those heated musings simmering beneath his skin, Ushijima scooped up the tantalizing memento and strode for the bed dominating the room's center. He dropped his bulk to settle against the crisp linens without preamble, rough palms already working at his belt as anticipation kicked his pulse into a thundering crescendo.

Ushijima settled back against the plush headboard, laptop balanced precariously on his thick thighs as the startup screen glowed to life before him. Each impatient click of the trackpad echoed like gunshots through the weighted silence blanketing the room's dim confines.

Only when the USB's contents finally populated into a neatly organized file tree did his taut shoulders begin loosening incrementally - every rigid line of tension sluicing away as icon after icon bearing your careful notation sprang into view. A low, rumbling exhale rasped past Ushijima's parted lips as the implications sank in like a full-body caress.

Not mere photographs or a chaste video clip as he'd initially assumed. No, your indulgent missive came in the form of meticulously catalogued vignettes chronicling a far more iniquitous trail for your husband to get hopelessly, rapturously lost within...

His calloused fingertip meandered over each file menu almost reverently, retracing the familiar sigil you favored for organizing such...forbidden anthologies. Just seeing that stylized emblem branded into each video thumbnail already set his pulse hammering with rising fever, every molecule of oxygen rapidly becoming saturated with the phantom essence of your intoxicating presence. Ushijima inhaled a rasping draught in a vain attempt to steady himself.

Your intricately braided scent swirled through his senses until he could almost taste the velvet musk billowing from your sweat-sheened skin, feel the rake of your lust-blown stare skating over his devouring form, practically hear your rasping exhalations as those plush lips parted around the sinful encouragements you always rained down upon him like the sweetest benedictions...

Steeling himself against the rising tide of delirious hunger, Ushijima jabbed the mousepad to illuminate the first dated file without further preamble. Let the sweet agonies commence - he could withstand any torment your carnal magics wrought just to remain suspended within your orbit a while longer.

The inaugural clip sprang to life across the cramped screen, immediately assaulting Ushijima's senses with sights and sounds achingly reminiscent of home. Every subtly familiar vista of your bedroom whispered intimacies only he was permitted to indulge - soft lamplight glazing every sinuous curve of your stripped bed with burnished light, the cozy armchair where he loved watching you lounge and preen after reuniting, even the well-worn hardwood that anchored your tangled raptures to a lifetime of blissful eternity.

The tinny strains of that infuriatingly catchy pop song you favored suddenly filtered through the laptop speakers, belying the hushed giggle that seemed to swell in tandem off-screen before your own impish cadence sliced through the prelude:

"And here he goes convincin' himself that he'll be okay when Daddy is gone..."

Ushijima tensed fractionally, abdomen clenching as your lilting moans interplayed with the grating bassline. Despite the teasing edge coating your syllables, he detected the faint rasp of strain underlying each plaintive note instantly recognizable to him alone.

As if magnetized, he sat transfixed while the camera panned in a graceful arc - revealing your deliciously disheveled form sprawled before the gleaming vanity toward which you'd positioned the lens. Barely cognizant arousal flooded Ushijima with ruthless intensity as every salacious detail sprung into flickering clarity before him.

You dominated the viewfinder in languid repose atop rumpled satin sheets, gloriously nude safe for one scandalously skimpy babydoll draping those opulent curves in wispy lace that did nothing to conceal your smoldering aura. Hair mussed from sleep or something far more indecent, plush lips already parted in the ghost of whimpers past as your fluttering lashes lifted to pin the camera with a sultry look from beneath heavy lids.

"Missin' you already, 'Toshi..." you mewled in that ruinous rasp that never failed to unman Ushijima on contact. Even through the tinny speakers, each smoky exhalation dripped from your mouth like aural honey caressing his most primal receptors.

He sucked in a shallow breath as the camera panned lower in obvious, torturous leisure - down the obscene valleys of cleavage spilling over the flimsy lace trim, over the subtle ridges of your flexing abdomen as you arched against the rumpled sheets, until...

"Oh fuck..." The gravelly sound of reverence punched from Ushijima's chest unchecked as your hands drifted into frame, thumbs curiously nudging apart the scant vee of lace bisecting your pelvis.

There, stark against your inner thighs gilded with soft lighting, crimson finger marks stood out in glossy stripes marring your flawless skin. The very traces of his cum, painted across your glistening folds with relentless possession shortly before his departure from your nest mere hours prior.

Your plaintive whimper pierced Ushijima's mesmerized trance, causing his stare to rake upwards hungrily in search of your flushed expression as you pried that flimsy barrier further apart. Just enough for the camera to capture the unmistakable sluggish drool of viscous cum leaking from your glistening cunt in an obscene, pearlescent bead.

"Mmmm, that's right..." you husked out on a strained exhale, holding your pose for the lens with seeming effort as your hips bucked up shamelessly. "Can't let it all go to waste before you come back for more, can I Wakatoshi?"

Ushijima went rigid at the breathless plea, teeth gritting as his neglected cock throbbed insistently against his palm in response. His gaze remained pinned on that syrupy rivulet of his own seed trickling across your swollen sex in perverse defiance, each sticky pulse seeming to beckon him nearer with lascivious promise.

As if compelled by some unseen magnetism, his free hand drifted down to join the other in cupping the bulge trapped torturously within his jeans. He squeezed and massaged the jumping length as a fresh, filthy moan filtered through the speakers - your sultry mewl of his given name transmuted into a raking growl deep in his parched throat.

Ushijima stroked himself through the denim prison with urgency building alongside your own escalating cries off-screen. Chest heaving, he was utterly transfixed by the sight of those dainty fingertips reaching down to spread your slick folds apart even further, baring the swollen flesh to his smoldering stare before languidly...slowly...burying two slender digits into the throbbing, sodden heat still bathed in the tangible evidence of his ravenous claiming from earlier that morning.

"Mmmphfff....gooood girl," he found himself rumbling in tandem as you arched off the bedspread with a mewling whine, stuffing yourself with those insistent thrusts greedily. "Show me how needy you are for Daddy’s fat cock after I already stuffed you so full before leaving..."

As if in answer, the image lurched and gyrated as your writhing kicked up a fresh notch, shameless and desperate now. Ushijima watched in rapt voyeuristic hunger as you fucked yourself in earnest on-screen - spine arcing sharply while those tiny fingers sawed in and out of your sodden slit in a blur. His own strokes matched your fevered tempo as ragged growls rattled up from his expansive chest, every muscle tensed with unbearable lust rapidly reaching the boiling point.

"Oh...oh fuck yes, just like that!" you suddenly wailed, babbling pants reverberating through the laptop's speakers in staccato bursts. "Mmmnngh, 'Toshi...! Can't get enough of your cum dribbling out of me, wanna keep every goddamn drop until you—until you come back and give me ano—ahhhh!"

Your broken raptures fragmented into siren song as the thrashing image tumbled sideways, skewing the camera view into vertigo-inducing angles as your orgasmic convulsions crested in earth-shattering rapture. Ushijima snarled through gritted teeth, hand pistoning over his aching length as the clip reached its feverish crescendo to the glorious vision of you writhing within the indelible mark of his scorching seed at long last.

With a heavy grunt torn from the deepest pits of his core, Ushijima arched against the headboard and ruthlessly painted his cum all over the video's graphic throes with rope after rope of pearly spend shooting from his ruddy tip. His eyes remained glued and glazed upon the flickering smears obscuring your own blissful delirium with each successive pulse - willfully drowning in the fantasy that your tangled forms were entwined once more amidst the sacred ritual rather than heartbeats apart.

At long last, he slumped back into the rumpled bedding to gulp down air through flaring nostrils...only to feel the weight of your siren's stare tugging his focus straight back to those final frames replaying in torturous anticipatory loop. The clip had frozen on the impossibly wrecked vision of you splayed out in unrestrained satiation - thighs quivering, face contorted mid-rapture, and lace negligee askew to frame the indelible mess of your husband's ravenous ownership smeared obscenely over your quivering pussy.

Without conscious forethought, Ushijima simply stared and absorbed every prurient detail while his harsh breaths slowed to a rasping purr deep in his broad chest. Yeah...yeah that's my good girl nice and ruined for me, isn't it? Daddy’s gonna come back and wreck that sweet little cunt so fucking deep with a fresh batch soon enough...

The darkly possessive words thrummed through his vocal cords unvoiced yet vibrating with tangible sin, pouring over the images of your decimated abandon like physical benedictions to be anointed upon your receptive form through sheer force of will alone. And somewhere amidst the digitized fractures flickering across the laptop's meager resolution, Ushijima could've sworn he glimpsed an echo of your half-lidded stare peering out from the maelstrom—yearning yet sated, wrecked yet burning with the promise of further ruination to come.

[aizawaz]

A short lil Logan drabble for you all <3

Am I projecting a little bit? Yeah. Am I ashamed to admit that? Not at all!!

Warnings: fem!reader , implied age difference , fingering , slight overstimulation , (first time) squirting , praise , humiliation if you squint real hard , Logan’s a nasty dawg

!NSFW below the cut!

The sensation builds in your stomach before your blissed out brain even realizes. A pressure deep in your stomach, one that’s both recognizable and foreign to you, and with every rapturous thrust of Logan’s fingers the feeling only gets stronger. It makes you hiccup in surprise when the realization suddenly hits you. Oh god, are you about to pee? Your hips squirm as weak protests begin to spill from your mouth.

“Lo-Logan, wait a second, I-“ You’re reaching back to pull his fingers out of you, to save yourself the humiliation of peeing during sex. “Sto-p, somethin’s we-weird!” You mewl, thighs trembling as the sensation engulfs your lower half. Logan merely hums and continues to incessantly piston his fingers into your sopping wet hole. “Gonna cum f’me again? Y’got it, let it all out, sweet’art.”

Something about the way he talks so casually, as if you’re not a blabbering mess in front of him, causes the dam to collapse in an instant. With a broken cry, you’re squirting your release all over the bed and Logan. He laughs in awe, the sound deep and husky as you make a mess of his forearm and the bedsheets below you. “Holy fuck, baby, yeahh,” he groans while his eyes are laser focused on the way your pussy spasms around his drenched fingers. He curls them experimentally, earning a jolt of your legs and a squeal. A prideful smirk pulls at his lips. “Didn’t know a pretty li’l thing like you could make such a fuckin’ mess.”

Even with your head spinning with ecstasy you still have the ability to whine in embarrassment at Logan’s words. Though you can’t help but think the same. That was the very first time someone has made you squirt. Hell, that was the first time you’ve ever done it, period. You don’t even need to say this because he already knows what’s on your mind.

“Never felt that good before, bub?” You hear Logan click his tongue, almost as if the thought disappointed him. “What a shame.” He’s sinking his fingers back into you, accompanied by a faint yet wet squelching sound when he buries himself to the knuckle. You shiver with a gasp, and Logan continues. “That’s alright, though. I’m gonna make up for it and have you do that again.”

—————————

A/N: Hi I hope this makes up for my long absence!!! This scenario has been plaguing my mind for so long and I just had to write it down

© aizawaz on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[maximsdeadwife]

Send You To Sleep Satisfied

Geralt x reader drabble

Summary: Geralt can’t sleep. Rather than settling for a restless a night, you offer an easy (and rather more pleasurable) solution.

Author’s notes: This is set at no specific time and has no particular context. I just wanted to give Geralt some comfort. Y’know, in a sexy way.

Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, handjob, gn!reader, exhausted and needy Geralt, extra lil gif at the end 🖤

A large hand slid roughly over your stomach followed by a heavy, muscular arm snaking around your waist and dragging you swiftly backwards.

‘Geralt!’ you exclaimed, your heart racing before you realised it was him, ‘I was almost asleep! You startled me-’

‘M’sorry,’ came his muffled reply, his handsome nose already buried deep in your hair, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. He breathed you in, holding you close and sighing deeply. ‘Can’t sleep.’

Steadying your breath, you shifted within his firm embrace, smiling at the grunt of disapproval you elicited by taking away the comfort of your hair and your back pressed flush to his broad chest.

Another comfort soon replaced this, though.

‘I can help you with that,’ you cooed, watching with delight as his heavily lidded eyes slid shut at the warmth of your fingers slipping past the waistband his tight trousers.

A whispered little ‘Oh-’ slipped from between his pretty parted lips. ‘You… mmh… you don’t need to-’ It was hardly a protest, his voice heavy with lack of sleep yet laced with obvious desire.

You stilled then, his erection steadily growing harder against your now unmoving palm.

His eyes opened, sharp beneath a sudden frown. ‘You don’t need to, but… since you’ve started…’ A bead of precum oozed from his tip causing a whine to escape his throat before he could stop it. His eyes clenched tight shut in shame. ‘Don’t stop?’

A knowing smirk pulled at your lips. Geralt never could resist the promise of a good orgasm when the opportunity presented itself at such a perfect moment as this.

He was too tired to fuck. This, you knew. But you could pleasure him to sleep as he had done for you countless times, his elegant fingers or clever tongue or thick cock working their magic to soothe your exhausted body and allow your tired mind to rest.

Your fingers curled loosely around his length, pumping lazily to begin with, massaging his cock with a hint of tenderness that had him melting.

‘Shh, Geralt, focus on my touch. Float away on the sensation of your pleasure… let me send you to sleep satisfied, relaxed….’ you breathed, easing his tension away with your voice as much as your hand.

His strong fingers grasped at your arm, fingertips driving harder into your flesh as you wanked him faster. You hoped he’d leave bruises, marks you could show him tomorrow that might make him blush. He rarely blushed, but when a flush of crimson powdered his cheeks, it was certainly a pretty sight.

His hips began to rock in time to meet your movements and his breath grew heavy, interspersed with blissful moans. His cock throbbed inside your grip when your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting the thick offering of precum that had steadily built up there.

‘That’s it, I can feel it-’ you breathed, ‘let go.’

His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and heavy and tingling against your cool lips as his muscles rapidly tensed, his toes curled and his back arched.

‘Fuck!’ he growled through gritted teeth as overwhelming surges of pleasure rushed through his core to bring about his release, and he repeated, in a much smaller voice as the rapture subsided, ‘… fuck…’

As his cock softened, sensitive with aftershocks, gently, you withdrew your hand and sealed your mouth to his.

‘We’ll bathe in the morning, love,’ you whispered with a smile against his lips, not caring a jot about the thick creamy rope that had made a mess of his trousers and stained your arm, sticky against your skin. ‘For now, sleep.’

Geralt grunted. The tell tale signs of sleep began to pull at his features as the rush of his climax fell away to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

He huffed, amused. ‘I’ve slept in worse conditions. Besides-’ a small yawn interrupted him, exhaustion and the bliss of post-orgasm haze slurring his speech slightly as he continued, slowly, ‘in the morning, before anything else… I will be busy… making you scream my name.’

And with that, the calming sound of his low snore took over; the heat that had pooled at your core content to remain there until morning. For now you watched him rest until you were dreaming yourself. You dreamed of him.

[attapullman]

During a visit in a sex shop A spots a weird toy. B suggests purchase as a joke. Little do they know A seriously wants to use it. With Bob?

this ask 🤝 my sleep deprived brain 🤝 hc that bob floyd is a little freak

18+ to be able to go on this ride

Drabble Day

It’s hard to tell which is more bright: the cherry red dildo you’re holding or the tips of Bob’s ears. He’s a prude by no means, but you slapping the silicone cock around to test the bounce has him flustered beyond belief.

“Can you please stop swinging that?” His gentle hands come up to stop you, but your grin grows evilly as you duck his hold. 

“You’re the one who wanted to get a gag gift for Jake’s bach party. I want to make an informed purchase!” He rolls his eyes at you and hesitantly glances at the store clerk for the umpteenth time. The college kid reading Frankenstein and eating chips hasn’t even noticed you’ve entered the store.

Walking further down the aisle, taking in the array of brightly colored cock rings and butt plugs and vibrators, you’re overwhelmed with options. If this girl is marrying Jake you want to get her something he can actually use in the bedroom. You’re already planning several funny size puns to put on the card.

As you weigh the pros and cons of a cheekily named ‘My First Bondage Kit’, you suddenly realize you’re in the aisle alone. No pink-eared husband in sight. “Bob?”

Hidden behind a display of sex swings, you find him standing in the ‘specialty’ toys. Glossy eyes lost in rapture, you expect him to be clutching the holy grail when he holds up what has caught his attention. But instead it’s a thick multicolored dildo, covered in rows of suckers and deep grooves, glowing brightly in his hand. The Tenta-Cock, the sign says.

“Sweetheart, that thing is the size of me. You’re going to scare Jake if you show up with that in a gift box,” you giggle. You admire his commitment to the joke, but a pair of nipple clamps was more than enough. His eyes drag away from the thick suction base and skim up your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips as your eyes connect. 

The weak flutter of his chest under his tshirt says it all.

“Not for Jake.”

You cock your head at him, stepping closer. The monster cock practically shines in his grasp. For such big hands, his fingers barely fit around the hefty base. Even the narrow tip of the tentacle is wider than your thickest vibrator.

Head fuzzy and heart pounding, the poor clerk isn’t prepared when you hastily shove The Tenta-Cock their way and your credit card. You can feel the air moving behind you as Bob twitches his dexterous fingers, anxious to get home. Jake’s gift is completely forgotten as you’re handed a plain paper bag that barely fits under Bob’s jacket. 

The speedometer in Bob’s truck is ten over the limit the entire drive home. You don’t reprimand him. Every minute away from the privacy of your bedroom is one too many.

[brotherwtf]

I've been a bit feral lately so have a very intimate clegan shaving drabble.

John had asked Gale a couple of times during the war to help him shave. Usually, back at Thorpe Abbotts, he would make a joke like "your arms don't work, Bucky?" and push him away with the hint of a smile. Every time, Bucky would pout like a kicked puppy, and Gale would only give him and exasperated look in return.

Eventually, he did shave John's face, but that was only while they were in the Stalag together. They were both so broken and exhausted, and John asked in a way that was pleading as opposed to teasing. The entire time, Gale had to control his breathing and try to avoid Johns eyes so as to not completely ravage him in the middle of the washroom.

After the war, John hadn't asked Gale to shave him at all. He barely talked during the mornings, barely could stand looking at the person in the mirror, but still resigned himself to get clean every morning.

Usually, Gale leaves John alone in the mornings, getting ready only after he leaves the restroom so he can have his peace. However, he decided to join him this morning.

He stands by John in silence, but can feel the tenseness of his shoulders as he brushes his teeth next to him. He watches as shaky hands pick up the razor and cream and tentatively apply the cream to his chin and neck. Gale spits out the toothpaste and grabs the washcloth by the sink when he hears John let out a tiny hiss. He whips his head towards him, and sees the tiny pool of red turning the foam pink on his cheek.

John looks over to him then, and Gale takes it as a silent plea for help. He takes the razor from his hands and gestures for John to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

It's a shocking mirror image to what had happened in the Stalag. Except now Gale could touch John however he wanted without fear of others seeing him.

Carefully, he places the razor to John's skin and drags it slightly, hearing the subtle scrape of hair being cut from his face. He puts a hand on the back of John's head, tilting it over so slightly to drag the razor over his jaw. When there's no more cream, he takes his hand and traces the sharp line of it, looking directly into John's eyes as he does so.

John looks at him like a man in worship, eyes slightly lidded and lips parted as Gale caresses him further, grabbing his chin and pulling the razor across it. He snakes his arms around his waist, pulling him closer so that Gale stands between John's open legs. Gale sighs with a hint of a smile quirking his lips up.

Gale removes his hand from John's hair and uses it to cup the shaved cheek, turning his face to work on the other side. When John tries to turn to kiss the palm of his hand, Gale tuts and wags a playful finger in front of him.

"Don't get so eager now, Bucky," He whispers.

John huffs out a laugh, relishing in the soft hand that gently holds his face. Gale tilts his face up, putting a hand around John's neck as he shaves under John's chin. John looks up at him with rapture, taking one of his hands from Gale's waist and holding it around Gale's wrist on his neck.

With one final swipe, Gale flicks the last of the cream onto the bathroom floor, but keeps his hand wrapped gently around John's neck. He squeezes ever so slightly, and John releases a tiny sound from his lips.

"Claiming me as yours, Buck?" John asks teasingly.

Gale leans down and devours John's lips, producing an almost sinful moan and John's grip on his waist gets impossibly tighter. He forces his tongue into an eager mouth, and allows the kiss to get heated. His other hand finds John's hand on his waist and squeezes it.

Gale pulls away and breathes out a laugh when John chases his lips. He takes the hand from John's neck and caresses his cheek again.

"You'll always be mine, Bucky"

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part Eleven

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader Summary: You volunteer to babysit Mayday last minute. Miguel, Mayday, and you have dinner. Miguel shares a part of his past with you. Word Count: 25,585 Warnings: I reviewed this twice but I may have missed some errors as I really wanted to update!; mention of verbal and physical abuse; emotional child neglect; mention of rapture and addiction; mention of testing on humans; marital issues; mention of insecurity about physical appearance/features; questioning of self-worth; someone gets hit in the head but nothing serious; fluff then angst, then fluff again; translations for Spanish terms included at the end; I think that's everything without giving too many spoilers. Short A/N: I just wanted to clear up that this part takes place several months before the Thanksgiving drabble. This part takes place sometime in late May, early June - two months after Miguel's incident. So, that's the timeline if you read that drabble, which is not necessary to read! Thank you! Previous Part Masterlist

Part Eleven

“Bye, guys! Thank you for dinner again,” Gwen says with a wave. 

“Thank you for dinner! See you guys on Monday!” Miles calls out with a wave of his own. 

“Bye, you guys be careful,” Peter B. calls out, raising his entire arm to wave goodbye at the two spiderlings.

“Bye, guys!” you say, looking up from what you’re doing to see Miles and Gwen just as a portal opens up.

“Bye!” they call out and with that, they head out through the portal.

You continue to help Mary Jane and Peter B. clean up. It’s Friday evening and everyone has called it a night already due to exhaustion from either school or their duties as superheroes, or both. Peter B. and you are putting away leftovers from dinner as Mary Jane takes care of other things. The sound of her ringtone startles the three of you but elicits a laugh from Mayday. You chuckle at her laugh and shake your head as Mary Jane picks up her phone. 

“It’s our babysitter. Let me take their call. I’ll be right back,” she says with a little frown, hoping it’s not bad news as she heads to one of the bedrooms to let Peter and you talk in peace, yet you can hear her soft voice even from the kitchen. “Hey, how are you doing? I’m doing well, thank you… Oh, I see. Yeah, no, it’s alright. I understand things pop up… Yes, don’t worry. Peter and I will figure something out. Thank you for letting me know and I hope everything goes well. Thank you. You, too. Bye-bye!”

You keep putting food away even as Peter leaves your side, heading towards the bedrooms. Despite your best efforts to give privacy to the couple, you can hear Peter and Mary Jane talking quietly now.

“Don’t worry, honey, we’ll figure something out. There’s plenty of time, right?” 

“Peter… It’s very late. Where are we going to find a babysitter on such short notice? We can’t go. We’re going to have to cancel unfortunately. I’ll let Hailey know we won’t be able to make it.”

You finish putting away the last thing before you wipe the counter clean, trying to help the Parkers as much as possible after they hosted dinner.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s alright, Peter. There’s always next time, right?”

Peter and Mary Jane step out of the bedroom, each giving you a sad smile. You smile back, thinking after hearing some of their conversation unintentionally, since there’s only so much the thin walls of an apartment can block out. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

Peter B. smiles softly and tilts his head side to side. “Our babysitter unfortunately canceled on us for tomorrow.” 

You frown and nod, remembering they mentioned having an event tomorrow that’s three hours outside their city and unfortunately Mayday cannot attend. You finish wiping their counter, thinking and then smile. 

“I can babysit Mayday.”

That catches both of their attentions. 

“Oh no, Y/N. We appreciate it but it’s so last minute and you probably have plans already,” Mary Jane says.

You shake your head. “I don’t have any plans and I don’t mind looking after Mayday, really.”

“Y/N… MJ is right. This is too sudden. We appreciate it but it’s alright,” Peter B. adds.

“I seriously don’t mind. Plus, Mayday likes me,” you say with a small smile. “I’d love to babysit her, seriously. Just leave everything we’ll need and any special instructions. We’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“Mayday doesn’t like you, she loves you!” Peter says with a smile. “But are you sure?”

You nod once again. “Yes, I’m sure! I can come here and pick her up or I can stay here, however you like, just let me know. We’ll be good and you guys can go and enjoy yourselves.” 

After a few more minutes of reassuring the Parkers that babysitting is no problem, you have solid plans to babysit Mayday for Saturday not remembering that you do, in fact, have plans, at least for the evening. 

It has been two months since Miguel’s incident and ever since that first weekend that he invited you to dinner to thank you for looking after him, you’ve been having dinner at each other’s place every weekend, rotating from his place to your place each Saturday. It has become a part of your routines and the two of you attend dinner each Saturday without failure, yet you still remind each other about it with a simple “Dinner still on for tomorrow?” to confirm.

You cannot deny the fact that you love Saturdays for that reason alone. It gives you something to look forward to during the week and there’s also the fact that you enjoy spending time with Miguel outside of HQ and at each other’s places instead, where you can talk freely without possible distractions or interruptions or the lingering gazes of others. Plus, it brings you great satisfaction to know that these dinners mean that he’s not working through the entire weekend like he used to. You know he still goes to HQ in the mornings to check up on things, which you expected. You have a feeling he might never fully stop doing this as the leader of the Spider Society, unless something down the line changes his mind of course but for now, it’s great relief to know he spends his afternoons in his home at least. 

Despite confirming with Miguel earlier before you left HQ for the day, you forget in the moment as all you want to do is help out Peter and Mary Jane. You get back home and prep your place a bit as an attempt to make it safer for Mayday, even though you know it is a lot harder to keep up with her these days with her swinging everywhere. Once you feel satisfied with your place, you go to bed early to catch some sleep, knowing that tomorrow might be a long day. 

★★★

The next morning you wake up early and do some more preparations as you wait for Peter B. to drop off Mayday. He eventually arrives, making several trips to retrieve items as Mayday will be spending the entire day with you, including the night. Even though you insisted on staying at their place, the Parkers decided that it was only fair for you to stay in your universe since you were helping them at the last minute. They said they wanted you to feel comfortable at your own  home. So, you spend the morning and early afternoon with Mayday lounging around your apartment. 

You stick to the schedule the Parkers gave you, making sure that Mayday is comfortable under your care. You feed her during the assigned times, entertain her with toys Peter brought, put her to nap when she’s ready, and all the other little things to keep her safe and comfortable, not noticing the way your apartment has slowly been taken over by her items. It’s not until you lay Mayday for a nap that you stop and look around. There are visible traces of a child in your apartment, something you’re not used to. In fact, you come to the realization that Mayday is the only child that has ever been to your apartment. Back in the day when you hosted parties or dinners with your old friends, no one had children yet and on the family side, neither Peter nor you were close to other relatives that had kids, so there were never any children at your apartment.  

The sight of Mayday’s items scattered around your apartment leads your mind to other thoughts, like how your Peter wanted kids. You had typical worries about having children whenever the topic came up in the early days when the two of you were still in college, given you understood how big of a responsibility a child is. However, your worries were always soothed by Peter. You knew he’d be there with you all throughout it and besides, you could already tell he’d be a great father one day. With a sigh, you silently think about how that’s no longer a possibility. You will never see your Peter become a father or grow old, the way the two of you once envisioned. 

As you pick up around the apartment, you recall those conversations you’d have with him late at night. He’d hold you against his chest while his thumb brushed over your knuckles. His body heat engulfed you in the most pleasant way, and he’d do it to warm you up because he knew you grew cold sometimes. 

“Can you imagine - a little you or a little me running around? Not here in this apartment. Somewhere bigger where we’ll have more space. Like that place a few blocks from here,” he’d whisper. 

You’d smile, knowing exactly what place. “The place with three bedrooms and the lovely view.” 

“That one. One bedroom for us. One bedroom for each child.” 

“So you want two kids?” 

“I - Let’s skip that question,” he’d say with a small grin. “Just imagine for now two kids. Two kids and walks to the park so they can play. Trips to the bookstore because if their mom likes to read, surely one of them will pick up the habit. And a bigger apartment means we can have more bookcases. You’ve always wanted a little library, so we’ll have that there. You can go on patrols at night, and we’ll wait for you for bedtime. I’ll tell them stories about Spider-Woman and how I’m the biggest fan,” he’d say, causing you to laugh in the darkness of your shared bedroom. 

“You might have to tone it down or they might start thinking you have a crush on her just like our friends believe. Besides, it’d be a while before we could tell them about my superhero identity.”

“Oh, I know, darling. We don’t want to get calls from their school that they’re claiming mom is Spider-Woman. And hey, it’s not my fault our friends think I have a crush on Spider-Woman.” 

“Well, buying all that merch doesn’t help,” you’d say smiling, turning to face him at last. “Or the way you jump in her defense - or my defense - every time someone says something negative.”

“Alright, alright. Maybe I need to tone it down but you have to admit it’s pretty funny how they try to get you to feel jealous. If only they knew that Spider-Woman herself is my girlfriend,” he’d reply before kissing your forehead. “I’ll try to tone it down for the kids though.”

You’d laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, finding the moment endearing nonetheless as you imagined a future that is no longer possible. You clear your throat and carry on organizing your place until Mayday wakes up. It’s all going well until close to dinner time when you remember. 

“Shoot,” you mutter as you reach for your gizmo, carrying Mayday.

You quickly send a message to Miguel, letting him know you can’t make it to dinner. The sudden change of plans alarms Miguel, who instantly asks if everything is alright before he requests a live hologram. His hologram appears over your gizmo once you approve the request, making it easy for Miguel to put together what’s happening. He sees Mayday wrapped around your body and that you’re at your apartment on your own.

“Hey, I’m so sorry for having to cancel dinner so suddenly. Peter and Mary Jane’s babysitter canceled on them at the last minute last night and I offered to look after her today,” you inform him.

Miguel nods, watching as you hold Mayday.

“Right, I think I heard Peter mention something about an event this weekend,” Miguel says, recalling bits and pieces from Peter telling him about it but he wasn’t paying too much attention at the time because Lyla had just told him you were back from a mission. 

“Yeah, it’s about two hours outside of the city or something like that and Mayday couldn’t go, so I offered to look after her for the day. Please forgive me for just letting you know. I can’t believe I just remembered,” you say, truly feeling sorry. “I was caught up trying to make the apartment safer for her and then you know babysitting,” you add, giving Miguel an apologetic smile.

“Keeping her safe is already a hard task,” he replies, smiling softly as he recalls how hard it was for Peter to keep track of her a year ago when she had less movement, now it’s twice as hard.

“She’s done very well so far, thankfully,” you reply with a relieved smile as Mayday plays with a Spider-Ham plushie, still holding on to you.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad it has been going well.” Miguel pauses for a few seconds as he looks at something in his dimension. As he looks away, you notice the way he’s dressed. The sight of him in normal clothes is a much more familiar sight to you these days since you see him like this every Saturday. In fact, you’ve started to pick up on his style, which has been fun to see since you’ve always found his dimension’s fashion interesting from the beginning. Miguel turns back to the gizmo at last, with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have dinner ready but I know you probably don’t want to leave your apartment with Mayday.”

You nod. “Kind of? I just - I’m not used to doing this. I mean, I play with her and look after her sometimes for short periods of time at HQ or at her universe with either Peter or MJ around but nothing like this on my own. Plus, I’d be bringing her over to your place and… I don’t know if you’d be okay with that and even if you are, your place is so much larger than mine.”

“More ways for her to get hurt and more space for us to cover if she decides to evade us,” Miguel says, fighting the urge to smile at the fact that you’ve thought of everything. “I see what you mean… I can pack everything and meet you at your place, if you still want to have dinner, of course. Or I can drop off some food for you regardless.” 

Even though you’d like to have dinner with him, you start to protest because that would mean making Miguel go through the hassle of packing food and then traveling here with everything but he stops you before you even really begin. “I don’t mind and I made food for two people anyway. Just let me know and I’ll pack everything.” 

After a few seconds of hesitation, you nod and smile. “If it’s not too much hassle for you, I’ll wait for you here to have dinner.” 

Miguel smiles back and nods. “It’s not a hassle. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.” 

You say goodbye and the live hologram call ends. You quickly make sure your kitchen area is cleared up for Miguel before looking around your apartment once again. It’s clean and organized, though there are a few items here and there that belong to Mayday that have been used since you last cleaned up during one of her naps. Besides that, your apartment is presentable. You hold Mayday, who is blabbing to her toy, and take in your apartment. It’s been two months and every time you look around, you can’t help but still feel awe with how different the place looks. 

You moved your furniture around after deciding that a new layout was needed. You also replaced some furniture like your coffee table and its old decorations. Your eyes fall on your couch, the one that you’ve found yourself sitting on more and more these days since you’ve started to get back into reading. Other times, you sit to watch some TV or when you host your friends over, including Miguel. 

You’ve even added new cozy chairs, which have really brought the place together. Your eyes turn to the wall with photographs. Even though it has been two months since you changed it, you’ve added new photos here and there over the weeks, like the one of Miguel and you working on your new bookshelf, which makes you feel amusement now that you recall that day. You were excited to build it since you had your previous one for years. You had it for so long that the middle of the shelves were dented, making you wonder how it hadn’t given up on you with so many books but thankfully it didn’t. You remember Miguel finding it amusing that you were so excited about it but your excitement quickly faded when building it became a struggle.

You were both dismayed when you realized that the instructions were gibberish but thankfully after some trial and error, the two of you pulled through. Now, the bookshelf sits in another area of your living room, organized differently but still storing your books and other decorations, like gifts you’ve received over the years as Spider-Woman. You turn back to the photo, taken by Lyla of course, of Miguel and you on the floor assembling your bookcase. You chuckle softly as you take in Miguel’s frowning and pouting captured in the photo. You swear you’ve never heard him curse as much as he did that day. His string of curses in Spanish were repeatedly followed by apologies to you for cursing in your presence, even after you told him you didn’t mind the first time. You recall trying not to chuckle because you found his reaction sweet each time he realized he was cursing again. At last, after some food and a few more strings of curses from Miguel, the bookshelf was assembled and now it looks all pretty in your living room. 

Looking at the bookshelf, your eyes move to Peter’s record player which is now placed next to  it. Even when you were looking through your furniture back then to see what needed to be replaced, you knew his record player was going to stay. It’s something you will always keep with you, no matter what happens. You glance at the vinyl records, realizing it has been a while since you’ve played anything. 

“How about some music, Mayday?” you ask, looking down at her. She seems to nod, so you walk over to the record player and bend down with Mayday to give her a view of Peter's collection. “Alright, I’ll let you choose since you’re my special guest this weekend. Let’s see… Billie Holiday - hm, no not her. Not now anyway, right?” 

You scan the spines of the vinyl records, failing to notice that Mayday is getting ready to engage her web shooters that Peter B. made for her. She startles you when she shoots a web, pulling a vinyl record off the shelf your Peter kept them stored in. You sigh in relief after you catch it just in time before she hits herself with it or the record gets damaged. “I guess this is your choice, hm?” you say as you eye it. “How did you know the girl on the cover has red hair, too?” you ask amused, which makes Mayday laugh. “Alright, this one then.”

You put the record on with Mayday’s full attention, seemingly interested in the process, and hum to her as the music starts playing. You grab Mayday’s free hand, since she’s still holding on to her Spider-Ham plushie, and move along as if you were dancing with her. 

“And love is when you try to make it out alive but you can’t turn the radio down and you can’t think of anyone else,” you quietly sing to Mayday, dancing with her while being careful. You start to do a little spin but pause halfway when your eyes land on Miguel. He stands about twelve feet away from you holding a large reusable bag in one hand and your sweatshirt in the other. Your abrupt pause makes Mayday giggle before she starts waving her toy around excitedly, apparently having a great time. Meanwhile, you feel heat on your cheeks as you make eye contact with Miguel, who looks like he’s holding back from chuckling based on how his lips twitch. You end up smiling and hold Mayday closer, figuring it’s too late to play it off anyway.

“A mini dance party was also scheduled for Mayday?” Miguel asks at last, trying to hold back from chuckling for your sake as he can see your embarrassment from being caught dancing and singing. 

You shrug with a sheepish smile. “Something like that.”

Miguel grins at last. “Well… don’t stop on my behalf. I’ll set up while you two finish the song,” Miguel says, unable to stop himself from teasing you a little bit as he places your sweatshirt over your couch before turning to your kitchen. He carefully sets the bag on the counter and starts taking out containers with food, smiling to himself now that his back is to you.

You stand there, feeling hot in the face while Mayday is still having the time of her life waving around her Spider-Ham plushie to the music. You sigh quietly and approach Miguel to help, still holding Mayday.

“I’ll get the plates,” you say as you enter the kitchen, retrieving them quickly and setting them on the counter before grabbing utensils, too. 

While you do that, Miguel watches you as he starts taking off the containers’ lids, taking notice of the way you hold Mayday, and how at ease you look with her. He also notes how comfortable Mayday looks with you, though he’s not surprised. He looks away and continues to set up the food, silently wondering once again if at this point in your life you’d have children of your own if Peter was alive. He has thought about it before, back in the infirmary two months ago when he realized that you probably wouldn’t have been there with him if Peter was alive. For some reason, he believes that you’d be married by now, at least. He can’t help but think about children now though, as you hold Mayday with such care. He has seen you with her before but not quite like this in the comfort of your home as you move around your kitchen, where the gesture feels more personal. He silently tells himself to put away those thoughts as he places the containers’ lids away and pulls out a travel pitcher with agua de jamaica. Ever since you made it for him during his recovery, he has been making a fresh pitcher every few days as needed since you rekindled his love for it. 

Upon seeing the pitcher, you retrieve glasses and also remember to grab napkins. You set everything before you ask Miguel what kind of utensils will be needed to serve the food but he shows you a set he brought along. You smile softly, seeing how prepared he came. Miguel also retrieves a large thermos filled with café de olla and a bag of pan dulce. Along with Saturday dinners becoming a normal thing for the two of you, Miguel has made café de olla and pan dulce a tradition. No matter who hosts dinner, the hot and rich liquid along with the sweet bread are always present for after dinner. So, Miguel places both items on the counter carefully, making sure not to squish the pan dulce with other things before he starts serving food for the two of you. 

Shortly after, the two of you are sitting side by side eating while Mayday sits on her high chair, also brought by Peter because the Parkers wanted to make sure you had everything you needed to make babysitting Mayday a good experience, next to you. You take a small spoonful of food made by MJ to her mouth, making sure to pick up the bits of food that slip out of her mouth carefully. You gently clean her mouth before you turn to Miguel, who seems to have been watching Mayday and you.

“Thank you for dinner and for bringing it here. You really didn’t have to go through all that trouble,” you tell him with a soft smile. 

“Well, I was already done and besides, as soon as you told me you were babysitting, I figured dinner would be one less thing for you to worry about,” Miguel says with a small smile, gazing at Mayday for a few seconds before his eyes meet yours again. 

“It was last minute. I was helping MJ and Peter clean up after dinner when their babysitter called to tell her they were canceling. I could tell they really wanted to go and I got so caught up in the moment with trying to help them that today’s dinner slipped my mind. I’m really sorry for the sudden change,” you apologize but Miguel shakes his head gently. 

“Don’t apologize. You just wanted to help Peter and MJ. It’s very kind of you to help them out,” he says before he takes a drink from his glass.

“I’m just glad they could go. I could tell they really wanted to attend but at the same time they seemed bummed this morning. You should’ve seen Peter. He looked so sad. He said it’s the first time MJ and him are spending the night away from Mayday but at the same time they really wanted to attend this event. I can only imagine their conflicting emotions.”

Miguel nods, surprised to hear that you’re looking after Mayday for the night, too. He thought it was only for the day. “Yeah, I can imagine it’s conflicting,” Miguel says, not really sharing that experience with MJ and Peter. The longest time he spent away from Gabriella was when she was in school but he does recall feeling somewhat sad when she was away, even though she was always so happy to go. Miguel smiles softly at the memories, recalling how he never had any issues with Gabriella doing her homework or not wanting to go to school. His gaze turns to Mayday before he returns it to you. “So, Mayday is spending the night, then?” 

You nod. “Yes. Peter will be back in the morning but so far it’s going to be us two, right, Mayday?” you say as you offer her another spoonful of food. 

Miguel watches the interaction, smiling softly as Mayday happily eats her food, even trying to grasp the spoon on her own. He watches for a few more seconds before he replies. 

“She seems to be more than happy with this arrangement.” 

You clean Mayday’s mouth and chuckle. “It seems so. We’ve been doing great so far but I’m a little worried about her sleeping. Peter and MJ said she sleeps through the night without trouble but I’m a bit worried the different environment might be an issue.”

“I think… She’ll sleep peacefully. She likes you and seems comfortable here in your apartment. If she wasn’t, she’d make you aware of it. It’ll be alright,” Miguel states with a reassuring tone, making you smile. 

“I really hope so. If not, I guess I can always just travel to their home to soothe her,” you answer, feeling more confident now thanks to Miguel’s words. 

“You can do that and if I can be of any help, let me know,” Miguel adds softly without thinking, not realizing that he’s offering to help you look after Mayday. After losing Gabriella, being around children has been hard for Miguel, so he has never offered Peter and MJ to look after her.

Now, he’s here offering to help to look after Mayday because of you. Miguel looks away with a small and embarrassed smile, wondering if he should count this as part of his progress. Ever since he almost died, he’s been trying just like he said he would by making small changes. The major change has been his sleeping schedule. He’s sleeping better than he has in years thanks to the sound of your breathing and your scent from your sweatshirts. Both things help him immensely, so much that he falls asleep within minutes of climbing in bed. He still has nightmares sometimes, but for the first time in a long time, he can count with his hands the number of times he’s had them over the last two months.

With less nightmares, Miguel now has pleasant dreams more often, which were practically nonexistent before. These dreams consist of Gabriella and Gabriel, with his mom and wife making appearances sometimes. Then, there’s you. You’ve slowly started to make appearances in his dreams, too, in which you interact with Gabriel and Gabriella the most. He hasn’t told you about them. One day he will though. He will tell you how he’s seen you playing dolls with Gabriella and that she always wants to show you every doll she owns. He will also share how Gabriel, you, and him have had café de olla together in his penthouse, and that just like he told you a few months back, Gabriel likes you a lot and has befriended you in his dreams. One day he will tell you but not yet. 

Another small change in Miguel’s life is his work schedule. He returns home most nights at a reasonable time from HQ. The latest he stays now is usually seven, which gives him plenty of time to make dinner because yes, he has also begun to have regular and homemade meals. On the weekends, he only shows up in the mornings to make sure everything is fine before returning home. He’s also tried to be more friendly with the others like your friends, though he still finds it difficult. He has found himself calling Miles “mijo” more often these days though, something that still surprises Miles each time. 

Then, there’s your shared dinners each Saturday. It started with him wanting to express his gratitude to you for everything you did for him when he was hurt, and you ended up inviting him for dinner the following Saturday when he offered café de olla with pan dulce. That Saturday rolled around and he found himself going out early that morning to the Mexican store to buy fresh pan dulce. He bought several pieces to give you options, hoping that you’d love the other types since you really liked the conchas you had back on Dia de Los Muertos night and made the coffee that you seemed to love so much. He brought a thermos and the bag of pan dulce with him that day to your universe and after having a wonderful meal made by you, the two of you enjoyed the coffee and pan dulce. By the end of the night, before he even knew it, Miguel was inviting you for dinner at his place again the next weekend. Now, having dinner with you is part of his routine and though he hasn’t said it out loud yet, Miguel looks forward to it each week. 

He looks forward to it so much that when it’s his turn to cook, he starts thinking about what he’ll cook days in advance. He goes through different dishes in his mind, wondering which ones you’d like the most before he decides on one. 

Miguel wishes he could tell you how much he enjoys them directly. It gives him something to look forward to and much like you, he enjoys spending time with you outside of HQ, where the two of you can talk about anything and everything without anyone interrupting, something that happens often and that Miguel dislikes since he finds it annoying. Miguel knows the changes in his life so far are small but nonetheless, Miguel feels happy about them. He knows he has a long road ahead of him but it’s progress, and he feels satisfied with how he’s approaching his healing journey so far. He knows and understands that there are certain things he might never fully be able to move past or that some days will be harder than others but it fills him with great gratitude and solace to know that he’ll have someone to count on when those days come around. You. 

You smile at Miguel after he offers to help out with Mayday, noticing the embarrassed smile, which makes you wonder but you don’t ask. There’s also the fact that you know Miguel seems to struggle with Mayday around sometimes, so him offering to help warms your heart. “Thank you. Hopefully it’s not necessary but I appreciate the offer,” you reply at last. 

Miguel nods, lifting his glass for a drink. “Always.” 

The three of you continue eating dinner. Mayday happily eats her food and babbles some words here and there, which makes Miguel and you chuckle. The conversation is light and like always, you talk about anything and everything, like how you caught an anomaly on Tuesday and how Spider-Cat and Spider-Wolf had a little feud at the cafeteria on Thursday. You eventually find yourself sitting next to Miguel on your couch with Mayday on your lap. You look at the clock on the wall, noticing the time and remembering that Mayday’s bedtime is in two hours.

You play with Mayday’s hair for a bit before you reach in a bag that MJ and Peter packed for her, and retrieve a hairbrush. You gently brush her hair, noticing she has a few knots here and there probably from her swinging around your apartment earlier. Miguel sits next to you, watching and responding to Mayday as she makes the attempt to talk but the simple action reminds him of the times he brushed Gabriella’s hair. He looks away slowly, remembering this is why he’s tried to avoid being around kids for so long, yet his gaze returns. Such a simple action reminds him of his short time with Gabriella and yet, he wants to keep watching. Miguel can’t help but continue to find the way you treat Mayday with such care so endearing, and then there’s little Mayday, who seems perfectly at ease with you. Miguel is torn between watching and not watching but in the end, his gaze remains fixed on you and Mayday as you continue to brush her hair. You take your time doing this, especially because Mayday’s hair has grown a lot over the last year, so you have a lot more to brush. Meanwhile, Mayday sits comfortably on your lap with her plushie until she offers it to Miguel with a grin. 

Miguel smiles gently and hesitantly accepts it, looking at the Spider-Ham plushie with amusement. You keep brushing Mayday’s hair, obviously noticing the little interaction. Despite finding it cute, you keep your attention on the task at hand. You don’t want to make Miguel uncomfortable or make the moment end too soon, since you’ve hardly seen him interact with Mayday. You obviously know the reason behind it, which is why you’re pretending not to see it, though you hope that these small interactions help Miguel a little. You also can’t deny that a small part of you is enjoying this because you’re seeing a short live glimpse of that side of him, meaning his fatherly side. There are subtle signs of this side of him but nothing quite like this. You can see it in how there are dorms at HQ for members to sleep at or the free food at the cafeteria, along with other resources that are typically welcomed by younger members that need them.

You’ve thought about Miguel as a father a few times in the past, especially when you know so much of his life back then and the things he did for Gabriella. You weren’t there for it but just based on the way he talks about her and the different memories he has shared with you, you know he was an amazing father. Sometimes, you can’t help but wish you were there during that time so you could’ve seen that side of him in person. You wish you could’ve seen his full smiles and heard his laughter, perhaps from him sharing something funny that Gabriella said or did. You wish you could’ve seen him when he was happy. 

Unfortunately, Miguel’s life changed. Gabriella and his wife are no longer here, so your wishes are impossible now but if you could, you would give anything to see him with his family. Perhaps that means that you wouldn’t be close with him like you are now because you’d be experiencing different things but you’d give this up in a heartbeat if he could have Gabriella and his wife back at least. 

You smile sadly to yourself as you brush Mayday’s hair, knowing very well that if Miguel hadn’t lost his wife and Gabriella, he wouldn’t be here now. It’s a Saturday, and you can only imagine that he’d definitely be with them, out for dinner. You can almost picture them at some restaurant, maybe Gabriella’s favorite place to eat, celebrating the win of her soccer match at this very moment. You most likely wouldn’t be friends but… Yes, you’d give this up in a heartbeat if it meant Miguel would have his family back. If it meant that he’d be happy again. Yes, you would do it, even if the mere thought of your friendship not existing triggers a deep sadness that leaves you breathless for a second. You would do it. For Miguel. For his happiness. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel something soft hit the side of your head, making you close your eyes in surprise. You open them again and lean back, just as Mayday moves her arm down after hitting you with her plush. You look over at Miguel, who looks like he’s trying to hold back from smiling. The sight makes you forget your line of thinking from just seconds ago.

“I think that’s her cue that she’s done with the hair brushing,” you mutter, smiling a bit and finishing up with her hair. 

You look over at Miguel again, noticing the amusement in his eyes but still holding back from smiling or laughing for your sake. 

“I know you want to laugh, so just go ahead,” you say, trying not to laugh at yourself while you hold Miguel’s gaze with a feigned annoyed expression. 

Gazing at each other for a few seconds, you can see Miguel’s lips twitch as he tries to hold back but ultimately fails when he sees your own lips form into a smile. He chuckles, louder than he usually does, which is a surprise on its own but it doesn’t stop there. You watch as he throws his head back with closed eyes, still chuckling and oh, the sound of it along with the sight, makes you wish you could record this moment and safekeep it forever. It brings you so much happiness to see and hear him like this and yet, it also leaves you longing for more. If the sound of him chuckling like this is so delightful, you can’t help but imagine what a true laugh from the man sitting next to you looks and sounds like.

Still smiling, you release a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding before you chuckle along with him. 

“I’m sorry - I was going to warn you and stop it but she moved so fast,” Miguel says, his tone still full of amusement as he meets your gaze again. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” he asks, sounding concerned in the midst of his amusement. 

“No, I’m alright. Just took me by surprise,” you answer, shaking your head in disbelief, smiling. 

“I gave it back to her and she randomly lifted her arm. I didn’t think she was going to do that,” Miguel says apologetically but you shake your head. 

“She didn’t mean to. She’s been carrying this plushie around all day and gets really excited with it,” you reply, feeling unbothered since you know Mayday didn’t mean to and besides, it gave you the little moment with Miguel chuckling. You almost feel like thanking Mayday, even if she wouldn’t understand what she’s given you. 

For the next hour, you entertain Mayday by bringing out other toys Peter dropped off while music still plays in the background, creating a peaceful and cozy feeling in your apartment. Miguel sits on your couch, watching from a few feet as you sit on your living room floor with Mayday. You show her an action figure of Peter B. himself but Mayday doesn’t seem too interested in her own father’s action figure. Instead, she picks up yours, which you didn’t even know Peter had, and shows it to you. You chuckle and nod at Mayday, despite still wondering how Peter acquired everyone’s action figures. 

“That’s me,” you say, earning yourself a happy nod from Mayday before she picks another action figure. “That’s Miguel,” you continue as you observe his action figure, noticing how much taller it is than the other ones, truly highlighting how much taller Miguel is compared to the rest of you. 

Miguel continues to watch, also feeling surprised by the fact that Mayday has an action figure of everyone in your friend group, including himself. He’s surprised not only by the fact that he’s included, but also wonders how Peter got his hands on all of them, considering currency is different in each universe. He decides not to think about it and shrugs it off, focusing on Mayday as she holds both his and your action figures in the air now, babbling something that is not comprehensible just yet, so the two of you nod. 

“Yes, that’s Miguel and I. Really cool, right? Look, here we have… Miles,” you say lifting Miles’s action figure. “And here’s Hobie Hobie Brown,” you say in a fake British tone but quiet enough so Miguel won’t hear you. 

Despite your attempt to be quiet, Miguel hears you anyway. He hides his grin subtly by resting his elbow on the couch’s armrest and covering his mouth with his hand. Mayday laughs at your fake British accent but she still refuses to pick any other action figure. She continues to hold on to Miguel and you, showing the action figures to you once again. You watch in amusement until she makes both action figures clash face to face. 

“Mwuah!” Mayday says loudly with a giggle. 

Your grin falters as you hear that sound coming from her. Heat immediately rises to your cheeks as Mayday giggles again, dropping the action figures at last. Before you know it, she shoots a web towards Miguel. You try to catch her before she flies off but you’re a second too late, thanks to your embarrassment, and by the time your hands reach for her, she’s already halfway across the room, landing right in Miguel’s hands. You sigh in relief that she landed safely, forgetting for a second what happened before you remember again. You try to search Miguel’s face quickly for any signs of discomfort, but he holds Mayday up just as fast, hiding his face from your view. 

Miguel intentionally hides his face from you so you won’t see the pink that’s formed in his cheeks because he played dolls with Gabriella more than plenty of times to know what that sound means. Kissing. Mayday accidentally, or maybe not so accidentally, made your action figures kiss. Right in front of you two. 

You start picking up Mayday’s toys, using this as an excuse to hide your own face as you hear Miguel talk to Mayday. You carefully listen to his tone for any sign that he’s upset but there’s no indication. His tone is soft and gentle. You quietly get up and walk over to the toy bag Peter dropped off, gently placing each action figure back. You look down at your hands, noticing the last two action figures are yours and his. You put them away as well but waste time by pretending to rearrange what’s in the backpack to give your face some time to cool off. At last, you zip up the backpack and look around your living room and kitchen to make sure no toys are left behind. You spot the Spider-Ham plushie and pick it up, walking slowly to the couch where Miguel still sits talking to Mayday. 

You sit as far as possible and watch while you hold the plushie Mayday hit you with earlier. You subtly search Miguel’s face now, silently sighing in relief as his face reveals nothing. In fact, he turns to you and grins softly as he still holds Mayday up. You grin back, feeling the tension in your body evaporate as you come to the conclusion that either he didn’t notice or it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

You watch as Mayday reaches with her small hands towards Miguel’s mouth, making him turn his face back to her.

“She’s always interested in my fangs,” Miguel mutters as he watches Mayday’s hands move around, trying very hard to reach for his mouth but of course, he keeps her away. On rare occasions he lets her see them but he contemplates doing so right now, since you’re also here. 

Despite your time in the society, you don’t see his fangs often. Of course, sometimes you see them on missions but usually from a far and not for long since those missions are typically fast paced. You can count the times you’ve been close by to get a decent look with one hand. Twice. Only two times and both times Miguel immediately closed his mouth or retracted them once he saw that you were nearby. You’ve wondered if Miguel doesn’t like members seeing them. 

After a few seconds, Miguel decides to indulge Mayday, who gets all excited and tries even harder now to reach for Miguel. However, Miguel keeps holding her steady, ensuring that she won’t end up hurt. You watch, feeling less embarrassment now and enjoying the interaction between Miguel and Mayday. She shows excitement the entire fifteen minutes that Miguel shows her his fangs but with each passing minute, the two of you start to notice that her energy decreases more and more, signaling it’s time for bedtime. You let Miguel know, who nods in agreement since he notices Mayday’s eyes drooping with sleep.

You get up and walk closer, offering your hands to take her. Miguel carefully hands her over to you, retracting his fangs at the same time. Once she’s in your arms, you bring Mayday closer to your body, a gesture she accepts as she instantly buries her head on your chest with a soft sigh. You can’t help but freeze for a few seconds, not used to this but you smile tenderly at her after a few seconds. You gently cradle her head, keeping her steady as you’re reminded yet again that if things were different, you might be more familiar with these moments with your own kids. You turn around, silently telling yourself to not dwell too much on the moment and to focus on Mayday instead. You begin to walk to your room, telling Miguel over your shoulder that he can follow if he wants, to prepare Mayday for bed. 

Miguel thinks about it for a few seconds before he gets up, noticing the Spider-Ham plushie left behind. He picks it up and makes his way to your room, stopping at the doorway to respect your space. Sure, he could enter. It’s not like he hasn’t been in it before but that time was different, so he stops at the doorway and leans on it. He finds you leaning over your bed as you change Mayday into her pajamas and watches from a distance, unable to ignore the gentleness with which you change Mayday, who’s half asleep already. He scolds himself internally, knowing he shouldn’t but he can’t stop himself from thinking that you’d be an amazing mother. He knows he shouldn’t. For all he knows, you and Peter never had plans to have children or you no longer have plans to, even if one day you find love again, but still. The image of Mayday burying her head in your chest flashes in his mind, making him smile softly because he found it sweet. 

You finish changing Mayday and lift her up to your chest again, before walking over to her sleeping set up that Peter also brought, which makes you grin to yourself. Peter really brought everything here when it would’ve been so much easier for you to stay the night in their universe, but they wanted you to be in the comfort of your own home since it was going to be a whole day and night. You gently lay down Mayday and cover her with a blanket. For a moment, you forget Miguel is watching from the doorway and just look down at Mayday, who seems to be drifting off to sleep now. You smile a bit, thinking that this would’ve been nice; that your Peter would’ve loved this. 

You look up at last, remembering that a set of red eyes linger on you along with the fact that Mayday is missing her plushie, the one Peter B. was adamant Mayday needs to sleep with. Your gaze moves over to Miguel, noticing that he has the plushie so you beckon him over, understanding that he didn’t want to enter your bedroom out of respect. Miguel straightens up and walks over to you, seemingly hesitant but reaches your side almost instantly because of the size of your bedroom and his long strides.

“She needs the plushie,” you whisper and Miguel nods, handing it to you. You carefully tuck the Spider-Ham plushie next to Mayday, which makes her sigh softly in her sleep. You smile and look up at Miguel, who has continued to watch. He smiles softly back at you before the two of you slip out of your bedroom. You leave the door ajar while Miguel heads back to the couch to take a seat. The little leftover food from earlier is still out in the kitchen but neither of you think about it as you join him on the couch.

You reach for a baby monitor that Peter dropped off and check it. You’ve been using it throughout the day during naps, so by now you’re using it with confidence and ease. You find Mayday sleeping peacefully, so you set it back on your coffee table, noticing that Miguel is quiet as if lost in thought. You get comfortable on your couch, suddenly fully aware that you’re sitting on your new couch with Miguel next to you. It’s nothing new, of course. More often than not this is where the two of you find yourselves when it’s your turn to host dinner. The same happens in Miguel’s universe, though you sit separately there. So, no, this setup is not new except, you have the sudden realization that you’re sitting on a couch that Peter never sat on to listen to his music with you by his side reading. It’s a bittersweet thought; to think that all the new furniture and pieces of decoration were never touched or used by him. You sigh softly. It’s a sad thought but you know he would’ve been happy you finally replaced some items. It was needed. 

You turn your attention back to Miguel, noticing he’s still lost in his own thoughts. This isn’t strange or new to you either. You find him doing this very often and you know it’s not because of disrespect or because he finds the moment or your presence boring but rather, it’s the fact that he finds your presence comfortable. The two of you sit like this sometimes, finding comfort in each other’s presence without the need to fill the silence, which makes you happy because that kind of silence is hard to find in just anyone. Some people have the need to fill the silence with small talk but every once in a while, you find a person with whom you don’t feel like that. You find the person whose presence soothes your very soul without the need for words. You sigh softly, thinking about how you had that kind of connection with Peter and how it’s nice that you’ve been lucky to find it with Miguel, too.

The two of you sit like that for a little while until your thoughts find themselves going back to earlier when Miguel showed Mayday his fangs. The fact that you don’t see them much comes back and you wonder once again if Miguel prefers not showing them. You silently think it’s a shame since you find them fascinating and so unique, though you’ve also wondered if they hurt in the past, or at least when he first got them.

A little while later, you turn to face Miguel just as he does the same towards you, which is a recurring thing. It’s like you subconsciously agree and communicate with the other when you are ready to engage in conversation again. Miguel smiles softly, thinking about this. He doesn’t know how but it always happens. He secretly pins it to that special connection between the two of you, the one that scares him, but not nearly as much as it comforts him these days. 

Everything about you brings comfort to Miguel though. Your presence. The fact that you exist is comforting. That part scares him but he can’t help it. Everything about you is comforting to him. Even when the two of you are just sitting on the couch, his dimension or yours, he finds it comforting. The peaceful silence that falls - no -  embraces the two of you is comforting. It’s comforting and safe, and it’s the reason why he allows himself to think about his past then. He knows you’re there, keeping him at bay, keeping him grounded. With you near him, Miguel feels like he can safely explore his past the way he was just now. 

You smile back at Miguel with a thoughtful expression, your mind still on his fangs.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, knowing that look on your face all too well. The more time the two of you have spent, which has definitely increased over the last two months, the more Miguel has learned about you, and truthfully, Miguel loves it even if it also scares him a bit. He’s aware that the more he knows about you, the more he learns about you, that it means he’s letting that connection between the two of you strengthen each day. He knows that each passing second he spends with you or every second his mind finds its way to you, which these days is very often, he knows it means that he’s caved in. He’s allowed it to happen and while it terrifies him that he could lose someone, you, again, he still loves it. He loves knowing when something bothers you or when you’re happy about something. Or how he can tell when you’re tired but you’re lying about it. He loves being able to tell that you find comfort in his presence, just like he does in yours, and that fact alone makes him feel - grateful. To be someone that you find comfort in makes Miguel feel special. He also loves being able to tell when something’s on your mind but holding back from speaking your mind, the way you are now. 

You smile at him and shake your head slightly. “Nothing.” 

“Come on.” 

You look away and stare at the baby monitor. Despite the nearness between you and Miguel, you still refrain from asking. You don’t want to push him nor disrespect his boundaries. Besides, with all the changes you’ve noticed in him, you feel that little by little, Miguel will share more about himself when he’s prepared. So, you avoid sharing your thoughts for now.

“It’s nothing, really.” 

“I’d like to know,” Miguel says softly, resting his arm on the armrest. 

You stay silent for a few seconds, contemplating. 

“You’re thinking,” he says with such certainty, like he can see the gears in your head working. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he adds, softly. 

After a few more seconds of silence and a sigh, you let the words slip out of your mouth. “It’s about… your fangs.” 

Miguel’s eyebrows raise, feeling a bit surprised but also amused that his fangs are what’s causing you to feel so hesitant. “What about them?” 

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” 

“You can tell me,” Miguel says, sounding hopeful that you’d share your thoughts. He wonders if you find them weird or disturbing, or maybe both. Or maybe you’re okay with them. 

“Well, I think they’re really cool,” you say quietly, looking over at him. Miguel raises an eyebrow. “They are. I mean - they’re fangs. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about because I don’t have them but I think they’re really cool and unique - as are your talons. They’re amazing,” you say, sounding genuinely in awe. “And I was wondering if it hurt, you know, when you first got them.” 

Miguel keeps his gaze on you, pleasantly surprised to hear you say you think his fangs and talons are “cool” and “amazing.” He thinks about it for a few seconds before responding. “I was awake during my transformation. It was a short one.” Miguel pauses, looking down at his hand. “My fingers and toes felt slightly sore from the talons but it was bearable. My fangs on the other hand, made my gums extremely sensitive for a week or so.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I can only imagine… the kind of discomfort and pain caused by your fangs,” you say softly, eyebrows furrowing in concern, though Miguel isn’t in any pain these days. 

“It’s alright. Thankfully it was just for a few days. You know - I had a lot of light sensitivity in my eyes afterward. That was the worst, really,” Miguel shares, thinking back to those days when he had to wear glasses to help.

“Your eyes… Because they turned red.”

Miguel nods, meeting your gaze. “I had to figure out how to hide the new eye color and then on top of that, how to avoid the sensitivity. I used to get really bad migraines,” Miguel explains. “So, I had to use glasses until a few years ago. The sensitivity is gone now, thankfully and I don’t have to worry about hiding their real color… At least not anymore,” Miguel says, thinking back to his time in Gabriella’s universe. 

Miguel looks down at his lap again. “It became an issue again when I was in Gabriella’s universe. My counterpart had brown eyes, like I used to,” he says with a tone that you immediately recognize as sadness, as if he misses his natural eye color. “I had to wear a hologram over my eyes while I was there, though sometimes I just wore contact lenses.” 

You nod, feeling a pang of pain as you detect the sadness in his tone about his eye color. You search your brain, trying to remember seeing Miguel with brown eyes in the pictures hidden by Lyla so many months ago. You faintly recall that, yes, his eyes were brown in those pictures but your brain didn’t capture that detail at the time, as you were caught up in the moment when Miguel was so upset about the hidden file.

“I’m so used to the red, sometimes I forget there was a time they weren’t this color,” Miguel says quietly. “That there was a time when they were normal.”

The soft and quiet emphasis on “normal” makes you frown because it sounds like Miguel isn’t happy with his eye color now. You continue to look at him and before you even realize what you’re going to say, you open your mouth. “Brown or red, they are beautiful,” you say in a tone that leaves no room for debate. You find his eyes beautiful, no matter the color, period.

Miguel looks up, lips parting in surprise and cheeks instantly feeling hot due to the compliment. Recruits usually find Miguel’s eyes scary when they first meet him and even when they get used to them, they still find them odd. In fact, both his talons and fangs tend to scare some of the recruits, a reaction Miguel thinks is understandable. 

Even though you complimented Miguel’s eyes with confidence, because truly, you find his eyes beautiful, you can’t help but feel a little worried as you realize your words might be too much for Miguel. However, you quickly realize that it’s too late to take it back so you decide to smile softly, and hope that it eases any discomfort you may have caused Miguel. To your relief, Miguel smiles softly. 

“Thank you…” he says looking down again, with a slight blush to his cheeks. He stares at his lap for a few seconds before looking back at you again. “So - you think the fangs and talons are cool?” Miguel asks with what you can only describe as disbelief, as if it’s impossible to him that anyone could see his features in such a positive way. 

You nod quickly. “Yes, I do. I… I remember when I first learned about them. I was really amazed,” you say as Miguel listens intently. “I thought they were so unique. I still do,” you say softly, meaning it. 

Miguel nods, smiling a bit. He can’t help but feel appreciation for the fact that you don’t find the very features that make him stand out from the rest of you odd or scary. Back in the early days of the Spider Society, Miguel often felt like an outcast among the other members despite being the founder and leader. 

“I haven’t always been fond of them,” Miguel reveals suddenly, as he looks down at his hands. 

You watch as his talons appear suddenly on command, feeling awe. 

Miguel, however, can’t help but look over at your hand, remembering he scratched you back when he was in the infirmary. He can spot some scars that remain from the talons. He looks away, feeling upset with himself again after all this time.

“You never told me if your suit was ripped from my talons.” 

You smile softly, even though you sense a shift in Miguel. “It had some tearing but nothing I couldn’t fix. You can’t even notice it.” 

“I knew it’d have rips on it…” Miguel says quietly. He knew, of course, from experience in his early days after gaining his spider abilities. “I knew it from experience.” 

“It’s alright. Don’t stress about it,” you reply gently. 

Miguel nods but he cannot help but still feel guilty, especially from leaving scars on your body. He eyes your hand again and this time you notice it, realizing what’s going on through his mind and why there’s a sudden shift in his demeanor. 

“Miguel,” you say softly, trying to get him to look at you. He looks up, meeting your gaze again. “Please don’t stress over it. You didn’t mean to and I promise, it hardly hurt. And these little scars, they don’t bother me. I don’t mind them. I have a bigger scar and I don’t mind it at all. Remember the sword incident I mentioned back when we were at the infirmary?” you ask and he nods, remembering. You lift your top slightly, only revealing the scar on the side of your stomach.

Miguel’s eyes travel down to your bare skin, feeling surprised but also moved by the fact that you feel comfortable enough to show him. He respectfully scans your scar, noticing it’s so light but it’s there, on your soft skin. Miguel remembers you telling him how you refused to go to the hospital and now that he’s looking at the scar, he can’t believe you didn’t seek professional help despite knowing your reasoning for it. His eyes meet yours again as he feels a wave of respect for you, yet again, for refusing medical help when you needed it, all to protect Peter’s identity. He also feels admiration towards Peter for tending such a wound on his own. 

You let your top slide down and shrug slightly, smiling. 

“Please don’t feel bad about them. It didn’t hurt me the way you think,” you reassure him. 

Miguel looks away, nodding slowly. He lets your words sink in, letting them reassure him. There is some relief when he thinks about how he could’ve hurt you much worse while being unconscious. Hurting someone with his talons by accident has always worried Miguel, yet it’s a worry he doesn’t have with himself since the talons retract automatically when he brings them close to his skin. 

With all this talk about his fangs, talons, and red eyes, Miguel can’t help but think about how he got them and how he became Spider-Man 2099. He sighs softly, feeling like maybe he could tell you about it now. Maybe he can tell you about rapture and why he took that mysterious neon green liquid months ago with your help. He noticed the curiosity in your eyes back then but like always, you didn’t ask. 

“I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider like most spider members were,” Miguel says quietly, wondering if right now is a good time. “Like you.” 

You nod slowly though Miguel is looking down at his hand on his lap.

Miguel thinks about it for a few seconds. In order for everything to make sense, he needs to go back. All the way to his childhood. He sighs again, wondering if this is a good time but then again, is there ever a good time to talk about things like these? Miguel frowns to himself. The evening has been enjoyable and relaxing, like they always are, and he really doesn’t want to ruin the mood now. But… It doesn’t have to be ruined, right? It can’t be if Miguel doesn’t let the conversation become a sad or depressing one. It’ll only turn sad if he lets it, and he decides he won’t. Or at least, he will try not to. 

“I was born in the O’Hara household. To Conchata, who you know by now, and to… George O’Hara,” Miguel starts, pausing when it comes to the man’s name. “I don’t remember my early life, of course. To be honest… I can only remember my life from the moment Gabriel was born.” Miguel smiles softly at the mention of his little brother. “I was so happy about having a little sibling and even more so when I found out it was going to be a boy. I knew we were going to be inseparable and we were - until - until his passing, of course. He made my life so much better.”

Miguel pauses for a few seconds, wondering whether he really should talk about this. It’s something that no one else knows about. The other person who knew about it was Gabriel but with him gone… Miguel clears his throat. 

“I have some fond memories from my childhood while others are not so happy,” Miguel admits. 

You narrow your eyes softly as those words sink in, preparing yourself mentally to hear Miguel. For some time now, you’ve put together that his childhood was not always nice but to hear him admit it, breaks your heart even more.

“George O’Hara… He provided the basic necessities, so that was something at least but he didn’t like me. Growing up, I always wondered why. I wondered if I had done something. If I reminded him of someone. If I was just - not a welcomed child because of the timing in his and mom’s lives. I wondered so many times…” Miguel says, clutching a fist as he stares at it. “I wondered if maybe - I wasn’t enough.”

Miguel’s words cut through you like a knife. You’ve yearned to comfort him so many times before but nothing compares to this moment. You feel an incredible pain in your chest as you imagine Miguel as a little kid, wondering if he was enough, something no one should ever question, let alone a child. Unknowingly, your hands are in fists right now as you feel both anger and sadness course through you but at the same time, it’s your body holding back from reaching out and comforting him. 

Miguel notices your fists, instantly feeling regret.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel says, looking up at you with an apologetic look on his face. “This is too much.”

“No, no, no. It’s…” you state softly but trail off. Yes, it’s too much but not for the reason he thinks. It’s too much because of the vulnerability and the upsetting memories he’s telling you about. It’s too much because your heart is breaking with each sentence and all you want to do is comfort him. If you could, you would’ve already thrown your arms around him and held him as he recollects these memories but you know you still can’t because despite the changes in your friend, he’s still learning to move forward and physical contact is off the table indefinitely. So, you settle for a sad smile. “I’m here,” you whisper softly. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, too. You don’t have to.” 

Miguel holds your gaze.”The truth is… I want to. I need to, Y/N.” He sighs and looks down. “I need to because I’ve never talked about it before. Gabriel knew because he was there for it but I’ve never actually talked about it with someone. I’ve just - bottled it inside like I’ve done with everything else,” he says so softly, almost a whisper. He looks up again, meeting your gaze. “And I’m trying…”

You nod, smiling softly in understanding. Miguel hasn’t said it out loud but you know. Ever since his incident back in the spring, you’ve noticed the changes, of course. He smiles and chuckles more often with you. He calls Miles “mijo” more often. Then, there’s the Saturday dinners with you of course, along with the many other signs, like him having a more regular sleeping schedule these days. He’s trying. He’s trying to move forward ever since his incident and that means opening up about other parts of his life. You nod again, encouragingly. 

“I’ll be listening, then. If you need anything throughout it or you need to take a break, please let me know and do so, okay?” you say gently. 

Miguel nods, grateful for your understanding. “If you don’t want to hear anymore, you do the same, okay? Please don’t hesitate to tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings, I promise. I know it may - be too much,” he says with a heavy sigh but still waits for you to acknowledge his request, wanting to know that you understand that you can stop him at any time if you feel uncomfortable hearing what he’s sharing. 

You nod. “I will.” 

Miguel nods and sighs again. “I don’t want this to be some - sad thing. I just need to talk about it,” he says quietly. “It used to hold a lot of power over me, especially in my early twenties. I wasn’t the man I’m now,” Miguel says and then chuckles a bit. “I don’t think you would’ve liked me back then, to be honest. I was very arrogant.”

You smile softly when he chuckles, wondering what he means.

“Yeah, you would’ve not liked me,” Miguel says thinking about it more. He was quite arrogant back then and you, well, you seem like you’ve always been this way: sweet and kind. He shakes his head softly and decides to just get it out. “There was physical and verbal abuse from George. For everyone in the household. Mom and him argued a lot. I hated it so much but especially for Gabriel,” Miguel says looking at you. “He used to get so scared when they argued. If the fighting started and I wasn’t in the room, he’d run to find me. He’d burst into my bedroom, his little face marked by fear and all I could do was just - hold him to calm him down, which always made George angry.” Miguel shakes his head softly at this. 

“We were very close; Gabriel and I, and it made George so furious. I used to think that it was because he wished he had that bond with Gabriel. That he wished Gabriel found comfort in him as well but no. It was just his ego and his ideas. He was the kind of man that believed that boys shouldn’t cry,” Miguel says evenly, remembering the many times George berated him as a child for crying. “He used to scold me for doing so when he… When he hurt me. He probably thought Gabrielito was weak for getting scared when he and mom argued, which just makes my blood boil,” Miguel continues with clear anger in his voice despite the time that has passed. He clears his throat softly, trying to let go of this anger but the memories of little Gabriel clinging to him, shaking in fear are still too painful. Gabriel’s voice echoes in his mind then. 

“Is everything going to be okay?” he’d ask Miguel, and of course, Miguel would say yes for his sake. 

Miguel goes quiet for about a minute, trying to calm down. He reminds himself you’re there, nearby, and that it’s okay. He’s okay. 

You sit still by his side, listening respectfully and letting Miguel take his time to navigate through these memories until Miguel sighs softly, nodding to himself. 

“After many years of living like that, mom finally divorced him. He ended up marrying again and he cut contact with us completely. He died pretty young,” Miguel says. “That was the end of George O’Hara in our lives. At least physically. My mom… She had phases. Sometimes she was amazing, the way a parent ought to be to their child and other times - she wasn’t great, with me at least.” 

“... with me at least.”

You sigh silently, remembering Miguel has talked a little about his mom and their relationship. 

“My memories of her are mixed. There were months that were great, like the holidays. Even on those days George was somewhat decent, too. She’d cook and she’d let us help. She’d tell us that we needed to learn to cook,” Miguel says and smiles sadly. “She said she didn’t want her sons to not know how to fend for themselves in the kitchen nor did she want us to think that cooking was a woman’s chore or duty like George did, so she’d teach us during those days when he was still at work to avoid making him mad. Those were good days and then there were the bad days… It was as if she resented me. I thought it was because of George - because I reminded her of her abusive and controlling husband. I couldn’t understand why. I used to think it wasn’t my fault that there was a resemblance to him… She’d barely talk to me sometimes except when it was necessary. She’d get mad at me for anything on those days. I was the older child, so I always noticed the different way she treated Gabriel, something I never resented him for, of course. It just made me wonder… And then it would pass again and she’d be great for a few weeks or months before the cycle repeated.”

Miguel pauses for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. 

“Once I was older and could be independent, I limited my contact with her. Gabriel always tried with her and I don’t blame him, she was our mother after all but I couldn’t just forget about everything. I became a geneticist and started working at Alchemax. It was all great at first but I started to see the reality of everything. Alchemax controlled the city,” Miguel pauses. “There was a lot happening with that, but what changed everything was an experiment. We were trying to imprint genetic codes into a human’s physiology. The goal was to have humans with superhero skills, like Spider-Man. We were in the early stages when an executive demanded human trials to start. It was too soon but it was an executive order. Our subject, he… turned into a creature and died shortly after. The experiment was a failure. After what happened, I didn’t want to keep working at Alchemax, so I made up my mind to quit and scheduled a meeting with a higher up. He was an executive at the company.”

Miguel turns to you, meeting your gaze. “There was a drug called rapture here in Nueva York. It was horrible and highly addictive because it binded to an individual’s DNA, which made it impossible to recover from. Alchemax was the only manufacturer for it, so just keep that in mind. When I went to meet with my boss, he gave me a drink. I thought it was harmless, of course. After telling him that I was leaving the company, he told me the drink was laced with rapture. He suspected from the start that the purpose of our meeting was for me to give him my resignation.” 

You hold his gaze, feeling shocked and in disbelief, though you try to mask it as best as possible. Your thoughts take you back to two months ago when you injected a neon green liquid into Miguel. You silently wonder if it was rapture; if Miguel is still managing an addiction. 

“Tyler Stone’s plan, that was his name, was that I’d stick around to have access to the drug through Alchemax. Since Alchemax was the sole distributor, he was going to make sure I’d have no access to it. The only other way would’ve been through the black market, so he threatened to have me arrested, which would’ve been easy as he had the police in his pocket. I agreed to stay but I had a plan. I didn’t want to be addicted for life, so I decided to get rid of my addiction by overriding my DNA using the same procedure I had used before. I’m sorry if this is boring,” Miguel says with furrowed eyebrows.

You shake your head, letting him know it’s not. “It’s not. I’m listening, I promise.”

Miguel nods slowly. “I had been using my own DNA in the experiment to test. So, my plan was to override the DNA that was basically corrupted by rapture with a copy of my saved DNA from the database. I wasn’t sure if I was going to survive the procedure but… It was either death or I’d be an addict by morning. So, I proceeded. It was sabotaged by a coworker, who changed the DNA. My DNA… it ended up being spliced with a spider’s genes because of him. So now, fifty percent of my DNA is spider DNA,” Miguel says quietly. “Do you remember a few months ago when you helped me inject a green liquid?” he asks. You nod slowly. “Those are suppressants. They stabilize my DNA because of the spider DNA,” he says softly. 

After a few seconds of silence, Miguel looks up again. “That’s how I became Spider-Man. The thing is - It was a while later when I found out that Stone didn’t even lace my drink. He only gave me something that imitated rapture’s effects. He wanted to keep me tied to Alchemax no matter what. It was like a slap to the face when I found out I had gone through all of that trouble for nothing. Then - there was something else I found out only a minute later after I overheard that. My mother confronted Stone about it - about rapture, and that’s how I found out that I had an imitating drug along with the fact that Stone was actually - my biological father.” Miguel pauses, taking a few seconds to breathe. “I heard her admit it. I heard her say that she knew I always believed she disliked me because I reminded her of George, only to tell Stone that I reminded her of him more each day - because he was my father. Stone and my mother had an affair while she was already married. After so many years… it finally made sense, why she treated me the way she did sometimes. It was her guilt about the affair… so, there’s that.”

Miguel pauses and sighs, feeling strangely… lighter. “Becoming Spider-Man changed me, not only physically and genetically but… mentally. It changed my character. I began to try and be what a Spider-Man ought to be. You know I was so - arrogant before. So prideful. Becoming Spider-Man taught me to become better. It made me want to help people, and so I tried my best and became a decent superhero. So much, that one time my mother said I ought to be more like Spider-Man 2099. I got so upset I told her I was Spider-Man 2099. She didn’t believe me. She laughed,” Miguel says remembering that incident. “Things changed later on and we had a better relationship, which I’m glad for. Our last years together were far more peaceful. It felt like a real family at last without secrets and abuse. I still feel some resentment towards her sometimes but I’ve moved on for the most part. Slowly but surely. So… that’s how I became Spider-Man,” Miguel finishes in a calm tone. 

Now done, Miguel leans back on the couch and begins to move his hands but stops when he feels softness. He looks down, finding your sweatshirt on his lap. He left it on the couch earlier  when he first arrived to return it to you so you can wear it for the week, but at some point while talking, he pulled it and has been holding it closely without even noticing. There’s still a light trace of your scent on it but it’s mostly gone and replaced with his own since he keeps it close during the night. He can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed right now in your presence as he remembers how he wakes up every morning. No matter how he holds it before falling asleep, he wakes up every morning with his face buried in it, as if he can’t get enough of your scent. 

He looks up at you at last, finding a soft expression on your face, though he can also tell you’re processing everything he has shared with you. He sighs deeply, staring at you silently for a few more seconds, feeling something. Relief. Freedom. It’s like a major weight has been lifted off his shoulders; one he didn’t know he was carrying around. He sighs again but this time easier and less deeply. He smiles softly at you. 

“I didn’t expect to feel like this but I feel lighter?” he says, sounding more like a question. “I didn’t imagine talking about it would feel this… freeing”

You return his smile and nod slowly, still trying to wrap your mind around everything Miguel has shared, yet you feel happiness for him when he says that he feels lighter. Even though what he has shared with you was hard to listen to, you’re thankful that Miguel felt comfortable enough to tell you about it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you - uncomfortable,” Miguel says. “But please don’t worry about it. I’ve been over it in a way. It’s just something I’ve been carrying around, and now that I’ve said it, I feel like it truly has zero power over me. Thank you for listening,” Miguel whispers, still holding your sweatshirt. He lets his fingers grasp it tighter, letting them sink into the softness of it. 

You sigh softly, feeling that lightness he has mentioned, as if it was your own. Smiling, you nod again. “Always,” you whisper, earning yourself a soft smile from the man next to you. You notice at last that he has your sweatshirt on his lap, remembering that it was draped over the armrest earlier. You were listening so intently to him the entire time that you didn’t notice at what point he pulled it onto his lap. You don’t fail to notice now, however, how his fingers are lost in the fabric as if he’s seeking its softness or maybe its comfort. You can’t help but feel tenderness at the thought. Maybe you did comfort him physically somehow, even if it was just through your sweatshirt. 

Miguel looks down at the sweatshirt, staying quiet for a few seconds before he looks up again. “How about that café de olla and pan dulce?” he asks softly, preparing to stand up but you stand up faster than him with a smile.

“I’ll get it for us, don’t worry,” you say softly, wanting to serve the coffee for the two of you. You want to do as much as you can to comfort him right now after everything he has shared with you. 

You quickly check the baby monitor before you head off though. Mayday has continued to sleep peacefully the entire time but you still want to make sure. Feeling satisfied, so you place it back on your coffee table before walking to the kitchen and retrieving the thermos Miguel brought. You place it on your counter and open your cupboards to get mugs. Over the last two months, you’ve done some more organization in your kitchen and it led to you finding an old mug your parents bought for you when you were a teenager. You retrieve it for yourself, smiling as your eyes trace the beige ceramic mug with a bear’s head on it staring back at you. You’ve been using it again ever since you found it after not using it for years because it used to make you sad, but now that you’ve found it again, it brings you happy memories of when your parents were still alive. You place it on the counter and then reach for another mug for Miguel, though it’s a more serious one.

You quickly but carefully pour the café de olla into the mugs. Once you’re done with that, you get some plates as well and grab the bag with pan dulce. You take it to the coffee table and set up the plates before returning to the kitchen to grab the mugs. At last, you reach Miguel with both mugs, ready to give him his when you hear a noise detected from the baby monitor. The two of you look over at it, surprised but also alarmed by it.

Through the little screen, you can see Mayday moving around a bit and yawning in her sleep before she settles down again with the Spider-Ham plushie still at her side. You turn to Miguel once you see she’s alright and carefully hand him a mug, going as far as holding it for him in a way that your fingers won’t brush since you’re still adamant about respecting his boundaries. Besides, you know that Miguel might feel emotionally exhausted after the conversation, so all you want is to make the aftermath as comfortable as possible for him. 

You stand still to avoid either of you getting burned as he reaches for it from his seat, watching his hand move closer to it. You look down at the mug then. The sudden baby monitor’s alarm distracted you so much you don’t even realize you are offering him the bear mug until the last second. You’re about to tell him but you only manage to open your mouth when you feel his hand brush over your fingers on the mug’s side. Your mouth closes just as his fingers slide into the spaces between yours, immediately noting his body warmth and the way his fingers are far more bigger than yours. 

It takes you by surprise to say the least but before you can fully comprehend it, you feel his pinky finger curl slightly around your own as it hangs below the mug. You keep a neutral expression, still worried about getting Miguel or yourself burnt with hot coffee, though your mind is kind of short circuiting right now. You push past it and tell yourself that it’s just an accidental brush of fingers. His fingers are bigger than yours after all and he needs more room to hold the mug; room that your fingers are taking up for him to grab the mug more comfortably, probably. However, as you’re going on about this in your head and you sense Miguel take a stronger hold of the mug, you feel it. 

His pinky finger, which has been loosely curled so far, wraps around yours a bit more firmly before he gives you a gentle squeeze, as if the two of you were making a pinky promise.  He releases your pinky one or two seconds later, fully taking hold of the mug and moving it towards him. You look at him for a few seconds, noticing the way his eyes are on the mug, as if avoiding your gaze.

You look away quickly, trying not to make it obvious before taking a seat next to him. You hold your own mug in your hands, no longer thinking about how you mixed up the mugs, before you set it down on a coaster. You gently pull the bag with pan dulce and a plate towards you, offering it to Miguel with a smile as you try not to think about what happened just seconds ago, though it’s really hard not to. Miguel accepts it, smiling gently as you carry on and open the plastic bag for him to grab a piece of bread. He avoids your gaze as he reaches into the bag, placing his choice of bread on his plate. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Always,” you answer in an equally quiet tone as you process what happened.

You grab a piece of bread for yourself before placing the bag back on the coffee table, thoughts racing. You thought it was an accident that he brushed his fingers over yours but now… You walk through every step of the moment, breaking it down in your head. Did you imagine it? Maybe you are reading too much into it? No, with the way you placed your fingers Miguel had a decent amount of space to take hold of the mug without touching you and yet, his hand went for the exact spot where your fingers rested before he slid them between yours to grab the mug. You take a small and careful sip from your mug since the coffee is still perfectly hot from the thermos Miguel stored it in. Okay, maybe the brushing of fingers was an accident but the curling of his pinky around yours? The gentle squeeze? That’s where it doesn’t make sense. It was intentional. 

You break a small piece of bread to eat as the realization hits you. Miguel did that intentionally. The more you sit there and eat your piece of pan dulce, the more you are convinced that everything about it was intentional, including his fingers brushing over yours. Yet, you sit in silence next to Miguel and wonder. There have been so many times when you’ve wanted to comfort him and each time you’ve reminded yourself to hold back out of respect. You wonder if he has ever noticed that. Have you been so obvious about it that he knows? You remember he noticed your clenched fists earlier, so maybe he does. Perhaps Miguel knows that there have been so many times you wished you could comfort him physically. And maybe - maybe he needed that little comfort after the memories he recollected today and knowing that you’re open to physical touch, Miguel seeked that comfort in a small way - just for today. 

You can’t help but brush your pinky next to your ring finger now, discreetly, of course. You recall the sensation, almost feeling the warmth that came from his hand but not quite because you can’t recreate that unique warmth that only Miguel has. You can’t, not without him. Then, there was the feeling of his pinky on its own and how the tip of it was enough to wrap around yours almost fully. This simple fact makes you think for a moment. It’s obvious that Miguel is a tall and big man, so it is no surprise that his hands are large but the fact that his pinky’s tip was enough to wrap around yours, makes you really realize the size difference, which you find amusing but also sweet. 

You silently and briefly wonder what your hand would look like next to his but you don’t spend too much time on this because for some reason it feels wrong. Your thoughts return to the moment, to the gesture. To how his fingers felt warm and strong. To how you felt their weight, which was a comforting one, like when something presses over you but instead of hurting or bringing discomfort, you could lay underneath such a weight because it feels pleasant. You take another sip of coffee as the realization hits you. You enjoyed the way his fingers felt and the way his pinky finger wrapped around your own. You enjoyed the way his warmth seeped into your skin and how his fingers slid past yours, settling between them to take hold of the mug. You enjoyed the little squeeze from his pinky finger. You enjoyed every second of it.

You blink, trying to clear your thoughts but even then you find yourself running your thumb over the back of your fingers, as if trying to recreate the sensation on your own when you know very well it’s impossible. You retrieve your thumb, giving up, before you finally break the silence. “I say it every time but this coffee and pan dulce… The best combo,” you say, mentally wincing at the way your voice comes out because it sounds like you’re nervous. 

Thankfully, Miguel’s face reveals nothing if he notices, which he does, and instead, nods with a smile at your comment about the coffee and bread. 

“It really is, isn't it?” he responds, quietly. He takes a sip of his own coffee, wondering why he did what he did. Why did he do that when he saw the way you were holding the mug? You went out of your way to avoid brushing his fingers as a way to respect his boundaries regarding physical touch like always. It’s one of the things that he most appreciates about you, how respectful you are with him and his boundaries when there have been so many that have disregarded them but not you. Never you. 

Even when there was no other option back in the infirmary, you were so concerned about it, going as far as wanting to request gloves from the medical team. So why did he do it? It was a spur of the moment, Miguel guesses. He saw your fingers and he could’ve taken hold of the mug without even grazing your skin. Yet, before he even realized it, his fingers were brushing yours and then there was your pinky and his mind wasn’t thinking properly because it was stuck on how it had felt to graze your skin even if just for a few seconds. His mind was dazed by that mere sensation and before he knew it, his pinky was curled around yours and then he gave it a gentle squeeze. And it all felt right.

The two of you sit side by side drinking your café de olla and eating your pan dulce in silence. You’re trying to process the fact that his touch was intentional, even if it was small. Miguel continues to try and figure out why he did it in the first place and all he can think about is that he needed it without knowing it after having to recollect parts of his life that weren’t too happy.

You smile softly as you eat a piece of your pan dulce, happy about the little moment as you slowly recover from your surprise. Miguel is trying. Step by step, little by little. You look over at him as he lifts the bear mug to his lips, unable to stop yourself from finding it endearing how much smaller the mug looks in his hand. You smile even more but look away before he catches you, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 

“Thank you for dinner again. And for this,” you say at last, lifting your mug up and motioning to the pan dulce. You’re silently relieved that you’ve found your voice again. “I’m sorry for the change of plans since it was so sudden but I appreciate it. Dinner was amazing as always.”

Miguel smiles softly, nodding and feeling relieved that you don’t seem to mind what he did. In fact, you seemed to have moved on from it, even though he’s lowkey still thinking about how small your pinky felt when he wrapped his around it. He clears his throat, nodding again. “Always. I’m glad you enjoyed it, and don’t worry about the change of plans, I didn’t mind it,” he replies. 

You smile at him, nodding before you take another sip of coffee. The two of you fall into a peaceful silence again. It’s at this moment that everything Miguel told you rushes through your mind. You listened to him intently and paid attention to every detail but there are certain parts that stand out more than others, like how he questioned whether he was enough as a child because of his stepfather along with his treatment of the whole family or the way his mother treated him sometimes. For a while now you suspected he didn’t always look back at the past fondly but you never thought about the reasons as you didn’t want to speculate about someone else’s life, even less about Miguel’s. You stare at your coffee table, lost in thought, wishing you could say something; wishing you could tell him what is on your mind but you know this is sensitive and Miguel didn’t share his memories seeking your opinion or thoughts. Besides, you think about the fact that it isn’t your place to do so. Miguel needed to let it out of his chest and he wanted someone, you, to listen, not give him your thoughts about it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about. Please,” Miguel says softly, breaking the silence, knowing you’re thinking but refraining from saying anything.

You clear your throat softly, looking at your mug now. It’s halfway empty and you’re very likely going to get a second one because the coffee doesn’t compare to any other coffee you’ve ever had. You look at the dark liquid, feeling the warmth through the mug on your fingers, reminding you once again of Miguel’s pinky wrapped around yours before he gently squeezed it. You want to shake your head and tell him it’s nothing, but Miguel seems to be able to read you so well these days, that you often feel like an open book when you’re around him. 

“I can’t,” you finally say, softly. “It’s… not my place,” you add, still looking at the coffee because you can feel his gaze on you. 

Miguel’s face softens at your words, guessing it’s about his childhood. “You can tell me. It’s not going to bother me. Or upset me. I promise,” he says. 

Your grip on the mug tightens as you hear his last two words. He promises. It eases some of your worries but you’re still hesitant because you don’t want your words to come out wrong. You don’t want Miguel to think that you’re pitying him or something of the sort because that’s not how you feel. You’re not pitying him. You just want - To do so much but you’re unable to. You’re okay with your words but you’ve always been better at showing your feelings through actions. If Miguel was more open to physical touch, even just a little, you would’ve already had him sitting next to you with a blanket around him or something. You would’ve taken his hand or laid your hand on his shoulder to let him know everything you feel, everything you’re thinking about but can’t say because you also fear your words will be too much for him. 

You must be patient, you remind yourself. One day, you may be able to do it but for now, you will be patient like you’ve always been. You clear your throat and smile softly, looking up at him. You’re about to try to change the subject but the look on his face makes you stop in your tracks. Miguel looks down at you with a soft expression and a smile that, despite how much you see it these days, still catches you by surprise each time, along with a look in his eyes. One that seems to be asking you, maybe even imploring you to reveal every running thought through your mind right now. You find yourself meeting his gaze, wanting to indulge him but there’s still that hesitation, which does not go unnoticed by him. 

“Y/N…” Miguel quietly says with a tone that confirms your suspicions. He really wants to hear what you’re thinking.  

“Miguel…” you reply softly, still holding on to your mug. You shake your head slightly, with a sad smile. You can’t. You must not. 

“Please.”

One word. One single word uttered from his lips. His tone is soft, gentle; the way it’s always with you as you’ve come to notice. Miguel holds your gaze. Your hesitation to tell him makes him worried. Is it that bad that you don’t want to tell him? Even when he’s asking you to share your thoughts?

“It’s that bad… I’m sorry if I ruined the mood,” he apologizes. 

“No, no, no… Miguel,” you murmur tenderly, feeling upset with yourself instantly. Your hesitation is now making him reconsider his decision to share something so personal and that’s the last thing you ever want to do. You already know how much it takes for him to be this open about his past and here you are, making him apologize because he thinks you can’t handle what he has shared with you. “Miguel, that's not it. I promise. I just-” you stop, lifting your hand towards him but stopping midway. No, you can’t do that but your body wishes to. You move your hand back, trying to play it off as something else despite how obvious it is what you wish to do. “Miguel, what I was thinking - I’m no one to say it,” you reply softly, looking down at your mug, holding it with both hands again. It’s better if you do that, you think. It’ll prevent you from wanting to reach out to him again.

Miguel stares at you and scoffs softly. You’re no one? He wonders if you really believe that and if so, how can you? How can you say that you’re no one when you’re his friend? When you’re his only close friend. When you make him smile and laugh. When you make him want to talk about trivial things when in the past he didn’t want to nor could he imagine wanting to do so with any spider member and found it annoying when they tried. Now, he wants to tell you about the most random, insignificant little things that happen in his life, like how this morning when he went to get pan dulce a kid asked if he could help him get a piñata down and how it was Spider-Man 2099 themed or how the carniceros call him “el primo,” now that he shows up more to buy groceries. Or, when he wants to hear random bits of your day like how Hobie and Pav got into a debate yesterday about the best tea. How can you believe that you’re no one?  When he wants to tell you his whole life because he feels comfortable with you. When you sit at his kitchen island and eat the food he cooks with such delicacy to please you because for some reason, he feels a great satisfaction seeing that happy, delighted look on your face when you try his food and enjoy it. When he comes to your apartment for dinner, which means he has visited your universe more than he has ever visited any other spider member’s dimension.

How can you believe such a thing when he has spent more time with you than any other member in the Spider Society? How can you believe that you’re no one when you sensed his troubles, universes away. When you found him, saved his life and maybe in more than one way? When you looked after him while he was recovering with such tenderness that Miguel hadn’t felt in years nor did he feel he was worthy of. When you give him your sweatshirts, rich in your comforting scent, and each morning like a broken record, he finds his face buried in the fabric, as if he can’t get close enough to your scent. He doesn’t know why and no matter how he positions himself before drifting off to sleep, he finds himself like that each morning without failure. You dare say that when your breathing lulls him to sleep each night like a sweet melody. When he could recognize your scent and the sound of your breathing in a crowd. When he buys pan dulce or the Mexican candy he knows you love because he has learned what you love best. How can you say that you’re no one when you mean so much to him?

“Don’t say that,” Miguel says with a frown, feeling upset that you’re undermining your impact on him. That you’re undermining your significance to him. “You… are more than someone to me,” he says, full of sincerity, leaving no room for discussion. “You can tell me. Please,” he continues.

The grip on your mug tightens as you hear Miguel’s words. You look up at him, eyes softening because you know admitting that alone is hard for him, yet here he is, telling you regardless and sounding upset at you for telling him you’re no one. 

He holds your gaze, letting his words sink in and hoping that his eyes give away everything else he cannot say, at least not yet. You’re more than someone to him. You’re his close friend. You matter to him, and you have for a long time. He cares about you. It all scares him - to know that he has someone to lose yet again - but there’s no way out. There’s no undoing what you’ve done to and for him. 

There simply isn’t. He has thought about it over the last two months, especially since you’ve spent so much more time together. He thought of the time before you were recruited, which is easy to remember, for it used to feel like one long, endless day. Now, after everything, he cannot go back. He can’t and doesn’t want to. If he was given the chance today to go back to that day when you first volunteered to organize his lab after Jess commented on the chaos that his lab surfaces were, he would still accept your help despite knowing that he’d be here now, afraid that he’ll experience loss and grief again but at the same time, feeling happy for the first time in a while. 

The fact that he would stick to his original choice is a sign of progress to Miguel. He can’t help but think that his past self, the Miguel from that day, would’ve declined the help immediately if he knew what would unfold over the following months. That Miguel would’ve pushed you away even more if he knew that over the next few months, you’d somehow sneak past the walls he built so high around himself. 

His past self would’ve been angry at himself for letting go. He would’ve been mad for sitting here in your living room and drinking café de olla on a Saturday like he used to with Gabriel. He would’ve been angry for sharing his ofrenda with you, or for telling you about his family. He would’ve been angry about spending time with you over the holidays. He would’ve been angry about sharing something so personal as his childhood and the not so good memories but not the Miguel of today. He cares about you because you’re his friend, and he wants to hear what’s on your mind. 

You nod slowly, seeing different emotions and thoughts on Miguel’s face; his eyes revealing things to you that his lips cannot yet disclose. You take a deep breath and at last reveal your thoughts.

“I just - I need you to know that I don’t say this with pity nor do I think you need to hear it from me, or anyone but…” you trail off continuing a few seconds later but in a whisper. “What you said about wondering if you were enough when you were little. About your mom and how she treated you, about your stepfather… I just want to tell you that you…” 

You look down at your mug, wondering why the words are so hard to say; why your heart is racing and why your hands are suddenly stuck to the mug thanks to your spidey abilities, something that is only possible when you wish for it these days, though in your early days as Spider-Woman it happened too often when you were nervous. You ignore it and look up again at Miguel, finding a small moment of opportunity.

“I wish everything was different. I wish - you deserve so much more,” you softly but quickly whisper at last, wanting to get the words out before they get trapped in your throat again but with a gentle tone that will reassure Miguel that you’re not judging him nor his life, nor are you pitying him, but rather express that you genuinely believe he deserves better than the cards life has dealt him. “You deserve so much more and you are worthy. You’re more than enough. You always have been. You always will be. Arrogant or not. With brown or red eyes. With talons and fangs, or none of it. Superhero or not. You’re a person and you’re more than enough. I know you probably don’t need to hear it these days from me or anyone else but - that’s what I wanted to say,” you finish and look down at your mug to escape his gaze, hoping that he doesn’t find your words to be too much; hoping that you didn’t overstep a boundary. You grip your mug, waiting for him to say something, anything. 

Miguel watches as you turn away, sensing your uncertainty on revealing your thoughts. He initially believed that your thoughts were harmless, just like they’ve proven to be, but then your hesitation made him worried.  Now, he understands why you were unsure of sharing them. For him and his boundaries. You’ve always been so careful and attentive to the way that certain things can be a little too much for him at times after being distant with everyone for so long. Like always, you were thinking about not making him uncomfortable. Like always, you are so considerate, so respectful.  

Miguel feels an itch to move closer to you, to comfort you the way you were trying to comfort him earlier because yes, he noticed it. He’s noticed almost every time you’ve reached out and stopped midway, remembering and respecting that line regarding physical touch. Yet, he wishes he could put his hand on your shoulder right now to get your attention. He wishes he could let his hand’s warmth be an indicator that he’s not upset but that he’s… touched. He’s touched by the fact that you think he’s enough because quite frankly, no one has ever said that to him. He tells himself it’s not something he needs but hearing it - it does something to him in that moment. 

There’s a feeling in his chest. It’s heavy and it makes his heart race. It’s so strong he even feels a little breathless as your words settle in his heart. For so many years, he has believed that he didn’t need to hear those words. Not anymore. Not since he was a child. Yet, hearing you utter those simple words - it makes him wonder if a part of him has needed them all along. Miguel feels accepted, especially after you mentioned that he was worthy with or without the very features that have always made him feel like an outcast. It’s those same features that have led to doubts about himself - about his physical appearance. He doesn’t know if it was that obvious, or maybe you were just able to pick up on his insecurities, but he knows you’re not just saying those words to say them. The fact that you mean them - it makes Miguel feel accepted and appreciated, and like a part of him has healed even. He gulps softly, feeling a knot beginning to form in his throat. He grips his own mug, suddenly feeling the clay texture. He looks at it, noticing the bear’s face on the mug for the first time. He smiles at it before turning his gaze back to you, his dear friend.

“Thank you, Y/N…” Miguel says, once he feels that knot in his throat loosen up. 

You look up, slowly. Miguel’s tone is somehow softer than before and when you meet his gaze, you can’t help but notice that his eyes look misty. He nods, smiling softly at you. The sight makes your heart race with heartache, for you can see that your words have struck something in Miguel, making you realize that maybe, he did need your words after all. A sense of relief also rushes through you at seeing that Miguel took your words well, so you smile back.

“Always, Miguel,” you whisper softly, holding his gaze before you look away to give him a moment. “I know that must not have been easy… Thank you for trusting me,” you add, knowing that it must take a lot of courage to talk about something like this. 

For a minute or two, you give Miguel some space and think about what he said earlier, about him trying. He has even brought up the words you said to him a while ago, about how talking helps with moving forward, which you find endearing because that means he has taken your words to heart. Filled with gratitude to Miguel for sharing something so personal and optimistic for his healing journey, you look at his coffee mug, remembering the bear mug. You smile softly before you break the silence at last, noticing that Miguel is already looking at you. 

“More coffee?” Miguel nods, ready to get up but you stand up before he does again. “I’ll get it for you!” you say, placing your own mug on a coaster before you retrieve the thermos from where you last left it, wishing nothing more than to comfort Miguel even in this small way. Once back on the couch and the thermos in your hand, you motion for his mug. He holds it out steady and away from both of you and your couch, to avoid any injuries or spills on it. You serve him coffee before you refill yours and settle back on the couch next to him. 

The two of you continue to drink and eat your coffee and pan dulce in yet another moment of silence, as you can sense that Miguel seems to need a moment to gather his thoughts. 

Internally, Miguel feels content as he drinks from the bear mug and finishes eating his piece of pan dulce. The knot in his throat has dissipated, and so has the mistiness in his eyes. Yet, he can’t stop thinking about your words. They keep echoing in his head because they mean that much to him. Then, there’s the fact that he’s shared something so personal and triggering for him from the past with you, but he did it. He shared it and he truly feels like a weight has fallen off his shoulders. It’s as if that part of his life no longer holds power over him because it’s out of his chest. Those memories are no longer bottled inside his heart, for him to silently carry alone. 

Those memories are out. It’s done. Miguel’s healing journey is moving along, perhaps slowly but today - today is a win for Miguel and he’s happy that he has you to share it with. He’s filled, yet again, with an immense gratitude to and for you, his dear friend. His mind goes back to whether he would change his decision from months ago and he thinks to himself that no, he wouldn’t change his decision on that fateful day you volunteered to organize the lab. 

Letting his thoughts settle down, Miguel looks at the clock on the wall realizing it’s much later in the evening, and wonders, how is it possible that the hours slip by when he’s with you? He doesn’t understand it. His gaze moves to the baby monitor placed on your coffee table. Just like Peter B. and MJ assured you, Mayday has been asleep without trouble while everything has been going on. He can’t help but think that neither of you should be drinking coffee this late but like always, neither of you really care about potentially messing up with your sleep schedules, though if Miguel is honest, his sleep is unaffected by the rich, dark liquid. As soon as he’s in bed, Miguel falls asleep as long as the recording of your breathing is playing and your sweatshirt is near his face, so he’s not worried about his sleep too much but rather yours. He wonders if he should head home now. You’ve been babysitting Mayday all day and perhaps you’re tired but… Miguel doesn’t want to leave yet. 

He doesn’t want to return to his own universe, to his own home. Not yet. He finds comfort in your presence and the new welcoming place that you’ve created for yourself two months ago. He looks around, taking notice of the changes once again even though he has become acquainted with your apartment. He’s sitting on your new couch and there’s the new rug you also bought. There are new pictures since you last rearranged your wall with photographs two months ago. He’s in some of the photographs, which still feels like a dream every time he sees himself there. It seems so surreal to Miguel sometimes; that you’ve found him worthy of being there along with all your friends, parents, and Peter. And that you’ve allowed him to be a part of your life, that you’ve welcomed him into your home not only physically but also in this way, through photographs. 

Then, there’s the bookcase with your books and some decorations, like little things that you’ve been given throughout the years as Spider-Woman for memory keeping. He can’t help but grin to himself as he remembers what a pain it was to put it together but secretly, he loved every moment of it, even if his cursing might have suggested otherwise, because he was able to spend the entire day here. He helped you build your bookcase but also with other things like rolling out your rug, and placing your furniture in different locations even though he knows you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He remembers your chuckling when he picked up furniture with one hand like it was nothing, asking you where you wanted it placed. He also recalls feeling grateful that you allowed him to be a part of that process; a process that he needs to start at his own home. Miguel silently hopes that one of these days he’ll have the courage to do it and when he does, that you’ll like to be there for it, too. 

You drink more of your coffee, thinking about the time. You wonder if Miguel is tired after everything, or at least emotionally wise. You hope that if he is, that he will make the decision to go so he can sleep and rest properly but otherwise - you hope he stays around for a little while, even if it’s just an hour more, or even thirty minutes. 

You look over at the record player, remembering the music stopped playing a while ago. Your gaze turns to Miguel, noticing his eyes on your bookcase. You glance at it, noticing the gifts you’ve received over the years as Spider-Woman. Some of the other items, like drawings and letters,  are safely stored away. You stand up slowly, checking the baby monitor to ensure that everything is okay with Mayday. Noticing that she’s still peacefully sleeping, you walk over to your bookcase and pick up one of the items gifted to you. You stare at the knitted figure of you in your suit for a few seconds before walking closer to show it to him. Miguel looks at it, smiling softly before you offer it to him. He seems hesitant at first, as if afraid that he’ll ruin it, but seeing that you don’t retrieve your hand, he takes it. 

“This has to be one of my favorite things gifted to me. It was from an elderly woman who used to have a yarn shop a few blocks from here. She started being targeted by petty thieves, thinking she was an easy target because of her age, so I started being more vigilant around her block. She was always very nice and even baked pies for me on several occasions,” you share, smiling softly as you remember her. “They called her Mrs. Y because of the yarn,” you say with a little chuckle. “She made it for me before she passed away a few weeks later. Her store is still open, run by her family but it’s not the same without her.” 

Miguel nods, holding your knitted plushie and staring down at it. “She sounded like a lovely lady,” he says. 

You nod, turning around to see what else you can show him. You don’t know why you decided to do this but if it’ll keep him here for a little while longer and it helps to lighten up the mood after his conversation, you’ll do it. You look around at your collection while Miguel continues to look down at the knitted plushie. He notices your back to him and allows himself a moment to trace the soft yarn with his index finger, though he’s still afraid he’ll ruin it by accident with his talons somehow. Still, he glides his finger around the plushies’s head before softly gliding it down, tracing the jaw area. He removes his finger and simply holds it as he notices you begin to turn with yet something else.

“This one - it was made by a thirteen year old. She’s eighteen now. Kind of crazy how much time has passed by. She’s starting college in the fall,” you say turning around and showing him a clay figure, painted and everything. 

“You kept up with her?” Miguel asks, with raised eyebrows. 

You nod and shrug. “I tend to remember the faces of people who give me gifts. I saw her a few weeks ago and caught up with her.” 

Miguel nods, accepting the clay figure to look at it, feeling a new level of respect for you for keeping in touch with people who support you as Spider-Woman. 

“The details… This was by a thirteen year old?” he asks in awe as he examines it, noting the small details of the clay figure from the lines of your suit to the shapes. You nod, smiling. “Incredible,” he says, smiling softly. 

“I know, right? She’s so talented. And so sweet,” you say, turning around to look for more stuff. “Oh, this one has movement. It was done by an action figure creator that makes video skits of superheroes - fictional ones, of course, but she made this one and gave it to me a few years ago. Look,” you say as you come closer to him. You lean on the armrest and lower yourself to show Miguel. You press a button and watch with Miguel as your action figure’s arms move in a swinging position. “She makes skits of me sometimes, too, adding me into the mix with the fictional superheroes. She has about a million followers on her main platform.”

Miguel continues to smile as you show him a few other things, feeling relieved that he can stick around for a little while longer before he should probably head out so you can rest properly. You spend about fifteen or so minutes showing him other things and telling him about the people who gave them to you, which further amazes Miguel. He watches you with a tender look on his face as you excitedly tell him about those people, not noticing the way he’s gazing at you. Placing the last thing you showed him back on the bookshelf, you frown a little as you realize it’s the last thing and Miguel will probably leave soon. You subtly look at the time, realizing it’s so much later now and he will most definitely want to leave now.  

“Are you sleepy?” Miguel asks, pulling your gaze to him. 

“No, not at all... Are you?” you ask, holding his gaze. 

“No.” 

You smile slowly, happy on the inside that he’s not sleepy yet, which means he might stay for a bit longer. You nod to yourself after a few seconds, still standing next to your bookshelf. 

“Didn’t even realize the music stopped,” you say at last, even though you did at some point. You walk to the record player again, remembering how Mayday pulled one of the vinyl records earlier. You smile as your eyes scan the titles before you tell Miguel about it. 

“I was able to catch it just in time before it hit her or it got damaged. I can only imagine the fun Peter and MJ are going to have in one more year, or even a few more months, when she’s fully walking,” you say, eliciting a low chuckle from Miguel who nods. 

“Oh, I can imagine alright. She already has Peter running around HQ,” he replies, thinking of the many times Lyla has shown him live footage of it. 

You laugh softly, knowing exactly what he’s talking about as you’ve witnessed it in person before, and have even helped him, along with your friends, catch her sometimes. At last, you pull a vinyl record. You hold it for a few seconds. You usually don’t play her music unless it’s Peter’s birthday or if you’re really in the mood to listen to her because otherwise you get emotional but for some reason, you find yourself wanting to play it now. You put it on, deciding that you can put something else if you find it to be too much even after four years. 

Billie Holiday’s voice fills your living room once again. It’s strange at first to hear her familiar voice, even though Holiday used to fill your ears regularly thanks to Peter. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” you say quietly, walking back to the couch. 

“I don’t,” Miguel replies, staring at the record player as you settle nearby. 

You pick up your mug and drink more coffee as the familiar notes fill the air. You wait for it. For the knot to form in your throat, the tears to swell in your eyes, and your chest to tighten with grief, pain, and longing but none of those things come. For once in four years, you can hear her voice again without crying even when “Solitude” comes on, a song that you related to so much those first years after Peter’s death. 

You drink your coffee and listen to the lyrics, remembering nights in which you’d sit on one of your kitchen island chairs, the one that became your unassigned assigned chair. You’d turn to the other one, knowing its unassigned assigned person would never sit on it again. You wondered, how was that possible when he had been sitting there just hours, days, weeks, months ago eating next to you while you talked about anything and everything. How was it possible that he no longer sat there? He was there and then he wasn’t.  There was no one or anything but solitude as your mind taunted you with memories, filling your already despaired heart with even more torment. 

Smiling softly, you sip more of your coffee and think about your own progress. You glance at a photo of Peter, knowing that wherever he is, he must be happy you’re playing his vinyl records and that you’re listening to one of his favorite artists again without breaking down. You sigh and look over at Miguel, noticing that he seems to be paying close attention to the lyrics. He turns to look at you, his gaze is soft and sympathetic as his mind is filled with an image of you sitting here in your apartment alone. The image alone breaks his heart in pieces, even when you give him a reassuring smile. 

“I used to be unable to listen to her and a few other artists. She was one of his favorites,” you start. “Every time I played it - when I told myself I could do it, that I’d finally be able to - I wasn’t able to and I’d just end up - you know. Crying,” you say, looking down with a weak chuckle. “I only listen to this music when it’s his birthday but for some reason, I felt like listening to it now and I’m okay,” you say, looking up at Miguel again. You smile more brightly this time. “Progress.” 

“Progress,” he repeats, softly. Miguel returns the smile with a soft gaze yet his mind is still occupied by the same image of you alone in this apartment. He heartily wishes, more than ever, that he found your universe sooner because if he had, you wouldn’t have been alone for so many years. Miguel felt lonely so many times when there were people around him. He often wondered what was worse - being completely alone or surrounded by people and still feeling lonely. Yet, as he thinks of you all alone for three years, he decides that the latter is the least worst of the two. His mind is overrun by so many thoughts and images, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wishes he could change the past for he realizes you had no one to talk to about your loss and grief, even if you had wanted to because as Miguel has learned, you distanced yourself from your friends.  

He wonders… Did you only talk when you were out on patrols? How much time went by before your apartment walls heard your voice or laugh again? How many times did these walls witness your tears and grief? It all breaks Miguel’s heart.

“I wish… I wish I would’ve found your universe sooner,” Miguel quietly reveals. 

You smile, touched by his revelation. After a few seconds of thinking, you reply. “You found me at the right time.”

Miguel nods slowly at your words but asks himself, did he? Was it meant to happen until then? Would you’ve still joined the Spider Society if your universe had been discovered a few months before? He recalls that you declined Jess’s recruitment a few times even then and you only joined when she brought up your Peter. He mentally sends his gratitude to Peter for Miguel doesn’t want to even imagine the possibility of you not joining. So, he silently agrees with you that it was the right time if the outcome was you joining. 

You finish your coffee and reach for the thermos to refill your mug, which brings Miguel back to the present. He grins at you. 

“You’re not going to sleep at all tonight,” he mutters, amused. 

You grin as you refill your mug. “I’m okay with that. I’m not sleepy anyway. I’m going to stay up and listen to music here,” you say, motioning to your living room. 

At that, Miguel’s mind wanders. Would you mind if he stayed, just a little longer?

“You’re more than welcome to stick around. Besides, I just remembered I bought some new snacks to try when I went grocery shopping earlier this week. I think right now is the perfect time to do taste tests,” you say, still grinning. 

Miguel grins back, feeling a wave of happiness rush through him now that he’s staying a little longer. “What did you buy?”

With much more lighthearted music, Miguel and you sit on the couch to try the new snacks, little by little. You talk about anything and everything, like what made you buy a specific snack and how when Miguel helped the little kid get the piñata down, the kid told him that he looked like he could be Spider-Man 2099, so Miguel only grinned at them.

You check up on Mayday often, though she sleeps peacefully. 

You both realize it’s morning when you notice the sun streaming through your living room’s windows, announcing the beginning of a new day. Somehow the hours went by in your cozy apartment without your knowledge. Staring at the sunlight, the two of you grin softly as you both realize that you’ve spent the entire night in each other’s company. 

As he takes a drink of water, Miguel realizes that this is his first all-nighter in two months. He’s overcome by this fact alone, for two months ago not having an all-nighter seemed impossible to Miguel but here he is. His first all-nighter in two months, and the first one with someone by his side at that. 

You turn towards the baby monitor on your coffee table. You’ve kept it in the same place the entire night to monitor Mayday and at last, it notifies you that there’s movement and noise. You pick it up to check the notification, briefly checking the time on the clock. It’s past 7:30, which reminds you about the schedule. 

“Right, MJ and Peter said she wakes up around 7:30,” you say, seeing Mayday begin to move around. You grin and show Miguel the screen just as Mayday stretches her short arms, yawning. 

You subtly look at him, noticing the small grin and tender look on his face as he watches Mayday through the screen before looking away, thinking once again about Miguel as a father. You hum softly and put the baby monitor away, suddenly wondering if he was okay with being around Mayday so much yesterday but then remember that he didn’t seem to mind as he did come over knowing she was going to be here. 

“I’m going to go and check up on her. She has her breakfast in about thirty minutes. Peter should be dropping by 9 or so to pick her up,” you say, running through the end of the schedule as you stand up, stretching slightly. 

Miguel nods, shifting in his seat to stretch himself. 

“If you want to come with me you can,” you say, gesturing to your bedroom. 

“Thank you. I - I will. If you don’t mind, I'd like to wash my hands first. I think my hands still smell like the last snack we had,” he says with a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle and nod. “Of course, go ahead. I’ll be in the bedroom!” you say before you head over to your room where you find a sleepy Mayday already sitting, Spider-Ham plushie in hand. You quietly greet her with a smile to avoid startling her but once she sees you, Mayday seems to brighten up. You laugh softly as you reach her. 

“Someone seems happy to see me. Slept good, baby?” you ask her, unable to stop yourself from babying her at the sight of her sweet smile and messy hair. You approach her, expecting Mayday to get herself out of her sleeping setup but no, she waits for you to pick her up, so you do that just as you remember what Peter B. said. 

“She likes cuddles in the morning. Oh - and sometimes she likes to do a spidey dance.”

“A spidey dance?” you asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

Peter nodded before giving you an apologetic look. “Oh man, I hope she doesn’t do it. It’s not a problem since it’s always us who wake her up - this is the first morning we’ll spend away from her,” Peter said with a little pout. “But, MJ showed her this video of someone dancing, or moving like a spider because you know,” he said, pointing at himself. “And she’s been obsessed with it ever since. If we don’t do it, she gets teary eyed with us but hopefully she won’t do it tomorrow with you.”

“And what do these poses look like exactly?” you asked with your eyebrow still raised.

Peter sighed deeply. “You don’t have to do it. Maybe distract her with something else, but just in case, it looks like this” he said, before he showed you said spidey dance. 

You hold Mayday as she cuddles up to your chest, hoping it’s just cuddles for this morning and no spidey dance but you hope too soon because Mayday starts waving her arms around similarly to the way Peter did yesterday when he showed you the dance. 

“Oh…” you say, realizing. You look towards the door, noticing Miguel hasn’t come in yet. “Look - Spider-Ham plushie. Here he is,” you say, showing him to her, trying to distract her. It works for about thirty seconds before she starts waving her arms again. “You’re really gonna make me do the spidey dance, aren’t you?” you ask quietly. “First, you beat me with Spider-Ham plushie, which I’m telling him about. Then, you do the kissy thing with the action figures, and now you’re gonna make me do this in front of Miguel?” you add quietly, amused and yet feeling embarrassed. “You got something against me?” 

With a sigh you sit down and set her down in front of you. You watch in surprise as she starts doing it herself, causing you to giggle. 

“Okay, well it’s cute when you’re doing it. I'll say that,” you say, still giggling. 

Mayday grins at you, happy to show you her little spidey dance but it doesn’t last long. She stops and begins to wave her arms at you, as if telling you to go on because it’s your turn. You look over at the door, no sign of Miguel yet. In fact, you can hear the water running from the kitchen. You turn to Mayday, finding a pout and a sad expression. 

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it but this stays between us,” you quietly say before you copy her dance from earlier, which is supposed to be some dance that imitates the way a spider moves. You run through it quickly, moving your arms around like she did earlier. “Okay, there we go. Spidey dance for the morning, done.” You sit on the floor again as Mayday giggles excitedly, and wonder if she has something against you this weekend when you see it, or rather him. 

Your eyes land on Miguel’s legs before they travel up his body, until you meet his gaze. For the third time in twenty four hours, you feel heat flood your cheeks. You notice the amusement in his face before he turns to the side, trying to hide a chuckle as a cough, though he gives up and just chuckles quietly. You sigh deeply, embarrassed and yet amused. Miguel’s chuckle slowly fades as he leans on your bedroom’s doorway once again, arms crossed over his chest with a grin.

“So, that’s the spidey dance,” he says, tone laced with amusement. 

“That’s the spidey dance.”

“Peter has talked about it.”

“It’s a good thing he’s only talked about it and not shown you,” you reply, finally giving him a smile. “It looks cute when kids do it. Not so much with adults,” you say with a little grimace, knowing Miguel watched you do it. 

“I think - you did it justice,” he says, raising his eyebrow slightly, which makes the heat in your face intensify. 

“Thanks,” you mutter quietly, wishing your Earth would open up right now and swallow you whole. 

“I doubt Peter looked half as graceful as you did,” Miguel offers. 

You shake your head softly but smile, not knowing what else to say to that so instead, you swiftly scoop up Mayday in your arms, taking her by surprise, which makes her laugh. 

“Time for breakfast,” you tell her and then look at Miguel, thinking for a few seconds and pushing past your embarrassment. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Still leaning on the doorway, Miguel grins softly for a second before he frowns, remembering. “That sounds great, but are you not tired?” he asks, his tone laced with concern. 

You grin and shake your head. “I’m good. Are you tired?”

Miguel holds your gaze. “I’m not.”

You nod, smiling. “Then… Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

He watches you for a few seconds, assessing your face to see if you’re telling the truth. He knows you’ve been up since yesterday morning, probably have been awake close to, if not the exact twenty-four hours by now. The last thing Miguel wants is to keep you up any longer. Looking at your face, however, all he sees is your bright smile and happy demeanor, surprisingly finding no trace of sleepiness or exhaustion. He nods at last and that grin comes back to his face as he continues to lean on your bedroom’s doorway, taking up the entirety of the space. 

“I’d love to,” he replies quietly. 

“Great! To the kitchen then,” you say with a smile. “Off we go, Mayday - Oh, right,” you stop and turn around to grab Spider-Ham. “Can’t forget him, can we?” 

Miguel steps out of the bedroom to let you through, smiling to himself as he hears you talk to Mayday before you lead the way to your kitchen. You place Mayday in her high chair and hand Spider-Ham to her, just as Miguel stands next to her. 

“May I help you with something?” he asks, looking around at the clean kitchen since the two of you put away the leftovers at some point during the night to avoid the food going bad. 

You move around your kitchen with ease, preparing Mayday’s breakfast. “I got it under control, thank you though. You go ahead and take a seat or - if you want, you can play some music.” 

Miguel’s eyebrow raises slightly as he watches you prepare Mayday’s breakfast while simultaneously setting up your coffee maker. He looks back at the record player. 

“Okay - I can do that,” he replies quietly before walking across your living room. He stares at the record player for a few seconds. It’s not that he doesn't know how to use it, he’s just not sure if he should touch it since he knows it was Peter’s. What if he accidentally breaks it? With a soft sigh, he tries to ease his nervousness about it and gazes at the collection of vinyls. He reads the titles, trying to see if he recognizes anything besides Billie Holiday. At last, he pulls out a record that catches his attention. He turns to the record player again before he places the record on the turntable and sets it to play, mindful of his every move. He steps back as the music starts playing and adjusts the volume before he heads back to the kitchen island. His eyes find you sitting next to Mayday now, offering her a spoonful of food that she happily accepts. He glances at the stove, noticing a few pans that you’ve set out to start heating. 

“Coffee should be ready soon,” you tell him as you gently wipe the corner of Mayday’s mouth, listening to the music Miguel chose. You hum softly in appreciation. It’s the perfect music to start the day with. “Nice choice of music.”

“Thank you,” Miguel says with a small grin, glad you like his selection. He takes a seat next to you, watching quietly as you feed Mayday, feeling at peace. He briefly remembers this is around the time he heads to HQ on the weekends but he tells himself that he’ll go later. 

You hear the coffee maker finish so you set Mayday’s food down after giving her another spoonful to prepare the coffee. 

“Are you sure I can’t help you with something?” Miguel asks, looking at Mayday and then at you as you retrieve two mugs. 

“I’m sure,” you say as you serve the coffee. “But thank you for offering. Here’s some coffee. Not as good as café de olla but something to start the day with,” you say with a smile as you place the mug in front of him on the counter before you check the stove. 

“Thank you.” 

“Always,” you reply, seeing that the pans are not ready yet, so you return to feeding Mayday. 

Miguel notices this, of course. “I can help if you want. With the cooking,” he softly clarifies because he’s not sure he can feed Mayday without thinking of Gabriella. He wasn’t there for Gabriella’s early years but there were times he’d still mouth feed her. Even though he has slowly found those memories to be less painful to think about, there’s still heartache from them.

You nod softly, understanding what’s happening. “Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done feeding her, see?” you show him the container. “Plus, my stove is on the older side, so it takes a little longer. I won’t be running around doing both things, so don’t worry,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as you turn to face Mayday. You say nothing else but find it sweet that he’s offering to cook just so you’re not cooking and feeding Mayday at the same time. 

As promised, you finish feeding Mayday and get started on breakfast. You move through your kitchen, listening to Mayday babble to Miguel, who quietly responds back, and the music he selected. The scent of breakfast surrounds you and there’s a lovely glow around your apartment from the sun’s rays. As you check the food on a pan, you think about what a wonderful Sunday morning this is. Smiling, you shake your head softly and continue to cook, brushing off your thoughts. 

At last, breakfast is ready. Miguel and you sit at the kitchen island to eat with Mayday, who keeps showing off her Spider-Ham plushie like she didn’t hit you with it yesterday and allowed you to hear Miguel’s lovely chuckle. All throughout the meal, Miguel and you talk, and simply enjoy the moment with Mayday.

Shortly after Miguel and you finish breakfast, a portal opens up in your living room, causing Mayday to giggle in her high chair. The two of you turn around just as Peter B. steps out. 

“Goo-” he starts but pauses for a second when he notices Miguel, surprised to find him in your apartment. Even though Peter B. knows about the Saturday dinners, the sight of the Spider Society’s leader in your apartment is still shocking. He clears his throat and smiles warmly, somewhat recovering from his initial shock. “Good morning, guys…! Sorry for interrupting your breakfast.”

“It’s alright. We just finished,” you say, standing up. “How was the event?  Did you guys have fun?” 

Peter nods and begins to tell you and Miguel about the event and how much fun it was to catch up with old high school friends. Miguel watches from his seat as Peter thanks you profusely and even gives you a little gift both him and MJ bought to show their appreciation. After helping Peter take everything back to his universe, and MJ and him thanking you again, you and Miguel say bye to the Parkers and head back to your universe. Neither of you notice the discreet glance between the adult Parkers as Miguel and you head out. 

You step out of the portal first with Miguel behind, and head to your kitchen area but he lingers by the portal, looking at the time again. It’s close to 10am now and he’s sure you must be sleepy, so at last, Miguel decides it’s time to go home. He offers to help you clean up and even though you politely decline at first, you end up letting him help you with some things, sensing that he’s about to leave. You finish wiping the last counter just as he puts away the last mug before you turn to face each other in your small kitchen. 

The time has come. 

You smile at him. “Thank you for bringing dinner here again. I know I already said it but - seriously, thank you. I loved it, as I loved the café de olla and pan dulce. And thank you for… Trusting me,” you quietly say. 

Miguel nods, smiling softly. “Thank you for listening to me. I truly appreciate it,” he replies in an equally quiet tone, even though it’s just the two of you in your apartment. 

“Always,” you respond. “I’m here for you.”

Miguel continues to smile and gives you another little nod. He looks off to the side for a few seconds, the words at the tip of his tongue. He’s said them out loud before, just not to your face, back on Dia de los Muertos, when you first uttered them to him. He wanted to say them back that night but he couldn’t. He had to settle for the next best thing, so he said them after you were gone but now… His eyes meet yours. “I’m… here for you, too,” he says, softly, at last.

Your smile grows and Miguel can see a little twinkle in your eyes at his words, though you try to keep your reaction as normal as possible because you know these words are not the easiest for Miguel to express. So, you smile and nod, clearing your throat softly despite the happiness you’re feeling right now.

“I almost forgot - let me get you the sweatshirt.” 

You withdraw to your bedroom, returning in seconds with this week’s sweatshirt. You offer it to him and like always, Miguel accepts it with a grateful yet sheepish look on his face. 

Miguel thanks you as he takes a quick glance at the sweatshirt, already being able to smell your scent on it. He has figured out that the best days are the first four days when your scent is the strongest on it. On the rest of the days before you exchange, he has to bundle up the sweatshirt to get a decent amount of your scent from it. 

He returns his gaze to you, knowing that he must go now. 

“Thank you, for - everything,” he says with a soft grin. 

“Always,” you reply. 

“You should rest,” he says with a little frown, though still smiling as he opens up a portal. “I’ll see you tomorrow at HQ.”

“I’ll see you there, as always. And - to be honest, I’m still not tired.”

Miguel’s eyebrow raises as he walks backwards towards the portal, holding eye contact. 

“But I’ll rest, don’t worry,” you add, noticing the concern in his eyes. 

He nods, satisfied with your words and stopping right at the portal. “Good. You’ll need rest after babysitting for a whole day and…” Miguel pauses, looking to the side for a second before looking back, as if thinking. “.. after the little dance party the two of you had yesterday, plus the spidey dance from this morning. And, there’s also Spider-Ham’s hit to your head. You should really rest,” he says with a serious face, though his eyes and tone reveal amusement. 

“I see,” you say, looking to the side in amusement yet surprise because Miguel seems to be poking fun at you, allowing you to see a side of him you haven’t seen before. You follow along and smile. “I’ll definitely rest. Don’t want my exhaustion and head injury to interfere with my duties.” 

“I would hate for that to happen,” Miguel replies, stepping into the portal, unable to stop himself from giving you a small grin now. “You’re an irreplaceable member of the Spider Society,” he says, meaning it. 

You grin back, sensing the sincerity in his tone now. “I shall rest properly tonight then. I don’t want to disappoint my colleagues.”

Miguel nods, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow, Miguel,” you reply with a bright smile. 

With that, Miguel gives you another nod and turns around. He walks into the portal, sweatshirt in hand. You watch his back until he disappears, and even then, you continue to stare at the portal until it, too, disappears. You look towards your windows and sigh softly, smiling.

“Irreplaceable,” you whisper. ______________________________

Translations: Agua de Jamaica - hibiscus tea Café de olla - coffee made in a pot Pan Dulce - Mexican pastries; sweet bread Mijo - term of endearment for a male friend or relative; translates to "my son" Conchas - literally translates to seashell; a kind of pan dulce Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead Ofrenda - an altar for Day of the Dead Piñata - you know this Carniceros - meat butchers "El Primo" - "the cousin;" it's just a nickname from the carniceros, they're not actually related to Miguel; Latin people give each other nicknames, sometimes they make no sense lol; don't mind me just imagining Miguel giving reader a nickname in the future AHH

Long A/N: If you read this far, thank you!! I swear I didn't think it was going to be this lengthy! I want to say that the upcoming parts will be shorter but I'm not sure. Either way, if you have read this far in the story, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope you guys have enjoyed it! I also want to say sorry for taking so long to update! I got caught up with the holidays and other things like work and family. To be honest, I don't know if I'll have another update before the new year. I will try my very best but I also don't want to post a rushed and unedited part. So, if this turns out to be the last update of the year for "Nonviolent Communication," I'll go ahead and wish you all happy and warm holidays!! ❤️ I'm going to make a few dedications and mentions now. First, I'm going to dedicate this part for all the readers whose birthdays are this month! In one of my posts (you can also spot the bear mug I included in this part here. Did I buy this mug just because I imagined Miguel holding it as soon as I spotted it? Yes, I did), I discovered that some readers have birthdays this month like me, so happy early birthdays to you guys and everyone else whose birthday is on this month! @moonygirlsworld @giulscomix @lauraolar14

This part had inspo from some lovely readers, so I wanted to give them a shoutout as well! @sunsetdoodler has created BEAUTIFUL art for the fic and inspired me so much throughout the story! The detail about reader's version of Peter buying too much merch and their friends thinking Peter has a crush on Spider-Woman was inspired by this fanart! We both have a soft spot for reader's Peter 🥹 The spidey dance idea came from @giulscomix who thought of reader doing it and Miguel seeing her. I really enjoyed writing reader all embarrassed after doing it, haha! So, thank you!

As mentioned before, there's so much fanart for "Nonviolent Communication" - which, I'm so incredibly THANKFUL FOR!! It's one of the best things that has ever happened to me and makes me so happy that I decided to write online again after so many years of not doing so. Thank you so much to the wonderful artists! Please know it means the world to me!!! You can find all fanart in my masterlist. Please go and take a look at everything as these talented artists have brought to life so many scenes from the fic, and show them some love!! ❤️ Very briefly, I don't want to make this even longer than it already is but I want to talk about the script for ATSV. I've seen some fans that work in the industry say that there are several versions of a movie script sometimes and that the version we saw might be an early edition, which makes total sense that there would be multiple, but that doesn't take away my sadness, anger, and disappointment for how Miguel is described in this particular version. I had already started working on this part before the script was released, so Miguel's talk about his features/appearance and him feeling like an outcast, was already in the works. I had a feeling that this was the idea the team was going with based on the way he was talked about by other characters and the way he was animated to move, so I wasn't entirely surprised but I'm still very sad about it. However, I'm very happy by the fact that so many of us see Miguel for who he really is!!! He's a soft giant that has gone through so much already based on what we've seen and he deserves better. I wish it had just been part of the fic and that there wasn't actual evidence from the script that supported my suspicions, but at least I got to tell Miguel that he's worthy, no matter what through this fic. ❤️🥺

In other unimportant but funny news, my Spotify Wrapped revealed that I listened to the song "Nonviolent Communication" 639 times since June 13th (the day I went to watch the movie) and I've probably heard it about 40 more times since the Spotify Wrapped dropped lol. So... there's that! I don't know what that says about me but anyway, that's it! I'm going to try and write short one-shots for the rest of the month and obviously work on this fic. I have a Christmas one-shot in mind and I'm also planning another fic, which has been stuck on my mind for some time and it's making me so sad 😭 Hoping I can launch it sometime in January but we'll see. That's all for real now! Thank you so much for reading "Nonviolent Communication" and for sticking around! All your support towards this fic means so much to me! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and again, happy holidays just in case!!! -Alondra

Taglist: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93

[moondirti]

DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home. 

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail. 

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle. 

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.) 

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth. 

“You been working out, Mig?” 

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off. 

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through. 

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.” 

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.” 

“Of course.” 

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit. 

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity. 

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether. 

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.” 

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence. 

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you. 

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless. 

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.” 

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it. 

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival. 

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer. 

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.” 

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

[jellys-compendium]

Trigun Maximum Series

✧🔞Absolution A feral angel Trimax Vash x F!Reader smut fic with breeding, rough sex, guilt and forgiveness. ✧🔞Resurrection The sequel to Absolution. This is a post Trimax Vash x F!Reader plot with smut fic. Contains domestic fluff and soft!dom daddy Vash.

✧Cozy Dad!Vash Drabbles Various cozy and comforting drabbles with a focus on Vash's life as a dad.

✧🔞Spicy Dad!Vash Drabbles Various sweet and spicy drabbles ft. Dad!Vash x F!Reader.

✧🔞He Wears it Better A spicy, apron wearing, Dad!Vash x F!Reader oneshot

✧Welcome Home An angsty, hurt/comfort dad!Vash fic. Contains themes of familial love, loss, and coping with grief.

Multi-Chapter Fics

✧🔞Guts  A Vash x F!Reader friends to lovers smut fic with confessing and mutual pining.

✧🔞Aprons Are Sexy  A silly Vash x F!Reader smut fic with master/maid roleplay and light bdsm themes.

✧🔞Doughnuts After Sunset  An emotional Vash x F!Reader birthday sex smut fic with themes of trust, communication, compassion, and gratitude.

✧A Recipe for Healing  A Vash & F!Reader slice of life series about Vash’s time as Eriks.

✧🔞How to Tame Your Brat  A dom!Knives x bratty F!Reader smut fic. Warning: Review the tags on AO3 for this one as it contains triggering themes.

Oneshots

✧🔞It's the Thought That Counts A Vash x F!Reader smut fic with heavy pining and weird and magical dildos.

✧🔞Lovebug A Sinister!Vash x F!Reader smut fic. Warning: Review the tags before reading this one as it contains triggering themes.

✧🔞Under the Covers An Intimate & Sleepy Morning Sex Oneshot ft. Vash x F!Reader 

✧🔞Ménage à Trois A Vash x GN!Reader x Wolfwood Smut Oneshot. You heard what I said.

✧🔞Exigent A Badlands Rumble Vash x F!reader smut oneshot. Warning: Contains heavy dom!reader/sub!Vash themes, pegging & impact play.

✧🔞Coax An alien biology Vash x F!Reader smut oneshot. Contains some rough sex and plant dick.

✧Happiness A Vash x GN!Reader angst drabble about finding happiness in times of need.

✧🔞Doppelganger A Vash x GN!Reader x Alt!/Sinister Vash oneshot Warning: Contains dubcon and rough sex.

✧🔞Hungry Like the Wolf A Vash x f!Reader x Wolfwood Halloween special

Drabbles & Headcanons

✧🔞Premature A Vash x F!Reader smut drabble with premature ejaculation, overstimulation and slight breeding kink.

✧🔞Rapture  A Passionate Knives x F!Reader smut drabble. 

✧🔞Slow A short Wolfwood x GN!Reader smut drabble with thigh riding.

✧Soaked to the Bone A Dadwood drabble. Wolfwood deserves the dad treatment too.

✧🔞Never Enough A Vash x F!reader drabble with themes of pregnancy and pregnant sex.

✧🔞Mouthful A collection of Vash x GN!Reader drabbles with themes of oral sex.

✧🔞Plant Heat Headcanons A collection of headcanons & small drabbles about how each version of Vash and Knives deal with plant heat.

✧🔞Jealous!Vash Headcanons

✧Creature!Vash Headcanons [Pt. 1], [Pt. 2]

✧A Night to Remember A Trigun Stampede One Year Anniversary Drabble ft. Vash x Reader

dividers by @/saradika

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Womb

Summary: You become Horus' cupbearer, unaware of the true role he has prepared for you.

Horus Lupercal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, manipulation, forced medical procedures, breeding kink, dubcon

Word count: 4008

Author's note: Well, first of all, this is the most uncomfortable drabble I've ever written. Traitor Horus is a creepy dude. Secondly, I found the song he listens to every time before he goes to see his wife.

Song: Le Destroy - Breed

Crack the whip, break the skin Breed, breed, breed Take it out, push it back in Breed, breed, breed, breed

War spared no one. Neither the weak nor the strong, neither adults nor children. Everyone suffered, trying to find salvation in a Galaxy drowning in flames. You were one of trillions of people thrown out to be slaughtered at the whim of the Emperor and the Warmaster.

It didn't matter who you were in your past life. Whether you had many rights or were almost on the level of serfs. Whether you could provide yourself with everything you needed or you had to work until you were exhausted. All that mattered was that you were weak and defenseless. Meat that could drown the ambitions of demigods.

But instead of sending you to work like other slaves, they prepared a different fate for you. A much more luxurious and safe life than in your past. At least that's what they told you. They promised you a bright future, but you didn't believe a single word of it. How can the future be bright when worlds are burning in the fire of battle, and people are captured on ships like cattle?

You couldn't hope for anything good. Especially when you were told that you would be the personal cup-bearer of the Warmaster himself. The slaves who explained the rules of the job to you, preening you along the way, tried to calm your cries. They said that he was very kind to his personal servants. Besides, he chose you himself. Of all people, fortune smiled on you.

Perhaps you could have believed them, convinced yourself that everything would be fine. But you saw pity in their eyes. Saw relief. "It's good that it wasn't me," they thought. And it would have been better if they had said these words, and not the ones they constantly said out loud.

He likes you.

Damn them, they could have kept silent for the sake of sympathy. But sitting on the floor in the Warmaster's chambers, you wanted to hear their babble again. If only not to sit in this oppressive silence. Perhaps one day you would have been glad to be on the "Vengeful Spirit" and serve the primarch. But now you would gladly refuse such an "honor".

As soon as you hear the door creak, you immediately rise. You hope that your master will not see you trembling. He will ignore your reddened eyes and not pay attention. Hoping that Lupercal will show mercy to you and let you go would be too stupid and naive. Besides, as the slaves said, he desperately needed a cup-bearer.

He likes you.

Looking at the primarch, you were stunned. Thoughts got confused in your head, and your lips parted, unable to squeeze out sounds. Before you stood a massive giant, a creation of the highest human mind. A man who cannot be looked at without awe. One of the best warriors and politicians of the Imperium. The most beloved son of the Emperor. At least what he used to be.

Now before you stood a primarch who looked more like a daemon than a man. Horus' once beautiful face had become gray and old. But even with his short grey hair and wrinkles, the Warmaster looked like an old man, but he wasn't. He still towered over humanity and was ready to live a long, if not immortal, life. His bright, hellish eyes practically screamed it.

It is said that the sight of a Primarch would make weak-willed people weep in awe or even faint. Those who could cope with such feelings still felt the rapture of meeting the son of the Emperor himself. But you felt no awe. Only pure fear.

Horus smiled softly at the emotion he evoked in you. It only made you tremble more. How could such a gentle smile appear on the face of pure evil? As if Lupercal still saw himself as a hero despite the atrocities he had committed.

“Please, do not fear me. I promise I will not harm you.” - the Primarch slowly approached you and knelt down, as if talking to a wild, frightened animal. - “What is your name?”

You barely whisper your name, hoping not to burst into tears. And yet, a small worm of hope stirs in your brain. The Primarch probably knew your name, but still asked it out of politeness. Or out of a desire to calm you down. Perhaps he really will not hurt you?

“A very beautiful name, like its owner.” - your cheeks warm up and, under someone else’s laughter, you shyly lower your eyes to the Primarch’s chest. - “You will have simple duties. Clean the chambers, serve me drinks and food if I ask. And be near. I ask no more. Will you do this for me?”

You nod, thinking over his words, as if tasting them. Such a kind attitude towards you from the Warmaster baffled you. But he has no reason to deceive you. So why not let the man circle you like a wolf in sheep's clothing? As long as he keeps it on, you are safe.

“Yes, Warmaster.” Your voice is quiet compared to the Primarch. You cannot see his terrible face, but you feel it spread into a smile. You imagine it on a younger, truly kind Horus, not on your master.

“I am very glad to hear that.” The man's hand twitches slightly, as if to touch you. But instead, he rises from his knees and walks towards the table, leaving you behind. You inhale, realizing that you have not been breathing at that moment.

***

The job was easy, really. Horus Lupercal didn't ask much of you. Although you had a hard time handling the jug in your hands. But the primarch lowered the cup low enough for you to pour wine into it. He didn't have to do that, and yet the primarch took into account the difference in size.

He might not have cared about your needs. Yet you got the most comfortable, the best room among the slaves. In addition, your quarters adjoined the primarch's chambers. And you did not have to worry about who or what you would meet on the way to your lord. When you realized that the bedding was made of silk, you gulped. As a free citizen of the Imperium, you could not even imagine such luxury.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Your closet (you had a closet!) was filled with a huge number of sets of clothes. Including shoes and underwear. And even though it was obviously a servant's clothing, it was made of too fine a material. Too beautiful. The Sons of Horus pattern stood out in particular.

And that's not even mentioning your rations. Not to mention slaves, many free citizens of the Imperium could never afford such a sumptuous meal. Your entire diet was carefully selected. The food was tasty and healthy, and considering that you were forced to eat strictly at certain times, your stomach was always full.

You felt safe. Safer than ever. And the Warmaster was a kind. Even though you were frightened by his appearance and the deeds he had done, even now he exuded an inhuman charisma that confused you. His care was suffocating, but you could not refuse it.

Deep down, you hated the Emperor's beloved son, now a traitor, for what he had done to your home world. For what he had turned the Galaxy into, which he had once sworn to protect. But alas, with each day that Horus spoke to you, the burning feeling of rage gradually faded.

“You know, my sons used to attend the Iterators’ classes.” - the man’s voice is filled with sadness and you look in surprise at the Warmaster, who has thoughtfully settled into his glass. - “There will come a time when the wars will end, and my soldiers must be prepared for a peaceful life. So I said.”

Lupercal winces and throws back all the liquid before slamming the cup down on the table. You take your time filling it, unable to take your eyes off the man. The conversation is too frank for you to simply brush it aside.

“I love war. It’s in my blood. But I also love peace, I wanted the Crusade to come to an end. And for my sons to receive the recognition they deserved. For all the blood they shed for humanity.”

A wicked grin appears on the old man's face and you clutch the jug tighter.

“But not my father. Not the False Emperor. He wanted to get rid of us as Thunder Warriors. We were always tools, but I did not think he was truly going to destroy us. Did all those thirty years I spent with him on Terra mean nothing? I really, truly, unlike my brothers… saw him as my father.”

A crushing silence falls in the chambers. And although you still feel fear and the thin thread of hatred has not yet completely broken. You already feel something different towards Horus. A bright feeling that you did not think you would feel towards this monster. Sympathy.

“I am sure you would have been a better father.” - the words escape on their own, but you do not regret what you said. You really thought so, listening to the Warmaster's stories about his sons. Even about the “prodigal sons,” traitors like Loken, Horus spoke with unprecedented sadness. And with the hope of meeting again.

You see how something breaks in the man. Was it your imagination or were there uninvited tears in his terrible eyes? But the man only smiles brightly at you and holds out a cup, which you immediately begin to fill. Trying to ignore the primarch’s devouring gaze.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

It is only praise. Just gratitude for kind words. Recognition from a mortal girl who will continue to remain in the shadows. You repeated all these soothing words to yourself, scolding your long tongue. Only it was too difficult to ignore the strange tension between the two of you.

And this was only the beginning.

With each passing day, you became more and more entangled in the nets kindly laid out by the Warmaster. You were afraid of his behavior, you saw that there was a ruthless monster in front of you. But you couldn’t help yourself, willingly following his lead. There was something bright in the man, which made you simply open up to him.

He increasingly talked to you about his past, hopes and dreams. You listened to his stories with unprecedented interest, akin to awe. Not because Horus chose you as a personal listener or remembrancer, if you could say so. It’s just that at such moments you forgot where you were, drowning in thoughts under the man’s voice.

And if before you tried to behave as quietly as possible, now you did not hold back your emotions. If before you stood still like a wooden soldier, now you could sprawl right in the chair and put your hands under your head. But most of all, Horus liked it when you were located on the floor right at his feet. This is how children usually sit when listening to a fairy tale.

“You had a terrible childhood.” - you purse your lips, pulling your knees to you. - “It’s terrible when your whole life has to be tied to death and battles. Especially from birth.”

“I didn’t approve of such rules either, but they appeared on Cthonia for a reason. Radiation, lack of resources, dangerous lands. You’re right, it’s not the best place for a child.” - the man looks into the distance, delving into his memories. - “But it was my “birth” there that brought peace to this lost planet. And I will bring it again when I arrive on Terra.”

Horus smiles softly at you and you smile back uncertainly. You couldn’t say exactly when you stopped being afraid of his inhuman appearance. And although the Warmaster sometimes withdrew into himself and it seemed to you that he was talking to himself, you became more and more attached to him.

You want to ask more about the gangs, but a sudden knock on the door confuses your plans. You quickly get up from the floor and move away from Horus, looking at him uncertainly. Should you open the door and let the guest in? You had already forgotten that there were other people on the Vengeful Spirit. And not only mortals.

But Lupercal stops you encouragingly with his hand before saying, “Enter.” You turn into a shadow again, and, having glanced at the Space Marine unnoticed, you even want to hide under the blanket, like a little girl.

Perhaps once, like his gene father, he was handsome. But now a man with the same disfigured appearance stood before the Warmaster. The new sewn-on face looked too unnatural on the man. And hearing that the guest was called Little Horus, you only cringed from the specific humor of fate.

But the worst thing was his look. Not because it was blazing with hellfire, not because they were covered in blood. It was just that Aximand occasionally, but still looked. Glanced at you. Like a beast ready to attack. You felt his invisible hands wandering over your body, stopping at places that were especially interesting to him.

When you had to pour wine for Little Horus, it was hard to stop trembling. He was still talking to the Warmaster, but at the same time he was staring at your face. Not at all embarrassed by his behavior. The worst thing was when before leaving, he turned to the Primarch, but he immediately answered “No.” You looked at the Warmaster with gratitude, who was smiling reassuringly at you.

“Please forgive my son. He is not yet accustomed to the presence of women.” - your uncomprehending look caused the Primarch to chuckle. - “I told you that my father planned to destroy all the Legions? It was for this reason that he took away my sons'... desire. So that they would never even think of creating a new generation of men."

The gears in your head begin to turn like a machine. You look at Horus in disbelief. "And you-"

"Yes. I gave them back what was taken from them. Of course, not all of them have fully grasped their new needs yet. And some can be a little... rough. But they learn quickly." - the primarch lowers his gaze to the bowl, speaking too slowly and quietly, almost seductively. - "Though I would welcome someone to show Little Horus what tenderness is. My son has been deprived of it for so long. He deserves a little peace, don't you think?"

Your silent and stunned expression said it all for you. The man chuckles, reminding you of a very pleased wolf.

"Well, all in good time."

***

You are becoming more and more confused. You do not understand what role fate has prepared for you. Why can't life be simpler? The fact that the servant (even though you were the Warmaster's own cupbearer) had her own servitors was already a misunderstanding. But when Horus inquired about you undergoing the necessary medical procedures, it became completely uncomfortable.

You were not tortured. One could even say that they took care of you all these weeks. They conducted medical examinations, treated you extremely tenderly, as if you were made of porcelain. But at the same time, they clearly performed operations. About which they told you nothing, not devoting you to a single detail.

Once you burst into tears in front of one of the medics and said that you were scared. You do not understand what they are doing to your body. But the woman stroked your hair and assured you that all the augmentations were personally approved by the Warmaster. They will noticeably improve your life and make your body strong enough.

"Strong for what?" the woman never answered.

The last time you went to the medic, you woke up in bed, expecting everything to be calm, like the last time. But in your lower abdomen, you felt a pain like you'd never felt before. It was like someone had punched your uterus multiple times, turning it into mush. You quickly pulled the covers away before sobbing loudly.

There was blood between your legs. Too much blood. All the white sheets were covered in it. Where did you get so much blood? Are you bleeding internally? Gasping, you touched your lower lips, unaware of anything wrong, before moving your hands to your stomach. You felt nothing. Nothing. But something was wrong. You couldn't be bleeding that much.

Did they cut out your organs? Did they put something in you? What did they do?!

“Am I dying?” Your muffled wheeze escaped through the flood of tears as you desperately thought about what to do. “I'm dying. Cut it out, take it away. What's inside me? What's there?"

You didn't notice when the medics managed to enter before you felt yourself being pressed hard into the bed. Panic attack. Hormones kicked in. Full compatibility with implants. Bless Chaos. What are they talking about?! But even if you had the strength to resist, it quickly leaves you as soon as the needle pierces your arm.

Darkness covers you. But instead of saving and peaceful calm, you find yourself in a nightmare. You hear the disgusting laughter of the people around you. No. Daemons. They laugh at your sacrifice, at your suffering.

They want to swallow your soul. Tear your body to shreds. But the only thing they can do is drip saliva on you. And laugh. And whisper. About how soft and pliable you are now. How easily you will stretch and fill up. What wonderful meat and functional organs you have. How well you have been transformed into prime cattle.

Into womb.

***

This time the bed is warm. And so damn soft. You feel like you're sinking into it like a little kitten. You wish you could curl up into a fetal position and never get up. But a noise nearby reminds you that you can't hide in this place. That you'll never be alone.

You slowly open your eyes and lift yourself up on your elbows. You realize with surprise that you're right in the Primarch's bed. The man, unarmored, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Bright yellow eyes are watching you. A gentle smile appears on his face.

"See, Sanguinius? I told you she was strong." You looked around the Primarch's chambers in confusion. There was no one else there. A chuckle was heard nearby. "She's so cute under the anaesthetic. Now leave us alone, brother."

You pull the blanket up to your chin, not taking your eyes off Horus. The chambers are unusually dark, only a few lamps are lit. But it seems to you that even if the room were pitch black, you would still see the primarch.

“He’s gone, you have nothing to fear.” - the man moves closer and puts his hand on your leg. It would be easy for him to break your bone. - “The medic has been given a full report on your condition. All operations were successful. But how are you?”

Your heart squeezes from the knife of betrayal. He promised that you would not be harmed. That you would not be hurt.

“What operations?” - your throat is hoarse from tears, and your eyes have long since dried out. - “Horus, what have they done to me?” - panic again engulfed you from head to toe as soon as you remembered the liters of blood. You began to choke from an excess of emotions.

Seeing what was happening to you, the man pulled you to his chest. Softly and tenderly hugging as much as his strength allowed. You pressed your cheek to his massive chest, trying to even out your breathing. The smell of sulfur permeated the clothes and body of the primarch.

“You have been prepared, dear.” - the man’s languid voice envelops you, penetrating into your insides. You want to run away, but Horus squeezes you too tightly. - “Taking a man is quite a difficult experience for a woman. And a primarch even more so. But I want to do everything right. So that our child is born as it should be. Like a human.”

The words left your mind. You felt deceived, so pathetic and insignificant that you had no strength to fight. You could not and did not want to blame the Warmaster for anything. Just let it all end. Just let him shut up. But as always, Horus opened his soul to you.

“I love all my sons. And yet, it was not I who did not raise them. I was not in their lives from the very beginning. I had never had a connection with any of them as strong as I had with my father. I wanted to feel that same feeling, but in a different way. To be an example. To be a mentor. To be a real father. But better.”

“My legacy will not be grown in test tubes and used as a tool.” - the Primarch’s tone darkens and becomes lower, which makes you press yourself closer to the man you want to hide from. - “I will not get rid of them. I will not abandon them. I will be a better father than my own. And you-”

Horus unhooks you from his torso, still holding your shoulders. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and how your whole body is stretched like a string. A monstrous smile lights up his old gray face, and his eyes burn brighter than ever, promising a future you have never seen before.

The Primarch slowly lowers you onto the bed, undressing you along the way. You can only sniffle and continue to watch. Continue to listen. All the slaves said you were lucky. But no one promised you that everything would be so easy. You yourself are to blame for your naivety.

“My father may not have wanted grandchildren, but Chaos was kind enough to tell me how to make them. The best specimens were collected, capable of enduring surgery and occultism. But of all of them, I chose you.” - a monstrous palm gently touches your cheek. - “I liked you immediately. So pure, so kind, so fragile. The perfect mother for my true sons.”

Your now naked body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. But as soon as the Primarch is on top of you, waves of warmth pass through you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but instead of withdrawing into yourself or pushing the man away, you cling to him. Hug him.

You are scared and alone. But beyond these chambers, it is even more terrible. You could have ended your life in grueling work or under the weight of a Space Marine. You could have been experimented on by soulless people or devoured by daemons.

But Horus will protect you. He was evil, he breathed it, he was the very embodiment of darkness. And yet the way he spoke of you with tenderness, the way he touched you... you won't have a better option. You may have fallen into the clutches of a wolf, but with you he would gladly wear the skin of a sheep, if only you were not afraid of him. If only you loved him.

"I'm sorry that you are afraid. You see me as a monster, for I was created for war. But I sincerely wish for peace." - the man whispers in your ear and you are surprised to realize that he is crying. - "And after the death of the Emperor, it will come. I promise you."

You sigh, feeling a foreign organ between your legs. But your renewed body, albeit with a stretch, still accepts the primarch. You say nothing to Horus, instead allowing yourself to cry quietly. While your body fulfills its intended role. And you know that this promise will not be kept either.

[pin-k-ink]

HUNTER X HUNTER

fics ↴

⤠ entropy ⇾ chrollo lucilfer

⤠ labyrinth ⇾ illumi zoldyck

⤠ rapture ⇾ illumi zoldyck

⤠ ambrosia ⇾ chrollo lucilfer

⤠ push and pull ⇾ feitan portor

⤠ ghost hunt ⇾ shalnark

part one | part two

⤠ hollow ⇾ chrollo lucilfer

⤠ confluence ⇾ illumi zoldyck

⤠ progeny ⇾ kurapika kurta

⤠

drabbles ↴

⤠ none.

[sugoi-writes]

I thought I would take a crack at some Rosie drabble/smut, because @bat-boness and this amazing piece of ass I mean art

Oral, female receiving. Lots of build up, tension, and Rosie being Rosie. TEEHEE

You were nervous, eyes wide with lust, but also full of... anxiety. Rosie had been around for a very long time. She was a mature woman, a tall glass of water, and most troubling:

She knew exactly what she wanted, and when she wanted it. And if she didn't like it, she'd be the first to let you know. Or worse...

Pleasing any overlord would be a daunting task. But seeing a disheveled yet level-headed femme fatale settling on the edge of your bed made your breath hitch.

You were lightly pushed onto your back, sputtering as her silken, black slip gown was thrown to your face. You resisted the urge to inhale the scent. The offer of her perfume and natural smell mingling in your nose was a very tempting notion...

You cast the garment aside, eyes still wide, before your jaw practically hits the floor. There before you, the demoness was clad in nothing but modern undergarments, adorned in adorable cannibal skulls and iconography. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, your core seizing at the sight.

Rosie could see you worry, and immediately her expression turned mischievous. Her shoulders shimmy back and forth slowly as her fingers hook into the hem of her panties, teasingly shifting the hem lower and lower. Your mouth ran dry as the bones of her pelvis shifted, her cunt nearly bare before you.

"Don't be scared, Doll... Let Ms. Rosie take care of you~"

You were rendered speechless as the panties were pulled down to her knees, her velvet, porcelain cunt on full display. You may not have been a cannibal, but you wanted to feast on the sight before you like a crooked vulture. You subconsciously lick your lips, sitting up on your elbows as she rids herself of the panties entirely. She makes a big show of reaching behind her back, brows raised as she bites her dark lip. The both of you sigh in unison when her bra comes unclasped, mounds bouncing resolutely. The pale overlord practically giggles, playfully rocking her tits back and forth with another sensual shimmy. You were unabashed, eyes following her movements with an intense desire. You wanted to pop her hardened nipples directly in your mouth, suckling and biting them until she saw white...

"Doll~ It's rude to stare, you know~"

You snap back to your senses, a heavy sigh leaving you," Rosie... I don't ask for much..." Rosie tilts her head at you as your eyes dart downward, focusing on her wet, glistening heat. Your fists ball up as your sides, knuckles turning white as you dare to not look away.

"Please, for the love of Satan, sit on my face."

A surprised snort, a laugh, and then... a scarlet blush adorns her delicate face. Oh, you were serious.

Rosie practically purrs as she watches your eyes dilate, unable to look away from the junction between her thighs. A dark, mischievous chuckle brings your eyes to her face. She crawls over to you, trailing wet, open mouthed kissing up your body, starting at your knees. You sigh at every point, hands coming up to cover your face in embarrassment. When she makes her way to your jaw, she smiles down at you, eyes full of a sensual gleam. Your hands are removed from your face, giving you the chance to look into her eyes. You see your disheveled reflection in them, practically moaning at the sight.

"Careful, Dollface..."

She pushes you hard onto your back, scooting upward until she straddles your head. Her aching core was dangling just above your welcoming face, puffy and ready for the taking.

"You won't be able to stop once you get a taste~"

She wails with surprise as her cunt is slammed onto you mouth, her head thrown back in rapture. You dig your nails into her hips, locking her in place. She grabs fist fulls of your hair, hissing as your tongue lapped at her clit desperately.

You didn't mind the growling and the tugging at your scalp. There was a deep, animalistic part of you that hoped this would never stop. And you wouldn't, until the overlord bowed to your whim, unable to do anything but scream and whine your name.