#she's so squishy and soft and warm and cute and so huggable

[qilinkisser]

ahh I don't post about ganyupillow enough

[lesbianpikachuu]

reminder that th

^ the CUTEST THING PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE

[honeylikewords]

may i request miguel getting snuggled/hugged? because he's lovely and he just looks really huggable and aaa!

Aw, that’s so cute! Sure, here’s some Miggy snugs!

An interesting thing about Miguel is how much his body has changed over the years, and that he never really had a ‘soft’ or seemingly super-cuddly-shaped phase; he wasn’t a round child, instead being surprisingly skinny even in his youth, then growing into a lanky, tall-for-his-age adolescent, before becoming the tall, sculpted man of his adulthood. He never was pudgy or squishy or especially soft to the touch. Even now, post-spiderbite, clocking in at 6′2′’ and over 230 pounds of muscle, Miguel seems like he’d be at his least cuddly stage of life.

But this is actually when he’s his most cuddly, and getting snuggled, hugged, cuddled and kissed by his beloved every day.

For example…

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon and Miguel doesn’t have to go into the lab, so he’s taken the day off to stay home. He’s laying in bed in his boxers, stretching so that his tight back pops a little, and when it does, he relaxes with a contented sigh. His sweetheart wanders into the bedroom from the living room, carrying a plate with a sandwich on it, and Miguel sits up on his elbows, smiling at her.

“Here you go,” she says, setting the plate on the bedside table nearest Miguel. “Thought you might be hungry. It’s nearly noon and–”

But instead of replying, instead of taking the sandwich, Miguel reaches for his beloved’s hands, twining their fingers together and tugging at her arm, pulling her towards the bed wordlessly. She follows his lead and allows him to guide her into a position where she’s cuddled up to his side, her head resting on his broad chest, their still entwined hands sitting on his hard stomach with his thumb gently tracing over the hills and ridges of her knuckles.

Miguel kisses the crown of her head and nuzzles into her hair, humming with pleasure as he smells her shampoo, smells the warm, singular scent of her, feels her heat radiating into his skin. He adjusts his free hand so that his arm encircles her shoulders and folds her closer to his chest, then skates his fingers up and down her side, tracing the curve of her waist.

His beloved smiles into his chest and nudges her nose against his collarbone, burrowing into the thick column of his neck lovingly, and Miguel makes a little shiver as a deep chuckle vibrates in his sternum, the tickling sensation of her breaths on his sensitive neck making him squirm a little.

“Mmm, Miggy,” she breathes, feeling Miguel once again writhe as her breath passes over his neck, “Has anyone ever told you what a good cuddler you are?”

“Not especially,” he replies. “I think I tried to hug a girl in college and she told me I was all elbows and shoulders and that it hurt to get snuggled by me; I think the phrase she used was “like trying to cuddle a pile of steel rebar”.”

At that, Miguel’s sweetheart coos in sympathy, freeing her hand to pat his chest lovingly before grazing her palms up and down his pectorals, noting the number of thin, pale-tan scars lining them. He has scars all over from his altercations throughout the years, scattered over his arms, legs, back, chest, and hands. He even has a few small ones on his face, but as she gazes at his chest, she can see a jagged scar arcing across his pectoral. It looks new. She eyes it, blinking slowly before making her reply.

“Well, I think you’re wonderful to hold, wonderful to be held by. I always feel safe and comfortable when you’re holding me, you know? Like everything is going to be okay. Plus,” she grins, looking up from his chest to meet his ruby-red eyes, “You’ve got… these to cuddle!”

She swings a leg over his abdomen and pulls herself into a sitting position abruptly, then throws her hands down onto Miguel’s prominent pecs, squeezing them and making him burst into resounding peals of laughter. He tosses his head on the pillow as she squishes his pecs around, listening to her comments on how comfy they are to rest on with a huge smile on his face.

“And don’t even get me started on that butt,” she teases. “Ooh, man, what a cuddly butt. Big Butt O’Hara, that’s you. King of the cake.”

“Stooop,” Miguel half-heartedly whines, batting his hand in the air like a faux-humble Southern belle. “You’re fit to make me blush.”

“And your big ole’ thighs! My goodness, how could I forget to mention the thighs!”

“Come on, down you get,” he says as he places his hands on her waist, squeezing softly. “We were cuddling so nicely, too, before you launched the compliment crusade.”

“But I wanna compliment you! You’re cute when you’re flustered!”

This gives Miguel pause, and as he looks up into the face of his lover, sees the sincerity in her eyes, the warmth of her smile, the sweetness of her gesture, he melts a little, and can feel heat flushing his cheeks. She bends down at the waist and gives him a soft, slow kiss, one that makes Miguel feel simultaneously excited and at ease, racing and relaxed at once.

His hand cups her cheek, then inches towards the nape of her neck, coasting up into her hair and tugging her in to deepen the kiss. A soft groan rumbles in his chest, and he feels her pull off to breathe as the last notes of the groan tumble out of his lips, making him sound disappointed that she’s stopped kissing him. He is, of course.

 But he feels comforted when he looks up into her warm eyes, seeing them glitter with mirth and enjoyment. Miguel cups her jaw and strokes along her cheekbone, admiring the shape of her face, the way the light reflects off her skin, the shapes her hair makes as it shifts with her movements. Miguel stops for a moment, holding her chin in his hand; he’s realized how large his hands are compared to her.

She looks so small, even as she sits above him, and Miguel caresses his hand down her chin, along her neck, across her shoulder, and down her arm to her hand, then lifts her hand up, comparing the size of their fingers, the breadth of their palms. He massively outspans her, practically able to fold his fingers over the height of hers, and he cocks his head to the side, looking at the union of their hands.

“You’re tiny,” he remarks.

“You’re big,” she replies. “You’re the outlier, here!”

“That’s fair,” Miguel says softly, not really paying attention to his words, more invested in comparing their sizes, noting the differences between them. “But you’re still absolutely tiny, in my opinion. I mean, look at this!”

He puts his large hands on the smallest part of her waist and lifts her up, raising her without strain. His powers make her lighter than a feather to him, and he flaunts how easily he can move her around, able to lift her like a toy.

“You’re a doll!,” he chuckles, holding her above him vertically. “I could put you in my pocket!”

“I’m a very normal-sized woman!”

But Miguel just continues smiling, setting her down on the bed and scooping her close to his side, rolling so that he’s turned to face her. They face one another and grow quiet as they settle down, a calmness re-entering the room, and soon each of them putting their hands on the other and slowly, experimentally, soothingly touching what they find on their partner.

Miguel’s hands seek out her skin, his fingertips brushing along her forearms, her shoulders, even up to her lips, where he traces his index and middle fingers along the sensitive skin, following their natural curvatures and delicate shapes. Her hands find his hair, finger-combing through his locks and gently tugging in the way she knows he adores. 

His hair is curlier than it used to be; he used to straighten it for appearances’ sake, embarrassed of his curls, but he’s been growing more confident in his natural state as of late, letting his curls come back in, and she couldn’t be happier. She loves the curls, but more so loves that Miguel is finally starting to love himself, too.

For Miguel, he strokes his hands along her body, feeling how wonderfully solid she is, how unfleeting, how real and present. He caresses his hand along the plateaus of her back, rubbing at the spots where he knows she carries tension. He wants to ease those aches she gets, and smiles to himself when she makes a relieved murmur as he rubs at a sore knot in her back. In thanks, she scrapes her nails along the underside of his cut jaw, scritching his growing stubble lovingly, as if he was a well-behaved pet getting his reward for being such a good boy.

They continue their ministrations for one another for several minutes before Miguel pauses, his hands stilling and rubbing small, barely noticeable circles into the small of her back. Breathing out through his lips, Miguel takes a long, slow survey of her face, then speaks.

“I love you.”

They’ve said it before– by now, Miguel must have said it hundreds of times– but he always feels something deep and intrinsically powerful whenever he tells her that. For so long he struggled to allow himself to love, much less to say it aloud to the object of his affections, but now, with her, he feels safe enough to do it. And he really, truly does love her; he hopes she knows that.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs back, leaning in to press her forehead against his, a sensation of protection coming over Miguel as she says the words he needed to hear.

He rubs her back hard, trying to ground himself in both the emotional and bodily experience of this moment, then pushes on her back so that she’s pressed against his body, intimately close. His arms wrap around her and he squeezes her in as near as he can get her, ducking his head into the crook of her neck. She raises her hand and gently passes over his hair, humming something as she soothingly brushes at his dense, red-brown curls.

“I love you, Miggy,” she repeats. “Always and infinitely.”

“Always and infinitely,” he mirrors, mumbling into her neck, nearly shy.

After a few minutes in that position, Miguel shifts, rolling her onto her back and crawling so that he’s hovering above her, staring down at her with a loving smile on his face, slightly tinged with mischief. She can see that glimmer of rapscallion in him, but lets it slide; Miguel is nothing if not playful. He lowers his head and kisses her, then, both of them melting into one another. She tangles her arms around his neck, and his hands find purchase on her, allowing them to deepen the kiss.

She’s beginning to lose herself to the sensations of his kissing when, slowly, Miguel’s hands leave her shoulders and trickle towards her waist in that tell-tale kind of lightness; she jolts and breaks the kiss as Miguel gives her his troublemaker smile.

“Don’t you da-ARE–”

But she can’t get it out in time; Miguel has already started tickling her sides furiously, making her shriek and wriggle as he locks her into a pinned position with his legs and arms.

“MI-G– MIGUEL!,” she screams, laughing wildly as she tosses and turns on the bed beneath him, writhing in tickled agony, “ST-OP IT!

He just bends down and kisses her face playfully, still ravaging her sides with tickles, and both of them know there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be than right here, in this moment, with the one they love.