Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My name is Miguel O'Hara.

I'm this dimension’s one and only 

Spider-Man… at least I thought I was… 

but I'm not like the others. 

“...el.”

I do things that others won't be able to do.

“...uel!” 

I've seen things that others will never see.

“...iguel!”

And I've given up too much to stop now…

“MIGUEL!”

A familiar voice sprung him out of his inner reflections as he snarled, snapping his head back at the figure below.

Jess crossed her arms over her growing pregnant stomach, glaring at her brooding boss. Her neck slightly craned, wondering why his platform must be at the highest point instead of closer to any subordinate that has the pleasure of communicating with him. 

“I'm here to give the reports for today's anomalies that were captured.”

Miguel twisted his body towards his dozens of monitors cascading, entrapped all over. A grunt escaped his throat as his eyes darted from screen to screen, typing away at whatever was tossed onto him. 

His second in command sneered, rolling her eyes at the permanently irritated man. 

Though it gets to a point where one is used to his tendencies. This is just who he is. The burden that copious amounts of spiders have to compromise with.

“Also, there's been a recent increase in anomalies as of late. Rampant even. We were wondering if we could get any input on that.” Jess clicked at her watch, sending the information to her ill-tempered leader, wanting to get this over with as much as him.

“Later.” Miguel refused to gaze behind him.

“Actually, I would prefer now so we can get a semi-head start on th-”

“I said later!” Miguel barked, going over the notes he received.

Jess scoffed, resting her hands on her hips. She wasn't going to allow him to speak to her in any sort of way. Jess is one of the few with the ability to pierce through Miguel's ‘bullshit.’

“As I said, I'm going to need that info ASAP. Presumably after you're done with those documents. Thank you.” She drolly spoke.

Before Miguel could offer a rebuttal, Jess was already making her exit out of his space, refusing to deal with him anymore for the time being. The man twitched as his claws dug through his metal desk. There's never any rest for the wicked, yet this is the life he must heed. The precedents he exposed to himself and those underneath his wing. 

He doesn't enjoy this harrowing cold stature, but it's the only manner that will get things done. 

He inhabited the lifestyle he was forced to construct. Harboring all the burdens so the others won't make the same mistakes he committed. The sins that constantly dangle over his head every single second, of every minute, of every day.

That perpetual reminder of what and who he is. 

Miguel lingered at his workstation for another hour and a half, as he found unhealthy comfort being close by it. If he never unoccupied his space, work will always be completed in functioning order. He begrudgingly issued data and charts towards Jessica, mostly as an excuse for her not to return and harass him any further. 

His tasks were going smoothly. No interruptions, no trivial disturbances from the other heroes. All was fluid sailing on his end. 

And that was very off-putting for him, but he decided to brush it off.

Ten minutes passed by as Miguel decided to view the footage of him and Gabi, the main reason why any of this exists in the first place. His main reminder to abide by is to focus on the main goal at hand. 

Keeping the multiverse safe. 

A miniscule smile began to form as the video rewinded and began to play… until the orange iridescent screens dimmed off. Silence rang throughout his area. Then a shattering crash of glass sprinkling surrounded the air.

“Lyla!”

The tiny hologram teleported in the air, casually waving her fingers as if she hadn't witnessed her creator violently hurl a computer at the wall. 

“Heya boss, what's the fi- hey, hey whoa!” Miguel's claws went to snag Lyla as she rapidly flickered several feet away from him.

“Isn't that a bit unnece-”

“¡¿Qué carajo pasó?!” He rammed his fist down onto the heavily abused desk.

“Uh, did you forget? Undergoing system maintenance today.” The A.I. brought up a digital calendar with a date circled in pink glitter marker and heart stickers surrounding it. 

Only a scowl etched across his already disdainful face. This wasn't helping Lyla's case at all. Lyla tapped her nail on the date, only increasing Miguel's fury. 

“The twelfth? Which is today?” She gestured toward the number.

His expression didn't waver. He should have been one of the first to be alerted about this. 

“Why wasn't I advised?!” Miguel hissed enough for spittle to fly out. 

Work needed to be done. Required. He doesn't have time for any delays; he must be the one to upkeep the endeavor of the headquarters. The multiverse. Everything. 

Lyla shifted her glasses near the bridge of her nose, raising a brow. “You were. In fact, you were the very first to attain that scheduling because you appointed the date, Miguel.”

He made an effort to recall, but the more he dug, the memories refused to pop up. Prepared to refute and prone Lyla for her attempts to gaslight him, she came equipped with several angles of Miguel hunched over, deep within some tasks as usual. 

The displayed date in the top left corner was a week prior, as a cautious Spider-Byte scrolled up to the high-rise platform. The teen announced her presence, only to be greeted with completely nothing. Spider-Byte clearly struggled to flag down his attention until a jeering ‘what’ sprang out of him. 

"We're still on for the system shutdown on the twelfth, correct?” 

Hushed. Nothing. 

“Yo, are we still on for the-”

Miguel hollered out for Lyla to jot down the time frame for it as the assistant saluted and disappeared.

Miguel dismissed an agitated Spider-Byte who threw her arms up, murmuring underneath her breath as she vacated the area, clearly refusing to deal with him any longer.

Lyla blipped the feed away and leaned back, crossing her legs as if she were pretending to be seated in a chair.

“So, you have the rest of tonight unofficially officially off just like the others. So… have fun.” Lyla retreated, abandoning him in solitude. 

That made sense as to why Miguel wasn't disturbed for the last duration of his work period. No one was essentially able to commute to the HQ. He remained static for a few minutes. The solemn, stagnant atmosphere was the only element left. There was an occasional whirring of a machine, but there was nothing else.

This isn't something to get used to. Something he wasn't used to.

He slumped himself on the metallic flooring, desolate. When duties aren't demanded, he doesn't exactly know how to handle the implanted turmoil racing deep in his mind. 

He pulled his watch near his face as it only presented his world, the time, and a missed alarm flashing. He pressed the tiny button as a message flashed, warning about the upcoming stoppage. Nearly thirty minutes ago.

Dropping his arm, he observed the bleak, dark-red area. His isolation chamber he relished in a sense. Second nature. But there was a commodity brewing within. A path beckoning him to stray away from his natural setting into an unaccustomed world. 

Gradually, he stood up before dropping off the edge and landing with a solid thunk.

He pressed through the wide corridor that led into his ‘office,’ past the contained anomalies, who thankfully are under a backup program, so they couldn't escape with ease. Stepping into the elevator, he tapped the down arrow, leaning back against the cool glass. 

Was he truly going to do this?

He trudged out until he reached the usual bustling facility, now still with a couple of spider stragglers reserved in their own bubble or quickly converging with one another before moving on with their business.

Some blissfully greeted him as Miguel nodded in acknowledgment when he passed by. Some curious ones eyeballed him, astonished to view him casually teetering around, but chalked it up due to the seemingly night off all the spiders “dolefully” received (many honestly are grateful; relieved for it).

However, numerous heads did rotate dumbfounded when Miguel… treaded out of the establishment with no warning or announcement. 

Clearly, this was one for the books.

Miguel allowed the chill breeze to graze across his face and curly locks as he compelled himself towards a direction. 

Where exactly was his destination?

Usually he appoints on having everything to the point, narrow, clear, and straight cut. But now? He's aimlessly roaming Nueva York's evidently pristine streets, allowing his legs to carry him to an unprecedented location.

He was out of bounds with the routine. Highly so. There undoubtedly had to be a reason for this particular circumstance for him willingly abandoning his homebound post.

• • •

For the puzzled ones, there's a meaning behind a reason. An answer to a question. A cause pursuing the effect, and Miguel surely didn't expect any of it. 

Even the most natural of ones can slip into the most foreign of fates.

Chapter Text

The moon illuminated the fresh, damp grass from the automated sprinklers used earlier. The peacefulness of the park as the streetlights hum, casting dimly burnt orange iridescent glows along with the gorgeous milky hue from the circle in the sky. Of course, he didn't stray too far from the beaten line. 

A place he enjoys frequenting whenever time permits such a monumental escape. Which is a particularly rare occurrence. So why was he completely apprehensive? Plainly, the habits he shaped are still intact. Now, what was the concern? 

He paused, taking in the scenic landscape. Evergreens sprinkled sparsely, bushes covered in flower buds eager to sprout. A gorgeous pond with a couple of ducks leisurely floating in it, unmindful of the world around them. Miguel exhaled from his nose, occupying the bench beside him. Shutting his eyes, he inclined further on the hardwood. 

Alone. Serene for the first time in forever. 

He stayed in this position for a few minutes, when a sudden urge irked him. Fluttering his eyelids open, he squinted them as a young woman's body was clenched up, her gaze glued to something.

You were seated on the bench across from him, the gravel walkway the only thing in between you two. He glanced at you as you took your attention elsewhere.

Miguel's head turns left, then right, quickly catching you staring. Startled, you overtly abandoned the prolonged observation. He furrows his brows, genuinely perplexed at what was confiding you to be so engrossed with him.

…

Shit.

He was still in his gear. He utterly omitted the fact that he didn't discard his suit; he was so far gone inside his own mind that it slipped. 

His claws dug into the wooden grain, leaving trails of anguish behind.

Eyesight once again held. You tilted your face some. Miguel's heart pounded all over. Your hand inched until you were pointing at yourself. From what he perceived (and easily saw), it was your iris.

Your mouth moved.

“Crimson?”

They must have been bloodshot due to the unrequited nerves oozing throughout his system. His heart thumped in his ears. This random stranger had a face to the one wearing the superhero get-up. Luckily, it's a profile without a name, so he got fortunate in that aspect.

Miguel debated if the smart idea was to aimlessly roam away or convince you it was some lame costume, as he was a fan.

His ego selected the first option. He stood, ready to escape, until you mirrored him. Miguel gave a narrowed glare, as you appeared just as befuddled. 

Holding your hands up, you audibly apologized. A few seconds went by as neither one of you moved from your respective spots.

This was becoming ridiculous. 

Miguel shifted in the opposite direction, his mask materializing, when a third person stumbled near you. 

Miguel froze, eyeing the display for a split second. You seemed engaged in a friendly conversation, so Miguel chalked it up to a friend of yours you were probably awaiting. 

Deciding to continue on with his life, a sharp voice screeched, slowing him in his tracks. 

You were gripping the other person's wrists as a knife was near your chest. Even if it was nightfall, Miguel noticed the heightened fear radiating from your face. Leaping into action, he slung his body on the mugger, arms securely wrapped around their chest and neck, attempting to disarm the lunatic.

The individual slashed, slurring on about money. You tumbled backwards on the damp grass as you witnessed Spider-Man struggle to detain whoever this was. 

“¡Oye! Calm down!” Miguel commanded, but they didn't listen. 

Instead, they stomped on Miguel's left foot, causing a concerning crunch. He staggered on the gravel, clutching it, and a slew of curses fell from his lips as the deranged lunatic lunged at the helpless woman with the sharp object.

A shriek failed to slip, as your brain didn't process any of what transpired in the split second.

The individual's arm raised, ready to take you out, until the weapon tumbled on the soil beside you. What seemed to be a woman's face, who had consumed one too many substances, was mere inches from yours.

Eyes enlarged, mouth stuck in a perpetual ‘O’ shape as Spider-Man's teeth were penetrating profoundly on the crook of her neck.

The moon shone as you regarded the blood dripping from the doped lady's skin as he rooted himself more until he yanked away. The attacker slumped over, stunned and barely stirring. Your broadened eyes cast from the possible corpse to Spider-Man.

His ruby-red irises gleamed, blazing under the ivory luminosity. His mouth was covered in the assaulter's claret fluid as he heaved tirelessly.

His shoulders moved in a steady pattern, along with his breathing. His arms outstretched on either side of the mugger and your spooked body as Miguel desperately attempted to placid himself.

When he suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. His disjointed awareness snapped him out of whatever state he was locked in as he realized what he just did. 

“I-is she dead?” You mumbled, swallowing a petrified gulp.

He screwed up. He immensely fucked up. “Ay coño. No, no, she's just paralyzed. Non-lethal venom.”

You just bob your head, as you didn't know rather to dash in fear, cower in terror, or continue being trapped in this position. 

The last option stuck.

“Spiders have fangs, correct?” Your pointer finger was shakily raised, signifying the glint from his pearly, razor-sharp canines. 

“I-I don't know.” Please don't run. Please don't panic. Understand that he was only trying to protect you. 

“No, no, it's okay; I think most do.” You took a few more swallows of air, swaying your head from side to side and soothing your nerves. “Are you okay?”

That caught him off guard. He still tasted the saltiness of the blood before wiping it on his digital sleeve. 

“I… you… yes. I'm fine.” He pushed himself on his knees, claws sliding through his scalp, disoriented.

“Good, I'm glad. Are you hurt?” You sprawled your legs away from the two, rubbing them to make sure they had any sort of stimulation. 

“What?” Miguel twisted his head. You're not sprinting. You didn't completely recoil. You asked if he was okay. 

“Are you hurt? I saw that she stepped on your foot pretty badly.”

“No, I'll be okay; it'll heal itself.”

“Th-that's really good to hear. Um, how exactly long will she be in this state?”

He blinked. “Maybe thirty minutes? An hour? I injected a decent amount.”

“Enough time for me to escape then.” You chuckled, rubbing your temples, loosening any stress.

Miguel mounted to his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in his cranium and toes.

“Oh, thank you for that. I didn't mean to cause any concerns.” Following suit, you took to your knees, hoisting your feet to the ground that abruptly appeared uneven. 

“Whoa, hey, ten cuidados ahora.” He instinctively held his hands out to help stabilize you. 

“I got it! I got it, thank you. Hey, can I trouble you for a bit longer?” You rounded to fully get a better sense of him. He towered over you, but it was oddly comforting.

Miguel wasn't expecting this. You were keenly aware of what he was capable of. 

Yes, he is a Spider-Man, but usually he strives to stay away from the public eye. So whenever a citizen snags a glimpse of him in action, they scamper or shrink in uneasiness. It ends up with him wondering if they even depict him as a good guy, even though he is sure he is. He is. 

“Uh, sure.”

“Could you walk home with me? I don't know if I feel comfortable by myself with the–you know.” You gestured to the temporarily frozen criminal.

“Are you sure?”

He wasn't one to usually try to deny a request for a civilian, yet his current appearance would likely turn them away.

“You just saved me from being minced meat; I'm a hundred percent sure I trust you.” You swiftly look down, then back up. “Do we leave them or?”

Miguel yanked the body and lurched it over his shoulder like a burlap sack full of feathers. He handled the knife with care, shoving it in the attacker's coat pocket.

“That could also work.”

You both shuffled on the vacant sidewalk of the city, a few words sprinkled here and there between the two of you, but mostly lulling ambience from the streets. 

At one point, a detour was made to the nearest police station as Miguel dumped the body by the entrance, until you suggested that wouldn't elicit the best of responses from the cops or any bystanders that caught wind of Spider-Man discarding an immobile body near a soliciting facility full of on-duty policemen.

So you waltzed in for him, explaining the ordeal to an officer behind the desk so no problems would arise in the near future. You also provided your phone number, just in case.

You continued on halfway as you keenly observed Miguel groping the side of his head periodically. 

“Is everything alright?”

Jutting him from his thoughts, he squinted in your direction. 

“You keep grabbing at your head, so I'm just checking in.” You poked at your own skull before lowering your hand stiffly.

“No te preocupes por eso, I'm good.” He winced under each streetlamp they crossed beneath.

He recognized the problem earlier in the aggressive ordeal. Whatever narcotics the lady was consuming was evidently still streaming within her system, so now he's experiencing the aftereffects. As long as he could withstand the sensation for the rest of the time until you were secured at your destination, he would be home-free.

And as if on cue by some cruel fate, the throbbing worsened. Intensifying dreadfully. 

Violently, he hurled his frame at a wall, claws agonizingly clenched into the bricked foundation as his entire body felt as if he were bathing in scalding water. 

“Whoa, hey! Spider-Man, are you oka-”

“Leave me.” Miguel thunderously roared as you yelped at the sudden agitation from the hero.

Miguel prayed that you would turn a blind eye and sprint far away back to your place. But to his dismay, you hovered, hands held out in front as if calming a wild beast. A soft expression is presented on your face.

“Wha–no! I'm not abandoning someone who is in clear pain!” You gradually stepped near him, mindfully maintaining your distance to allow him space to breathe. 

That wasn't the response he hoped for. 

His ferociously agitated glower didn't even seem to phase you as you controlled your composure.

“I. Said. Leave.” He commanded in a now-threatening tone, his talons out in a balled fist before ramming it in the hard surface, leaving an impressive indent. 

Surely, surely, that comeuppance would have made it abundantly clear for you to flee, but still, you didn't budge.

“I'm. Not. Leaving. You.”

A drop of sweat slid down your cheek. He was foreboding, someone who could simply rip you in two with quite ease. But, from your view, he was a tattered man in obvious distress.

The drugs slammed into Miguel's internal systems, causing him to collapse. Whatever it was, that woman must have had a copious load, and it wasn't agreeing with him. Dissipating his mask, he dug his claws into his scalp, wobbling onto his knees. His breathing was unsteady and inconsistent, as he was pooling in sweat.

You panic for a few seconds until a twitch of a grin snuck its way on your face. You two were adjacent to your apartments. 

“Well, lady luck bestowed her grace on us!” You scampered over to Miguel, who once again attempted to hiss, expecting to spook you away, but there was still not a single shift in your demeanor. 

“Oh God, you weigh a lot.” You huffed and grappled an arm around his neck and one for the waist, endeavoring to hoist him on his feet. “You gotta work with me. I know you're in pain, but we don't have far to go!” You exclaim, hooking his limb around your neck and repositioning your bodies for an easier hold. 

Miguel concluded you weren't quitting, so with the last bit of energy, he steadied himself on your frame as you began to repeat 'one and two' to help align your steps. The excessive weight strained you, but you sucked up any and all complaints, putting in your best efforts to get you both into your apartment. 

Nearly fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of near tumbles, close calls, and pausing for him to recover.

When you both bumbled to the door, you struggled a few times with the key until finally succeeding, making the way into your bedroom, where Miguel was flung onto your full twin-sized bed.

Miguel heaved and gasped out, dissolving more of his suit until only the bottom half remained. 

You were a matted mess. Wheezing out as nearly most of your stamina was depleted. 

Though there was no time. 

Shuffling to your closest, you snatched a few rags and towels, running them over cool water and making your way back towards the gigantic man.

You laid them all over his torso and forehead, hoping they'd subdue any heat he was suffering. Rushing out of the room, you return with an iced glass of water, back on his side.

“This should hopefully help.” Climbing onto your bed, you lifted his head carefully and placed it on your lap. Miguel groaned from his chest as you raised the cup to his mouth.

Miguel drank the liquid greedily, as if he had wandered the Sahara desert for months, severely parched. Some of the contents spilled over his chest and neck, occasionally a bit getting on your jeans, but you didn't complain.

You repeated these notions. Re-soaking the rags, refilling the glass until the transparent beverage left trails of droplets leading from the kitchen to the bed. This proceeded for nearly an hour until he was finally moderately stable.

You set what seemed to be the twelfth ice cold water down on your bedside table. 

“How are you feeling?” You rested on your knees, propping your elbows up on the mattress, replacing the warm cloth with a cooler one. 

“Stimulants… too much. Body, my body needs, needs…” And with that, Miguel passed out. 

You halted and clenched onto the damp rag. “I think you needed sleep.” You whispered to yourself, putting the rag next to the drink. 

Flopping on the side of your bed frame, you released an exasperated whine as the events from earlier snuck up on you. 

Eventful was one way of defining it. 

Slapping your cheeks a couple times, you decided to partake in studying exactly who was residing on your bed. 

Peeking up, you took note of exactly how huge he was. Rippling muscles on every inch of his body. His large chest was fairly hairy. Curly dark brown, just like the thicker, more luscious ones on his head. 

And you couldn't deny that he was a handsome man. 

Beautiful, captivating even. Prominent cheekbones, slighted, parted lips plump, somewhat chapped. His jaw clamped firmly. You reached to touch the side of it but hesitated, not wanting to endure the repercussions. So, you decided to just continue surveying with your eyes. 

You noticed the plentiful stress lines canvassing across his forehead and along the sides. Being a hero can surely hinder anyone. 

After thoroughly conducting your study, you came to the final result. There's a gorgeous, chiseled sculpture of a man, who also happens to be the protector of Nueva York, laying exhaustively dormant on your springy mattress. 

And who says Wednesdays are mundane days?

Glancing at your alarm, it read in bright green that it was a quarter past three. Thankfully, you had the day off.

Changing the lukewarm towels for the last time, you gathered some blankets and made a makeshift bed on your living room couch, conking out yourself. 

Was this the smartest idea to doze off with Spider-Man under the same roof as you? Maybe, maybe not, but you would face the wrath later on.

Chapter Text

Miguel awoke to an unpleasant thump in his brain. It wasn't intrusive, just inconvenient.

His eyes flickered, pupils constricted as a streak of gold marginally reached under his eyelids, rapidly removing his vision from catching any sort of light. Browsing his surroundings, he immediately recognized a major dilemma.

He had zero idea where the hell he was.

He struggled to recap the events from the previous night, but his memories were foggy.

He haphazardly slung his body upwards, a bunch of half-dried towels flying off his body onto a bedspread that he certainly knew didn't belong to him, the wooden floor, and a fluffy rug.

The room was abundantly cozy, yet relatively cramped due to its size. A bookshelf, computer desk, and dresser drawer were covered in knickknacks. There was enough space for one person.

But Miguel wasn't that person.

His head spun when he heard airy footsteps and something being opened and closed right outside the door that was separating him from whatever was out there.

Shifting his body until his feet were on the floor, he cautiously stood up, creeping towards the wooden object and placing his ear on it.

Silence until more slight footsteps crossed the ground, echoes of seemingly drawers or cabinets carefully shut. Whatever or whoever was out there clearly doesn't wish to be caught.

Miguel grasped the doorknob, calmly twisting it before hastily hurling it open.

You leapt, alarmed at the sudden, violent entrance. There he stood, exhibiting his full height, deadpan. You gulped harshly as you both remained glued to your respective spots.

Just like the park.

“Uh, good morning. How are, um, how are you this morning?”

Miguel skimmed over you and the surrounding area. Just like the bedroom, it resembled that snug yet cramped atmosphere.

“Where am I?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his watchful eye refraining to drop from you.

You dumped waffle mix and other ingredients in a silver bowl, biting your inner cheek. “You're in my apartment. You nearly passed out in an alleyway until I basically dragged you here. You are one heavy guy, but I'm sure you’re highly aware of that.” You chuckled, but promptly ceased when his stony aura lingered in the stagnant air. Sounds of butter sizzled on the waffle iron as you poured some now-beaten batter into it.

You didn't know how to exactly spark a casual chat with a stranger who happened to spend the night in your bed after indulging in whatever was affecting him.

Miguel's brain whirled with an abundance of questions. Why was he brought here? Why were you so mellow in this situation? Well, as mellow as you strained to maintain. What exactly did happen? Were you earnestly not anxious about his presence domineering over you?

Why did you help him?

“Do you like cinnamon? I was planning on adding some to the next mix, but if you don't, these are plain.” You tried to wrangle any conversation from him to avert any more awkwardness as you scratched the back of your leg with your foot.

From head to toe, you were stiff.

“That's fine.” His voice was harsh, but he endeavored to get a handle on it.

You beamed as you mixed the spice with brown sugar. “I'm glad you're willing to eat. Last night, you gave me a huge fright, but I believe I squashed a good chunk of what was in you. Oh, do you need any pain medication? I don't know if that'll help, but it shou-”

“Why?” Miguel cut you off.

“Why what?”

“Why did you... why are you not afraid?”

You tore away from the waffle iron, your eyebrows furrowed in pure confusion. “Afraid? What is there for me to be scared of?”

Miguel gestured to his sharpened claws, his eyes, and his fangs. Him in general.

You blink a few times before plating the rest of the cooked, fluffy, sweet bread. “Not proving your case.” You giggled and made a serving for him.

“You saw what I'm capable of. The brick wall, when I bit and injected my venom into that woman, tha-”

“That you used to protect me.”

“That you thought I killed her with.”

Sitting the syrup-covered breakfast on your round dining table, beckoning him to relax as he dubiously sits across from you.

“Yes, and I'm sorry for assuming that. Then you told me it was temporary and non-lethal. You didn't intend on fully hurting her, just enough to stop her in her tracks to prevent actual permanent and lethal damage.” You munch on a giant part of one of your waffles. “So once again, not proving your point.” A sincere smile formed on your face.

Miguel perched over, stunned. You didn't appear intimidated or turned away by his presence. It disoriented him in a way. Why didn't you view him in a negative light after all that concurred last night?

“Yes, but I still tried to just dump the body at the police station and walk. And then I attempted to frighten you away. What type of hero does that?”

“You were frazzled. You had unwanted drugs taking over from what you mumbled last night, and I didn't mind telling the police what happened.” You took another bite, but a smaller piece this time. “And I figured out what you were attempting, but I'm not allowing anyone to suffer by themselves, especially if they helped me. You were in pain and agony. And even if you didn't do anything for me, I would still help in any sort of capacity. And on top of that, it was on my own accord.”

You casually spoke, shrugging your shoulders, and planted your elbows on the table. Miguel once again hunched over in silence.

“So yes, you are still a hero. You made a few wrong calls, but it happens. We have our flaws; I certainly know I do; it's just how we go about them. We're humans; we make mistakes, but the intention is what shows. And guess what? Your good intentions are there. And from what I've witnessed, they surely do shine.” You gave him another kind smile and stood up, offering him some juice. Miguel was muddled. He's expected to be a constant excelling leader, not just from the society and the citizens themselves, but from him as well.

Mistakes are made. They can be created, and when they are, they need to be attained and fixed. He's not allowed to have any slip-ups.

They can be easily created… but can they truly be mended? His purpose behind what he does is for the best. Yet hearing that it's fine for him to make mistakes spoken out loud…

Miguel shook his head, refusing to have his judgments and objectives sink into some provoking abyss.

If you weren't panicked by his appearance, then he can linger for a while longer and then return to his life as if you two never crossed paths.

“I'll take you on that offer for pain pills and coffee.”

You gradually shut the fridge as a nervous titter escaped. “Righhht… coffee.” You pulled your phone out and pressed it a few times.

“Do you not have any?” Miguel raised a brow, taking a few pieces from his perfectly cut waffles.

“I haven't been able to buy any for the past week. But I'll order you one, so you're gonna be trapped here until it gets here.” You teasingly stuck your tongue out, gaining a playful eye roll from him.

“That'll be fine by me. I'm getting a free drink from it.”

“Perfect! So how do you like yours?” You gleefully rush back over and place the phone near him, leaning in, interested in his choice. 

A one-and-done ordeal. Neither one is truly obligated to advance any further. He'll thank you for your help, express his extensive gratitude, and go from there. 

That's it. The lone, flickering candle he's retaining will remain that way.

Blunders happen. From the insignificant to the monstrous. It's a part of nature. 

Until it takes effect. 

They didn't deliberately aim to burn the candle flame any brighter. It was a mere accident.

Chapter Text

Three weeks passed after you and Miguel unwittingly crossed paths in that park. 

Three weeks ago, you towed him to your place, granting him your bed to recover after his immune system went through an unwarranted drug trip. 

Three weeks where he was made aware that you weren't frightened by him. Where you two conversed pleasantly at your dining table for over an hour and a half, waiting for his caffeinated beverage to arrive. 

It was three weeks when he made his first mistake. The first slip-up.

“I can relate. I never catch a break on this side either.” He crossed his arms, giving a smirk. “Always running ragged. Miguel, how do you do this? Mr. Miguel, I need that. Miguel, can you fix this? I swear it just starts blending into one at that point.” Miguel slid his hand over his face, groaning at the many laborious, bothersome tasks he received at the HQ.

“Miguel. That name definitely suits you. But I'm sorry that they run your name thin so often.” You traced the rim of your cup.

He froze. Panicked thoughts. “What? What did you just say?”

“I-I'm sorry that they run you-”

Miguel planted his seathed claws on the table, voiding to conceal his now uneasy concern. “Before that.” 

Your color seemed to drain. “That it definitely suit-”

“Before. That.”

You wondered what you possibly did wrong. “Mi-Miguel.”

Miguel couldn't be agitated with you. If he hadn't let his guard down, if he wasn't so caught up in the moment, you would have never known. 

It's one thing to have a face to the suit, but now you have the face and a name. 

He didn't know what else to do. He distraughtly paced back and forth in your living room as you swore you wouldn't blab a single word about him to anyone. Though he wanted to trust you, Miguel wasn't convinced enough. He barely knew you, so you could have effortlessly declared a bold-faced lie. 

And as his control crept over him, it sparked an unprompted number exchange. 

Honestly, you considered it to be some smooth way of flirting and scoring your number, but with how unnervingly he overreacted, you realized that was NOT the case. 

Now Miguel, unwittingly, has a new acquaintance under his belt. A new problem to keep tabs on. Well, ‘problem’ was an overstatement. You weren't that unpleasant. 

You occasionally text him, asking about his day, taking the time to learn about each other, or sending pictures of stuff you presume he'd find interesting. He would respond back if time allowed, cordially liking a few of the interactions.

Only a few. 

Miguel sought to keep the conversations to a bare minimum. It was just enough to ensure that he could positively depend on you keeping him being Spider-Man classified. 

Pushing his curls back, Miguel was glued to the monitors, doing his daily responsibilities. He couldn't stand any more distractions; he wasn't going to allow any more to sneak into his domain. 

“Hey, hey, Miggy! I finished that mission for you.” 

An overly cheerful voice, followed by the sounds of joyful cooing, sprang out below. A voice that he knew all too well, a voice he grew to spurn at any given moment. 

E-616 Peter. Peter B. Parker.

“¡Ay coño! What did I say about bringing May with you on your assignments?!” Miguel pinched the bridge between his nose, struggling to hold back his infuriated temperament. 

“I know, I know! ‘Keep the baby at home or else, Parker.’” Peter curved his arms low in some muscle stance, deepening his voice to do his best impersonation of Miguel. “Last minute. Couldn't find a babysitter. Ahh, I'm sure you know how it goes.”

He shot a web onto Miguel's desk,  flinging him and Mayday up as Miguel bared his fangs at the spider, only for it to be discarded. 

“Jeez, Miguel, when was the last time you cleaned around here?”

“Peter, don't sta-”

“And that mission was such a back killer. Don't think I've seen a Mysterio so spry before.” Peter cracked his back as Mayday managed to escape from her carrier and began to clamber up the walls, squealing out gleefully. “Ah! Be careful, Mayday! Watch your head.”

Miguel grinded his teeth, his jaw clenched from the sheer stress of the current display. He muttered a slew of curses in Spanish. He caught no breaks. 

“By the way, Miguel, I've been meaning to ask you about this week. I'm going to need this Friday off, so-” Peter abruptly paused, his gaze attached to something. Miguel whirled to deny the request but stopped, following his trail.

They landed on his phone.

Peter saw a profile icon of a young lady. Your hair (Peter knew a thing or two about hair thanks to Mayday), skin, and eyes were glowing as the sun cast on them, as you gave a cheery grin and thumbs up to the camera. 

“Who's that?” Peter's tone was intrigued by the person occupying the small circle. 

“Go away, Peter.” Miguel snatched up the phone and turned it off. 

Peter harrumphs at the sudden switch from his pal. He's dismissive, but not that easily. He was dismayed that he couldn't quite catch the name, but he did snag the last message sent.

And the last one was delivered by the brutish man, frantically typing away.

“Is she a new friend of yours?” He leaned on the edge of a metal table before Miguel nudged him off it. 

“Don't worry about it.” Miguel's pitch dropped.

“Oh, don't be like that. I'm glad you're finally putting yourself out there! You deserve this-”

“Peter. Quit. It.” 

“I mean, she must be a friend if you're asking her about how her job is going.”

“Peter!” Fury boiled in his chest. 

“Or maybe you guys are still on the surface base level, but you're getting to that point of evolving into something more-”

“She's no one!” Miguel smashed one of the computers as glass shards sprayed on the flooring and table surface. He panted harshly, his breathing irregular. 

Peter stuck his hands up at the violent outburst. Mayday's shrills of laughter echoed throughout as the other two were frozen. He encountered Miguel's temperament plenty of times, even on his worst days, yet in this moment in time, even Peter was marginally timid. 

Peter inhaled and swallowed that air bubble in the lump of his throat. “No one. Got it. I'm sorry for… I was just happy that you found someone else to chat with in a more casual setting.” 

Sensing an indication, Mayday swung her body over to her dad, squirming all over until he settled her back into her carrier. Miguel withdrew from the hole in the screen, sinking his clawed hands on top of his dome achingly.

Peter debated if he should say anything as he chewed on his tongue and exhaled from the nose. 

“She's… she's just someone I ran into. She doesn't hold much significance.” Miguel spoke, whipped, and outright defeated. 

Peter went to open his mouth until Miguel's phone buzzed a few seconds in between each message he received. He ceased his accusations, not wanting to prod anymore beyond that. He ultimately took Miguel's word for it.

Wishing him a farewell, May wiggled her arms with a merry cry, and the two were off venturing deep into the HQ. Staring absent mindlessly into the destroyed monitor, Miguel collected his device and double-tapped the screen. 

Four unread messages from you. 

He hovered his thumb over, contemplating if he even should reply. He meant it when he howled that you don't have too much value to him. 

Slightly, yes, but wholly? No. 

He thinks.

You know his identity, so that credits some purpose of priorities. And he's been upholding keeping tabs, making sure no contrivance was stirring within your brain, so there was also that bit of importance. 

But you're still just some random stranger. 

Miguel opened up the texts, skimming them in one go.

‘Work is going a-okay. Pretty slow day, but I'll take it. A couple of window shoppers in their own little world.’

‘How's work coming for you? I hope they're not hassling you too much!’

‘Oh! Btw, someone brought in this crate of albums! A lot, if not most of them, are in Spanish, specifically from Mexico!’

The next was an image of a scratched-up light blue milk crate with the music collection piled up. Another text was under it. 

‘Do you have any you want me to scope out and save for you? Do you even have a record player?’

You don't have any virtue to him. You don't have him in this vice– this radiating magnitude that magnetizes him to you. It's only been three weeks!

Three weeks of… naturally, normal conversations, even if they're sporadic throughout the day. The sincerest exchanges that sometimes have the tips of his mouth curl upwards.

He doesn't have this peculiar fascination with you. 

Three weeks. It's only been that long.

‘Any Santana? Selena? Jorge Ben Jor?’

He wasn't indulging. You don't spark anything. He's vastly positive about that. 

A few minutes passed as Miguel assumed you were preoccupied. This was perfect; he didn't desire any interruptions. Miguel is a restlessly engaged leader whose profession is mandatory.

Then the phone vibrated. 

‘Guess who's in luck? I found all three! But do you have a record player to listen to any one of these?’

Miguel glanced over at the orange glow bouncing with footage feeds of dimensions and parts of the establishment… him and Gabriella… before turning back to his device. 

‘No, I don't.’

‘Ohhhh, well, the store sells a bunch, so I can try and get you one on my next paycheck! But do you wanna come over to my place and listen to them? Whenever you're free of course!’

You don't overtake his mind. You don't do anything of the sort. 

‘How about tomorrow night?’ 

You're just a disturbance that he can effortlessly stick aside.

‘Sounds like a deal! I'll text you my address just in case you forgot!’

Miguel, flabbergasted by his own actions, shakingly put the phone back on the desk. He didn't know what the hell possessed him to do that. He couldn't just halt everything for some music with a woman who could blackmail him with such ease.

He has dimensions to overlook. He has workers to oversee, constraining their operations so they won't damage anything. He doesn't have time for free nights away from his tasks. Why? Because if he doesn't do it, no one else will. So he can't wrap around what is compelling this contiguity towards you.

Sure, those weeks going back and forth, learning about how you enjoy working in a thrift store, relishing random antiques that hold many stories that are intriguing to you. Or the various hobbies that draw him in whenever you adorably ramble on about them before apologizing about your disjointed enthusiasm.  

Or how you actually welcome and actively listen whenever something outrages him. Ranting and raving as you impart patience and even earnest words of advice.

Or this sense of charm whenever he receives photographs of items that remind him of his childhood. How you both reminisce late at night about the days of the past. Well, as much as he chooses what he'll spiel. 

“¿Qué demonios estoy haciendo?” He grumbled, particularly at no one.

This wasn't him. Anything that yielded him inside or away from the HQ was a deep-rooted aversion for him. 

This wasn't right. None of this was. 

“Lyla.”

“What's up, boss?” The A.I. appeared in front of him. 

But he couldn't stop. 

“Make sure my line is disconnected tomorrow evening.”

“Wait, what? That's highly unusual for you.” She raised an eyebrow, lifting her legs into a criss-cross posture.

For Miguel to stray elsewhere from his work surface indicates there's something pressing occurring. 

“Is there something going on? Obstructive anomalies that need the requisite attention? Headquarters monthly surveillance inspection? Well, no, that's not until the end of the month. Oh! Is it that weird time with the whole heat thi-”

“Lyla!” Miguel gnashed his teeth as the unpleasant sound grated in her digital ears.

“Okay, okay! Jeez! Then what exactly is being concocted? It's not like you to just dip.”

His phone hummed with new text messages. Miguel strived to pluck it from Lyla's wandering, tantalized eyes, but she glitched herself right near his cell.

“Oooh, got yourself a date with her, huh?” Lyla smugly grinned, wagging her brows in a teasing manner.

“It's not a date. She's just showing off some objects. Nothing more, nothing less.” His right eye twitched at the assumptions being directed at him. 

“Hey, I'm not doubting you, just how I'm personally perceiving it.” Lyla launched her hands up to exhibit she meant no offense, even before Miguel could refute. He wasn't exhibiting any indications of it being a date. He was only visiting an acquaintance that he still subsisted on keeping track of. 

“I'll trace any calls over to Jess, but you know she won't be too happy.” She sang, emphasizing ‘happy.’

“Just tell her I'm doing coding to enhance the Go Home Machine, and I don't want anyone harassing me.”

Lyla lazily saluted with her pointer and middle finger and vanished. Miguel was once again isolated as he justified his choice of conduct.

He was just… Supervising. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

Chapter Text

You scrambled around the living room, triple-checking if everything was in proper order.

“Snacks, check, records, and record player? Check, check! Decently clean apartment?” You scoured the place as it was virtually cluttered, yet with a satisfactory, homey sort of approach. “Check. Comfy clothes? Checkity check. I'm ready for tonight.”

Peering at the clock on the TV, it was nearly ten. Seven minutes away, to be exact. A perfect stretch to do another rapid once-over before he arrives. Then a knock screeches you to a full stop.

You twisted your head toward the TV and then over the door. He's ahead of schedule, but you were struck by his punctuality. Dusting your stretchy checkered pants, you skipped over and opened it.

“Oh, you look really nice.” You smiled, bending one knee to the next.

Miguel loomed over, wearing comfy jeans, a tight-fitted red shirt, and a black jacket to pull it together.

“Thank you, and you look lovely too.” Miguel stiffly strolled in and removed his casual dress shoes, propping them on a wooden shoe rack.

“Thanks, but this is more of my chill style, if you catch my drift. But come on, things are about the same as the last time you were here.” Fiddling with some lint in your pocket, you clumsily shuffled past him and gestured towards the couch.

Taking a spot on the left side, his back refused to recline into the cushions, his face flashing that frigid hold.

You both were strained. Besides concealing behind screens and exchanging messages, being face-to-face was a new notion for you two. Especially with the previous incident involving him unintentionally sleeping over due to fortuitous drug consumption.

Then, in a well-endowed chat that descended into him frantically striding over your place, there certainly wasn't any affable history within reach.

“Did you have trouble finding your way around? Hungry?” Your mind rushed back to that morning. That polar atmosphere slithered its way right into the air, hovering.

“A pretty easy find. I remembered the route. Not specifying that I made a point to recall, the landscapes were familiar to me.” Miguel's strain refused to fade. “And I'm good, thank you.”

“No, no! I understand. My complex can be simple to spot. Especially with those overly deflated balloons they seem to not want to remove.” You placed a veggie platter, water bottles, and some cut-up mini sandwiches on the coffee table just in case. “You noticed how there's some that have more float to them than others? Sometimes the people here like to tie some next to the floppy ones. I'm guilty of it too; I can't lie.” You chuckled, settling on the farther right of him, that middle gap in between. 

“Yeah, I noticed. I was going to ask you about that. Is it a sort of tradition in this community?”

“In a way. It's more of a ‘hey, I should do this because it's spontaneous and silly, and it's not hurting anyone.’ I try to make it a habit to clean up the ones that do find their way to the ground and toss them.”

Miguel gave a quick nod of understanding. Then instantly, that dead silence returned. Miguel's massive uneasiness fixed on his shoulders.

This was a bad idea. He should have declined the invite.

Abandoning his work? This was arbitrarily gut-speak. This moment, his gut somehow clambered through, striking any common sense inhabiting it.

You purse your lips into a thin line. You deduced his body language. It seemed like a good idea to have him over. You spoke pretty well when he allowed his guard to falter, and even your texts sparked volumes of personality. 

Those constraints he has strangled around are vastly keeping him from having a decent time.

“Would you like to look at the albums? They're in pretty tip-top shape after so many years.”

Before he could reply, you hobbled towards the shelf, grabbed them, and made your way back over. Gently sticking them on his lap, you decided to occupy the middle cushion.

Miguel glared at the records for a few seconds, seemingly fretting whether to even handle them.

“Hey, these are for you, remember? Go ahead; I'm sure you'll be careful with them.” Your eyes met, and a diligent smile crossed your face as you gently patted his shoulder. He was certainly strung out, evident in his overly compressed muscles.

He turned his attention to the music, concealing the shaking anxiety that was battering him internally. Gleaning the Selena album in his unsheathed clawed hands, he flipped it back and forth.

“She has a very beautiful voice. I heard a few of her songs, but I'm willing to delve into more.”

He pulled the sleeve off the record, delicately removing it, his eyes glossing over with memories. “My mother played her music every Saturday. I remember waking up to the sounds of clattering in the kitchen as she sang along.”

“Did she have a favorite?”

Miguel huffed out a noise that almost sounded like laughter. “Nunca hubo ninguno. All of them were her favorites. Whenever someone asked, she would pull this most offended face, cursing about how dare they make her choose only one.”

You snickered at that before grasping the record, heeding the fragile object. Sprinting over, you inserted it on the turntable, placing the needle on it. 

You refused to allow the silence to triumph between you two.

Selena's voice unrolled effortlessly through every corner of the apartment as you bumbled your way to your respective seat.

“I may have done some peeking into the tracks.”

“Oh?” Miguel finally managed to scoot back on the couch, though he was still a bit on alert.

“Just to make sure they weren't scratched. Tippity top shape, as stated previously.” You displayed the ‘okay’ gesture.

“Well, that's really good to hear. I don't want them messing up on me.”

“Don't worry, I got you. I would never bestow any materials that will fall from grace.” You dramatically slapped your hands over your heart, head propped high as if reciting some melodrama poetry.

Miguel returned it with a lopsided smile. “I'm trusting you did well.”

“My efforts haven't gone unnoticed! But what made you pick those three artists? Well, I can guess with the Selena one.” You huffed, swinging your legs on the couch, crossing them, elbows on your knees, and giving all your undivided attention to him.

“Just the first three that popped into my head. Well, besides Miss Selena,” he nonchalantly waved his hand. “I picked something that I think you may also appreciate.”

Miguel only spoke half the truth. He rehearsed lines and answers that he suspected you would pose on the venture here. The full reason? He wished to share all of the music that he personally grew up with. To watch your reactions up close and in person.

And that's what was unnerving him. The uncertainty of this non-disclosure, undistinguished bond.

“Aw, how sweet of you. I personally know some Santana, and didn't Jorge Ben sing Mas Qué Nada?”

“Si. Considered a classic by many.”

“Ah-ha, I knew it.” You shimmied at your correct response.

You and Miguel didn't register how much time passed as a third of the veggies were eaten, and so were half of the sandwiches.

Your arm was perched on the sofa head as you shifted into your tunes, chilling to the fifth album you put on. Miguel rested his back fully into the comfy cushion, unwinding as his concentration was now focused on you. 

“Espere, Espere, hold on. They tried to do what?” Miguel chuckled.

“Yes, they tried to bargain a bicycle without the handle bars, the wheels, and the seat. Even the bell was missing, but the ringer managed to cling on for dear life.”

“So, what did you all do?”

“My boss, Ronnie, was ready to tear them a new one, but I managed to calm her. I negotiated with them, telling them if they can take apart all the pieces, then we'll find better uses for them.” You dipped a carrot stick in the ranch. “So they did, and we managed to reach a compromise. We got rusty bicycle parts, and they were about fifty bucks. But here's the kicker.”

Miguel leaned in, oddly invested.

“Apparently, a piece from the bike was valued at seven thousand dollars. I can't recall which part, but I remember Ronnie freaking out. Now, she tried to hoard all the cash for the store, but I had her call the people who gave us the bike to get a cut from it.” You placed your balled hand on the side of your cheek. “They turned that fifty into three thousand. I swore I could see the angels floating down as ‘Hallelujah’ sang from the heavens when they received that money!”

You spread your arms toward the sky as you both heartily laughed.

Miguel couldn't remember the last time he'd been so content; this loose around somebody else.

Well, besides Gabriella, of course.

His eyes directly sank as his muscles began to taut from the crushing waves of paranoia, of the memories, and of the cruelty he faces.

“Hey, Miguel, are you okay?” You warily made light feather touches with your fingertips on his upper arm, your eyes creasing with dismay at the instant change of behavior from him.

He was a bit jostled. He whipped his head towards you, his extreme disorientation and attentiveness written all over his face.

That look. That concerned, considerate expression you showed.

“Why? Why?” That quivering dread in his voice, that sneaking dubiety of this situation.

“W-why?”

Just like the first time. The uncertainty of it all. Miguel despised it, but straying away wasn't an option for him.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you not…” His heart raced, competing with his mind. His leg bounced in rapid spurts as he fought to retain composure. 

You held that docile, warming gaze.

“Why did you agree to have me over? Why did you invite me?” He calmly asked.

His voice deceived what his body and mind were truly undergoing. Purposely hiding that pang of bitterness. Of anxiety.

Stunned, you blink your eyes a few times. “Oh! Well, I genuinely wanted to hang out with you. You are a good person, and I'd like to think I have some decency in picking up characteristics. Even though judging is wrong, I'm sure you understand what I mean.”

You drifted your right hand over his shaky knee, keeping it there until you were given any permission to put it there. Miguel studied your motion before reluctantly slowing down. You inched your way until your palm was settled on top. “Miguel, do… Do you not receive many requests to hang out outside of your work? Does anyone ever check in just to check in?”

“I don't—no. Not really. I'm the leader. I'm not allowed to just go wherever I want.”

You nodded, whispering a faint okay underneath your breath as your hand rubbed his knee. “So you're putting yourself on this level higher than others, that because you oversee everything, you're not allowed to do things normally many do.”

Miguel kept quiet as his eyes followed your fingers.

“But that isn't the case. You did choose to be here with me. You had to talk with someone to take a bit of a break to come here, right?”

His heavy brows lowered into a vacant, thinking stare. “Huh. I-I guess I did do that.” His shoulders slumped.

"Mhm, and you've been here for nearly, um,” you peered at your phone, then back at him. “Nearly two hours. Are you at least having a nice time? Am I being a decent hostess?” A goofy grin plastered on you as he couldn't help but twitch his lips as they curled up.

“I mean, I think you're an alright hostess.”

“Hey, you're getting three albums from me! And you had some veggies and sandwiches, so I believe that warrants a push-up in the grading department." You nudged him as he rolled his eyes, snorting at you.

“Alright, alright, you're absolutely correct. Hiciste un hospedaje increíble y un gran trabajo con todo. Llamaré a esto un éxito.”

You scrunch your face as you take a crack at figuring out what he said. “I didn't even take Spanish; I took French! Uh, I heard the word incredible in there, so that's sufficient enough for me.”

Miguel momentarily eased up, that smile never fading. “Thank you for this pleasant night, missus.”

“Hey! None of that! Or I'll revert to calling you Mr. Miguel.” You poked at his muscular arm.

“Usually I can't stand that, but hearing it from you will be a very nice change of pace.”

You stuttered at that, briskly setting your hands between your thighs. “So you can be smooth.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hm, what was that?”

“Oh nothing. Just saying how smooth this track is.” You motion at nothing in particular.

Miguel smirked impishly, highly aware of what was said. “So are you calling me the song?”

You whined, burying a pillow in your face, mortified that he clearly caught what you said as he sweetly taunted you about it.

One of the daunting strings snapped. 

One of the many strings imprisoning him from his own faith lies bleak.

Nearly one in the morning, with the three albums cradling in his forearm, Miguel took deliberate, meticulous strides back to the base. The nipping, chilled wind felt nice. Body warmer than when he arrived.

His mind went back to you. The goodbyes and courteous ‘thank yous,’ ‘we should do this again,’ chimed all over.

How that handshake turned into a comforting hug. For you, it was a friendly gesture; however, to him? To him, it was more.

He still sought to combat the sentiments resounding inside, but for this moment, for this period, he spared them. For this night and night only, those qualms can stay motionless. Tattered away in a distant, barren field.

Because of this night, the flame gathered the twinge of a single burning droplet.

Chapter Text

Three weeks passed when you first officially hung out.

Six weeks when Miguel's “tabs” turned into genuine daily conversations ranging from text messages to phone calls that he never imposed on missing.

Nine weeks when things began to take a turn.

Over the course, you two have gotten closer. Miguel would sneak from his workstation over to your humble abode at any chance that was available. 

It eventually became a routine, a regime. Wednesday nights were the ceremonial ‘hangout days,’ as you had every Thursday off.

And every Wednesday, Miguel had justifications on precisely why he should not be troubled on that particular day.

“I need to double check if the code for stabilizing dimensions is up to date.” Liar.

“I'm performing augmented machinery work for the portal watches. They've been malfunctioning for me.” Bullshit.

“I'm tired.” That was sort of true, but it never slowed him down before.

Whenever someone even attempts to debate or raise any doubts, he flares, defensively striking more so than usual. It became a phrase around the coven of Spider-people.

“Be careful; it's ‘Snappy Wednesdays’ for Miguel.” Would be telephoned throughout.

It vexed him to no end. If he wanted to remain unbothered, he should just be permitted to do so with no hassle. But no, it's never that easy for him. It was never easy until he crossed that threshold. 

When he steps through your door, the stress and the unease lingers yet vanish. A strange balance.

“Are they still giving you hell about leaving?” You poured the boiled noodles into a cauldron as Miguel was sprawled out on your couch, his sheathed claws harshly massaging his temples.

“Yes, and today was no better. I swear if I hear one more, ‘but are you sure you want to leave? It's a scary world out there,’ I'm going to lose it. ¿Por qué tengo que ser uno para ponerlos todos? ¿Por qué me estoy plagando de estos idiotas?”

You peer up at the grouchy man and smile. “I just don't understand why they're not used to it by now. I mean, maybe the first or second time it'll be weird, but the fifth or sixth? It's just a routine at that point. Or maybe that's just me. I can't speak for everyone.” You giggle, dumping the spaghetti in the meat sauce, and begin to stir.

“No, you're right. I just wish they would get used to it. Having to endure this shit is mind-numbing.”

You hobbled over to him with a giant bowl of pasta for him and a decent portion for you. “Well, I hope there's some solace here. Even if it's just a smidgen.” You wormed your way right next to him before handing him his portion, crossing your legs on the sofa.

“Trust me when I say there's peace within these walls.” Miguel twirled the fork around.

“As peaceful as an apartment building can get, so a good forty-five percent.”

“Why so low?”

“Have you ever heard neighbors going at it in the middle of the night? I mean, they're certainly finding solace in each other. There's other factors, of course, but that's the biggest.”

A shared laugh broke out as you sighed in unison. A comforting quietude rested; the only sounds being made were the clanking and clattering of the forks against the bowls.

“I've been meaning to ask, what's the name of the store you work for?” He filled in a little bit of space between you two.

“Huh, I never told you? I swore I did.”

Miguel shook his head.

“Guess I've gotten so comfortable around you, my brain assumes I did tell you.”

That rocked Miguel. You felt comfort in his presence? Was it an obligation or authentic? He disrupted that train of thought and briskly attuned his focus back to you.

“Alright, are you ready for the name?” You perched your dish on the table, relaxing your palms on your full belly.

“Sí, tan listo como siempre lo estaré. Go for it.”

“Adequate Antique Antics.”

Miguel's eyes flickered as his brain made an effort to process what you said. “Adequate anti- what now?”

“Adequate Antique Antics. Bit of a tongue twisting mouthful, isn't it?”

He nodded in agreement, setting his bowl next to yours. “Eso estuvo delicioso. So why did she name the store that?”

Your face heated at the compliment he gave you. He was just expressing that he enjoyed the spaghetti. Yet it made you giddier than how you normally would react.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. And she didn't pick it–a family-owned business. You know how that goes.” Settling more onto the couch, minding the glass bowls, you prop your feet and free a displeasing sigh. “She's been in a fight with her parents to change the name ever since I can remember. And oh my gosh, I'm still hearing about it until this day.”

Miguel blinked as he waited for you to continue. A week or so ago, he picked up on your facial expressions when you were done speaking. 

And you clearly weren't.

“For nearly three and a half years I've been working there, she somehow manages to bring up the argument for the name every day without fail. And here I'm thinking I'm persistent, but my goodness.”

Miguel snickered at your heated explanation. “Ronnie sounds very vehement.”

“I prefer hard-headed. But that works too.” You grin at each other as you pretend to readjust yourself, scooting closer to him.

“I'm weirdly tempted to meet this Ronnie and see what she's like in person.”

You blew a raspberry before flinging a hand over your mouth. You possibly got too comfortable around him. 

Miguel lifted a brow at that reaction from you. He's never seen you do that before.

“Ah! I'm sorry. An atypical response I get sometimes. Just a slip of the tongue.” You cringed at the unintentional pun.

“I think it's adorable.” Now it was Miguel's turn to wince. The difference was that he hid it well.

You squirmed in your seat before mentally scolding yourself. “Oh, thank you. That's very sweet of…”

You trailed off, gazing into his hypnotizing, vermillion eyes. Miguel returned the stare, taking in every part of your face. 

Every inch, from your eyes, your nose, your lips, and more. How your skin gleamed–even if the lights were dimmed in your apartment, it still managed to make you shine ever so brightly.

Dazing back simultaneously, you both spun your heads towards the front. Your heart pounded so hard that even your stomach felt it. Miguel controlled his breathing, his cheeks heating up. 

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

“Um, but yes, if you want to. Ronnie can be a bit of an intense menace, but she means well. Well, as well as one can mean.”

“That's how I feel about Peter.” Miguel grumbled. Even speaking his name causes him to instinctively grouch about it.

“From the stories you told about him, putting those two together under one roof?” You shuddered just at the thought of it.

“She can't be as bad as Peter.”

You gave Miguel a tentative look.

“It's that bad?”

You heavily nodded your head. “Minus the baby.”

“Funny how we both have someone who causes some sense of hassle.”

You gave a crooked smile. “It's a curse but also a blessing. Because at the end of the day, we know they just want the best.”

“For themselves?”

“Yes, but also in general. Though I don't fully agree with the methods she uses, Ronnie will always have my back. For example, if ever I need a day off for an emergency, I know I will receive it. Or when she told me I get every Thursday off. I was skeptical at first, but no, she kept her word. I only had to come in one Thursday because it was so heavily swamped, but I did not mind whatsoever. She goes out of her way to help me, and if she ever needs something, I'm willing to sacrifice to help her out. And I'm sure if you ever required anything, Peter would be there for you, and in return, you would do the same for him.”

Miguel could only gape.

“Heck, that even goes for us. Remember the first time you slept over? I told you I wouldn't let you suffer because you also helped me.” You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling. “Some may see it as a beneficiary sort of deal. I helped this person out, so I should get something in return. Even though we humans are very reliant on one another in certain ways, some can use it for selfish needs.”

You began to leisurely drum on your stomach. “I personally like to think it's a give and give, with an occasional receive. Self-sacrifice? Maybe that's what I'm thinking of. I don't mind giving, but I'm also human, so if one is glad to lend more, then I'm going to return that favor, if not extra.”

Jutting up from your laid-back posture, you rotated your body toward him. “I'm so sorry for the rambling. I hope anything I said made even a lick of sense.”

Your voice was slightly panicked before Miguel placed his hand on your arm, making sure to retract his claws.

“No, you're fine. I understood what you were alluding to.”

Your eyes landed on his fingers. They were calloused against your skin. He was always gentle around you.

“You aren't necessarily afraid to give and get nothing in return. But you're willing to go beyond and above for those who also have your best interests in mind."

“Yeah. Wow, you summed up my spiel so easily. It might be that super duper smart spider brain.” You giggled as his shoulders shook with a breathless laugh.

“Si. My spider brain is too highly advanced for many common people.”

You stared at him. He meant for it to come off as a joke. The problem was that his delivery was stern and dry. It almost sounded as if he suggested it as more of a statement.

He began to tighten until your face creased buoyantly. “It undoubtedly is for me. I'm going to assume jokes don't come easy for you?”

He slumped, and his jaw slackened. “I've been told I'm not funny.”

“You give me more sarcasm vibes than jokey ones. And I do enjoy a good sarcastic reply.” You nudge him mischievously, garnering a joking eye roll. 

You two carried on your conversation until, at one point, Miguel self-reflected while you went to the shower.

Miguel bit his bottom lip as his mind raced to the earlier conversation. He sacrifices, but does he self-sacrifice? He gives up so much for the others, but do they even acknowledge his efforts? He’s aware they won't do the same, but would it be different if it were someone closer? 

It never crossed his mind how much he exactly does. The trillions that he's keeping safe. He's willing to let a few things go for them.

The one he truly wanted to keep safe is gone. He would be ready to give up everything just for her.

Miguel got startled as your voice sprang from the corner.

“You know what I was thinking–you should visit the antique shop. It would be fun to show you all the vintage items scattered.” Sensing that there was something off, you sped over to him. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Miguel bowed his head. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost in thought.”

“Well, if you ever wanna talk about it, just let me know, okay?” You rubbed his shoulder, kneading it some to relieve a bit of pressure. “Know I'm here for you.”

That smile. That tranquil, patient smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat. Those considerate sparkling eyes that have him believe things are okay, even if it's just for a split second.

Would he give everything up for you as well?

A string breaks loose.

He decided to not dwell on it anymore.

“What were you saying before you came in?” He smoothly switched the conversation.

“Oh. You should visit the shop. If you want to or have time, of course. We're open from nine until seven.”

“I'll try, but I don't know if I really can during the day.”

You swallowed your disappointment and waved your hand. “Remember, just an offer! I'll probably still be working there for the next few years anyway, so I'm sure we'll still get time in the future.”

He was shocked. You would still want to be around him? He doesn't believe he's particularly special.

And there are just too many wrongs within him that would turn anyone away.

“Yeah, I will see.”

You flopped yourself on the sofa as you proceeded to converse until Miguel had to leave.

“We will see.” He murmured, staring up at your apartment complex, and trudged away.

Chapter Text

Nearly a week passed as you scoped out the door whenever you heard the chimes. 

You two maintained your everyday messaging, as you refrained from distressing him about stopping by, taking in what he told you. Yet, a part of you still hoped he strolled through that door.

“I appreciate the donations, but not when there are so damn many of them.” A woman a few years older than you stumbled out with an enormous box on both arms, her wild, wavy hair peeking out from the sides. “Remind me to never take donations unless cash is involved.”

“A charitable donation is a charitable donation, Ronnie. Rather you like it or not.” You didn't look up from your phone as you giggled at something on the screen.

“Money is also seen as a charitable one. So make it easier for me.” Ronnie peered over to her employee, whose head still refused to rise from the device. “Who are you texting?”

“Take a guess.” You tilted a bit to acknowledge her.

“Ah yes. Him.” She teasingly piped.

Ronnie plopped the cardboard box of fabrics and other accessories on the counter. “When will you tell me more about him?”

“What is there more to say that I haven't already said, Ronnie?” You sighed and began to scoop out the cute clothes.

Rompers seem to be back in style.

“Uh, besides the name and that he's a ‘great guy,’ not much is being fed to me. I need the buffet, the nine-course meal.”

You gave her an impassive face. Your boss placed a hand on her forehead, dramatically but carefully, flopping her back on the check-out countertop.

“I'm practically starving. You're just letting me fade away. You dangle the sandwich, yet reel it back whenever I'm in reach.” She exaggerated, making sure to enunciate. Every. Single. Word.

“I thought you wanted a full thirty-course meal? Why did it get reduced to a sandwich?”

“Don't change the subject.” She stuck her tongue out. “And it was nine, but come on! Just tell me something. You always smile at your phone when you tell me you're texting the guy.” She threw her arms up in a very animated manner.

“Ronnie, you'll survive.”

The woman grumbled and wrapped her arms around her chest like a pouting child who didn't get their way. Then her face did a one-eighty.

“As your superior, I command you to tell me.”

“Oh for fuc- Ronnie, that's abuse of power. That's in the work guidelines for beginners.” Your hands slid down your face in pure agony.

“Nuh-uh. Um, um, obstruction of the peace.” Ronnie countered.

“I don't think you're even using that correctly.”

“Obstruction of the peace!” Ronnie's batty grin only disconcerted you more than before.

“Oh my gosh. He's tall, dark, and beautiful. There! Has the appetite been fed?” You began to dump the clothing back into the box, already exhausted from your "leader's” shenanigans.

"Hmm, let me think–no." Ronnie frivolously perked her elbows up, her balled-up fingers smushing her cheeks. “Not until I see concrete proof. Hard evidence.”

You groaned, plucking the box off the wooden surface. “I swear you are just a handful. If you need me, I'll be in the back sorting clothes.”

“Aw, you're going to do that for me? You are so sweet! But don't think this conversation is over. We are jus-”

Before Ronnie could finish, you zipped off in the opposite direction, yelling that you were ‘too far away to hear the rest.’

You unleashed a lengthy exhale after that agonizing ordeal. You were aware that Ronnie didn't want to organize, so she found a cheeky escape route. And you couldn't criticize her curiosity. 

When the dead workdays pop up, you're usually on your phone texting him. Giggling like a schoolgirl who somehow was able to obtain their crush's number.

He manages to make your knees all jelly, so flimsy. The grasp he has you webbed in is ridiculous. How you're caught up in the bewitching netting. Is it wrong? Is this an inappropriate way to envision someone you're admiring? 

Spinning one into a web is usually viewed as distasteful, deceptive, and abysmal.

Sickening. Revolting.

Yet this web, like most, is silky and luscious. You don't seem to believe you're the prey–far from it. Restrained in the powerful strings is something that beckons you. What you seek.

Awaiting him, trusting him. Knowing that the mesh is used to protect. In a way that serves not only him but you as well. You don't sense any threats. No harm from him to you. You're confident about it. It's as if you fully know. Comprehending it in all of its certainty.

Besides, the only time you'll undoubtedly feel threatened, afraid is if you are bound, dangling exposed for him to take in every part. His claws and fangs grazed, scraping across your delicate skin, leaving tiny scratches all over.

His eyes locked on yours. Mouth gagged as you wouldn't be able to beg, but your body does it for you. His hands will grope every inch... his full lips kissing down so slowly, so hungrily until he reaches right in between your trembling, soaking thi-

You slapped yourself mentally and physically.

“Stop it, you pervert!” You quietly hissed and began to sort through the clothes, struggling to remove all those thoughts from your mind.

Pretending that the tingly sensation isn't sparking in-between said thighs. He shouldn't have this effect on you. But the state he put you in speaks otherwise.

Ronnie was skimming through a stack of books she's been purposely evading for the past week when she heard the hanging chimes near the front entrance jingle.

“Oh goody. A person.” She mumbled in a snarky tone before putting on her half-assed customer service voice. “Hi there. Welcome to Adequate Antique Aaa–Abs-o-licious.”

Ronnie was fully astonished by the colossal, hunky model of a man standing in her tiny shop. She continued to stare as Miguel stood there uneasy, his eyes covered, but the expression was undoubtedly frigid. 

Soft rock played on the overhead speaker as the gawking from Ronnie lasted another thirty seconds until Miguel cleared his throat, breaking that unwarranted silence.

“Oh! Right. How may I help you, my good sir? Anything you have particularly in mind? You're also very, very welcome to peruse our many, many trinkets.” Ronnie shoved the books aside. An overly flirtatious grin crossed her lips, her eyebrows bouncing up and down.

“I'm looking for somebody who works here. They should be in today.” Miguel's stoicism refused to leave.

Ronnie's attempted wooing fled as she scrunched her face at him. “Someone who works here– oh. Oh! You're tall, dark, and beautiful!”

Miguel was taken aback by the sudden exclamation. “Tall, dark, and beauti-”

She interrupted Miguel before he could even question what she could possibly imply by that.

“Yeah! No, I'll go get her for you.”

Miguel was blurred by the woman and the situation as a whole. “I can go look for her–”

“I have someone up here to see you!”

Miguel slightly flinched as Ronnie shouted and whacked both her hands on the hardwood counter before turning her attention back onto him.

“She'll be up here soon.” Ronnie beamed at the even more exhausted Miguel.

A few seconds passed when a new voice emerged from the side.

“Why bother giving me this beeper if you're never going to use- oh! This is a very pleasant surprise.” You internally screeched and flipped around. A smile spread across your face as you took a few steps toward him. He was actually here. 

Miguel softened. His body unwinded as he warmly gazed down at you. “I managed to sneak in some free time and wanted to take a peek at the store myself.”

“I'm so glad you stopped by. You okay? They didn't harass you about this, did they?”

Miguel's stomach had those metaphorical butterflies floating endlessly. His own smile forming over your worries.

“Ah, no, not as much.” He had to lie. He didn't want you fretting over him.

“Good. That's good. I'm glad they're easing up on you.”

You didn't mean to come off as nosy. It was a sudden switch for you. A new defensive mode whenever something was visibly agitating or troubling him.

The sensations he brings.

Ronnie darted between you two, seemingly drifting into each other's eyes. Even if Miguel was wearing sunglasses, Ronnie knew what was up. Coughing loudly to break the ogling, you both jumped back as Miguel scratched his head, and you turned your attention to your employer.

“Sooo, are you going to introduce me?”

You puffed some air out, disregarding Ronnie's shit-eating grin. “Ronnie, this is Miguel. Miguel, this is my boss, Ronnie.”

“Hm, so this is the famous Ronnie I've heard about.”

“Gasp! I'm actually talked about outside of work? I knew you secretly adored me.”

You groaned as the humiliation settled almost instantaneously. Miguel just offered half a smile before dropping it a second later. He honestly didn't know how to react.

“And I prefer infamous.” Ronnie pumped her chest with way too much pride.

“You do know infamous isn't a good thing.” You tried to clarify, but Ronnie bolted to the next thing.

“And Miguel. My my, aren't you a gorgeous man? Girl, you didn't tell me he also had an inviting, buttery voice.”

Your right eye twitched. Miguel tensed from this encounter.

“Actually, she didn't tell me much about you besides your name and that ‘you're one great guy.’” She indiscreetly winked, as you were ready to slam your head down on the counter. Maybe hard enough for a concussion.

“But I do know how happy she gets whenever she's talking to you. I swear her face lights up with this adorable twinkle when her Migg-”

“Okay, that's enough!” You stumble your body in between Miguel and the timber furniture.

Miguel and Ronnie stared anxiously at your sudden outburst. The music continued to whisk over them for a couple of seconds until you gulped audibly.

“I didn't mean to yell. That shouldn't have come out like that. I'm sorry, Ronnie.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Nah, it's all good. Go ahead and take your break. I'll finish up your tasks. And hey, it was nice meeting you, Miguel. Take care of my girl.”

Miguel blushed before bobbing his head. “Of course. Nice meeting you as well.”

You scampered to grab your things as the two headed out. You called out a goodbye to Ronnie and went to enjoy this time.

You both decided to head on over to an Asian street food restaurant. Thankfully, it was slow, as only three people preoccupied the other tables.

“Have you ever been here before?” You scrolled down the digital menu, figuring out what you wanted.

“No. I don't think I've even ventured this far out of work.” Miguel observed the area, taking note of all the different Asian cultures plastered on the walls. 

“How far is your job from here?”

“It’s about a thirty-five, forty-minute walk.” 

You began calculating the distance from there. “So around two miles? Twenty minutes is equal to a mile, right?”

He nodded. “But I bought it down to ten. I'm sure you can figure out how.”

You blinked until it hit you. “Ah yes, you swung on by.”

Miguel shot you a disappointed glance as you goofily grinned. “Are you sure you aren't secretly a spider person?”

“I don't have that terrifyingly stellar intelligence.” You lightly tapped your noggin. 

Eventually, you two ordered, plunging into that soothing silence. The warmth he cascades upon you has your stomach in knots. You squeeze your legs together, trying to furiously distract your mind from something else. 

Then Miguel took a sip of his water, some dribbling down the side of his mouth. You squeaked as your subconscious pried its way through, wanting those certain thoughts to emerge. 

“I remember you telling me that you have sensitive eyes. Is that why you wear sunglasses even indoors?” You locked those feelings back. 

“Si. That, and I don't think many would find my eyes appealing to gaze into. Why I've been called ‘vampire’ so much. ¡Esa mierda se vuelve tan molesta! ¡No sé por qué sienten la necesidad de bur-”

“Your eyes are appealing to me. They are very breathtaking. Like staring into two dazzling rubies.”

He reclined back in the seat as the compliment caught him completely off guard. He can't remember the last time a flattering remark was made. Maybe as a joke, or when Peter bizarrely proclaimed he has “very ravishing red orbs,” but not genuine praise.

You purse your lips, chastising yourself secretly for even blurting out something like that.  “I-I'm sorry. I've should've been more mindful of what I said.”

He removed his glasses and placed them on the table.

A string snapped.

You glimpsed at the shades, then back at him, before a smile took over. You leaned forward as you both got lost in each other's words. 

The food was steaming hot, emitting heavenly scents of herbs and spices. Mouth-watering, you promptly begin to chow down, humming in satisfaction.

“Always the best to come when no one is barely around.” You declared, stuffed with a mouthful of udon.

“No need to rush. They're able to be precise with the cooking.” He mindfully slurps some of his miso soup and sighs out.

“Mhm.” You gladly agreed, gulping down the tasty noodles.

“Oh, I was meaning to ask. Are they finally used to you taking well-deserved breaks? They must be if you took an afternoon one versus your usual night ones.” You held your bowl of udon up, offering some to him before he politely declined.

“Yeah. I told them I needed to pick up a few pieces for this upcoming project I'm working on, and they were fine with it.” He took a swig of his condensed glass of water. 

Lies. Miguel recollected the events that led up to this spontaneous outing.

He was already seething when an anomaly nearly threatened to disrupt a canon event due to ridiculously cocky rookies who took the situation too carelessly. He doesn't enjoy shelling out verbal lashings. In fact, he can't stand them. But if others refuse to understand the dire conditions they're in, then it's the only means necessary to get the point across. 

And on top of that mess, he still wasn't at the shop. Every time he would pluck up the effort to go, he would repeatedly hinder his opportunities. 

Internal excuses after excuses. If he's not present, disarray will happen. If he's not here, who will scrutinize the multiverse? Who will conduct sweep checks to make sure the technology is in proper working order? There was too much on his plate, and each day he wasn't there, the more his temper was easier to set off. 

But a few hours earlier, something possessed him as he requested Jess and Peter B. to come to his office.

“The other day, I stumbled upon an ample amount of curios I exactly needed for this new project I'm undertaking.” Miguel's back turned as he searched, trying to remember the name of the store. 

“So you need one of us to pick up the par-”

“No! You two will stay here and keep an eye on things.” He hissed as Jess folded her arms over her prominent, protruding belly. 

She decided to let that rude, interrupting outburst slide. For now.

“Miguel, are you okay? You've been seeming more, um, what's the word I'm looking for?”

“More of an ass?” 

Miguel scowled at Jess as she held that unshakable glare whenever he got this way. 

“Uh, no, not necessarily that. More piqued, disgruntled. Yeah, that's it.” Peter patted where the sling for Mayday usually was. 

“Look. I'll be gone for about a couple of hours and then back with the goobers.”

Peter was perfectly fine with that response, but Jess's skeptical eyes and frown practically dug into his skull; however, she opted to take his word with a pinch of salt. 

The accumulated goggles of spider-people ticked Miguel off as the murmurs of their superior, nonchalantly walking out of the lobby, was going to be next the buzzing topic.

Though it didn't matter, as far as he was concerned, getting to you was his main priority. 

“Miguel? You okay?” You rested your hand on his, which would dwarf yours, as concern registered all over your face. 

“What?” He rocked a bit, skimming the area, before his awareness landed on you.

“You seemed lost in thought for a good while. I thought it was because you were enjoying the food so much that I decided to let you be. But it started to scare me when you wouldn't answer after five minutes.”

He peeked at the table that lay nearly empty dishes. Did he become so absent-minded that he managed to finish his entire meal without uttering a single word to you?

And yet, you remained poised, uncomplaining. 

“Here, let's get back to the antique shop. The lunch rush hour is starting to pick up.” You whirled around, minding the influx of hungry customers piling in. 

You paid for his meal and yours as Miguel tried to intervene, but you heavily insisted. In a battle he wasn't winning, he let you be.

Jostling out and heading back, you made small conversation. You were still quite concerned, wondering what was dwelling in his mind. 

“Did you enjoy the meal?” You swayed your arms back and forth in no particular rhythm.

“Yes, it was delicious; the flavors blended well. And I will pay you back for my half.”

“You don't have to. It was my pleasure to-”

“I insist. Tell me the cost, and I will pay you back for it.” He instructed more than asked.

A surge rushed through your veins and directly to your lower region. “I-I will think of something instead.”

“Good gi- good. That's fine, just let me know.” He caught himself before that inappropriate comment slipped. He didn't know what seized his mind to nearly exclaim that. 

You didn't catch it. He thanked the universe, as he would never forgive himself if you did hear that disgusting phrase from him. 

The remainder of the stroll was mute until returning to the shop. Ronnie fanatically welcomed you both back, questioning and teasing about the outing.

“Did you enjoy yourselves? I know I sure would if I were by this godly, glorious man.” 

Reprimanding her, you swiped up Miguel's forearm, leading him away as Ronnie cheekily yelled not to destroy her things.

“Don't get too handsy, if you catch my drift!”

Ultimately overlooking that, you and Miguel browsed the many knickknacks and ornaments encompassing every cranny. Miguel was in awe of the countless artifacts and objects. Though it didn't beat the liveliness from you as you described the items, elucidating the sea of stories behind a chunk of the goods.

He got lost in your love for this.

How you're able to enjoy the simplest things in life. How you manage to discover the inner beauty and soul in things, no matter how dented or defaced they appear. How you make it look so easy. Yet, how would you react to the heinous crimes he committed? Would you still find that same beauty and soul in him? No, clearly not. 

He convinced himself otherwise.

Plucking an electronic gizmo from a stand, you brought it up to his face when you noticed him wearily zoning out. There was something draining him, and your instincts to alleviate it kicked in.

“Miguel, do you think this piece will help with the project you're working on?”

He inched his head down to see a gear with a tiny motherboard covering the surface.

A crooked smile tugged from him as fingers curled around the miniscule tool, brushing against your palm. “Yes, this will be fine. Thank you.” 

That electrical touch he gives never fails to give you shivers.

That softness you hold never fails to bring him to his knees. 

“I know how you can pay me back.” You shifted through some bins in search of more gear for him. 

“Oh, and how is that?”

“There's a botanical garden near here, and I pass by it every time but never get the chance to go as I use my off days to rest up.”

“So, like a hangout or a date?” Miguel rummaged in the bins with you.

“Whatever you want it to be.” You grinned, carefully headbutting your head on his bicep.

His breath hitched, cheeks heating, as his stomach began to twist. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. 

“Deal then.”

A string broke.

That joy never wavered from either one. 

“Oh, and by the way.” Miguel pulled himself out of a trance. 

“Hm?”

“Tall, dark, and beautiful?”

“...Ronnie!” You jerked yourself to your feet and began to admonish your guilty leader, as Miguel held in his laughter. 

Saying his farewells with a container stuffed with gadgets that he'll cram somewhere to find uses for them later, a hunger bellowed within. His thoughts were rampant. Never ceasing. Not even the rosy pink and sunset orange skies wouldn't sedate his brain from going back to you. 

A date… no, you are only hanging out. That's it. 

He doesn't imagine the bright smile you'll have as you stroll by an array of flowers. Or how beautiful the hues from them and the sun will bring out your skin tone. Or what adorable outfit you'll choose to wear. Or what you will chat about…

He doesn't think about you lying on the ground, hidden from the public eye, enclosed by Mother Nature's blossoming fluorescence. Your stunning legs folded around his waist, nails dragging down his back as he strenuously thrusts into you when he–

A sudden thunderous clap roared from above, knocking him back to reality. To Miguel, the dark clouds arose to freeze that line of lust. Miguel closed his eyes. You mustn't have them as well. It was only his sick, perverted imagination going in that direction. 

He decided to just dawdle the rest of the way back, even if the rain caught him. He'll deal with the plethora of complaints from Jess later. Right now, he craves that alone time.

Halfway there, Miguel eventually accepted that you would never cross the path he chose. Especially for a man like him. And he wouldn't blame you one bit.

• • •

You grasped your pillow for dear life as a finger plunged deep within your folds.

“Mi-Miguel, deeper.” Your faint whimpers were drowned out by the thunder. You leaked on your fresh, crisp sheets. Just as the nightly rain drips, so do you.

“Don't stop; please never stop. Oh, Miguel.” You gasped out his name. It felt so sinful on your tongue, yet flowed out like smooth, red wine. Adding another finger, your eyes rolled in the back of your skull. The only thing that plagued, no, graced your mind was the thought of his long digits pumping into you.

The more you imagined, the more your pointer and middle fingers slipped in and out in rapid succession. Your velvety, wet walls clenching so nicely.

Could you take him? Will you feel every part? Every throb, every vein? How warm would it be? Cozy? Or burning due to the desires you'll both share?

You whined in sync with the roaring bolt. You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't.

But you couldn't stop.

Unbeknownst to you, in the middle of the city, in the middle of it all, a grunt sprang out in his own room, the walls concealing his impurity.

“Yes, just like that. You're such a good girl.”

Miguel lay spread on his mattress as he vigorously pumped up and down. His unrestrained clawed hand moving at speeds that no human will ever be able to keep up with.

Veins coursed all over his girth, no matter which angle one peeked at. He was burning, his length on fire. 

He squeezed, emitting another grunt. Globs of precum ran down as he tugged brutally and madly. He imagined it was you riding him for dear life.

“Montas a papi tan bien, bebita.” He groaned as rumbles from the sky joined in. His mind crossed you with every jerk.

How tight would you be? Would he be able to force every inch? He would make it work. He wants to mold you just for him, that you can take it all.

Will you spill over as he thrusts into you at a swift pace? Squirting out all over his tongue or cock?

He growled as his imagination ran feral. His palm slapping against his balls, propelling his hips at irregular tempos. He hears the rain violently drumming against his window, overlooking the ones who look up. 

Yet, the only thing he wants to gaze down upon are those pretty lips wrapped around him. Looking up at him.

Looking up with lust and love. Genuine love.

The downpour can cover his wrongs, but it won't matter. His thoughts for you will fall from him.

He could not stop. He knew he could've.

Yet he should have. He knows he shouldn't stop. The flames spread, shining more within the concealed darkness.

Chapter Text

It wasn't elementary planning to escape the headquarters for the upcoming outing.

After returning to the society, Jess stood waiting, prepared to rip him a new one in front of their peers about how he was late or how he didn't even bother to impose that he'd be out later than expected. 

“The stuff I needed wasn't all at that one shop.” His voice aloof, with a hint of moroseness.

“That doesn't excuse the fact you left Peter and I here longer than what you told us!” Jess shot an incredulous scowl at her ‘superior.’

“I was only thirty minutes la-”

“TWO! You were over TWO hours late, Miguel. I know how time works. I'm not stupid!” She paced back and forth, her hand on her forehead. “If you just notified us that you expected to be out for an extended period of time, then it would have been a bit better. We would've accommodated better, but no. You decided to go the Miguel route and not bother communicating over something as simple as this!”

Miguel flooded with boiling rage. All eyes are on them. His teeth gritted as he struggled not to crack and not send his temperament into a spiral. Especially with the box of medallions from you under his arm.

“Look, I'm sorry. I will make up your time. Now. Let. It. Go.” Miguel loomed over Jess, who still maintained her stance. 

She clicked her tongue and pressed her lips tightly together, head turned to the sky, eyes shut. “This once. Only. This one time. But if you try and pull this stunt again, Miguel, I swear–”

“You won't have to worry about it happening again.”

“I'm expecting it not to.” And with that, Jess sauntered away. 

Miguel fumed as he spotted the other spiders peeking before rushing out, pretending to do their own thing. And that only peeved him off more. 

Miguel had to reason with someone or concoct a scheme. As time churned, Miguel had less than three days to prepare something.  

You proposed to not hang out that Wednesday night, much to his dismay, so you can both be fully rested up Thursday. A challenge for him.

The setback was that he had no one to rely on. Jess was surely out of the picture, and E-616 Peter was presumably upset with him.  He briefly voted on a code to power the systems down for the day, but an anomaly ambush can occur if they're not heeding precautions. 

He researched all of the spider workers who would be able to manage his shift. E-13122 Peter is one of his best, just as good as Jess, but that would raise suspicion.

Lyla was out of the equation all together. She's reliable to a certain extent. 

Each day passed as he bid on creating something, yet each idea was unsustainable. The more the clock ticked, the more lies he messaged to you about him definitely being there, which led him to become more hostile. 

Before he realized it, Wednesday night snuck up on him, and Miguel was frothing. He had less than twelve hours to come up with something, or his excursion with you had to be canceled. 

And he refused to reach that conclusion. 

“Hey Miguel, I've been meaning to ask, what's the invention you're working on to get all those goob- whoa!” 

Peter swiftly dodge-rolled as Miguel swung at full force. Mayday cooed and chortled loudly. “What the heck was that for? I know you don't have a spidey sense, but you gotta be careful where you swing that-”

Peter leapt onto the desk as Miguel catapulted a trash bin at him. “Miguel! What has gotten into you?!” Peter shielded Mayday's top half of her body from the increasing irate spider.

“¡Se supone que ni siquiera debería estar aquí mañana! Pero no tengo nada, nada a lo que recurrir! ¡Ella me odiará! ¡No quiero que me odie!” Miguel maniacally squeezed his hair, talons leaving marks, treading back and forth. 

Peter hopped off the table and lifted his hands. He began to breathe slowly from the nose and out of the mouth at the anxiety-induced man. Miguel eventually mimicked the motions, his pants subsiding. “There we go, big guy. Now tell Peter what's got your suit in a bunch.”

Miguel pierced into his soul with those bloodshot, scarlet eyes. He hasn't slept in two days, stressing over how he'll be able to spend the day with you.

“Peter, I need to see her tomorrow! I have to! I have no way out!” He struck the metal surface, his monitors rattling from the force. 

Peter squinted as he tried to understand what Miguel was rambling on about, when it struck him. “It's that girl, isn't it?” He snapped his fingers. “It is, isn't it? I knew it! I knew you were getting close with her!”

Miguel dug his nails into his work surface, making an unpleasant noise. Peter rapidly covered May's ears from it as he halted his tiny victory. 

“Right, right, sorry. So why can't you exactly go see her tomorrow? What's holding you back?” He cocked his head. 

“I can't leave this, Peter. I have to be here. They need me here. Jess needs me here. I need to be here.”

Peter opened his mouth but shut it when he saw that Miguel wasn't done. 

“But I want to be there. I want to be there for her, with her. She brings that simplicity. That normality. I just want to be near her.” He slumped on his knees, claws on either side of his head.

Peter dazed on at the beaten man, who was indisputably thwacked in the chest with a cupid's arrow. He raked the room, scouring for something, when that lightbulb went off.

“Give me your watch.” Peter held his hand out.

Miguel was stunned before shaking his head. “What? No! I'm not giving you my-”

“You like this girl, right? You said it yourself–you want to be near her. So give me the watch.” He made a grabbing gesture. 

“Peter, I'm not–I'm not just going to give you my-”

“Miguel, come on now. I know you want to give it to me.”

“I do not want to give you my watc-”

“JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN WATCH!” 

Only beeps and machines with the occasional spider-people voices echoed through Miguel's office, as he was stupefied by the sudden aggression from his usual perky friend. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to yell. Mayday, never repeat that word.” Peter whispered in May's hair as she squealed and clapped her tiny hands. “Look, Miguel, give yourself a break. You're the only spider who rarely does it. You're allowed to relax like the rest of us. So for your sanity and for the love of God ours, give me the watch.” 

Peter once again persistently held his hand out. Miguel clutched onto the device. He has never ditched his comm for any reason. None. It's too risky, and anything can happen if he's not keeping up with surveillance.

“What are you planning on doing with it?” Miguel narrowed his eyes, leery of whatever proposal Peter was eager to make. 

“I'm going to have you patrol my universe.”

Before Miguel could retaliate, the spider resumed. “I'm going to have a drone fly across the city and tell them you're doing a patrol for me. And if others try to get in contact, I'll redirect your messages to me.” He jazzed his hands, and a wild grin spread across his face. 

“And if they ask why I can't patrol my own dimension, I'll just convince them I'm having a family fun day. Perfect plan.”

Peter proudly puffed his chest as May wriggled out of her sling, crawling over to Miguel. He remembered what you stated when you described how Peter would aid him if he ever needed assistance. How he's willing to tackle his tasks for him just so he can go out. 

May squirmed onto Miguel's lap, gaily peering up at him with her rosy-red cheeks. Miguel lifted his head to Peter, who was squatting in front with the same jovial smile. 

“I got you, Miggy. Now, please hand over the device so you can enjoy yourself.” 

Miguel's breath stuttered as he observed Peter's eyes. Then he rested the confined tool in the other hero's palm.

Two more strings lay dormant. 

“Gracias, Peter, I truly, truly appreciate this. But if anything goes wrong.” 

Peter wagged his finger and tutted at his boss. “Miguel, nothing will go wrong. And if it does, I’ve seen how you handle these situations a bazillion times. Have some type of faith in me.”

He plucked his yawning daughter off Miguel's shoulder and slid her back into her respective spot. “Time for Mayday to hit the sack. And I think you should too; you have a big day tomorrow.”

Miguel bowed his head, thanking him further as he watched the two portal back to their earth.

He rose to his feet and trudged to his multitude of PC monitors before slipping in a peek at the video of Gabriella and him. 

“Gabi, mi osita… tengo a alguien que aprenderá más sobre ti. Alguien que... aprenda sobre mis pecados. I don't know how they will exactly react, but I feel as though they need to know who I truly am. What I truly am.”

He paused, his eyes darting from one glowing screen to the next, before stepping away into his hiding space to get some rest for tomorrow. All he could pray was that you wouldn't find him repulsive by the end of it.

Chapter Text

You rocked from side to side, anticipation sweeping over your body as you swished your head back and forth, your hair swishing with every pivot. “I hope he didn't get lost.” 

You pulled your phone out and reread the last texts you sent to each other. You planned to meet early, enough to beat the crowds despite it being a Thursday morning. 

Taking one final inspection of your clothes, you sighed out. A frilly, floral lilac romper you took from your job, a white turtleneck, and some ankle boots you dug from underneath your bed. 

“Is this too much? Am I overdressed?”

“I think it looks good on you.” A voice sprung out of nowhere, but you instantly recognized it. 

“Miguel! You made it.” You bounced on the balls of your feet before taking a glance over at him. “And my, you sure do clean up nicely. Maybe I'm underdressed.”

He donned a black pullover sweater that hugged every curve of his muscles, gray chinos, fancy leather black boots, and his shades. You bit your tongue to release yourself from daydreams dipping into treacherous territories. 

“I believe we are both appropriately dressed. Ready to head through?”

You enthusiastically nodded your head as you made a beeline through the pergolas with different dangling flowers, welcoming them in. 

“So this is also your first visit?” Miguel trailed a bit behind, not wanting to overtake you with his steps due to his much longer legs. 

“Mhm. I've been passing here so much during my commute to the shop. I know they allow a certain part to be free to the public, but I think you have to pay once you get to this pretty gate surrounded by hedges of animals. Or so that's what I've read on the website.” Your eyes glimmered at the many hues of Mother Nature. The sky was blue with very few clouds, and the weather was perfect for a stroll. 

Miguel couldn't help but observe your eagerness, a crack of a smile breaking in. You were so exquisite. So endearing. 

And it afflicted him because of what he exactly wanted to disclose. But he shook them away as the day had just begun, and he had no desire to ruin what bit of chance he had left with you.

After making it out under the pergolas, you were greeted by several stone fountains, surrounded by bushes of azaleas, roses, and a few others. Manicured hedges and trees decorate the picnic tables and benches that line the gorgeous scenery. 

“This is the part that is free to enter, but beyond that archway is the rest we have to pay for. And so far, I believe this will be worth every penny.”

“I agree.”

Wiping your hands on your romper, you spied one of the splatter-painted benches. “Would you like to sit and take in the environment for a bit before jumping into the big sections?”

“That'll be a good idea.” Miguel held his arm out, signaling for you to lead the way. 

You ambled towards one in the middle that presented a view that oversaw the fountains and all. Settling down, you both inhaled the refreshing atmosphere. 

The only noises that rang around were the water jetting and trickling, birds whistling whimsical melodies, and your boots occasionally crunching the perfectly cut grass.

“I hope it stays like this for the day. It said Thursdays are pretty slow, unless there's a school trip or rented-out event. And luckily, on the calendar, there's nothing going on today.” You crossed your legs, swaying them leisurely.

“You certainly did your research for this.”

“Of course. I want this hanging-out date to be decently fun.”

Miguel quirked a brow at that. “Hanging out date?” 

You became flustered; your mouth managed to act faster than your mind. You did latch onto the idea of this being a date, as you secretly hoped for it to be. But you didn't want him to know because you were nervous about spooking him away. “Well, I– uh, yes. Well, more so hanging out than the date part. I mean, I know I told you Monday that it could be whatever you want it to be, so if you want it to just be hanging out between two friends… a-are we friends?”

Miguel dipped his head down at you. He never personally put a label on what precisely your relationship is with each other.

He's undeniably sure he relishes your company and the equanimity you give him. How he's able to unwind with no hassle of being hounded whenever he's close to you. 

“Yes, we are friends.”

You couldn't contain your giddiness as you did a little dance. “Oh my gosh. I've been meaning to ask but didn't know how. I mean, even though we do spend a lot of time with each other, I didn't want to assume and pressure you into a domain you weren't comfortable with.”

Miguel was going to miss those jabbers. Your tender temperament. “Thank you. And I'm glad you're happy to be friends with me, of all people.” 

“Hey, why would I not? You are a very sweet, patient, loving, and caring gentleman who always manages to put a smile on my face… How you light up the days when you laugh, the fun we have, how we're able to converse about what goes on in our thoughts. How handsome you are…” You gazed out over the man, getting lost in his features.

Miguel's heart raced at the adjectives you used to describe him. How depressing it'll be when you learn he's the opposite of all of it. 

“Right! What I'm trying to say is to stop that! Don't speak so ill about yourself. You are a terrific person, and I want you to be able to take that with stride and pride.” You hoisted yourself up, holding your palm out. “So shall we explore what Mother Earth has in store for us?”

Miguel was entirely speechless. He's so used to mostly negative connotations that hearing any favorable terms, especially from you, threw him off heavily. But it also stroked his ego, which had bubbled up earlier.

His enormously harsh and brawny hand engulfed your dainty one, but it seemed so right. “Si, I'm very excited to know as well.”

You battled to keep your composure, as you frankly didn't foresee him taking it. It was a fight you had to win. 

Fingers entwined, you make your way to the gate, where Miguel paid for both of your entry tickets, despite your attempts to use your card.

“No. Guarda tu billetera. Remember, I'm supposed to be treating you.” 

You promptly gave up when he whispered in your ear. You begin to reflect on how you simply fall from grace whenever you're near him. It was too easy.

Way too easy. 

The garden was bountiful. There were different varieties of plants, ranging from shrubs, flora, trees, and more. An aesthetic kingdom of creations in harmony. Trails winding into split sections as they hugged a serenely large, sparkling crystal blue lake. 

“This is magical. It's like I stepped inside a fantasy novel.” You waltzed in some more before doing a twirl with your arms wide out. 

A wistful smile emerged from Miguel. He adored the terrain, as he hadn't encountered anything so naturally expansive. Well, besides the vast majority of colorful spiders at the HQ. But what molded this into a more unique case was your presence. It added more to an experience he hasn't sensed in forever.

And this will be another chapter closed when the sun sinks into the horizon’s line.

“Do you wanna see the map, Miguel? It looks big in person, but this place is decently tiny.” You slid back over to him as you held out the map in front of both of you. “Should we make our way towards the tulip clusters and go from there?” 

“That sounds like a plan. Lead the way, and I'll follow suit.”

Bowing your head, you folded the paper and placed it in your bag. Journeying ahead, you were dazzled by the profusion of flowers decorated into numerous shapes and designs, or how they were authentically grown. 

You both wandered towards a pathway until you looped back to the beginning before consulting the map and then headed in an entirely new direction. 

And your conversations, just as plentiful as the wildflowers, were full of liveliness. 

You discussed whatever popped up in your minds, ranging from tales of your younger days to just the everyday moments in life. You did most of the speaking, and when you detected that you prattled on a bit too much, you'd start to apologize excessively. 

“Hey, you're fine. I enjoy hearing what you have to say. It lets me know you're having a good time.” 

“But I also want you to be able to speak your mind as well. I love to know even a sliver of what you're feeling.”

Miguel sensed his spirit and heart crack. Damaging spider webs formed, threatening to destroy the security he fictitiously fabricated. He was conflicted, but he knew.

“I want to. I will; trust me. Just not right now.” 

You tipped your head at the statement. “Whenever you are comfortable, Miguel.” You grazed his arm before swiveling your head around the flowers bordering them. “You know, as we were walking, I had a revelation. A form of interpretation, one can say.”

“And what would that be?” Miguel shadowed your gaze.

“If we were flowers, what would we be viewed as? Everyone would have a slew of choices for one another, but what would be the most common?”

“That's an interesting concept. If you were a flower, I could see you as a sunflower or a daisy. Maybe even a tulip.” 

You folded your hands, placed them on your thighs, and looked up at him. 

“Would you like to know why I chose those flowers?” Miguel angled himself so the sun could project off you just right, giving your skin that glow. 

“Tell me one, and the other two can be a mystery.” Your fingers wiggled in a mystical sort of manner.

Miguel released a brisk waft out of his nose as a snicker merely snuck its way out. “Eres una mujer tonta que adoro mucho. The reason I chose daisies as one is because they're known to represent new beginnings. They bring joy, hope, and cheerfulness.” 

Miguel clenched his hand as he prevented himself from stroking your cheek and hair. “And you certainly do yield those qualities.”

You were dazed when he expressed that, clearly drawn back from his response. “O-oh. Thank you; that's very kind of you.” You tried to hide your giddy smile at his conception of you.

“Now my turn.” You clasped your hands near your chest.

“Alright. What do you perceive me as?” His eyes reflected curiosity as he locked onto you.

“I think you would be a red petunia and a purple hyacinth. Oh! And lavender and marigold.”

Miguel intently gathered your choices; a hint of astonishment poked its way through.  “That's fascinating, especially with… the marigold.” Miguel creased his heavy brows. 

The flower that connects life after death. 

He was thankful for shades so he could conceal his honest reactions. 

“Should I also explain one, or do you want it all to be a secret and leave it up to interpretation?” You teased him as you secured a few inches towards him. 

“Usually I would prefer to know everything, but for now, let's leave it in the air.” A smile tugged on his face. 

“Deal. Now, shall we continue?”

“Si, sigamos adelante.”

“I'm gonna assume you're agreeing with me. Onwards!” You leapt a foot off the ground and did a quick spin, managing to stick the landing smoothly. 

A full-on grin ultimately stumbled on Miguel as you made your way to another part. 

As the day continued, more people filled the garden. It wasn't crowded, but a good handful of people passed by every several minutes. You stooped over, leaning into a bush of peonies as Miguel stood by. 

“You know what I enjoy about flowers?” You leaned in to sniff one.

“What's that? How they can smell like a permanent perfume department?”

You couldn't help but snort as you nodded your head. “And they say you aren't funny. Yes, I love the fragrance each one gives, but there's more to it. How much life they give. These colorful, beautiful things bring so much to us. They give food to the bees, the butterflies, and more. How they grow to show us what the world graces us with.

“How emotions can be expressed within one. Many bring joy, love, and compassion. But some can even show sadness, sorrow, or anger. But I sometimes envy them.” You brushed over a peony with your thumb.

"Why is that?" Miguel squatted next to you.

“They aren't afraid to present vulnerability.”

Miguel's brows furrowed, and his face crinkled in puzzlement. “I don't think I understand.”

“When a flower wilts, it shows it by the petals falling and the colors losing their glowing hue. It could be saying I need more water or sunlight. Or maybe they just need someone to talk to. They aren't afraid to ask. And when given that love, even if it's just a cup of water, they are able to grow back. Brighter than ever.

“They show it's okay to drop those defenses if you truly need help. There will be someone who wants to see that radiating color spring. Oh. I'm sorry for rambling. Do you want to go this way? I don't think we've been into this section.” You adjusted your romper and idly stretched. 

Miguel was stunned. It still never ceases to amaze him how you comprehend existence. Even as a mundane flower, you manage to observe more. And it stung his heart more. He didn't deserve someone with a soul like yours. His was dark compared to your light.

The further you traveled into the garden, the more he learned how warm and gentle you were. The more it frightened him when he finally revealed what he was and what he did.

You rotated back when you noticed Miguel didn't budge. You head back, crouching next to him, concerned if you offended him. “Miguel? You okay? Did I say something that hurt you?”

He suddenly snaps back from his inner torment. “Huh? Oh, no, no. No hiciste nada mal. You are fine, just lost in thought. What you said was very graceful and poetic. You know, I've been meaning to tell you that you have a very beautifully passionate heart.”

You squeaked as you flailed your wrists. “No, no. Thank you, but no. Just how I personally understand the world around me. Um, differentiating opinions and views, you know?”

“And my view and opinion of you won't change.”

You plastered a dumbfounded countenance. “Thank you, Miguel.” 

Miguel sucked in a gulp of air before exhaling. “I think I'm ready to share more of how I'm feeling.”

“Are you sure, Miguel? I don't want to force you into something you're not-”

“Listen. This is what I want; this is what I want–need to get off my chest. You aren't forcing me into anything–no corner, nothing like that.”

You gnawed at your bottom lip and bobbed your head. “Here, let's go sit somewhere. I think I saw a resting area near the entrance.”

You made your way back, and the atmosphere brewed a high, rising strain, mostly from Miguel. Sinking onto the garden bench, you both observed a playground across the stony tracks and hedges. 

A group of school kids were sprinting and climbing on the jungle gym excitedly. A scowl nearly surfaced on Miguel. It was as if the universe was purposely mocking him. 

The shouting of children and trees whooshing in the breeze caught your ears before you emitted a breath of air. 

“You okay? It seems you are a bit… lost?” Your voice faint as Miguel dazed at nothing in particular. He was fraught with anxiety about how to even begin foretelling his horrid misdeeds.

“My brain is foggy. I know I have to tell you, but I don't know where to exactly start.” His left leg began to jitter, restlessly bouncing as his nerves skyrocketed. 

You hovered your hand over the knee, just as you did when you first hung out together. He watched you as the limb slightly decelerated, your fingers massaging in circular motions. 

“And I'm afraid that if I do tell you, everything will fall out of place.”

You joined your legs, eyeing the children gleefully darting around playing, before twirling back to Miguel, eyes affixed on him as your hand proceeded its movements.

“You don't have to, Miguel. Remember, only when you're truly ready for something to be told is, of course, okay with me.”

Miguel was marginally drawn back by your reply. “But I said that I would tell… Are you not upset?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Why would I be? Everyone is entitled to keep a few thoughts and sentiments to themselves.” 

His jaw clenched. He didn't have to force himself? He could go at a pace he desired? 

But now that's not the case. He had to rip the abundance of bandages with no hesitation. He couldn't hamper it; he was conscious of his decision. He just wasn't prepared to lose you.

After one inhale and a long exhaust, his mouth opened. 

“As you know, I'm Spider-Man. You know my purpose is to protect you and the citizens of Nueva York.”

You made sure to only listen. Holding onto every word he gave. 

“But there's more to my position as Spider-Man than just that. Are you aware of the massive building that's been erected in the middle of the city?”

You incline your head. 

“Do you know what it's for?”

Ashamed, you shook your head. You passed by it a couple times, never engaging enough to digest the purpose of the structure. You presumed it was another megacorporation.

“Inside those walls and structures lie hundreds of others. An elite strike force of spider-people dedicated to protecting the multiverse.” 

Your head remained slightly sloping, but your face stayed the very same. 

“Do you know of the theory that there are multiple alternate universes? That there’s a surplus of variations of you, but each exists slightly or drastically different from one another?”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Well, that theory is true. And I lead varying types of Spider-Man who capture anomalies that don't belong in those worlds. To make sure a universe doesn't collapse within itself.”

“That's why you're always so tired…” You mumbled before clamping your hand to your mouth. “I'm so sorry; that was rude of me to say.”

Miguel chuckled at that. “No no. You're right. It's not a light job. I'm usually alert. I barely stray away as I have to command and distribute tasks. Well, minus the times when I stepped away for-” 

He eyeballed you for a second, biting his cheek, before diverting back to the original topic. “I'm not just Spider-Man. I'm an operation. The day I learned I wasn't the only one was mind-boggling, to say the least. But I soon recognized how disparate I was.”

“How so?” You asked meekly. 

“How the story is supposed to go is that Spider-Man gets bitten by a radioactive spider. Rather it be at a lab or a flower shop, they will always be punctured by one.”

Miguel focused on the cloudy sky before gazing back at you. That steady, composed face didn't falter once. “I, on the other hand, was infused with one. Remember that night when I bit that woman and my body was in a frenzy?”

“I do; it was our first time meeting.” You both smiled at how far ago that encounter was.

“Well, I did some samples because I had to know what caused my body to berserk the way it did. The slew of stimulants that circulated within the woman was ridiculous. But there was one that caught my attention. The one I had personal history with.”

Miguel huffed a huge blow of air. “Rapture.”

He circled his neck, anticipating the judging leer of disgust from you. Yet he was greeted with two blinks, your hand still rubbing his knee. 

“Take your time.” Your voice held that sincerity. 

That baffled him. Why were you not sneering? Standing up and denouncing him before turning away, abandoning him forever? 

“Before I became this figure, someone I knew drugged me with it, and I became highly addicted. The reason why my immune system reacted that way was to prevent any sort of damage to me. To battle it.” He grunted. “Rapture messes with a human's DNA, and I for certain wasn't going to let this thing forcibly destroy me. So, I began to rewrite my own DNA. Everything seemed fine until a jealous coworker sabotaged my process, and then I became… this.”

Miguel held his claws up, his eyes glossing over the monster he became. A curse with no reverse or means of escape. “I've done so many wrongs ever since I became this thing. Wrongs that I fear will hurt more and more people.”

You squeezed his knee as your eyes searched his face. Even though the shades concealed him, you felt the pain radiating off of him. 

“It wasn't your fault, Miguel. You were forced into a situation that you attempted to escape from. I'm so sorry you went through something traumatic like that.” You chewed your tongue as Miguel let you continue. “And there will be times where you may do something unpleasant, but it's how you go about resolving them. And Miguel, you are a good person.”

You removed your hand and stroked his arm. “You are keeping thousands of universes safe and the people of Nueva York. You may make mistakes, but you strive to do the right things.”

Miguel choked back a snort. “I'm not a good person. I did heinous things. I-” a lump caught in his throat. He had to snatch this bandage off. The one that hardly contained the gaping wound. The one that was going to fade everything. The one that will unveil the fiend he truly is. 

“I got my daughter killed. I-I killed my daughter.”

He envisioned the terror and revulsion from you this time. And yet, nothing changed. An extra state of peculiarity, but still the same. You waited for him. You perceived that there was a significant amount of context behind the words he blurted.

He couldn't drop the subject. He had to press on. “There was a world where I was happy–well, a version of me. I had a family, a beautiful daughter. And that copy of myself… was killed. So I went and replaced him because I didn't want her to be alone.”

His eyes glassed as the memories faded. “I thought what I did was safe, that I was just taking care of my daughter and being there for her. Just being so happy.” Miguel held back the tears. “Then one day, during her football match, the world just started to glitch. It began to unravel.”

Miguel dug his claws into his scalp as you mindfully detached them, preventing him from doing any damage to himself. 

“Did you know it was going to do that?”

He violently shook his head. “No, no, of course not. But it's my fault! She's gone because of me. She died in my arms because of me! And this is the burden I must bear. It is an endless tribulation. The clock that will never stop ticking, dangling the fault I caused!”

The wooden bench made an ear-wrenching din as Miguel's claws restlessly grated it. You withstood it as your concerns for him rang through. 

“They say time mends all wounds, but it's sometimes hard to tell when it exactly begins. Does it happen naturally? Or does it begin with you? It's a scary thought because it can be unknown to some.”

Miguel held his breath as you spun your body to him, showing you were ready to understand. 

“You hold this guilt as a constant reminder, but in a way, it's unfair to you. You couldn't have known something like that would come.” You rubbed your thumb across his knuckles.

“But I did–I did cause it.”

“You didn't, and I think that's the hardest part. When something around us is out of our control and falls, one of our usual instincts is to blame. And for many, it's ourselves. You're locked in this cage, having to grasp a constant reminder of a traumatic experience no one, no parent, should ever go through.”

“I-I…” Miguel didn't know what to say.

“I'm so sorry you went through that pain. I'm so sorry, Miguel. You both didn't deserve that pain. I may not be able to relate, though I can sympathize. You believe you're a bad father, but you're far from it.”

“But I got my daughter killed…”

“But you didn't mean for that to happen.” Your voice was soft. Shuffling over some now, you glided both of your thumbs on all of his knuckles.

“You are still a good father; things like that will never change. You love and care for her, and I believe your daughter loved you with all her heart.” Your eyes refused to give up their hold on him. “Would you like to know why I chose those flowers for you?”

Miguel nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Purple hyacinths are gorgeous as they stand tall and proud, but they hold so much sadness to them. Red petunias are striking, vivid, and vivacious, but they also represent the anger they keep. But underneath is that marigold and lavender." Your intent never changed.

“Those flowers that show tranquility and that beauty for life. The lavender brings peace and serenity as it fills the air with its loving scent, soothing the aching mind. Marigold is that lively golden yellow that can be spotted beyond the many reds and purples. I know underneath you hold that marigold and lavender buried deep within, they want to blossom out. To be free and seen.”

“La muerte no es el final, sino una continuación del viaje.” He mumbled it so lowly and swiftly that you couldn't quite catch it.

You refrained from asking. When he was ready to tell, you would be by his side.

“¿Por qué estás haciendo esto? ¿Por qué no te enojas? Ay, you are too gentle.” Miguel rested his back on the bench as the kids’ voices reverberated between the two. Full of hope, innocence, joy, and full of amazement.

The jubilation he craved. The memories he misses.

“I don't think it's because I'm gentle; I think it's because you just want someone to listen. You are facing so many things alone that it doesn't sound like there are many in your corner.” You directed your finger towards his glasses. “May I?”

Miguel's breath hitched as he hesitantly bowed his head.  Removing the shades, you mindfully placed them in-between your thigh and his, and you gazed into his glossy eyes. 

Under the shade, they remind you of wine red, smooth and sweet. But now, you could only see the red petunias. The purple hyacinths.

“Know that I'm here for you. I don't know how the ones at your job interact with you– besides Peter, of course. It sounds like he enjoys interacting with you a bit too much.” A puff of laughter escapes from Miguel as a small smile appears on yours. “But I'll always be right here. Even if I were to move somewhere else, I'll still be right there, Miguel.” 

You began to run your thumb against his cheekbone. “I will be here until you discover that field that's blanketed with nothing but lavender and marigolds.”

Snap.

“Thank you. I'm so… thank you.” 

“Of course.” You beamed as your stomach rudely began to rumble. “I think my stomach is trying to eat itself. I think they have a cute cafe here, a befitting choice for this place.” You carefully placed the shades back into his claw as Miguel glazed over them. 

You stood up and stretched. “Lunch will be on me! I know it's supposed to be you paying me back, but I want to treat you as well.” You followed Miguel with your eyes as he stood up to his full height.

“I can still sense there's something on your mind. Well, there are many things, but a specific one. You can tell me if you'd like.” You nudge your hand against his, making an offer to hold it if he wanted. 

“I'm scared in a way. I don't want to hurt you.” Miguel instinctively pulled back a bit, as you did as well, understanding. 

You both began to trek over to the main gate as your eyes fixed on the lake.  “I don't believe you'll hurt me. If something were to arise, we'd find a way through it. Unless it was something super bad, but I have a strong gut feeling that things will be okay.”

You paused in front of an archway arrayed with an assortment of flowers. “And my view and opinion of you won't change.” 

Miguel didn't utter a single word. Not a single sound escaped. 

You gulped, wondering if you had done anything wrong, until you felt his fingers in your hair. The hues from the floral and sun made you only shine brighter.

Miguel had taken his sunglasses back off, his eyes straining in the sunlight, but he didn't care.

“Miguel?”

He leaned down. “Gracias, mi corazón.”

Your lips were soft, and Miguel tasted something sweet as he dipped his head down even more. Your eyes widened until they were heavily closed. 

Your arms clumsily tried to wrap around his neck until you got it. He moved his hands to your hips, hearts beating against each other's chests. Miguel could hear yours.

He wondered if you could hear him too. 

Pulling away, you both panted heavily. You grasped his face between your palms, carefully knocking your forehead against his. 

“Are we still friends?” You cheekily grinned, receiving a hefty laugh from him. 

“Yes, a tiny bit more, I would believe, but yes.” He stole one last kiss before your stomach snapped at you two, growling loudly. Miguel couldn't help but laugh even harder. 

You lovingly captured every crease in his face and how beautifully he fits into the scene around him. How the gold from the sun really suits his tanned skin.

“Te adoro, corazón. Now let's get something to eat.” 

Hand in hand, you two amble to the cafe with no words, as your presence near each other tells it all.

Chapter Text

Nearly a month passed as you and Miguel began to date. Well, as far as dating goes, there technically weren't any labels attached, but you assumed it was because Miguel was nervous about hopping into a relationship after so long. You two still did the lovey-dovey couple activities; you were just strings attached with and without the string. Highly confusing, but you didn't mind.

Tapping your foot along to your music, you cook up some shrimp-fried rice. You came to realize that his job tends to hold him back, and you understood. Being a high-ranking worker and a hero can consume anyone's time, so who were you to be upset if he showed up late?

Especially when you took into consideration that he was missing hours to be with you when you would hang out every Wednesday night before.

You felt there was no reason to complain.

You got into the music more and more. You began to twirl and slide across the floor as if no one was watching you.

“You look so adorable dancing around.”

You jumped out of your skin as Miguel leaned against the pantry door.

“Miggy! I swear.” You feigned a grumpy pout as Miguel couldn't help but grin. “I didn't hear you come in. Did you use my window again?” You turned one of the stove dials down, rotating over to him.

He just blinked and shrugged his shoulders. He was guilty.

“I made you a custom key and everything, and you still insist on using the window?” You tried to keep up the upset charade.

“I prefer it. It's more convenient to me.”

There was a day when Miguel stumbled through the window, gravely injured with a giant gash wound near his chest. You remembered freaking out, wondering why he didn't go to his job.

Apparently, he set his watch to go straight to your place after the mission was over but didn't take into account the collateral damage that was going to beseech him.

Miguel didn't have time to head to HQ, so he painstakingly taught you how to close it up just enough so it could revitalize properly on its own. With a first-aid kit, a fresh sewing needle, and thread you got from your job, you went to work.

Your hands never felt that steady in your life. You didn't realize how much blood a human could hold... or how much puke you'd held back after finishing.

You made sure to vomit when he was deeply asleep.

He ended up replacing your entire mattress, managing to find the exact bedsheets you had owned.

But ever since, he's been crawling through that window, no matter how much you whine about it.

“Miggy. The door.”

“Mi corazón.” He dragged out your nickname.

“I have a door right there. See, see. Door!” You expressively gestured toward it.

“Corazón.” He pushed himself off the pantry, entrapping you in a bear hug, and lifted you up with ease. “Mi chula. Mi adorable corazón.”

He trailed kisses from your forehead down to your neck as you rapidly patted his shoulders, laughing loudly.

“No, no, stop! That tickles! Miggy!” You squealed harder as Miguel tickled your sides, making you squirm. “He-hey! Not fair.” You giggled as Miguel went to kiss your neck again, randomly pausing.

He got a whiff of something. Something strong. 

“Miggy? You okay?” You calmed down and caught your breath as Miguel buried his head deeper into the crook of your neck. “Miggy?”

You've never seen him do something like this before, and it started to raise alarms. Miguel sniffed you and released a groan. Feeling the vibrations in his chest, his grip was gradually getting tighter. 

“Corazón…” Miguel grunted before snapping out of his haze. “¡Mierda! Lo siento mucho, corazón, no era mi intención hacer eso, algo se hizo cargo y no sé qué–” 

He placed you back on the floor before you lightly whacked his chest. “Hey, hey, it's okay. As long as you're okay. So, are you okay?”

Miguel gave a troubled nod. You motioned for him to come to you, to which he obliged. He bent over just enough so you could reach him. Holding his head, you gave him two pecks on the forehead, then pressed yours to it.

“Good, I'm glad you're okay. Now come on, the food should be ready.” You smiled brightly before giving him one more kiss on the lips.

Miguel still wasn't managing the relationship aspect well for himself. He was tremendously grateful for you enduring his moments and tendencies; however, he was still nervous about hurting you. 

“How was work today? You are a bit earlier than usual. I had a weird hunch that would happen too, so thank goodness I cooked when I did.”

Miguel collapsed on your couch, a habit he picked up even before you got together, and massaged his temples. “Where do I even begin? We had two anomalies stuck on E-374, so that meant double the workers in that case, and I had to be there for that. What should have been an hour's work ended up turning into three when Jess's new rookie decided to do her own thing instead of following directions!”

You handed him his serving as he thanked you and hurriedly sat up to give you room to sit. “Oh, the ghost teen? Yeah, teens tend to want to try and venture on their own path. Like any child, they require a lot of patience. Especially teens.”

Crossing your legs on the couch, you both began to devour the meal.

“I try to give them the patience; it's just so hard when you hand them those simple tasks and they still try to be all rebellious and diverge.” Miguel complained in-between bites.

“You're telling me you weren't a rebellious teen?” You placed a hand on your hip.

“No, I wasn't.” Miguel pushed his plate onto the table and crossed his arms.

A smug smile appeared on your face.

“Okay, yes, but that's different. What about you, then? Even though you wouldn't have struck me as one.”

“Hey! I did some rebellious things. I knew where the liquor cabinet was.”

“And did you drink any?” He picked his meal back up.

“Yes. I had a sip–then decided to wait until the legal drinking age. Oh, oh! I did sneak out once. But then they had to turn around fifteen minutes later because I kept crying about getting caught. Then there was that one time I asked permission about sneaking out…”

“My thoughts exactly. You were a good teen who followed directions. If only they were like you, I wouldn't have to deal with this.”

“But that's it; they're not like me. Like how you're not like me, and vice versa. We may have similar viewpoints about things, but we're our own individuals who are still learning to this very day, particularly teens. It's why they need patience so they can grow and understand the world around them.” You stood up to grab water bottles. “You just have to explain your side.”

“I do!” He took the two bottles from your outstretched hand and opened one up.

“Without getting upset, listen to theirs. She probably saw something you didn't see, but the ideas may have clashed. We had our moments like that.”

“But the difference is that you actually hear what I have to say.” 

You smiled and bumped his shoulder, minding his meal and drink. “Well, I also don't get the yelling end. Perhaps that's why it's easier for us.”

“Why would I yell at you? You wouldn't do anything that would warrant it. In fact, I would never raise my voice at you.”

A small curve formed on your lips as you remembered the time Miguel mistakenly butt-dialed you as you heard Miguel shouting at Peter B. about him bringing his baby again on a mission. It was a chaotic five minutes of squealing laughter from a child and Peter and Miguel going back and forth.

Miguel had the urge to recoil until his body blipped out of existence when you told him. After that commotion, it worried you, so you taught him some breathing techniques if he ever felt that rise of aggravation begin to bubble.

It's been semi-helpful for him. He didn't realize how much he had to use to control his temper.

As a few hours crept by, Miguel's watch blared during the middle of a film you both decided to mindlessly check out.

“Miguel? We need you. Strong Sandman variant in E-2230. Truck. Truck! Hurry, Miguel!” An unfamiliar voice sprang out from the communicator as absolute chaos resounded in the background.

“Ay dios mío. ¿Puedo simplemente relajarme por el día?” He glided his hands through his curls. “¿Por un día?”

“Sounded pretty serious.” You nestled yourself into the soft blanket you were sharing beforehand.

“I guess it is if they need me.” He materialized his suit, leaving the mask off, and released a displeasing gruff.

“Still on for that rooftop date this week?” You pulled your body up so you were standing on the couch long enough to reach him.

“I'll see what I can do, corazón. It's just tough to make time now with all that's going on, and I ju-” 

You stole a kiss from him. “You know, I'll understand if we have to postpone. Now go out there and be the good guy that you are.” You affectionately rested your forehead on his, garnering a smile from him.

“Gracias, mi corazón.”

“Of course, and use the door. The door–Miggy. The door. The door!”

Miguel sprinted towards your bedroom and right towards the window. “In a rush, mi corazón. More convenient!”

And with that, he was swinging into the city's night. You gave a bemused smile before laughing to yourself, resting on the wooden sill, gazing out over Nueva York's luminous view.

Miguel chuckled to himself as he grappled and flung from lamppost to building. He wanted to revel in the moment, especially after spending time with you, but his comrades wouldn't allow it as his wristwatch beeped and blared again.

Grating his teeth, he spawned a portal in mid-air and leapt right through. For once, he weirdly felt prepared to take on this situation. That's a common reaction, but now he seemed unstoppable.

This was the dynamic. You and Miguel appeared more lively—well, as lively as Miguel can get.

Ronnie nearly ecstatically backflipped off the shop's roof when you first told her you and Miguel were together.

You made sure to leave the Spider-Man part out.

And the spiders detected that Miguel didn't get irked as much. He still has his pissy moments, but they came off oddly tame.

Snuggling in your favorite cover, you stared at the sky. You focused your eyes on locating any other stars but found difficulty as the light pollution canceled it out.

“I swear one of these days I'm going to move out of the city.” You huff, rubbing your arms.

He was running late, but you didn't mind. You couldn't fully comprehend his work or what he exactly does, yet you were aware of the on-demand position he faced, and he was definitely worth the wait. 

Shutting your eyes and taking in the crisp air, you visualized an iridescent flare covered in a multitude of tinier colors.

“Hola, mi Miggy.” Your voice held that delight.

Miguel eyed you from behind, as he could picture the smile you were giving.

“Mi corazón. I'm so sorry I'm late! I got caught up in another mission. This time I was stuck with the cockney punk, Peter, and Jess's apprentice. Lo juro, estoy tratando de escucharlos, corazón, de verdad, es cuando hacen estup-”

“Come sit down, Miggy.” You tapped the empty spot next to you, not peering back.

Miguel didn't bother to phase his suit away and took the hint. You encased him in the blanket and cuddled up in his chest. Eyeing his state, his suit was a bit dusty; attempts at freshening up the sweat, the cuts, and dried blood. His gleaming, tanned skin bathed in the moonlight.

He was a rich, fine painting.

“You don't have to apologize, you know. If that were the case, it'd be an endless loop.” You knocked your head on his muscular arm. “I knew what I was getting into. As long as I get to be with you, I'm fine if you're late. If it's one hour or two, hell, even eight, it'll be alright.”

“The forbearance of a saint. I swear, you make it seem so easy.” Miguel wrapped his arm around you, dragging you closer.

“Well, it's not something you wake up with one day. Just a commodity I've learned from years of what I've seen and gone through.” Checking the time, you slapped at his thigh a bit. “Give me ten minutes. I'm going to run and make us some tea. I also made some cookies! Uh, the pre-made dough kind. I would've baked some, but I couldn't overcome the case of... laziness.”

He gave a slanted smile and whiffed a chuckle out. “That's fine, corazón. Take your time.”

With a cheer, you rushed down to your place as Miguel zoned out the minute you were out of sight.

This is what he should be used to. This is what he wants to be used to. No troubles, no pestering from spiders that do whatever they please, no anomalies, and no daunting pressure about a universe collapsing.

Even though it's wedged permanently into a part of his brain, it partially dwindles into a bean-sized thought when he's beside you. Whenever he's ready to see you, his heart and stomach flutter in anticipation.

Your smile, laughter, kindness, affection, and more embellish his formidable and stressful life. It's to the point where he daydreams about a future with you. He notes it to be utterly pathetic, as if he's some hopeless romantic. But he just can't stop the thoughts.

Living in a gorgeous, rustic farmhouse by a lake. A garden spirited with fresh fruits, vegetables, and flowers as his children pluck away weeds or harvest some of the delicious foods for the night's dinner.

As the heat passes through, he'll bring out some fresh lemonade as his kids dash in his direction, laughing with your smile. They'll chug it down and immediately want to wrestle before you warn them not to, as they just drank, and it'll make them sick. They’ll share a calming moment before joining back together and helping in the mini-farmland. He's one with peace—a warmth he hasn't been acquainted with in so long. He'll look up, his heart melting as the kids' curiosity seeps through, and you'll answer, giving your words of compassion and wisdom.

He'll be happy. At that moment, he was happy. In this moment, he wants to be-

“Miggy? You okay?”

Miguel, containing his discomfiting reaction, turned over to the voice. You'd held a tray with a plate full of gooey chocolate-chip cookies and two mugs with steam flowing out of them.

“Si, corazón. Going over the assignment from earlier. Thinking how it could've gone smoother.”

Placing the tray in front, you carefully handled his tea and settled it in his hands.

“I'm sure everything went well, Miggy. You got that wicked, intellectual, massive brain power going on up there. Knowing all those big boys science and math to help you out!”

Miguel didn't know, but rather to be fazed or amused by that, before a hardy laugh broke out.

“Big boy science and math?”

“Yeah. Especially math, because you calculate the problems.” Your eyes crinkled as you granted him a giant, wide-mouthed smile.

Miguel sat the tea beside him and rested his claws over his face. An absurd, muffled wail of agony escaped the man as he shook his head. “Ay dios mío–where's the suit? You must be hiding it somewhere.”

He cradled you in his arms and pokes your sides as snorts of laughter spewed out from you. You both eventually recovered from the antics and munched on a few cookies while sipping the herbal tea.

“Oh, hey, it's the start of a new month. A new beginning.” You signal at the waning crescent and lone star.

Miguel stalks to where your attention was directed, as his eyes go back and forth between the two.

“I know about the new month and how it signifies the time change, but new beginnings?”

“Mhm. In a way, a new month is the start of something fresh. When you close the last day of the month, the calendar rolls over to a whole different part.” You take a sip of your beverage. “Sure, the days and months are the same every day of every year, but when they change, so can life. The moon and star can start and continue a story, but the chapters will be different. Progress! Progress will always be made, no matter how you look at it.”

Miguel sat his mug down. He let your words sink into his depths as he took your views into consideration. “Do you think I have progressed?”

“For the month? Yeah, they're small but still noticeable. I've noticed you have been doing the breathing exercises whenever something irks you. You say what's on your mind a bit more, which I'm really happy for.” You snuggle next to him, your head near his pec.

“You slightly ask for more help instead of struggling because of that control you try to unhealthily keep fed. You take my compliments a bit better; you still have moments of rejecting them, but it's still a good step.” You placed your mug next to his. “You know, now that I say all that out loud, they're bigger progressions than tiny ones from my standpoint.” You giggled as Miguel just stared.

“Miggy, is everything okay? I didn't upset you, did I?”

He only shook his head, placing your hands in his. “I-I just remembered something I read a long time ago.”

Squeezing his hands, you waited for him to speak his mind.

“Osram ne nsoromma. The moon and star also represent love, faithfulness, and harmony. The symbol represents a bond between two lovers. It's usually for marriage, but I now believe it can go even further.”

Your heart raced as your mouth gaped open. “Miguel…”

“Luna. Mi Luna. Corazón, you are my moon. Whenever you illuminate the night's sky, I will always be there, right next to you or all around.” He caressed your cheek as he wiped a tear away.

“How do you say star in Spanish?”

“Estrella.”

“Mi Estrella, my star. The moon and star. Even if all the other lights try to hide them, they will manage to shine the brightest.”

Your lips met in a fiery, impassioned kiss, entangled in an embrace that you both refused to separate from.

“I swear… we are so cheesy like year-old cheddar.” You dried your eyes, as more teardrops flowed and a shiver of laughter escaped from you.

“Si, mi Luna, but if it's near you, I would be the cheesiest cheese in the entire universe.” Miguel pulled you up and tightly hugged you. He embedded his face in the crook of your neck and lightly kissed it. Trembling on the flurries from his lips, a whimper leaves your mouth.

Then that scent punched his nostrils. “Corazón…”

A strangled moan escaped from Miguel. His grasp refused to loosen. His tongue was swirling and teasingly gliding against your delicate skin.

You forced your squeaks back, as you didn't want anyone to hear you both up there. But when he grazed his fangs against your skin, a whiny cry found its way out. Miguel slipped his claws under the hems of your shirt, faintly nicking your flesh with his talons.

“Mi corazón. Hueles tan delicioso. Tu aroma perfecto y tu piel aterciopelada es adictiva, mi Luna.”

“Mi-Miguel, wa-wait. Fuck–Mm.” You bit your tongue, mewls coming from your throat as you gripped his hair.

His calloused fingers left circled patterns over your waist, his teeth sinking into your supple skin, nipping and sucking roughly. His claws sneakily palmed your breasts, squeezing the wretched fabric that stood in between him and your lovely mounds.

“Mi Estrella–” you slurred in lust, your mind racing in rounds until it was dizzy.

Miguel removed his mouth, and a giant reddish-purple splotch lay proudly for all to see.

He grabbed your sides, mindful of his sharp nails. His dangerous, carmine eyes pierced into yours. You stared back, heaving, as Miguel brought his thumbs down to your puffy lips, parting them with ease. Your tongue marginally slipped out, an indication he took to run them down your glossy appendage. Your breaths were ragged—how hot it was against his fingers.

He moved them away, causing you to whimper. Your aroma managed to become stronger, and that sprang another part out of him.

“Mi Luna is going through a time. She's about to begin... Mi corazón is going to start.” His husky voice huffed against your neck as you moaned out loudly.

He bundled up a portion of your hair, bringing your neck closer to his mouth, and bared his fangs. You quivered violently, petrified, and yet intoxicated, as you were ready to be bitten–

“¡Ah, mierda!” Miguel yanked away, sporadic wheezing expelled from you both. Miguel drew back his claws, and you uncoordinatedly straightened your hair back to its original state.

You were a few inches apart as you two gazed out into the city's skylines.

You debated if you should question what happened but refrained from it and peeked over at him, observing his ashamed face. You could tell he was rebuking his actions mentally, and it crushed your soul.

“Don't, mi Estrella. I enjoyed it. I very much loved every second of it.” You filled that shred of space that he made between you two.

“Corazón, I nearly bit you. What if I accidentally punctured an artery? What if I hurt you? What if I-”

Thud.

Your forehead was on his, and your fingers were kneading his shoulders to relax him.

“I know you wouldn't, Miggy. I trust you with my body. I know that's crazy to say, but I'm saying it because I'm comfortable around you. I know you'll never do anything to harm me in any way. Well–” You leaned into his ear and licked his earlobe. “Unless I asked for it.”

An electric bolt shocked down his spine, making him grunt. His eyes were scanning yours, as he only saw that consideration and understanding. That emphaty. That affection.

A string snapped to the ground.

“Come with me to my job.” Miguel snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you down.

Letting out a squeaky “oomph,” you landed on his hard chest. “Hu-huh? Do what now?” You balanced your elbows on his pecs and scooted your way to face him. 

“Come back to the HQ with me. Spend the night.”

You flickered your eyes, confused at so many things. “Wait, wait. Several questions.”

“Alright, adelante.” He nodded to let you continue.

“One. You stay at your job? Two, spend the night tonight? Or another night tonight? Three, is that allowed? I know you can have visitors, but not after closing hours.”

“One, yes. I have an apartment near the top floor. Two, yes. Tonight. Three, I'm the leader; I'm allowed to bring in anyone.”

You couldn't argue with those results, but that angel on your shoulder was vocalizing their worries. “Fair, fair. We'll be okay, right?”

“Si, mi Luna, but we'll have to go through the back entrance.” Miguel arranged you so you were straddling in his lap.

“Not the front?” You angled your head upward.

“I don't want them harassing us both. They are a very nosy and gossiping bunch.”

Bowing your head, you began to gather the dishes. “Well, if that's the case, help me clean while I pack up some clothes. Do you think you'll be able to get me to work tomorrow?”

“If I can turn a forty-minute walk into ten, I can definitely get you there in the same amount of time or less.” Miguel swiped up the tray for you.

“Sounds like a plan. Alright, give me some time, and we can head on out.”

With a pep in your steps, you packed a small drawstring bag with your pajamas, extra clothes, and a few hygienic products.

Miguel proposed swinging you both over to the headquarters, just so you could become familiar with the process.

You loved that idea. Being lifted off the ground into the metropolis’ gleaning nightfall. The ambience that will ring around them.

Who would regret a choice such as that?

You regretted that choice.

Clinging onto his front for dear life as the winds violently whipped your hair and face. Screeching, you realized whiplash was certainly what you were going to feel as he propelled his body from building to building, with the occasional extreme free fall.

His claws were grating up the infrastructures before being aggressively snapped forward whenever he flung his neon web out.

No wonder he had you wear your bag upfront as he deathly tied the opening. All of your items would've been scattered across Nueva York like a scavenger hunt. 

Miguel touches down behind the tower with a powerful thump, his hand patting your back. “Alright, we're here. You're okay, right?”

Skidding down his body, you dared not  speak one word, dropping down to the pavement floor on your hands and knees. You appeared as if you were a wet cat who just got pushed into the water.

“I love solid ground. I would make love to every inch of this sidewalk if given the possibility. Oh God, I'll just wake up early and walk to work. Yeah. Yeah, I'll go with that.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and puffed a chuckle out. He assisted you up, stabilizing you to make sure you reclaimed your bearings.

“Okay, but if you're running late, mi Luna, that'll be on you.”

You nuzzled your head into his torso, giggling into it. “I'll take the repercussions. But, if I'm desperate, I'll ask for the express pass.”

You bumped your hip into his side and looked up. “So this is the place. Jeez, Miggy, how do you not get disoriented with this?”

Miguel shrugged his shoulders. “Second nature? You get used to these things.” He twisted his body around, making sure the coast was clear.

“Alright, let's head on in.” Miguel took your hand into his and led you towards a narrow pathway with a singular street lamp illuminating a very unused pathway.

At first glance, it seems to be a regular wall that's attached to the building, but hidden away, tucked in a corner, were two steps leading to a single steel security door. It's blocked out, even from a bird's-eye view, just as he wanted it.

He specifically demanded to have a secret back entrance when he wanted to sneak away from it all. He scarcely uses it, but when the time is desperately desired, he heads on off. You observed as he punched a few buttons on a digital keypad, intrigued by the separate world behind that barrier.

Jitters snuck its way to you as he pulled the door open for you. You were ready to view the vast amounts of colorful spider-people swinging by and crawling up the walls from all sides.

Then your face dropped. Buzzing lights, white panels, and dirt-free, blue tiles underneath filled the hallway from as far as you could see.

“It looks like a bad clinic horror film.” You swirled your head from wall to wall.

“It's designed to be like this. It doesn't get any sort of traffic. Only two of us know about this. Well, three now, but I'm one of them. Come on.”

The walk seemed endless. The corridor looped endlessly for you as nothing changed. Finally entering a new section with spread-out hanging wires and brighter lights, a single door on wood panel partitions stared them down.

“Are there more apartments, or is it just yours?”

“There are spare rooms, but not like this.” He fumbled for his key and opened it when new voices began to close in on your direction. Miguel shoved you in and briskly slammed the door shut.

“So after every mission, you have to make sure that you file a report in the system. That way, everything is orderly, and—oh, evening, Miguel.” Jess acknowledged her superior and pinned her hands to her hips.

A teen with half-shaven, ear-length blonde hair saluted Miguel, then immediately finger-gunned. “Evening, captain. Or do I call you Miguel? I'm still trying to figure that part out. The other spiders say leader; others say superior. I hear the vampire overlord from time to ti-”

“Gwen. Shut up.” Jess pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Shutting up.” She zipped her lip and pretended to throw away the key.

Miguel narrowed his eyes on her, still dissatisfied with the earlier events, even more so with the ‘vampire overlord’ nickname he didn't know about.

“Oh, Lord, anyways, I was meaning to contact you about you taking off right after the mission. You usually stay behind to make sure things are in proper order, but they said you just took off. What happened?” Jess dryly asked.

“I had to do more coding for a molecular device I'm wanting to use for the Go Home Machine. And I'm creating a new invention that will smooth and increase the portal's wrap speeds.” Miguel leaned his back against the wall and glared at the two. “I wanted to jump back into it.”

“Oh, sweet, you are? Thank goodness, I swear, when I'm blasting through, my stomach feels as though it's being yanked out of the soul and the bod-”

“Gwen!” Jess turned to her with a disbelieving, scrunched frown.

“Gotta lock that key from me! Lock it up and just throw it. Okay, I'll just–” She nervously tittered before taking three steps back.

“Right. Miguel, you've been working on these projects for a while now. I've noticed the influx of days you've been missing to work on them. Look, if you need me to have Lyla or Spider-Byte assist you in the work, we can reduce their time on other proj-”

“I don't need assistance. I'm fine doing it by myself.” Miguel shoved himself off the hardwood.

“You say that, but for the past, what? For three and a half months, you've been working on these, and I'm hardly seeing any progress being made. Plus, the extra reports and anomaly cases have started piling up on my end. I've been telling you, Miguel, I need help.”

“They take time, Jess. I'm doing them. I just don't want to waste productivity on tedious paperwork.” He hissed, trying to curb his temper.

Lies. Lies. They were all lies, and he knew it.

“I know that stuff takes time, Miguel, but you promised that you wouldn't leave me in the open like this.”

“Jess, yes, I get it. I just need the time." Miguel's breathing picked up as Jess continued her tirade.

“I recall alerting you months prior that there's been rampant increases in anomaly activities. And I'm just alerting you now that the papers have been accumulating over the week, and I need you to-”

“JUST SEND THE DAMN REPORTS. I'LL DO THEM.” He rammed the wall with his closed fit, causing a piece of wood panel to collapse on the ground. Gwen covered her face, hoping not to get smacked by plywood.

He brazenly inhaled and exhaled out the nose and mouth. His strained, ragged breathing saturated the tense air between the three. Gwen pretended to check her phone as Jess closed her eyes, the noiseless space ringing until she spoke up.

“Miguel. I know things have been tough lately, but like you tell us, focus on the tasks at hand. Right now, these tasks need to be reported, making sure those anomalies’ messes are thoroughly scrubbed clean. That's all I'm asking.”

Miguel withheld any comments about that. Refusing to even make a peep. Pressing her lips together, Jess tapped Gwen's shoulder. “Let's go. I'll show you an efficient way to document your assignments.”

Gwen returned it with a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Uh, see you around, boss.” She gave a stilted wave, then hastened her steps to the opposite end.

“I'm not trying to attack you, Miguel.”

“That sounds exactly what you're trying to do.” He harped back.

She opted to ignore that. “You've been more distracted as of late, and it's been stressful for us as well. I just want to be on the same page.”

He averted his attention to the floor. He hated how she was right. He scorned the fact, but he couldn't tell the reason.

It'll damage them too much. 

“Night, Jess.”

Jess clicked her tongue. “I'll send you the folders. Goodnight, Miguel.”

No other words were exchanged. No more needed to be.

Your ears perked when you heard the door hinges squeak a bit. “Everything okay? I heard a loud bang.”

Miguel trudged over to his couch, where you resided, and slouched next to you. “Just my secondary refusing to understand that I have other things to attend to. I have too much on my plate, and she just wants to pile more shit on me!”

You sensed the heated vexation emitting off him as his leg juddered. Your right hand positioned itself over his knee and waited. It took a minute, but it decreased in speed.

You knew.

“Being a leader is hard. They always look to you for everything or the right choices. You're held to these impossible standards just because you're the overseer… but is the leader also not allowed to have someone to rely on as well?” You rubbed your hand in circular motions as he drooped on the sofa more. “You have so much weight on you; does no one help take some of it off your shoulders? I know Peter, but what about the others?”

Miguel kneaded his temples and sighed out. “In a way, they try, but they don't do it right. I have to do so much, but more things pop up, and it never ends.”

“Ah, that unhealthy habit of you fueling that control. You haul it around to the point where you're burning yourself out, mi Estrella.”

“I just don't want anything to go wrong, but I have things that I need to do. It's an endless cycle of so many things that need to be taken care of. But I can't do those things because of moments like this!”

His claws dragged against the cushions, ripping up some of the padding. You removed your hand from his knee to his hand.

“Remember at the garden how I said I envied flowers?”

Miguel turned to you with a quizzical gaze. “Yes?”

“And how they're able to show vulnerability.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“From the things you've told me, it sounds like you're used to doing everything by yourself because you're worried others will mess up, but it's okay to slip up and show vulnerability and ask for help. We rely on each other, from the smallest of things to the biggest.” You interlaced his and your fingers together.

“Maybe try telling your secondary, uh, Jess? That's her name, yeah, if there's anyone who can help out with some of the stuff that has to be done. If there's hundreds of spider-people working here, I'm pretty sure they're all crazy smart to take on some of the endeavors that you do.”

Was Miguel being biased in this situation? Yes, he was, but hearing it from you was soothing. That benign, good-willed nature as you conversed with him instead of tearing him down.

“I-I will see what I can do, mi Luna. Simplemente, no puedo creerlo. How are you so gentle?”

“I'm not gentle.” You giggled. “I just want to make sure that you're okay. I deeply care for you, Miguel, and I only want the best for you.”

“No, no, mi corazón, you are very gentle.” He engulfed you in a firm hold, kissing your forehead as you laughed, and grabbed his arm with both your hands.

“Alright, alright. I'll be gentle as an excuse to forgive you for pushing me into your apartment.”

“Ay, I'm sorry, mi Luna. I panicked when I heard others, and I didn't want them harassing you and-”

“Hey, hey, it's okay; I'm just teasing.” You placed your lips on his forearm and nuzzled more into him.

Miguel sheepishly grinned and buried his face in your hair.

“So…”

“Si, mi corazón?”

“Going to show me around your place? It's so dark in here, I nearly stumbled over many unknown objects.”

“Ah–sorry about that. Yes, I'll show you around.”

Chapter Text

It wasn't much. A nice kitchen that was barely touched. Clothes, tools, and other technology pieces were scattered about the floor. His bedroom had one dresser, with the solitary turntable and records you gifted him decorating it, and a gigantic California king bed. There was a long pane glass window in his main living and bedroom overlooking the twinkling lights of Nueva York.

Truly a magnificent sight to behold.

You both decided to just relax on his provisional bed, laying on your backs and staring at the ceiling. It was past midnight, and neither one of you could fall asleep.

“You know, Miggy, I've been meaning to ask, what do you do to relax? Besides coming over to my place.” You propped yourself on your elbows, turning your attention on to his bright, red eyes.

“Huh. Well, let's see. I enjoy–I do enjoy listening to music. Going to the park where we met. Side note, why were you there so late?”

“I wanted to clear my head. The park is only ten minutes away from my building, so I decided to just go. Why did you go?”

“Something told me to go. I guess gut instinct? I usually try to use my head more, but it won that round.”

You crawled and perched yourself on his chest, lightly stroking his face. “I'm glad it won.”

“I'm glad it did too.” His arms linked around your waist.

“Now, back to the matter at hand, is that all you like to do? Music and the occasional trip to the park?”

Miguel pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I… I can't think of anything else. I don't really have unlimited days and hours to do things I enjoy.”

“What about right now?”

His face twisted into a pensive daze. It barely crosses his mind that he appoints days for you. How prominent you're in his mind–that you capture so much of him.

“Huh. Well, I guess you can count this.”

“We can move on from this subject if you'd like.” Your forehead was placed on his.

“Quiero hablar de esto. It's okay, mi Luna. In a way, you're right. I see visiting you as a customary routine. That it's etched into another part of my day, but moments I profoundly enjoy.” Miguel turned to the glass opening, concentrating on the artificial blinking lights that engulfed the world. “But is it wrong to say I feel guilty?”

“Guilty when you leave your work?” You buried your head in his chest.

“I can't pinpoint the exact reason, or maybe I do. When I don't return, the burden dissolves but also manages to clutch onto that trepidation.”

“Miggy, are you still talking about your job?” You peered up at him.

Miguel leans his head back, vacancy plastering his face. “But does it truly wane? There's so much wrong, so many errors that I can't rectify, that I start to believe—no, do believe—I'm not worth…”

Miguel draws to you a solemnity that glosses over.

“Miguel?” You clamp your palms on the sides of his jawline.

“I'm sorry, corazón. I got lost in thought.”

“Are you okay? It sounded as if it was haunting your mind.”

“Haunting?”

You nodded. “Your eyes glazed over, fixed on something. You masked a stony facade, but your eyes had this faint, bleak, and ghastly look. What were you going to say? Do you believe you're not worth what?”

He averted back to the transparent window, a steady sigh spilling out. “That I'm not worth it. That I-I… shouldn't belong. That I'm this rancorous being with little to give. This monster that consumes others and brings them down."

You deadpanned for a moment, then slowly a choleric expression replaced it. Pressing his cheeks together until his lips puckered, you roughly placed your forehead on his. “Don't you ever say that about yourself. You are worth every second, every minute, every hour, and every day. You aren't a monster; you are this amazing man who does his damndest to do good and to give so much to everyone and everything, and I want this man to do the same for himself. I want my star to see that he is just as bright and wanted as the others!” 

Your heart drummed uncontrollably. Miguel was stunned at your sudden, blazing obstinacy.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't-” He was left shell-shocked.  

Having someone be passionate about how he perceives himself was an unconventional circumstance for him. He's so used to the belittling and snide remarks from others that all forms of positivity are out of the ordinary. 

“Don't be sorry, Miggy. Well, you can tell yourself sorry. Don't talk down on yourself when you're far, far from those things. Do you understand?”

“Si. Si, mi Luna. Ay… ¿Qué hice para que alguien tan maravilloso como tú descienda a mi vida?”

“French! I took French!”

“Yes, yes, you did.” Miguel flipped you over, garnering a squeal from you.  

He compressed a bit of his weight on your body and kissed your lips over and over before lingering for a few seconds.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Any chance you can get.” You enfolded your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Then I'll keep saying it. You are beautiful, my moon. How you adorn life and the ones around you, no matter where you go, you illuminate the paths with a glow that will never fade.”

A croaking screech belted from you, and your eyes began to well up with tears. 

“Mi Luna, you okay?”

“Yes! I'm okay. Just caught–caught off guard.” You planted your face on the side of his neck.

Then that fragrance smacked him. He removed his hands from your sides, digging his claws into the sheets. He groaned, doing his best to control himself.

“Miggy? Alright, there is something going on, and I'm getting anxious. This is the third time you have had this… reaction. What's wrong, mi Estrella?”

‘You should be ashamed, you sick pervert.' It was one of the only sentences echoing in his conscious. ‘She is going to be appalled by your disgusting ways.’ Was one of the only assumptions he was falling for.

Yet, when he peers into those eyes, all he sees is earnest empathy. That you’ll take the time to understand, no matter what is propelled in your direction.

Despite the destructive beliefs he holds, he will let you in.

One string lies dormant.

“I-I… Since I have these enhanced... complications, I'm able to–I'm able to smell when you're about to... start your cycle?” He winced, his voice drawing out.

“Oh. You know, I think the app I have said I'm supposed to start in the next few days.” You rubbed your chin, closing one eye, as your brain tried to remember. 

“I- you're not mad about that?”

“No, why would I? You're basically like a personalized, super-scent humanoid app. Ah, that sounds bad when I put it into those terms.”

“Ay, no, no, I understand what you're trying to say.” 

Miguel gritted his teeth, avoiding your stare as he demeaned himself for a request he wanted. Despite him sparing no effort to shy away, you realized his chagrined feeling. 

You wanted to help him. You would just have to leave earlier to make a pit-stop over to a pharmacy, but it'll be all worth it.

“How does it affect you? I mean, I can take a gander, but I just want to be a hundred percent about it.”

“I just get so tense, and my blood boils to the point I can't even control myself. That's why earlier on the roof, I almost bit you because your aroma was so strong. Well, if you're about to start, that's probably the reason why.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip, enquiring about your options. 

“Off.” You simply commanded and patted his chest. 

Confused, he creased his brows before following your instructions. His mind began to scramble, disconcerted by what exactly you were masterminding. 

Sitting up, you flung your legs around his, straddling on them. “So, if I'm understanding this correctly, you basically get hot and bothered?” You swept your thumbs against his digital suit. “And you need to have it taken care of? A sort of intervention?”

Interested in where this was headed, even though he caught the implications, he tightened his lips, not daring his mouth to open, and bowed his head.

“Well, if I'm causing this stimulation, then I should be the one to help, right?” While leisurely caressing his thighs, you hypothetically watch his form for any minor differences. Rather, it may be from facial expressions to the body itself.

“Si. But, mi Luna, don't do this because you feel obligated to. I want you to be just as comfortable, and I don't want to-”

“Get rid of it.”

That dour attitude lunged out of nowhere. Miguel was keenly aware of how precisely doting you can get for your feelings for him, but never so frank with it.

“Corazón, are you sure?”

A roguish grin spread on your lips. You inched your hands towards his not-so-discreet bulge, your digits brushing against the fabric, concealing it.

“Is this answering your question?” You pressed your pointer finger on it, leaving feather-like touches around the outline. 

Miguel sharply sucked in a gulp of air, your eyes enthralling him as if you were a siren. 

A songbird he will follow until the end of the universe. 

“Remove the suit for me, Miggy. Let me help you.” You bent over right up to his ear. “Let me worship you.” Your warm breath tickled his earlobe and part of his neck. 

No hesitation; he got rid of his gear from neck to toe. Body burning with desires for you and what you were cooking up. 

Your devilish grin dropped a bit, ogling at Miguel. You both haven't done anything explicitly sexual in your relationship, minus the few heated makeout sessions that usually lead to Miguel's shirt being thrown in a corner, but that's how far you would go. 

It was mostly due to you being afraid you would be inadequate for someone like him. 

And the same went for Miguel.

You bug-eyed at his size. You often daydreamed about how endowed he was. You were acutely aware that he was going to be large and highly telling due to his dimensions, yet being face-to-face with it was a new ballgame. A drop of sweat trickled down to your cheek as you visibly gulped. Miguel, alerted, began to materialize his suit back on when a hiss revealed itself to him.

You groped him in your hand, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm. “No. Don't. I'm just not used to something this big, but I'm not backing down from this, oh no, mi Estrella. I'm going to take this one head first.” 

You slyly winked as your pace kept that firm pattern, your lips licking at the sight of him. He belonged in a museum. You felt so selfish, hoarding this sculptured man away from everyone, although you craved to keep him all to yourself. 

Miguel bit his lip, grunting through his teeth at your soft yet strong grip. “Joder, Luna mía, no sabes cuánto tiempo llevo queriendo sentir tus delicadas y suaves manos sobre mí de esta manera.”

Groaning out, he dipped his head back, his hips bucking with your strokes. “There you go, mi Estrella, let loose, my love.”

The only light to shine through was the city. You took in how the dazzling hues melded into a bewitching array over his chest and parts of his face. 

You always inquired about how you were blessed with him.

Picking up speed, you adored every appearance his face created as you continued to work your magic. Precum was leaking down, some slipping through your fingers as squelches from his self-made lubricant blessed both of your ears.

“There's so much, Miggy. How often do you think of me? Of us? Of your moon taking care of you?” You squeezed, causing Miguel to violently toss his head back as your nails carefully scraped down his length.

“¡Mierda! So much, mi Luna, so, so much. Necesito tu boca, por favor, corazón, tus bonitos y tentadores labios a mi alrededor, mi luna. Ah–¡Por favor!”

“What was that, mi Estrella?” Your tone rang out with a melodic chirp. Your hand jerked in a wild, twisting motion as his manhood throbbed from the strain you were creating. 

“Your mouth–fuck! I need that pretty little mouth. Por favor, mi Luna.” Miguel rasped out, enthralled at how you were already breaking him. 

The cheeky grin never once left your lips. You tilted your head downward to view your handiwork, your other hand searching its way and latching onto the thick shaft.

You could barely cover it as your palms gyrated at different tempos. More drops of the clear substance dribbled out from the swollen tip. Miguel gritted his teeth, his fangs grazing the bottom of his gums from the sensations. 

He hasn't felt this way in years. If not, better. Even when those previous one-night stands or self-pleasing himself indulged, it couldn't compete with your touch or swift motions. How delicate yet robust your hands moved, using every fiber to care for him and make him feel good.

And it only made him want you more. 

“Mi Luna–Ah–please your- fuck–your mouth.” Miguel couldn't contain the hoarseness in his throat.

You eyeballed the phallus in your hands. The more you pumped, the further that tingle in between your thighs grew.

The veins popping out, the heat warming up your fingers with every stroke, and the flowing liquid from his heightened arousal. His musk emits, mixing with the scent of pure desires.

Your mouth watered as you still gripped the pulsating member. Your head was leaning down as your eyes faced his reddened head. Moistening your lips, you kissed it. A shock coursed all over Miguel. He released a low, husky groan, his hips bucking more involuntarily. 

“Mi Luna.”

“I see you, mi Estrella. I see you.” Observing his face, you made sure he was receiving the pleasure he deserved. 

Trailing light kisses from top to bottom and back up. You licked the tip, swirling your tongue at a slow speed. His talons shoved in the thin bedsheets and the firm mattress. He rumbled out a growl, preventing himself from just forcing you all the way down on him. 

“Eso es todo- ah, corazón, más, necesito más.” Miguel abruptly thrusted upward as you instinctively grasped his thighs to prevent yourself from tumbling over. Not wishing to tease him anymore, you gradually engulfed him, as drool immediately emanated from the corners of your lips.

“Corazón, yes, there you go, bebita. Just like that.” His eyes fluttered into the back of his skull.

You moaned from the sensations as you took each inch at a deliberately methodical rate. You had to have one hand back around his shaft, loosening your cheeks to even attempt to make it halfway. 

“Mmph–mmm.” You gargled as more spit spurted out. 

Miguel entangled his sheathed claw in your hair, pushing you down and impelling you to take another part of him. “Si- si, si, mi Luna. Tu boca es una dicha eterna, mi corazón. Toma más, puedes tomar más.” 

Tears pricked in your eyes as your hand was back on his defined thigh. You were so close to getting him all in. Feeling every inch as it would glide against your tongue, rubbing against your inner cheeks whenever you'd sucked in. 

Noisy suction reverberated in the air as pools of your saliva and his salty substance dripped onto his lower pelvis region and thighs. 

You were leaking from him. Your tongue was whirling around delicately and deliciously, as if he were the final meal you would ever be given. His tip nearly stretched to hit the back of your throat, and as hot tears streamed down your face as you peered up to look at his beautiful expressions.

“Mi Luna!” Miguel moaned, his hold strengthening. “So close, I'm so close, corazón. Fuck–so good, so good.”

He stroked along your jawline, admiring the sight below him. Your teeth feebly grazed his cock, faintly biting enough to send jolts through his body. Enough to elicit a growl from him. 

Enough to face-fuck you. 

“Mmmm! Mmmph–mmn!” You could only choke.

Your throat trembled around him and tightened with every thrust he gave. You were comforted when you saw pleasure written across his face. You were making him feel good, and in this moment, that's what truly mattered.

Miguel cried out. With his hips ramming up into you, he couldn't hold back any longer. That heat he wanted to experience from you was built inside of him. He was close, and you sensed it.

“Mi Luna!” With a powerful roar, he finally released, pulsating waves upon waves of his hot seed down your pretty throat.

“Mmph!” Your eyes rutted wide as he spilled into your mouth, some leaking down to your neck. Nails dug into his thighs, and your eyes wanted to stare into his. He was majestic in your vision. 

You desperately desired to capture this moment forever. 

Gulping the final drop, you pulled away with a satisfying pop and heaved tirelessly. 

“My… my God, Miggy. That was so much—holy shit.” You gasped, wiping some of his essence off your face with your fingertips before greedily lapping it up. “I haven't done that in so long. Was it good? Was I good?” You rested your behind on his knees and finally peered up at him. 

He had a fixed, ferocious glare. His burning, red eyes stirred something wild in them. 

Goosebumps swept over you. You didn't know what to expect. “Was... was it- was I not good enou-”

He was sitting up, looming over. You shrank, neglecting exactly how colossal he was compared to you. That vibrant, captivating stare only made you tremor violently even more.

“Mi-Miguel…” Your throat quivered.

In a swift motion, your back was against the wall above the mattress. Miguel had you pinned, his strong arms holding up your thighs as your legs dangled over his shoulders. You didn't even register how quickly he got you in this position.  

“Miguel!”

“Ay, mi corazón, did you really think I wasn't going to reward you? That I was going to allow mi Luna to do all the work?” He huffed a stream of sultry breaths on your covered inner thigh. “No, no. I'm going to show mi corazón that I can be good to her, just as she was good to me.”

He tore your sweatpants off in one fell swoop, muttering about buying you some more. Your chest heaved in rapid succession, head bowed as you watched how Miguel gaped at the massive damp spot from the earlier ministrations you performed. 

“Did my moon enjoy going down on her papi that much?” His sharp talons pricked at your soft skin.

You diverted to observe the night's horizons, the lower half of your body barely able to shift under his hold. 

“Look at me.” His authoritative tone barked out. 

You nearly came from that. Flicking back to him, his lips were hazardously near your shielded folds. “Tell me what you want, mi Luna.” 

“I-I…” You shrouded your face with your hands, mortified at the abundance of slick arousal seeping out of you.

His claws dug deeper into your skin as he stared you down, and his pupils dilated. “Don't be shy, mi Luna. Tell me what you want.”

He trailed kisses back and forth from your inner thighs, massaging your buttocks. You were practically trickling from your private region. Mortified that you can effortlessly get to this point with him. 

Miguel rested his cheek on your soft flesh, switching between kissing and licking exceedingly close to your bikini line. Miguel wasn't one to be a patient man, but for you, he would wait until the end of time, only when you spoke the words. 

“I-I want–”

“I won't begin, mi Luna, unless I hear it from those sexy little lips.” He purred, biting the crevice of your thigh, weary of his fangs. “So tell your Estrella, what. You. Want.” He feverishly nipped the skin, running his wet tongue across it. He received a low whine as you shuddered at the wet appendage. 

“Miguel! Eat me out—please, please, I beg of you!” Your head flung back, not caring about the self-impact of the barrier behind you. 

You just wanted him.

“Como quieras, mi Luna.” His eyes darkened and delved in, lapping at the damp fabric with no hesitation.

You clung to his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. His claws tighten their vice on your supple ass-cheeks. 

Miguel traced the outlines of your folds before flattening his tongue, pushing against your hidden vulva. The murky cloth rubbing against you and Miguel's tongue heightened your sensitivity.  

You choked out a groan when you detected the tip of his talons making perfect slits down the back of your underwear before slashing the rest off of you.

“Mi Luna lo quiere, mi luna lo anhela. No temas, mi corazón, te daré todo lo que mereces.” He admired the glistening heat, watching as it squeezed for him, savoring your fragrance. You mewled, abashed by the situation. 

You didn't know what was to come or what to expect, but when you gazed into those lustful eyes, fear snuck its way through... and exhilaration.

“It looks succulent. I had the appetizer; now I want the full course.” His hot breath teased your entrance before enveloping you in his mouth. His carnal tongue licking your labia, tasting your sweet and salty juices. He stirred his tongue over the folds, dragging it all around, refusing to miss a single inch, then jutted in and out of your gushing core. 

“Oh fuck–fuck! Miggy! Shit, shit, shit!” You wailed out, tingles rushing up and down your limbs.

Miguel was untamed, ravishing that soaking pussy. His movements were possessive, like a predator claiming its prey, yet behind it all was tenderness and longing. 

“Mmmph.” A guttural growl sends vibrations through your sex, creating white stars in your eyes. 

Thrashing your head from side to side, Miguel slid his appendage out and began to slurp. His tongue moved up to the clitoris, thumping it a few times, then he proceeded back down and repeated the pattern.

“Mi Estrella! Ah–ah! If you do that, I'll—I'll—fuck!”

Miguel only amped up. He paid attention to every sensitive spot on your honeyed pussy. He needed to drink your delectable juices as if you were the only thing left to drink in the world.

The raw energy from Miguel drove you into a frenzy. He was rough and powerful, but each impel was for your pleasure alone. 

“I'm coming, Miggy. I'm coming.” You cried out, clamping down on his tongue, and shuddered as waves erupted from your core. Your back arched off the wall, and your heels dug into Miguel's upper back. 

He wanted to drink every drop as some trickled down to his chin. “Qué dulce, qué apropiado para alguien como tú.”

Your forehead covered in sweat and thighs soaking wet, Miguel's ego brewed at the sight. 

He did that. And he was going to be the only one to see you like this. To make you feel this way. 

“How was that, mi Luna?” He nipped at the outer thigh and moved to clean up the rest of the spillage.

Your half-lidded, absent daze was all Miguel needed to know. He chuckled and strummed your back, loosening his grasp, and unlatched your legs, dropping you until they were locked around his waist. 

He weaved his strong arms around your torso, listening to your steady breathing. He stroked your hair, then pressed a kiss on your forehead.  “You did wonderful, mi Luna. But there is still one thing. Well, two.”

Too jaded to even respond, a puzzled whine escaped you. 

“I'm a selfish man, mi corazón, and my thirst isn't quite quenched.” He yanked your head back, and his tongue ran over your neck.

You gasped, your body aching in anticipation. He peeled you off him and onto the firm padding as you were positioned as an angel descending from the heavens. 

“Oh mi Luna, ¿cómo tuve tanta suerte de tener a alguien como tú en mi vida? Todavía estoy tan desconcertado que fui yo quien te recibió.” Miguel shifted off until his knees were on the wooden floor. He seized a hold of the thin cover you were on top of and hauled you to him. “I still want more. But this time, I'm going to take my time with this dessert. Well, I'll try.”

“What do you mean?” You struggled to hide the intoxicated fright from whimpering out.

“You know exactly what I mean, mi Luna.” He lingered over your body, roaming over it with his eyes. His hands stroked over every roll, dip, and curve, crushing his lips into yours. 

Your tongues in an intense, messy battle as you tasted yourself. A string of saliva broke when he pulled back, both of your chests rising and falling in near sync.

“I'll let you pick, mi corazón. One or both?” His hands tugged your shirt off and threw it in a corner. 

“B-both?” You were perplexed by those choices.

“Good choice.”

Yanking your bra up, he hungrily gazed at your perfect breasts, craving to have a nibble, maybe even a mouthful. 

You covered them, forcing him to pin each of your arms near your face with his organic web.

“Miguel!” You moaned out, flushed over the new position.

“Do not try to hide that body from me. Yes sir?” He snarled out.

“Yes, yes. I promise I won't do it again.”

“Good girl. But just for safe measures.” He spread your legs wide until they touched the mattress. He thwiped more of his silk webbing on your waist, ankles, and thighs.

You were exposed, your heart palpitating as you could barely even squirm.

“Now, mi Luna said both, correct?”

You meekly nodded your head. With that, he needed no more. He cupped your breasts, squeezing and pinching the hardened nipples brutally. You moan in ecstasy as Miguel brushes his talons against the sensitive buds before colliding them together.

“Both.” He grunted and took both nipples in his mouth, licking them maniacally.

He tugs and chews at them, making sure to leave love-bites all over your chest. You groan out raspily when one hand leaves your chest and scrapes down your stomach in a non-stop motion, halting at your entrance. 

A popping sound was made when he released one of your peaks.

“So wet again, mi Luna? Don't worry, I can fix that.” He took your left nipple back into his mouth, circling your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck! Oh–ah. Mmmn–Miguel.”

He plunged his pointer and middle into you, your walls clasping around them. Your back lifted up, only to be pulled back down from the binding.

He drove his digits deep into your core, his palms smacking against the folds as your juices spewed onto his hands.

Your lashes were wet from the sensual stirring from inside and your throat was hoarse from the screams and cries.

Miguel leaned his heavy chest on your stomach, leaving kisses all over your upper torso as you squished with every pump of his fingers. “Mi corazón, you are so tight. I can feel every part of you. I will feel your wetness and your walls tightening around this cock. You want that, mi Luna? You want papi's fat cock to ravage and paint this gorgeous pussy?”

You could only sob as Miguel stretched you, rubbing against the top wall and locating your g-spot. His fingers create circular spirals against it. 

You wailed, your heart was ready to burst from your chest. Silent cries and more tears, until Miguel stole another sloppily kiss from you, bruising your lips with his, desiring for you to release all over his fingers.

“You don't know how long I've waited for this; you adorn my life, my moon. You make me want to be better; you make me want to- to—damn it, corazón!”

Miguel pushed himself off you, removing his fingers, as you wailed out from the stoppage.

“Miggy, I was close. I was so—ahh! Mi Estrella!”

Miguel replaced his fingers with his tongue once more, his mouth on your pussy as he was ready to devour you. He stroked his swollen member, the clear liquid leaking out in ripples.

He didn't even want to speak anymore; he only wanted to hear those needy, shuddering moans and screams. His hums added more pleasure to their moment of passion.

He yearned for this. To make you come undone over and over.

He wanted to hold you, cherish you, please you, and protect you. He only wanted you. 

And in this moment, he has that. He had one thing he longed for.

How long would this last? No, not right now. He didn't want to think that way. Now, he only wanted to make you orgasm on his tongue.

Snatching the webs from your thighs and ankles, he hoisted you up until your hips were in the air, your legs once more propped over his shoulders.

“I can't—I-I-I love—ahh!” 

You were blubbering like a fool, with drool and tears drenching your face and sweat shining all over your body. Miguel gnawed at your clit, the glossy muscle, abusing your insides. He went raw and feral; he wanted you. He wanted this. He needed you.

Your walls tensed at every plunge, Miguel's eyes locking onto yours. Cradling you in one arm to support your waist, he returned to pumping himself.

You were on cloud nine, ten, and eleven. His nose swiping your throbbing clit, him feasting on you as if you were the final meal. Your raw whines of lust were tipping Miguel over as his cock ached for you, wanting to invade your heated, velvety wall.

To mold you for him.

“I can't—I can't hold back, mi corazón.”

Pulling back, your legs collapsed on the sturdy cushions. Your vision was foggy, searing at the marbled statue that was Miguel. You crooned out as he hunched over you, his girth in his hand.

How it gleamed in the light, presenting every vein from thick to thin, the swollen phallus coated in crystalline cum, making it sheen and sleek.

You were hypnotized by the pulsating, twitching with every tug he made. 

And that's when it hit you. 

That was all for you. You cried out as Miguel buckled onto the mattress, his face near yours.

“I'm not going to have mi luna wait any longer. I'm going to fuck you until the only thing you can remember is me and this cock.” He huskily murmured in your ear, gaining a shudder from you.

“Yes, yes, please, Miggy. Only you, just you.” You hiked your legs around his waist, latching on to the middle of his back as much as possible. He was big in every shape and form, but you loved it.

Propping an elbow by your arm, he lowered his body onto yours as his abs and muscular chest pinned you down, but he still left enough space for you to breathe. His other hand clutched his cock, lining it up to your seeping entrance.

“Are you ready, mi Luna?”

You bobbed your head.

“Good girl, now let me, mi corazón. Ah fuck–let me just.”

His chapped lips captured yours. You were sugar to him—sweeter than all candies combined. He nibbled your bottom lip, his tongue gliding across yours as he began to penetrate your hot opening.

You immediately clamped around the head, eliciting a gasp from both of you. He tried to push in an inch as slowly as possible, but found it rather difficult.

“Mi corazón, you have to relax. Shit–relax, relax. I got you; I got you.”

You mewled and nodded. With the help of Miguel's finger rubbing circles around your clitoris, you breathed in and out steadily, purring out whenever he slightly rocked his hips.

“There you go, such a good girl; you are doing so well. Fuck, mi Luna.” He stretched you out more and more, pausing so you could adjust to him. After some help with encouraging rubs from between your thighs and several forehead kisses, Miguel was fully in.

He had to prevent himself from just railing into you as your inner muscles squeezed him.

“You can move, Miguel. Please, please, please move.”

“Si, si, voy a ser dueño de este coño, moldeado sólo para mí, ah, mi Luna!” His claws clutched the sheets above you as he slowly began to plunge into your depths. You released a cry to the heavens, feeling every pulse and steady pump from the man above.

You grinded up whenever Miguel thrusted downward, making your hip bones meet with every drive. He lapped at your neck, biting and sucking, leaving more purplish-red hickies all over.

He strived to restrain himself from plowing, but his hearing picked up every lustful squeak and moan, every squelch when he withdraws to the head and propel it back to the hilt, and every sweet nothing you murmured as you drooled and absent-mindedly grinned.

He sped up. Ramming into you repeatedly, plundering your drenched heat.

His member snugged as he experienced every inch of you clinging to him for dear life. His tip bullied your cervix, and you shrieked at every pulse as he rubbed against your walls.

“Too much, Miggy! Oh, fuck—I worship your cock, mi Estrella.”

“That's it, baby. Let go and surrender to me.”

Your nails dug into your palms as Miguel panted and growled in your face. 

Surges of electric tingles through your body. The wet smacking of your pelvises flowed through both of your ears; a symphony of your raw moans and his low, husky huffs had your back slightly curling.

The mattress shifted with each retract and bolt as your breasts bounced in all directions. Your murky fluids gush on his lower abdomen and thighs, blemishing his mattress and soaking it thoroughly.

“Oh, mi corazón, so warm, such a perfect shape for me. Let me look. Let me look.” Arching his back and hiking your legs up slightly more, you both viewed every exit before Miguel crashed back down to your core, hitting your g-spot perfectly every time.

Every inch of his length coated in your slick. Sweat dripping from his forehead on yours.

You were going to come undone.

“Mi corazón, mi Luna, you're so good. You are too good for me. Just us, just us.”

“Miguel, I'm so close. I'm going; I'm going to—ah!”

“Cum for me, cum for me, mi Luna.” He whispered gruffly in your ear, kissing your cheek.

His balls slapped against your ass from the brutal pace, his flaming irises treasuring every expression. You writhed as you deathly clamped around him.

Miguel hurriedly tore the webs from your wrists as you hooked your arms around his neck.

“Oh Miguel!” You screamed to the top of your lungs, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, as a kaleidoscope of hues and shapes blinded your senses. Your legs shook as if you were in a strong earthquake.

Miguel's motions became erratic, his hips moving roughly as he was nearing his own climax. A few more impels, his body tensed up, his seed spilling deep in your core, claws slicing the silken bedsheets.

“Eres mía, mi Luna. Only for me.” He snarled and took you in a sensual open-mouth kiss.

Two strings broke off.

“I-I… holy- mi-mi Estrella, I-”

“Shh, shh. Just relax, mi Luna. Relax. I'll take care of you, mi corazón. I will always take care of you.”

You lulled your head as your muscles unwind. Miguel freed you from the rest of his webs, but you didn't mind it. It felt right in a sense. Being bound up, you detected that security, that sense of trust you both held.

“I'll be here, mi Luna. I will always be.”

Were the last words you heard before your body was shuffled around as you passed out.

At this time, you felt as if things were going to be okay.

Chapter Text

For the past couple of weeks, you and Miguel have been essentially inseparable. Every other night, he would sneak you into the HQ or cut his days shorter and shorter to hang out at your place or job. 

Occasionally spending an hour at the botanical garden if given the chance.

Miguel's excuses started to become more noticeable and rampant as to why he couldn't be around for certain assignments or missions.

A game of telephone began when a few spiders gossiped and took bets about where their commander vanishes to; however, it escalated quite rampantly when Miguel's attitude seemed slightly less perturbed.

He would still retain those explosive moments, then promptly inhale and exhale, following it up with an actual conversation. It didn't fully waver his palpable tantrums and hostility.

He just came off as less grumpy, and that was enough to get the snowball tumbling towards the steep. Betting pools were established by the braver ones, but they were quickly shut down when Jess caught wind of that.

She finds herself at the forefront exceedingly often now, and it's been grating on her. With her new underling, keeping track of the anomalies, piles of paperwork, and basically dealing with his tasks and her pregnancy.

Needless to say, Jess wasn't in the best of moods. She interrogated Miguel at any chance she was allowed, probing on about these codes and asking about the gizmos and goobers he keeps accumulating over time.

“This project must really be something big if you need all this junk. That's what? The sixth time that you went out to get these items in the span of two weeks, and I've yet to see you actually touch them.” Jess dryly stated, picking up some busted chips and tossing them back into the cardboard box.

“I told you, Jess, several hundred times. It takes time. I'm going to use them; now let it go all the way. I'm tired of hearing about it.” Miguel typed away, a clear indication of displeasure.

“Oh, you're tired? That's so funny, because I don't think I'm tired of asking.” She crossed her arms over her protuberant stomach.

“Jess, will you just leave it?!” He jeered at her, but she refused to back down.

“And what about that code? Gwen asked me the other day about it. When exactly will you fix the portal's jerky momentum? I would've thought there would have been some prototypes or something.”

Jess knew she was poking the beast, but at this point, all care was thrown out the window. “And those reports. You've been falling back again after that night when I told you to help. You were doing them for three days, but then you fell right back off.”

The sounds of metal echoed in the air as Miguel scraped his desk, incarcerating the explosion that was sneaking its way out.

A young spider in a gold and green one-piece turtleneck spandex leotard, covered in webs, froze at the ear-piercing noise.

Jess and Miguel faced the spider, who apprehensively shuffled backwards.

“I think I'm distributing something; I-I'll just ask later.” They shot out a web, swinging as fast as their webs could carry them.

“Right. Miguel, I'm tired. I AM tired. After that first day, you came back two hours late. I said that would be the only time. But I kept letting it slide, trying to give you the benefit of the doubt!” Jess threw her hands up, marching back and forth. “Now look at where that has gotten me. I'm the fool in your circus.”

He used his breathing techniques, cursing under his breath. He's done this by himself many times. He never got a break; he barely had any. He wanted to scoff at Jess as silence pricked the cold air.

He didn't need this.

“Jeez Miguel, did you have to send us on a mission like that? I nearly busted my back in that fight!”

He didn't need this.

“Peter, we did most of the fighting. You were too busy trying to get a hold of Mayday.”

“I don't know why I let her wear that web shooter today; that was an accident.”

An elated shrill, followed by clapping, sprang from below.

He didn't need this.

“Oi, are you going to acknowledge us? I know you don't like using manners, but at least pretend to show some.”

He REALLY didn't need this.

“Hey Jess, are you talking to Miguel about the portal thing?” Gwen greeted her mentor as the older woman just turned towards Miguel, whose back was the only thing for show.

“He hasn't made any progress.”

“What about portals, Gwendy?”

“Are you finally getting around to fixing it? Now that thing is janky for your back. I told you this before, Miggy.” Peter flung himself up on the high rise.

Miguel really tried using those breathing methods that you'd taught him, but so far, his nerves were winning. May, as usual, fled from her carrier and swung herself all over the room, screeching with full glee.

“Hey, where did you want us to store the anomaly? Peter here forgot to bring the light cages, though I still find that method of holding them in confinement as if they were animals indecent.”

“Look, I just happened to misplace them; it happens. Hey, are you doing alright there, buddy? Seems as if you’re about to blow a fuse.” Peter scooted closer to the irritated man, as Miguel did everything in his power to not have an outburst. His muscles strained, his eyes drawn shut, mumbling to himself in Spanish. 

Jess apathetically stared, and a hand was planted on her hip. Hobie and Gwen side-eyed each other, curious about how this was going to pan out.

“What were you guys actually discussing, Jess?” Hobie leaned on a nearby steel wall, messing with one of his guitar picks.

Jess was taunting Miguel at this point, unapologetic about this whole situation. “He was just about to explain the mass of reports and what we were going to do about them. Isn’t that right, Miguel?”

He knew the game she was playing, and he wasn’t trying to join in. Peter approached even closer and bent over to take a look at his friend. “Hey, you’re good. Just say what you have to say.”

“So, are those portals not getting fixed?” Gwen swayed as Miguel’s anger tempted to jump out when he opened his mouth.

Then the lightbulb switched on.

“Gwen!” Miguel accidentally yelled at the young teen.

“Jeez, dude, you don’t have to do all that, but what’s up?”

“How good are you at filling out reports?”

Jess raised an eyebrow, wondering exactly where he was going with this.

“Uh, they’re pretty easy. Just like a high school essay, you’re bullshi-” Miguel narrowed his gaze at the ghost spider before she quickly caught herself. “Summarizing events by making them sound smart and sophisticated. I can do about, let’s see, fifteen in under an hour if the time permits.”

“You’re free from missions for the rest of the week to help Jess catch up on reports. I will also help out if I’m able to. If that's okay with you, Jess?” Miguel eyeballed her, derisiveness in that question.

Jess tongue was in her cheek as she could only roll her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Also, I do have code written up for the device. It’s just in my unique language, so taking notes will be a hassle for Spider-Byte to understand; however, I can make a simple guide for the ones that she is comfortable with. So tell her she can begin with that.”

Jess clicked her tongue and inclined her head. “Alright. I’ll get to her about that. Let’s go, Gwen, and I’ll supply you with a light cage, Hobie. Have a nice day, Peter. Miguel.”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders at the Brit, who nonchalantly joined in with her, as the three made their way out. 

May, who was crawling on the desk, was picked up by Peter, stunned by that display, as Miguel’s eyes darted from the PCs to the flabbergasted man, making him sweat.

“Will you stop looking at me that way?!”

“I have never seen you so calmly handle yourself like that before!” Peter joyfully slapped the dented desk a few times.

“So?”

“So? You’re learning how to control your temper! That’s really good for you. Have you been watching meditation videos? I do enjoy those zen ones, especially where you’re in a jungle. Hearing those aggressive caws and shrieks from whatever banshee that is really puts Mayday and I to sleep. Isn’t that right? That’s right, Mayday.” Mayday cooed as Peter bounced her. Miguel just squinted and shook his head.

“No, none of that weird background noise. Just advice someone gave me to just get help from others.”

Peter scoffed and twisted his face at the background comment, then immediately perked up with a glint in his eye. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? It is! Look at you! How have you two been? Wait, you never told me about that date you went on with her; how did it go?”

Miguel stone-faced Peter, but his enthusiasm was oddly contagious. Miguel thought about the days you two have spent together and how you have given nothing but balance and care. He adores being by your side and wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You’re smiling.” Peter pointed at Miguel’s lips.

“N-no. I’m not smiling.” He replaced whatever crept on him with a disgruntled one.

“No, no, you can’t hide it from me." Peter teased him a bit more before patting his back. "I’m happy for you, bud. You deserve this and many more. I’m glad she can give something that many of us can't.”

Miguel bowed his head in thanks and for the recognition in general.

“Going to see her again?”

“Yes, tonight. Don’t tell anyone. And if something were to happen, I’m directing all calls to Lyla, so I’m letting you know in advance.”

“Yes, sir, captain vampire, sir.” Peter stood tall and saluted.

“Don’t ever say that again unless you want to keep that hand.”

“Right, duly noted. Oh! Time to head on off. Mary is making her famous tacos tonight, and I cannot miss that. See you later, Miguel. Don’t have too much fun now. Yes, they are bundles of joy, but I miss my sleep at times.”

“Peter!”

“Have a good rest of the day. Say bye-bye to Miguel, Mayday.” A gurgled attempt rang from the redhead as Peter ventured down the corridor, his babbling baby talk and May’s squeals dying down.

Miguel groaned out and waited until the only sounds he could hear were the machines and nothing more. He pulled out his phone and immediately began to text you.

‘We’re still on for tonight, mi Luna? Also, tell Ronnie to stop slipping her digital business cards in the boxes. I’m not passing them out at the HQ.’

Several seconds went by when a message from you popped up.

‘Yes, mi Estrella. My place or yours? And I told her. She immediately went into a tirade about how you’re being a bad business wing-partner? How it's profession 101, and you’re a “crappy” employee.’

‘Mines, I want to show you something. AND, tell her to stop saying that I'm working for her!’

An instant reply. ‘Got it. And show me something? What is it? Oh, and Ronnie says, and I quote: “You keep denying your work ethics, and I will have to write you up again, lackey.” You’re on thin ice with her, haha.’

‘It’s something that’s… very special to me. And name one time I’m not. I already passed her two-count warning, yet I still managed to garner more.’

‘Ooh, something special. Well, I’m very honored to see it. And she holds this soft spot for you, which she doesn’t give to many. So consider yourself lucky. I think?’

He imagined you giggling over that. 

‘Ay, don’t know if I would, but I don’t want her beating me with that bat, so I guess I’ll just have to accept it. But I’ll come get you later on tonight. I’ll see you then, mi corazón.’

‘You won’t get the weapon. I’ll make sure to put a stop to that! But I'll see you tonight, Miggy. I can’t wait to see you.’

Miguel had a slanted grin and settled the phone next to him. Peeking in the corner, a certain video replayed over and over. He dragged the recording to the middle of the screen, zooming it out.

He bleakly glazed over it, remembering that day so well. A harsh waft dragged from between his lips as his eyes tirelessly drooped as she smiled brighter than any star in the sky.

“Hola, Gabi. No pasa un día sin que te extrañe... I–do you remember that person I was telling you about before? The one where I didn’t know how they would react to all that I'd done? Well, they–they accepted that part of me, and it made me feel so warm. Si, mi osita, just like your favorite polka-dotted, fuzzy socks.” He gave a weak chuckle before continuing.

“Well, I want you to meet them tonight. I know it’s scary meeting new people; I understand, but don’t worry; this person is very kind and sweet. Si, sweeter than jamoncillo and sticky toffee pudding combined. Si, osita, I know they will like you, maybe even more than me. I promise you two will be—” Miguel’s words got caught in his throat. “Would've been the best of friends.”

Rapidly blinking his eyes, he concealed the video in plain sight and went straight to work, trying to occupy his mind.

He found himself getting more frustrated as his own mind constricted him. The last few hours were rough on him, somehow worse than previous times, but when that alarm went off, signifying that it was time to get you, that burden parted halfway but was still attached to him.

Miguel dashed around the HQ, hiding in corners or clawing up the ceilings, sneaking into the giant ventilation systems whenever others passed by.

Rounding the exit he needed, he used his inhuman speed, taking a straight shot to the secret back entrance and portal over to your apartments.

Unbeknownst to him, the spider from earlier swung their way back into Miguel's dreary office, anxiously squeaking his name.

“Mr. Miguel? You in here? I have a very serious question regarding my future love life in this establishment!”

They poked their head through, swishing it back and forth. “Mr. Miguel? Bleh bleh bleh?”

Stepping further in, they were met with an empty space, with Lyla lazily paying attention to the monitors.

“How does he do this all day? It's only been five minutes, and I'm so bored.” She flicked around some display footage before scrolling over some social media websites.

“Are you kidding, he isn't here? I just need this simple question answered. They told me he's usually here. What the heck gives?” The spider grumbled and impatiently webbed away.

Lyla jumped at the voice before teleporting around, trying to locate who that exactly was as it faded away.

“Uh, I hope that wasn't important.” Lyla shrugged, returning her partial surveillance to the multiverse before immediately going back to scrolling around the internet.

The spider went around, questioning if anyone had seen Jess. After running back and forth for what seemed like ages, they finally tracked her down near the front lobby.

“Jessica! Mrs. Jessica!” The spider called out and flipped their way to the woman.

Jess dropped her arm from her face and blurred at the person wanting them. “Oh, you're that spider from earlier. Um, you're uh-”

“Spider-Tune. I'm from E-75309, but most people call me Jeni.”

“Right, one of the newer recruits. What's up?” Jess rested her back on the drywall.

Not wanting to delay or build up anticipation, Jeni clapped their hands together. “I was just curious about the dating rules and regulations here at the establishment.”

“You want to… date?” Jess raised an eyebrow.

“Mhm! I want to start dating someone.”

Jess gaped, her eyes casting from side to side, slightly perplexed. “Well, I mean, you can date anyone where you're from. No one is really preventing you.” She waves a hand over her stomach. “You know you'll just have to go through the training cou-”

“No, I mean, can I date another spider here in the headquarters? I'm aware I can in my world, but I've been talking to this really, really cute Peter, and I won't lie, I want in on that. So is that allowed, or do I have to jump through some hoops?”

Jess barely batted an eye. This wasn't the first time that question had been evoked. It only informs who carefully studied the guidelines versus who skimmed through them.

“Well, establishing a relationship with another spider is possible only within this dimension, but it's highly unacceptable.”

Jeni cocked their head. “So is that a yes?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yes.”

Jeni deadpanned as they tried to make sense out of it, making Jess heave out an exasperated sigh.

“If you are striving to date another spider, you may only do it on the grounds in this dimension. Sure, you may visit each other with the watches, but you'll eventually have to cut your losses as different people from different universes cannot intermingle. No merging. I am sure you are aware of that.”

Jeni whined and stamped their feet a few times. Jess wearily observed the spider's mini-tantrum and raised her hands.

“I'm sorry, but we have to enforce these rules to keep us all safe.”

“It’s just–it's so unfair how he gets to do it, but we can't. He gets to leave his job whenever, and he gets to date a spider-person? How typical.”

That caught Jess's ear, a probing look etched on her face. “What spiders are seeing each other? Do you know their names or earth numbers? I just want to make sure they know what they're getting themselves into.”

Jeni bobbed their head furiously. “Uh-huh. It's the big man himself. Just because he's the leader, he thinks he gets to go around and bring a Spider-woman from another dimension to his place, but we can't even do that in our own worlds? Such a double standard.”

Jess went dead silent. Her expression is grim. Then her eyebrows knitted together before morphing into a scornful, incredulous one. “Oh, you have got to be—did you see him with this Spider-woman? Do you know who she is?”

Jeni yelped at the sudden steely, lividness. “Oh, well no, I haven't personally seen it. But one of my new friends said he sees Miguel with her. I wonder if she's a fresh hire as well.”

“Which friend?” Jess sent a chill down their spine.

“Pri- Pete- uh, E-77793 Peter. He only just tells me he sees them but doesn't go into detail because he's scared he'll get in trouble.”

Jess bit her tongue, both hands now firmly placed on her hips, her eyes leering in a specific direction. “Alright. Alright. This heffa here really thinks he's... You're dismissed. Thank you for that, and have a good rest of your night.” Jess turned and began to tread off back into the main hub of the building.

Jeni slack-jawed, their brain baffled at what just unfolded. “Think I got the big boss in trouble. Whoops. Well, don't make the rules if you can't follow them.” They mumbled and strolled off in a different direction.

“Lyla!” Jess stormed towards the elevators, a heated drive in her face.

“What's up? What's the rush?” The A.I. popped up next to her shoulder.

“I need access to the security cameras for all sectors near Miguel's apartment. Now.”

Lyla sucked in her teeth and picked the non-existent lint off her coat. “Ooh, no can do, Jess.”

Jess screeched her steps. “What do you mean you can't? I'm allowed access to all footage when he isn't here, and as far as that spider told me, he's not here. Lyla, I'm not in the mood to be playing these games.”

“No, no, I understand. But that's the thing. He's here; that's why I can't give them to you.”

Jess held back her own exploding temper. “Where is he? I need to speak with him.”

“No point in trying to have a pleasant conversation over tea. He barred himself up in the room. Something about working on an invention or something other.” She stretched her arms before crossing them.

“You can go, Lyla.” Her voice contained nothing but strain and sourness.

“Alright. See ya, Jess.” And with that, she was gone.

Jess rubbed her face and groaned furiously. “I'll have to gather evidence the old-fashioned way.” She tapped her watch a few times, her eyes deeply fixed on trying to search for a certain spider.

“Alright. I hope you have a lot to say.” Jess rotated her body away from the elevators and out towards the front entrance.

• • •

“You did? Look at you!” You merrily jabbed at his arm.

You and Miguel were snuggling on his mattress, munching down on beef and chicken-flavored empanadas Miguel snagged from the canteen.

“It’s not much of a thing to be excited or proud about. I just wanted you to know I took your advice and it worked out.”

You puffed your cheeks and pouted your lips. “Hey, hey, no. It most definitely is. You’re trying to do more for yourself. You are taking into account what you feel as though you want or need to work on and applying it to situations. So yes, it is something to be proud of and excited about.”

Miguel snorted a bit and shook his head. “Ay dios mío, you sound like Peter.”

"Well, clearly, Peter and I have an eye for an eye. We can see something that you’ll see one day. But for now, we are just… transcending on a different quantum level!”

Miguel choked on his empanada, coughing loudly as spurts of laughter would burst out. “I-is tha-that what you ca-call it?” He regained his breath and wiped away some tears.

You giggled alongside him, patting his back. “I honestly wasn't expecting that to get you.”

“I wasn't expecting it to get me either.” He placed his empty container on the floor and scooted until his back hit the wall, wiping his hands on his pajama pants.

You followed suit, tossing your half-eaten fried treat in the take-out box. You both sit in comfortable silence, peace flowing in the air as you face ahead, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

You debated if you should ask about that special thing he wanted to show you, but decided to have him present it whenever he was ready. You were highly curious about it but didn’t want to come off as rude and pry too much. Miguel suddenly flopped his head backward.

“You’re allowed to ask, mi corazón. Even though it’s coming from me, you don’t need to feel as though you have to defer or walk around eggshells.”

“How did you know I was thinking of that? And I’m aware; I just don’t want you fraught or to trouble you.”

“Ay, mi Luna, you are the last person to make me go through those things.” He pulled out a tablet shoved underneath the mattress and handed it to you. “And let’s say it was a hunch on how I knew.”

Your eyes peered down at the dark screen, as the only thing casting was a reflection of you and Miguel. You continued gazing upon him, seeing how his expression dropped solemnly.

“I–there is someone I want you to meet. Someone who was... very dear and close to my heart.”

You figured out who might be, but kept your mouth shut and let him continue.

“I talked about her when we went to the botanical garden that first time, and I think now–now would be the best time for you to get to know her.”

You only nodded, allowing him to take over. As you understood, this must have been difficult for him to do. He inputted a password, and there was a single file on the device. He hesitated for a moment before a choking sob nearly escaped him.

He clicked on the image, and the video began to play. It was of a young girl wearing a football uniform who bore a striking resemblance to Miguel. They were both laughing, her on his shoulders with a cupcake in her hand.

“Hola, mi osita, te extraño muchísimo. Do you remember the person I was telling you about? This is her. Mi Luna, this is Gabriella.”

Even though the room was despondent, you managed to display an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Gabriella, it's so nice to meet you!”

Watching the screen together, you both soberly laugh when she gets icing on his cheek.

“How was she in football?”

“Oh, a beast. She was agile and calculating, always a step ahead of her opponent.” 

You darted your eyes up at him before going back to the video.

“She did have moments of playing rough. It wouldn't be a game without her getting at least one penalty, but she would make up for lost time tenfold.”

You grinned. “She sounds like she was the brightest ray of sunshine.”

“It was never a dull day with her, I can tell you that.”

You both continued watching when the video ended and clicked off as you noticed teardrops on the tablet screen. You looked up at Miguel, wiping his eyes and trying to cover them with his hands. You blinked a few times, wanting to hold back your own, but refused and allowed them to fall along with him.

“She was beautiful, Miguel. Is. You–you said she was someone very deep and close to your heart, but I believe she still is. And she will always be as long as she remains in your heart, soul, and mind.”

Miguel tilted his head down and was met with that emphatic smile. You were so compassionate and gentle. Your patience never falters, no matter what. More hot tears splashed down his nose, jaw, and cheeks, and right onto his pants and sheets.

You fully handed him the tablet. When it was in his hands, he hugged it.

He hugged it like it would disappear from his grasp. It would be gone just like that. He trembled as he unclenched his jaw and opened his mouth. A strangled sob escaped. It was painful, as it took a few heaves, but it eventually flowed out. You rubbed his arm and shoulder, silently weeping with him.

You knew you may never fully understand the pain he's going through, but you knew right now that all he needed was a shoulder to cry on. That you would give him the water he wants and needs to have him grow into that flower that will bring its bloom back.

And Miguel would allow you to give him every drop.

Two strings lie stranded.

Miguel spooned you as you both observed the city and night.

After crying both of your tear ducts dry and cradling each other and the tablet, you two pacified your minds, spending the next hour quiet, cuddling and massaging each other's backs, arms, and shoulders.

“Mi Luna?”

You hummed, nestling more into his warming hold.

“How do you feel about kids? Would you ever have any?”

Your eyes jutted open, and you repositioned yourself so you were looking into his crimson-brown eyes.

“Oh, well. I enjoy being around them. I would like to have some, as they bring joy and all…” You trailed off, as did your eyes. You felt wrong about this, especially after what he has been and is going through. You didn't think it was the most appropriate thing to delve into.

Miguel noticed your dispirited expression as he cupped your face, rubbing his retracted claw over your soft cheek. “Corazón, it's okay. I'm asking you. I want to talk about this with you. I know you believe this isn't right, but I'm telling you everything we discuss right now will not hurt me. It'll sting, but I will manage."

Even him speaking those words shocked him.

“Are you sure? I don't want you to feel as if you're required to chat about this.”

“Oye. Ay, te preocupas mucho por mí. Go ahead and finish your answer.” He knocked his forehead on yours, making you huff and chuckle.

“Okay, okay. I would like to have a pretty big family, but as of now, I think I'll start with one or two. Help me understand the grounding of how it'll go.”

“It makes sense when you lay it out like that.”

You nodded your head as the air suddenly tensed up. Miguel released a spent sigh.

“Ask, mi corazón. I'm not going to get upset or go into a downcast state. I had these thoughts myself if I'm asking you for your opinions and views.”

Squeezing his broad shoulders, you briefly nodded. “Okay, if you say it's okay, it's okay. Well, I know how you feel about kids, but if given the possibility... to have more, how many would you have?”

Miguel looked up at the ceiling, pretending to be deep in thought, before gazing back down. “Like you, I would've wanted a big family. I would want them to be endlessly spawned.”

You beamed at that. “I'm not surprised you would want so many.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He tickled your sides, making you squeal and fidget.

“Hey! Hey!” You laughed, gently slapping before alluding for him to keep going.

“Let's see, how would you raise your kids? What would you like them to be like?”

"Well, like I said before, kids require a lot of patience, so I'll show them kindness and care. I may have stern moments, but I will want them to understand at their own pace as well. Maybe show more than tell certain actions.”  You rested your head on his chest. “And how would I want them to be? I mean, I have moments where I imagine them to be a certain way, but I know that at the end of the day, they are still their own people. I can introduce activities and hobbies, but it's up to them if they'll like to continue.”

Your eyes wandered. “Maybe we can do things that will become a tradition. Family cooking on certain days, maybe a big trip once or twice a year. Things like that.”

Miguel stroked your back and smiled. “You put a lot of thought into this.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you could only gleam. “Your turn, mister.”

“Si, si.” He tittered out. “Let's see, I would want them to be able to venture out and face things for themselves. I will still show them the ropes and love, but I'm sure I can push them to the wolves. They'll be fine. It'll be fun.”

You crumpled your face, causing him to crack up. “Joking! Estoy bromeando, lo prometo. But I would want them to strive and work hard towards the goals and aspirations they will have. With a little bit of being thrown into the den.”

“Miggy!” You nudged him with your chin.

“I'm joking. Joking. Yeah. Let's go with that.” He kisses your forehead.

“What's one thing you would want them to inherit from you?” You perked your head in between his pecs.

“Mentally or physically?”

“Both.”

“Well, my intelligence. As you said, I have that big boy brain for science and math.” You both grinned at that. “And physically? I…”

You watched as Miguel slightly dissociated before faintly blinking back. “I–nothing. I'm too much of a… of a–”

“A strong man with beautiful features and incredible powers?”

“Whose body is horribly genetically altered into this giant freak? That has to deal with these abnormalities to keep this body going.”

A boiling force emerged from you. Pressing your forehead into his, that blazing passion you held for him burned through. “Stop that! You have to take extra stuff to help your body keep flowing, but guess what? Some may need more accommodations than others, but that’s okay. It doesn’t make you any less important or valuable. So, one nice thing. One!”

Miguel was taken aback by your firmness and robust determination. But yet, it was oddly nice to have someone have that drive for him.

“I would like for them to have… my enhanced hearing or sight, or my speeds.”

“Ooh, sight. You do have beautiful eyes. But don't talk down on yourself, or else I’ll kiss you until you conform.”

“It sounds more like a reward than a punishment.” He brushed your hair with his palm.

“It can be a mixture.” You snickered, “But know that you are allowed to show yourself a bit of compassion. I would lie and say I don’t struggle with showing it to myself, but I don’t want to expose myself too much.” You stuck your tongue out.

“You will be a good mom.” Miguel caressed your cheek, making you flustered.

“Uh, uh, your turn.”

“You still have to answer the physical and mental question." A smirk creased the left side of his face.

“My knowledge of random trivia and, um, whatever looks good on me.” You swatted him, wanting to change the subject.

“Your smile.” 

Your breath hitched as you tried to hold back that squeal. “Yo-your turn.” You croaked out.

His smirk got even wider. “Alright, what about baptism?”

“Baptism? I'll be fine with it, but any particular reason?”

“I just don't want my mama crawling out of her grave and beating me with her own casket if I don't. And I'm Irish as well, so I also don't want my ancestors pummeling me with their headstones either.”

A giggle slipped. “That's perfectly understandable.”

“And it's just the baptism part, not so much the ‘pray to the pope,’ Catholic ordeal. Well, only if they want to pray to that old man.”

“I like to think I'm spiritual, but I think I would've weirdly compromised with the religion.”

“Spiritual? Oh wow, I never would've guessed. Nope, none at all.” 

You gently nudged his chest a few times and blew a raspberry.

“¡Oye! You're the one who told me you don't mind a good sarcastic remark.” He entrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest.

You two begin to playfully wrestle, tussling back and forth for a minute, laughter ricocheting off the bedroom walls, until Miguel allows you to pin him down. Sucking in a good amount of air, you both become entranced by one another's gaze.

“How are you feeling?” You glide your hand down the outline of his jawline, feeling the scratchiness from his stubble.

“Now, or in general?” Miguel lulled at your touch.

“Both.”

“Now? I feel content, a sentiment I'm rarely allowed. In general? I don't know. I always think I know what's going on, whether it's inside or all around. That I have everything under control. But now... now I can't say what direction to face.”

“One thing I learned about life is that it can lead you down many paths. You may never know where it can take you. The one you may trail could suddenly take a left, then a sharp right.” You pecked his cheek and yawned out, nuzzling the top of your head in the crook of his neck. “Life is a funny thing. Some see it as set in stone, but I believe it's not. You can't really put a timestamp on it. Maybe you can change your outcomes, and that itself can lead you down other routes you didn't even think were possible. You can always plan for it, but that doesn't mean it will always fall through.”

There was a hitch in his breath. A sullen uneasiness rushed him internally as his mind jumbled, screeching to him about what he witnessed and about the canon.

But he decided to ignore it.

One day, he would talk to you about the canon and how the timelines work. Yet for now, he was engaging in this itch. The longing and desire for your presence.

The time will unveil itself in all of its glory. But it can wait.

“Mi Estrella?” Your words slurred a bit as you fought to stay awake.

“Oh, sorry, mi Luna, I'm taking in the wisdom you've imparted onto me. I wish I had that type of smarts.”

“Shush. With that enormous brain, you probably have a bazillion amounts of sagacity running through that you may never even know of.”

An exhale of a chortle puffed out from his mouth and nose. “There are so many I'm unaware of. I should probably start looking into that.”

“You definitely should.”

Tranquility befallen them. He loves this. This serenity.

“I just realized something.”

“And what's that, mi Luna?”

“At the botanical garden, you said daisies represent new beginnings.”

“Mhm?”

“And that the moon is also the start of something new. Miguel, did you do that on purpose? Are you saying I'm a new beginning to something?”

Miguel leaned his head down and kissed the crown of your hair. “Eres el nuevo paso hacia algo que hace mucho que no puedo dar. Gracias, mi Luna. Gracias por todo.”

You couldn't decipher the first half but were able to translate the last.

Thank you. Thank you for everything.

You didn't fully understand why he was thanking you, but you didn't stall on it much longer than you felt like you needed to.

“I... I love you, mi Estrella.” You snuggled up even more somehow, dozing off on his chest, your soft snores flowing in his ears.

Miguel's heart nearly exploded out of his chest.

Did you mean to say that? Surely you didn't as it was probably the drowsiness that crept up talking for you.

Surely you couldn't love him.

So why did he trust and believe those three simple words?

“Mi Luna, mi corazón. Mi tierra, mi cielo, mi universo. Thank you.”

The flames continue to inflame the singular candlestick in the dusky space.

His head is able to slightly raise. Something he wasn't able to do. There, he gets a glimpse. A glimpse of something peculiar; however, it's still shrouded in the bleak void.

What is the flame wanting to show?

Chapter Text

Miguel was always in his element. Handling anomalies, keeping the other spiders from straying off a beaten path, and having everything follow on that continuous track.

His operation of guarding the multiverse was priority number one.

However, that has slipped off the radar by a notch or two.

Now it was you.

You managed to wiggle your way to the top spots, and he would turn a slight blind eye to his work. You just happened to be as important to him.

You were the undisturbed composure he didn't know he truly wanted. No matter how bad the day was going or has gone, you would be there with that gentle, patient smile. This domestic lifestyle you present and bless him with.

It still baffles him that you chose to be with him among all people. That a person who is the elation of life and a soothing paradise picked someone who is as grim and disparaging as him.

You were someone who loved him.

A sentiment he hasn't encountered in any capacity since Gabriella. He replays the moment he finally found the courage to ask you about how you drowsily revealed that you loved him.

Miguel lied on your couch, listening to the sounds of your humming and clanking from pots and utensils. His mind was floating back to that night. Those three little words clung to him, daring not to evacuate.

“You know, I've been thinking of getting a pet. Maybe a cat or a parakeet will make the place a bit more lively. Do you think you're more of a cat or bird person? Well, you strike me as a cat, but a bird could also suit you.” 

He didn't catch anything that was said; he was still stuck on that confession.

Confused, you turned your attention to him when he didn't respond.

You eventually caught on that he was in an inattentive state, and you knew that once that mindset settled within him, you could only wait until he left the realm he succumbed himself to.

Piling his plate with risotto, you tip-toed by him and slid the food on the coffee table in front. You were cautious about not wanting to disturb him when, suddenly, his hand wrapped around yours.

His claws were drawn back, and those usual heavily bagged, fatigued red-brown eyes had an extra layer of passing curiosity. You stepped over until you were in front, pulling both hands in yours and loosely lacing your fingers in his.

“Did you mean it?” Miguel curled his down, fully interlocking them together.

“Did I mean what? Getting a pet companion?”

“No, no, when you said you…”

You blinked several times, staying hushed. Miguel veered his eyes away from yours but placed them back, wanting that gentleness.

“When you said you loved me, did you mean it? Or was it sleepiness? It must have been, right? I've been telling myself that the night you uttered that phrase, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Surely it was the tiredness; it had to be! My brain is convincing me that's the reason, but another part is saying that it's not–”

Thud.

Miguel stiffened at your display of affection. You moved his hands to your hips and yours to his shoulders.

Your comforting gaze melted away his spew instantly. Your nose rubbed against his—that beautiful smile he adored being blessed with seeing.

“Yes. I meant every word, Miguel. I know it's such a strong thing to say, but I feel that bond whenever I'm around you, mi Estrella. That love, that bliss, that safety, and so much more that you give. I always wonder to myself how I got so lucky to have someone like you in my life.”

Miguel gave a tilted smile. “That's what I should be saying about you. How did I get you?”

You both share a quick laugh, dwindling it faster than it began.

“Miguel, with all my heart, you mean everything to me, and if you also allow it, I want to be with you until the end of our olden days. Even when those marigolds and lavenders have bloomed, I will want to trek onward, finding more flowers just like them with you. Maybe even growing our own.”

“I-I…” Without fail, you made him speechless.

“And I will say this, I love you so much, truly, but you don't have to say it back if you're not comfortable. It is a terrifying yet amazing thing, so I understand if you don't. But I do know that what you've shown me and continue to do is enough for me.” You moved your forehead and replaced it with your lips, grasping onto this for as long as you possibly could before moving away.

He could only gawk. Not a single sound left him, but you didn't mind.

“I love you, mi Estrella. Don't ever forget that.” You whispered and gave one more kiss to his lips. “Now, let's eat this risotto before it gets- Miguel!”

The next thing you knew, your back was on the sofa cushions. Miguel, with no hesitation, hungrily snatched off your pants and tore your white shirt to pieces.

“I think I'm craving something else. Something sweeter, something that brings sensations in more ways than she can count, mi Luna.” His hot breath pricked shudders from your head to your toes.

That night, you learned that it was possible for a couch and wooden floors to squeak and creak when exerted with too much pressure.

That, and you had downstairs neighbors to apologize to.

A complacent grin snuck its way on Miguel as he remembered every scream and cry of his name from your pretty little lips.

Shaking his head clear from those heavenly thoughts, he trailed his mind, wondering what the other yous were like in the multiverse. Was each one as sweet and compassionate as you? Silly and full of that lively energy?

Did they love him just as much as this one did? He would check on that soon enough.

Glancing over to check the time, he realized his 'mandatory break’ (a break he rarely even acknowledged until you) was creeping up.

“I can take it now.” 

He leapt off the platform and strided towards the exit of his office, debating whether he should surprise you at work. Would you enjoy that? You've dropped hints that you fancied when he makes random visits and how it brightens up your day.

He could make the trip and back before anyone noticed.

Passing by the many caged anomalies that've been accumulated, it was distressing how many have started appearing more frequently, but he calculated it up to a new wave of spiders being made within the multiverse, especially with the new rounds of drafted ones.

Stepping fully out of his domain, he didn’t take into account how crowded it was today. He had to be creative with stealthy sneaking out, but he would make it work. Determining which route to ensue, he made a sharp left, recalling that there were back rooms located behind a sector where the cameras were scarce so that anyone with vital awareness could know their locations.

And he was the one to have that necessary information.

Avoiding all sorts of traffic and calls for his attention, he took a quick glance behind, ready to disappear into the next section, when two certain voices made their unwelcoming appearance.

“So I finished that book you wanted me to read. I did skim through towards the end because it got too intense, and that’s saying a lot.”

“The intense parts are the ones that speak the most truth and show the true nature behind it all, Gwendy. It’s good to have the requisite facts; you don’t want Big Brother to know all that goes on behind. And speak of the main man himself.”

Miguel came to a halt, an immediate scowl on his face as Hobie placed his hands in his vest pockets and Gwen folded her arms.

“What are you two doing in this area?” He hissed at them, gaining no reaction from Hobie but an eye-roll from Gwen.

“If it’s allowed to the public, then there is nothing stopping us from exploring what goes on deep in this establishment.” Hobie retorted.

“This place is off-limits.”

“Since when?” Gwen raised her brow in a quizzical manner.

“Since now.” Miguel snapped back.

"Nah, mate, being a bit dodgy with that.” The Camden punk leaned against a nearby wall, entrapping Miguel from moving forward. “Where you headed in such a rush?”

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t you two have anything important to tend to?” Miguel casually side-stepped towards the walkway, eyeing his escape.

“Aren’t you the main one to, you know, give out the tasks at hand?” Gwen blocked him as well, unknowingly making Miguel’s left eye twitch. He was fighting everything in his power from violently raving.

“Yes, but right now I’m on my break, so you can communicate with either Lyla or Jess.”

“You take breaks? Well, from how Jess complains, I think you indulge in one too many.” Gwen mumbled under her breath, making Miguel give a hostile leer at the disinterested teen.

Didn’t he resolve that issue with Jess? All the reports were caught up, and most of the anomaly tracking was redirected to him 95 percent of the time. There was no reason for her to still be dissatisfied after all that they'd caught up on. He mentally pinned it so they could discuss what could be the problem now.

“Look, go find something to keep yourself busy, or just stay out of the way.” 

“We weren't in the way. We just happened to stroll out of the same place you are going, so shouldn't it be the other way around?” Hobie probed at his ‘leader,’ gaining a balled-up fist from him.

“Hobie.” Gwen elbowed him, shooting a grave look. A warning to quit while he was ahead.

“I’m just curious why he’s attacking us for just scouting the building he enforces us to know. Ya know what I mean? If it were off limits, wouldn’t there have been a sign up to direct us away from this particular area?” He poked the lion in his absurd, pseudo-dependent den, not caring about the aftermath that could potentially follow.

“If I said it’s off limits, it’s off limits. End. Of. Discussion.” 

“Hobie, please.” Gwen’s voice increased, only to fall flat.

“Why so sudden is what gets me. Just because you think you’re the ‘big boss,’ you believe that you can switch and swindle the rules around whenever they're applicable to you. So what are you trying to hide?”

WHAM.

Gwen flinched and silently sighed out as Miguel’s curled fist slammed against one of the support beams, leaving an indent on it. His breathing was uneven as he calmed himself.

“In. Out. In. Out…”

Gwen's face creased, and Hobie was stolid, though marginally baffled at the display in front. Miguel was crossed. His dreary eyes glazed over as he removed his fist to his side, still inhaling and exhaling sporadically.

“Can we leave? Please?” Gwen nudged Hobie, making him bow his head.

“Yeah.” 

And with that, they pivoted forward into the depths of the HQ, leaving the internally exhausted, battered man to himself.

“Was that really necessary?” Gwen furtively murmured to her friend.

“Yes. There’s something going on, whether he knows it or not. Only time will tell. I’m just giving it a kickstart.”

She could only groan at her instigator of a ‘mate’ and began to swing away, with him close behind.

He couldn’t understand why they couldn't leave him alone. Why couldn’t he just do the things they do on a daily basis? Why couldn’t he leave this hellhole of a life and go to someone who wants to participate in normal activities such as listening to records from decades ago or eating cheesy pizza while watching a cheesy film?

Why is that too much to ask for? Was it too much to ask?

Not seeking to remain any longer or allow that punk to get under his skin anymore than he already has, he headed towards the secret doorway, even more primed to spend the entirety of his break with you.

You bustled back and forth, arranging new clothing and novelty goodies all over the shop. It’s been extra busy, and it’s been taking a toll on your body. 

Ever since Jax and Freya, your other two co-workers, decided to simultaneously take a week and a half off, you had to pick up the extra hours to fulfill their duties.

“I swear they are fucking on the side, because this is ridiculous! Whatever you stack up is coming right out of their paycheck.” Ronnie nearly slammed a box of fragile ornaments on the counter before you rapidly caught her. “This is what happens when you hire lazy ass part-timers!”

“Ronnie! I’m upset too, but don’t take it out on the items, please.” You removed the package from her shaky hands into your still ones.

“Ronnie nearly breaking something? Sounds on par with her.”

Whipping your heads toward the voice. Miguel waved at the two, causing you to nearly drop the box on your foot until Ronnie took it back.

“Oh haha. You think you’re so funny. Where have you been these last few days? We could use the extra hands, you fuckfa-”

“Ronnie! Go in the back and take a breather; I can handle the register for a bit.” 

You patted the counter to alert her to leave the knickknacks, which she happily followed. Without saying another word, she stomped to her office and closed the door behind.

“I have never seen her that cynical and furious.” Miguel leaned against the wooden surface, planting a kiss on your forehead. “And why are you working again today? Aren't Thursdays your off days?”

“Two other employees dipped on us at the exact same time, and it’s been crazy busy, so the stress has been catching up to both of us.”

Miguel peered into your eyes and noticed how weary and depleted you were. You only told him that work had more customers than usual, and you would leave it there. 

It did make more sense now that he had context, as you were too tired to hang out or even stay on the phone because you would randomly pass out during the middle of a sentence.

“Ay Luna mía, ¿por qué no me dijiste que te estabas agobiando así? I would’ve come by and helped you relax these past few days. That explains why you told me not to come last night.” Miguel brushed your hair with his palms, making you shake your head.

“I didn't want you worrying. You already deal with so much; I don’t want you piling on more things, especially revolving around me.”

“Oye, no, no. You deserve to be worried about. I’m not going to have mi Luna beat and tire herself down. We can only have one of us doing that.” You and Miguel snorted at that before laying your foreheads on one another.

“I don’t want you doing that either, mi Estrella.” Your thumb caressed his sharp jawline.

Miguel planted a kiss on it. “Let me treat you, corazón.” 

There was no hesitation in that. He peeled his shades off and set them on the table. You timidly tilted your head, holding that adorable confusion that nearly broke him. 

“Treat me? No, you have to treat you! You go through more than me.”

“I’ve already made up my mind. This Saturday night, I’m taking you on a proper date. We haven’t really had one since the garden, so let me tend to you. Allow me to spoil one of the very few things that brightens up my life and sky.”

Now it was your turn to be left speechless. “But, but, I can’t leave Ronnie by herself.”

“If you don’t say yes to that date, I will take it for you.” Ronnie pulled her dull ginger hair into a messy bun, accentuating her gray, baggy eyes and square face. “Besides, I’m closing the shop up early to go clubbing that day anyway. You can’t be the only one with eye candy all over you. So go.” She cheekily wiggled her eyebrows; that smug grin sat too comfortably on her face.

Miguel sauntered behind the counter and carefully squished your cheeks together. “Por favor, mi corazón, permíteme hacer esto por ti. Por esta única noche. Déjame tratar mi cautivadora y brillante Luna."

“I-I took French…” You were greatly bashful.

“Just say yes, my girl.” Ronnie smacked a bare display model.

“Si, mi Estrella.” Your voice was hushed, but enough to be heard by him.

Two more broke on the floor.

His lips found yours for a brief second, until a rubber band was launched between you two.

“¡Oye! Sé que eres mezquino, ¡pero vamos!” Miguel growled at the owner, only receiving her tongue sticking out.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. No snogging in my store! If I can’t do it, neither can you two, so break it up. So nasty.”

Ronnie and Miguel went back and forth as you rubbed your lips with a coy smile dancing across them. Your brain was in space as you gleamed upon the one you were deeply in love with. He would always surround you in the galaxy, no matter what. That you were so lucky to have him.

That you two were lucky to have each other.

You regained your bearings when Ronnie began threatening Miguel over something nonsensical. You ended up separating the two when Ronnie plucked the undraped dress-form mannequin, nearly whacking him with it, as Miguel’s feet were planted proudly, ready for the strike.

You humorously scold the two, bossing Ronnie to take her break early.

“Fine. Not because you told me too.” She gathered her windbreaker and purse from behind the register. “And no fucking in my store!” She snapped her fingers before darting fully when she was halfway out of the building.

Appalled by that declaration, Miguel shouted, and you eyed the register, intrigued if it could knock you out in one fell swoop. 

“Ay coño, I swear she is like a more vulgar version of Peter.” Miguel grumbled and rubbed his temples in a discontented way.

“Maybe I should meet Peter. Balance each other out.”

He scoffed at that. “And have you succumbed to that faith? No way, mi Luna, you are not suffering more than you already are.”

You blew a raspberry at him and knocked your hips into him. “I could handle one at a time, just not in the same vicinity.” You examined the fine figures after releasing them from their boxy prison.

“Now that I’ve witnessed Ronnie’s… tumultuous tendencies and principles, I wouldn't have them in the same proximity.” You and Miguel winced simultaneously.

You bantered back and forth, Miguel periodically slipping into the back when you had to handle a customer, appreciating the hoarded collections accumulated over the decades. Though he would get an occasional distraction when a shopper would flirt or chat with him, only to struggle when they were faced with an agitated frown or an empty glare and darkly tinted sunglasses.

When confronted or questioned about that ‘daunting, behemoth of a man’ in the back, you defended him by stating he isn’t much of a people person, and he prefers to be by himself. The few shrugged it off, refusing to go deeper, but one or two jostled, nearly causing a commotion, only to scurry when Miguel spooked them away.

How thankful you were for him.

“My break is nearly up; as much as I don’t want to leave, I have to before Jess comes at me.” Miguel checked his watch and tutted in resentment. “Will you be okay, mi corazón?”

Sprawling your arms, you dangle them off the edge of the counter. “Nothing I can’t manage. I’ve been doing this for almost four years and I have the bat, remember? And besides, Ronnie will be back soon, so yes, I will survive!” You copied along to the song blasting overhead, tossing one arm in the air, and receiving a chesty laugh from him.

“Fair. That is fair, mi corazón.” He lifted both of your hands near his lips, grazing against them. “Saturday. I will pick you up around seven, and I will use the door.”

“Oh, you’re going to use the door? This is how I know it’ll be very romantic.” You both beamed and moved into your affectionate stance. “I’m excited to know what you’ll have up your sleeves, or should I say suit?” 

Miguel stole a kiss from your lips, triggering you to mildly quake your head back and forth on his forehead, getting him to grin even harder. “Mi Estrella, I love you so dearly. You be safe, okay?”

“You know I will, mi Luna. Now, tomorrow I’ll text you the details on what to expect without going too much into detail, got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You saluted, earning a grunt from the spider.

“Mm–right. Saturday at seven, I’ll talk to you soon. Te adoro, mi Luna.” 

And with a wave and a blow of a kiss, Miguel was traversing back to his wretched domain. The spot where he isn’t warmly welcomed. Only dreaded or inwardly and outwardly met with snide remarks. Harassed constantly for tediously, miniscule activities.

He already missed you.

Friday managed to approach faster than he expected, as monitors surrounded him as he requested (mostly demanded) Lyla to search for fancy restaurants or romantic spots.

“Okay, this restaurant has four stars and serves Mediterr-"

“Too low! Higher, Lyla, she deserves only the best!” Miguel distraughtly swiped one screen away to the next.

“I found over fifty places, and you turned down each and everyone! I’m done, Miguel.”

“Maybe if you found better picks, I wouldn’t have to do that.” He snarked back at the A.I. companion.

She gave a dismissive scoff and tossed the tiny screens around her in an animated trash can. “You know what? I am done with this. Good luck, boss. You are definitely going to need it.”

“Wait, where are you going?!” Miguel drove his talons down into a screen, creating spider-web cracks in it.

“All the luck.” She finger-gunned at her creator and blipped away back into her cyberhome.

Miguel hardened for several seconds and launched the screen he was holding at another one. It was nearly midnight, and for the past hour and a half, he scrambled to locate the perfect destination for the upcoming date.

And so far, luck has refused to be on his side.

Unleashing a cultivating yell, footsteps caught the rest in his throat.

“You know, I really have to stop coming in when something is going down with you. Or maybe it’s a sign that I have to be in here when you’re distressed in a high capacity.” Peter flung himself up to Miguel and scanned the iridescent PC displays.

Various restaurants, dinner cruises, and wineries with high ratings were showcased throughout. “Ah, doing something intimate with her. That’s why your suit is all up in a bunch. When’s the date?”

“Tomorrow, and I still haven’t found the right one for her.” Miguel mumbled behind his clawed hands.

“She doesn’t strike me as one who cares for lavish things. She definitely gives off those down-to-earth vibes, that no matter where you take her, she’ll be fine with it as long as you’re together.”

“But that’s why she should only get the best. She does so much and–wait. What did you just say?” Miguel whirled his neck in Peter’s direction. He didn’t discern himself from Miguel’s wary eyes as his brown eyes continued staring ahead.

“She wouldn’t care where you brought her. You all of the spiders should know, even with or without spidey senses.” He scrolled down some, clicking random tabs.

“And how would you know that?” Miguel’s fangs bared as his claws uncomfortably sank in and out.

Peter slumped his head, wishing Mayday was here to help with this blowout. “I accidentally met her at the job she works at.”

Miguel’s jaw dropped before his face twisted in outrage. “¡¿Por qué estabas en su trabajo?! ¡¿Estás acechando a mi paraeja?!”

He shriveled at his leader's vexing response. “No, I'm not stalking your girlfriend. Every time you would bring in those boxes with the goobers, I would always catch the name on them. So, I decided to go check it out. That's how I saw her. Now here, let me help you find something.”

That didn't sway Miguel's seething mood at all, as Peter sulked back from the monitors. He then tried to deliberately pull his puppy-dog eyes on the scorching, taut red ones before him, but that changed nothing.

Without even needing to utter a single phrase, Peter took the hint.

“Fine, the full story. Look, you live in the future, and where I'm from, antique shops are common. During my break today, I moseyed on down, curious if any items we had were considered ‘ancient’ here, right?”

Miguel crossed his arms, his brow jutting up, suggesting Peter keep talking.

“And as I was there peeking, I saw her in the back labeling, and then something in my brain went off! I remembered this girl, and I couldn't figure out why.”

He knocked on the side of his head. “I had to jog my memory on why she was so familiar when, I guess, she caught me staring and asked if everything was okay. I mean, everything was okay; I told her I was just browsing; I didn't want to come off as the weird guy–”

“Get to the point, Peter!” Miguel pounded his work desk after each word.

“Hold on! I'm getting there. So, after that, she gave a thumbs-up, and that's when it came all rushing back. I recalled her picture icon from your messages. She seemed shocked at first, and we awkwardly shuffled to the front. I still don't know how we exactly ended up there, but, yadda yadda, things in-between, I dropped your name, and she caught on to who I was!”

Peter's arms were outstretched after performing a one-man show replicating the events he experienced earlier. Miguel's shoulders collapse as he is suddenly overfilled with lethargy. He pinched the bridge of his nose, Spanish trickling down faster than Peter could translate, as the fuzzy-robe-wearing spider fidgeted with a loose string.

“Ay, Peter, I pray you didn't harass her. Please tell me she had a pleasant time.”

“We did. And she loved Mayday. Also, I'm actually talked about outside of work? I knew you were secretly fond of me.” Peter lifted a leg, his eyes twinkling, and clasped his hands together.

Miguel's body twitched.

“You took May with you?”

“Sure did. And she played with her so much while we all talked. She seems to know a thing or two about kids—well, enough to keep them entertained.”

His mind raced to you cuddling May, her big smiles as you cooed and giggled with the baby. Your gentle hold, letting May look at the wonders that held so many memories as you would lightly bounce her on your hip, taking the time to give a story behind each trinket, acting it out in an engaging manner as May would squeal with delight at the cute, dramatized acting.

Then his mind meandered to his kids. That same enthusiasm you’ll share with them as you unveil the phenomenon behind the world's creations. From a plain, shiny stone to a prehistoric fossil or an old CD player to a turntable. 

The smiles and giddy glee, the exhilarating hops, and the glinting awe they'll have with his red eyes.

A string lies snapped.

He tuned Peter back in, catching whatever he was rambling on in mid-sentence.

“And that Ronnie person—she reminds me of someone. I can't put a finger on who exactly, but man, she's a rambunctious individual. The amount of times we had to catch her from letting some non-PG things slip was astounding.”

Peter flailed his hands in exaggeration before being face-to-face with Miguel's withdrawn gaze. The usual fierce, no-nonsense commander appeared as a beaten and lost puppy.

Peter's nose flared, and he snatched up one of the monitors, typing away at the screen. “Look, Miguel, you don't need to stress over this. She will still love you no matter what, you know.”

His ears perked at that. “She told you she loves me?”

“Yes! When I said the first syllable of your name, her face lit up as if millions of fireworks went off at once. She spoke fondly of you. Saying that there was this devotion that drifted whenever your name wormed its way into the conversation, words cannot describe. It was staggering to witness that glow whenever it happened. It reminds me of when Mary and I rekindle that flame.”

His lips quivered upward, then he shoved the screen in Miguel's face. “But, enough about that. If you're so keen on impressing her somehow more than before, then take a look at that.”

An unsure stare ran across Miguel, tearing away to look at what Peter had searched for.

A jazz lounge.

A lounge complete with multiple performances from singers and musicians, a sensual and inviting aura, comfy furniture, and savory cuisines. Just an overall quintessential venue.

It was perfect.

“From what I picked up, this seems to be up her alley. Take her there. I'm sure this would be a great time for you two. So no more worrying, please. I beg you! You over-thinker.”

“Peter, I don't know how to thank you."

“Thank me by going out and having fun.”

Another snapped string.

The spider companion nudged his shoulders with his as he viewed Miguel making reservations to it.

This was going to be a night you would never forget.

Chapter Text

Zipping back and forth from your bedroom to the bathroom, you stumbled over your two feet, desperately locating the other thigh-fishnet stocking while trying to put toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I just had it right here! Did it fall into the freaking void?” You dipped and scrambled all around the floor near the bed. “You know what? I’ll come back to it in a bit.” You darted back into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Tonight was a special night for you two. It was your first date as a 'semi-official' couple, and you had no clue where exactly he was taking you. All you know is that you woke up to a text specifying what would be the best attire for this particular outing.

A lovely, formal casual is something you could manage. A form-fitting, long-sleeved mini dress, wedges, and your fishnets, if you could find the other one.

Not a single word could describe the anticipation that was bubbling inside. You skipped around, singing your heart out as you got ready, only to lose track of time from bumbling too much. Spitting out the toothpaste residue, you rushed back to the room, aimlessly scouting for that missing piece. 

Bending down on your knees and laying on your torso to search under the bed, you heard the bedroom door squeak open.

“Mm, this is a delightful sight to walk in on.”

Repositioning yourself back up, you twirled your head and gleamed at Miguel. “Miggy! My gosh, every time you dress down, you always have to put me to shame, don’t you?”

“Too much?” He peered down at his tight white button-down, black jeans, and opened blazer.

“No, no, está bien.” You rose to your feet and drifted towards him. Noting that one of his arms was behind his back, you closed off any space left between you two. “Going to tell me what’s hiding back there?”

Miguel smirked and leisurely revealed a beautiful bouquet of pink tulips and white daisies, evoking a squeal from you.

“Oh, Miggy, thank you. These are gorgeous. I’m going to quickly put these in a vase right now. Also, can you help me find my other fishnet stocking? The moment it’s found, the sooner we can leave.” You cradled the assortment.

“Si, mi Luna. And take your time; we still have forty minutes left until our reservations.”

“True, but I know you like to be punctual. Gotta have that jumpstart.” You sang out, stepping into your living room to find a new home for the floral.

Miguel smiled and scanned your room. “By the way, you look radiant.” He called out to you, spotting the lone material, loosely tucked underneath a pillow.

“Thank you, but not on par with you." You held the vase before placing it right on your dresser.

“Hey, you emit more beauty than all the moons in the entire universe. And more than me, mi hermosa Luna.” He handed you the fishnet, gazing longingly into your eyes.

“Do you always turn up the charm whenever you're near me?” You slipped past, leaning on your bed to put the tight on.

“Possibly. I will never tell.”

A grin snuck its way up on you. “Thank you for finding it. My shoes and purse are all upfront. Are you ready to head out?” 

Without another comment, Miguel offered his arm, and you gladly took it. 

The night’s sky was clear. A full moon was shining ever so brightly as Miguel hailed a cab for you two. Miguel handed the driver a piece of paper as you questioned where exactly you were headed, but he kept it hushed, saying all would be revealed in due time. Opting to be compliant, you went with the flow as you chattered about whatever sprung up in your minds.

Arriving at the place, you gawked at the corner brick building. Stringed maroon lights suspended down the windows and doors as two granite pillars erected proudly, displaying the entrance sign in brilliant neon cerise, reading Dusk N’ Twilight.

Miguel paid the driver and trekked his way over to your side, opening the car door for you. You took his hand, your eyes fixated, exuberant stare not leaving the exterior.

“Do you like it, mi Luna?” 

“Do I like it? I love it! I've never been to a jazz club before, so I am super excited.” You shuffled from one foot to another, wrapping your arms around his muscular one. “Though, I would've expected more people. Especially on a Saturday night.” Wheeling your head back and forth, focusing on the lack of traffic for such a swanky establishment.

“Vamos, mi Luna. Let's not stand out here forever.”

You nodded, and together you took even steps, with Miguel showing off his chivalry by holding the main entry door open. “Such a gentleman.” You winked and sashayed in, putting on a show for him by wiggling your behind a bit. 

Miguel eyed your figure, his fangs drawing out as he licked them before retracting them. “Cálmate, cálmate. Acabas de llegar.”

Miguel stepped behind, and you took in more of the interior. An erotic, deep red inundated around, even spilling into the hidden crevices. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and a lone piano perched in a corner, with a giant stage loaded with different instruments and a microphone adjacent to it. Loveseats, booths, and regular tables lined up, taking up the unoccupied spaces.

You scratched the top of your head in confusion. At the moment, there were only four people, including you and Miguel. The waitress and a man maintaining the bar, which was stocked with fancy alcoholic beverages.

Where was everyone else? Was this place exclusive or a gem so hidden that no one has ever heard of it?

“You must be Mr. O'Hara?” The waitress politely smiled at you two.

“Yes.” Miguel pulled his phone out as the waitress glanced down and nodded.

“Alright, perfect. Follow me.”

Grasping your dainty hand once more, you and Miguel traveled near a table less than fifteen feet from the stage.

It was already set with fine china, a bottle of wine chilled in an ice bucket, and rose petals garnishing the silk tablecloth.

Miguel pulled your chair out as you dumbfoundedly plopped yourself in it, bewildered eyes observing all that surrounded you.

The waitress poured the wine into your glasses and rested two menus in front of you both. “My name is Cheyenne, and I will be your waitress this evening. The live music will be out in a few minutes, and the bar is, of course, unlimited. I will give you a bit to glance at the menus, but I'll bring out fresh bread in the meantime. If you need anything, simply call out for me.”

“Thank you.” Miguel bowed his head in acknowledgment as you gave a weary thumbs-up.

“Tha-thank you.” You gulped.

The second she trailed away, you pinned your hands on the surface. “Miggy, what the heck?” 

Caught off-guard, he planted the menu down and removed his shades, concerned. “What's wrong, mi corazón?” 

“What's wrong? Where is everyone else? Unlimited drinks? Personal service?” You waved your limbs, gesturing to it all.

“It's only going to be me and you tonight, mi Luna.” He plucked the menu back up, skimming over it once again.

Muddled, you flickered your eyelids open and shut before shaking your head. “Miggy! You didn't have to dip in so much for all of this! How much did this cost? I will help pay it back if need be; you didn't have to do all of this.”

“Mi corazón, payment wasn't a problem. Everything is okay. Don't worry, mi Luna.”

“Payment wasn't a problem... mi Estrella, this clearly would have cost a pretty penny if you seemingly rented out the entire buidling.” 

Miguel only shrugged. “It wasn't, honestly, that pricey. It was only a few thousand, nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too—nothing too bad? Only a few thousand?!” You exclaimed before you caught your tone.

Beginning to sort out any confusion, he was interrupted by steaming, toasted bread brought down and a bowl of whipped butter.

“There we go. Are we ready to order or still need more time?”

“More time, please.” Miguel picked up the serving tongs and placed some bread on his plate and yours.

“Alright. And the entertainment is on its way.” Cheyenne scuffled back into the kitchen, fairly intimidated by Miguel's presence.

“Now, as I was saying, I wanted this to be special, and…” He was forcibly cut off once again when an entourage of people in button-ups, unraveled ties, slacks, and spiffy dress shoes marched to their respective instruments and took their spot.

The band waved at you two as you meekly bent your fingers, trying to copy the eager motion. And Miguel only gave a half-wave.

Tarrying on the musicians for a bit more, a woman in an off-the-shoulder sequin gown swayed out and took the mic in her hands. Her hair flowed elegantly as the red highlighted the dress, giving it that flare.

“Welcome to Dusk N’ Twilight this fine night, lady and gentleman. Tonight is a very special one, as we have a stunning couple out in the audience. So let me take you two on a magical voyage of velvety wine, shimmering stars, and melodies to fuel that insatiable appetite for love and lust.”

Notes from the saxophone, bass, piano, and singer enriched the scenic environment that connected the two.

“Mi Luna, mi corazón, please let me treat you. You've done so much for me; let me return it by giving you a night to look back with amazing memories.”

That entrancing hold—how the hue blends in with his crimson-brown ones—yet you still see the raw, passionate scorch in them.

You couldn't help but smile. “Okay, mi Estrella. I'll let you spoil me. Only–only for tonight. But I still have some questions.”

His face crinkled into a high-cheekbone grin as he showed off his pearly whites. You adored every line and scar on his earthy face.

“¿Cómo tuve tanta suerte? ¿Yo, entre todas las personas, terminó con un alma tierna como la tuya? But yes, I will answer whatever question you have; after we order, mi Luna hermosa e iluminadora.”

Wiggling in your seat, you picked up the menu, glancing at the yummy items available. Placing your orders, you both leaned forward, dreamingly, captivated by each other's hypnotic gaze, letting the songs whisk you into the infinite galaxy.

Taking a few sips of wine and bites of bread, you smacked your lips and laid your elbow on the cloth.

“Alright, now tell me. Since when does..." you scrunch your eyes, finding a way to prevent his hero identity from slipping out. “When does your, dutifully, work pay? I thought you did that just because.”

“It doesn't pay.”

“So how the heck did you manage this?”

“You are aware that I have a good amount saved up?” Miguel could almost see the malfunctioning error processing in your brain.

“No? How? I know you have that other job, but that doesn't explain much because it's dealing with something in a theoretical sense.”

“A theory that has been proven.”

“Right, right, but it still doesn't explain the seemingly vast amount of, you know!”

“I did tell you I was the leader and founder of the organization, correct?”

You bobbed your head. “Yes, but not the founder part. I don't ever remember you mentioning that you're the creator of it.”

“Huh. I didn't? Strange. Guess I'm fittingly comfortable around you that my brain believed I told you. And I also assumed it was a given because you need permits for properties such as that, and you've seen my high-rise apartment.”

“Yes, but you live there. I'm thinking it's paid for in return for your work.” 

Miguel picked up his wine glass, swirling it. “No. Yes, I live there, but I'm the one who wanted it so I could be closer to my job. It's easier that way.” He mindlessly took a sip. “There's also the fact that I'm essentially a retired geneticist as well, so I get a pension from that. An evil company, but weird ethics when it comes to rightful pay.”

His eyebrows scrunched, and then he fixed his attention on you. “Didn't I also tell you I made codes and a few inventions that are used throughout parts of the city?”

You were helplessly bemused and overwrought by the newfound information that had been casually lobbed at you. Your fingers tensely gripped at your hair, mortified, both elbows now on the table, as your eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

“Mi Luna? You okay?” Miguel dwindled his head down to meet your flushed expression.

“Have you been telling me, all this time, that I've been dating a suave, millionaire CEO man? Oh my God, oh my God, if Ronnie ever finds out—if my family ever finds out. Oh my God, can I disappear? Maybe, just maybe, if I contract so hard, I can blip myself out of existence. Yeah! That can work!” 

“I'm not that rich.”

You immediately clenched up and began to strain your body.

“Mi Luna.” Miguel gave a remorseful look. His eyes glazed, wondering if any of that was appropriate to tell you. He wanted to answer your questions, but not if it'd upset you.

Abruptly stopping, you noticed his reaction. Getting up from your chair, you made your way over and plopped your forehead on his.

“I'm so sorry, mi Estrella. I didn't mean to make you feel so disheartened. It was unanticipated news I wasn't expecting; there is still no excuse for my behavior. Please forgive me for that heinous response.”

Miguel pulled you in for a deep kiss before moving away. “All is forgiven. I know there wasn't any ill-intent; you were surprised. It wasn't the reaction I wasn't expecting.”

Sharing a laugh, the two of you embraced closely, praying it would never end. Eventually you broke away when the meals arrived, as you both began to chow down.

Enjoying each other, you two chatted non-stop. Learning more and more about one another.

“So, as you are a handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway, have you ever had fair gents or maidens run to you with open arms?”

Miguel suppressed a snort and took a swig of his beverage. “Is that what I am to you? A Renaissance marbled what now?”

“A handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway.”

“I'll make sure to remember that. And yes, I had a few one-night stands with both. Nothing too crazy. What about you? I don't think I've ever asked about all that.”

“Nothing too crazy here as well. Had two partners before hand, sexual relations with the first, none with the second. He apparently was getting too cozy with others and ended up leaving with something. So, I dodged that bomb there.”

A contemptuous scowl appeared on Miguel. “¿Quién engañaría a alguien como tú? A veces, no entiendo a los idiotas tontos.” He angrily chewed a piece of his steak.

“Everything okay?”

“Si, mi Luna. I'm trying to wrap my brain around why anyone would treat you so lowly.”

You gave a simple shrug. “It happens. It did sting in the moment, but I moved on. Very indifferent a month after the breakup. So, it wasn't a complete loss.”

“Still. Ay, you are so gentle, I swear... Hey, mi corazón?”

“Mhm?” You glance up from your food.

“What is your family like? I tried not to speculate on what they’re like, so I am curious about them.”

“Mom and dad are living in some other state, I think Washington? And I have an older brother. Barkley. Exactly six years apart. I’m close with my parents—not too close. And my brother. We were super attached growing up. He was my best friend. Then something happened when he went to college, cut us all off with no explanation, and then vanished.” You traced the rim of your wine glass.

“Last I heard, he left the states and is doing odd jobs now.” Your face fell, melancholy rupturing the more intimate jazzy sounds.

Guilt plastered over him. He pressed his lips together as anguish washed over him for bringing up a sensitive topic. He imagined that by bringing up Gabi in the past, you would be ecstatic to ramble on about your family too. Even at the end of the day, he still inferred something about your personal life.

“Mi corazón, I-I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

A lopsided grin upturned on your face. “Hey, you wouldn’t have known; it’s okay. It does hurt, still to this day, but I try to carry on. I do think about him a lot, and I have a bunch of repressed feelings that go deep within, so what I try to do is help the ones around me and myself from time to time. Show that generosity. It may be altruistic to some; who knows? You can’t always have that pep, but you can try and kindle kindness.”

“I don’t think that's altruistic.” Miguel said it sincerely.

“I would say you're being a bit biased, and I could agree with you, but let's take a look at your job. It's a much grander scale of helping people, so wouldn't that make me a hypocrite?”

“How so?”

Your smile never leaves. “We both use our energy to seemingly help others. So I can't say that me specifically going out of the way to aid someone doesn't have any altruistic undertones. Yours is just…bigger.”

He shook his head. “Maybe I am being biased. But from your view, it comes from the heart.”

“And yours does too.”

His heart thumped. You were perfect for him in all shapes and forms. He knew if he were to declare that, you would instantly deny it. Maybe there was a reason why you would, but even with your flaws, he will still be there. If times get hard, he will still be there. He would follow you for an infinite amount of time, and it still wouldn't be enough for him.

“Ay, eres perfecta, mi Luna.” 

And you shook your head.

“I'm not perfect; I still have things that may bother and upset you.” You teased him, eyeballing him as he got up and came to your side.

“That may be true, but I know I will still want you.” 

“And I will still want you, mi Estrella. I know if challenges were to hit us, we wouldn't back down.”

Three strings popped.

“Dance with me, mi Luna.”

Surprised by the suddenness of the request, you let him take the lead, swaying to the satisfying and powerful vocals that wreathed the tender love you two shared in the middle of it all.

The rest of the night went on without a hitch. Nearly finishing the wine bottle, you were slightly tipsy, and Miguel was still functioning as if he didn't have three glasses. After finishing the three-course meal, you both gave a standing ovation to the performers.

Tipping the service well, Miguel hailed another cab. Giving the driver your address, you both slid in one after the other.

You were both giggly, doing your best to hold it in and not be too loud. Miguel would sneakily glide his hands up your dress, as you would pretend nothing was going on.

Scooting alongside you, his unsheathed hands caressed your body. Biting your bottom lip to stifle any moans from escaping, you gazed at him from the corner of your eye.

“Ay, mi corazón, wait till we get back to your place. I'm not ready for this night to end.” He whispered low enough so only you could hear his husky, seductive voice.

His watchful eyes observed the driver, making sure he wasn't peeking as one of his talons scraped over the inner thigh and right in-between your legs. By subtly parting them, you allowed him to leave ghost-like circles over the dampening undergarment.

A sharp inhale nearly made its way out as you pretended to cough to mask it. A single sweatdrop rushed down your face as he continued his treatment on the spot. He then prodded the nub with a sharp nail.

“Not one sound. We don't want to get caught, do we, mi Luna?" He nipped at your ear before glossing his tongue down to the lobe.

Your heart was in your eardrums, teeth refusing to leave the bottom lip, to the point where you believed it was bleeding.

Eventually reaching the front of the building, you quickly paid for the fare as you both staggered out of the vehicle and hobbled straight towards the elevator doors. The anticipation rose as you anxiously eyeballed the yellow light trickling down each number so agonizingly slow.

4… 3… 2…

The second it reached one, you clambered in as you impatiently pressed the close button, silently begging it to go faster.

When the lobby was out of sight, Miguel swept you off the ground, pinning you to the wall behind.

You immediately encased your legs around his waist, your tongues attacking as you bruised each other's lips. Your hands roamed all over his strong shoulders before Miguel seized them and slammed them over your head with one claw. His other hand delicately punctured some skin on the outer thigh, making you moan in sheer ecstasy.

The elevator dinged as Miguel swung you onto his shoulder, making you yelp at the action.

His calloused fingers gripped close on your behind as he dug for his key in his pocket. Eventually finding it, he fumbled with the lock. You offered to have him let you down so he could open it, until you heard the click.

He nearly broke the door from opening it, pulling you back down, retaking your earlier position, and ramming your lips back on his. Kicking the wooden door shut with his foot, he took off his shoes and made his way to the couch, flinging you on it, as he kneeled in front. 

His hands roamed over every bit of your draped body, tongues in a sloppily dance. You tugged at his hair, grinding your hips up to him. He pulled away as you both took in heavy breaths of air, as if you had gone without oxygen for days.

“Mi Luna, mi corazón, I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to take so much care of you. I want to make love to you. I will make love to you. Will you allow me to do that, Mi Luna?”

All you could do was nod.

“I will only do it if you say it, mi Luna.”

“Yes, Mi Estrella, yes, please make love to me! Por favor, si, anyth-”

Miguel cut you off, his tongue nearly sliding down your throat. Restlessness took over as he hauled your dress over your head and threw it over the sofa. 

You reached down and started to take off your wedges when Miguel shoved your arm over your hair. “Leave your fishnets and shoes on.”

Miguel dipped down, a carnal growl making its way from his throat as his tongue teased and explored your neck and collarbone.

Whining out, your back arched into his warm, wet appendage, loving every nip and bite from him. You moaned as his teeth gently clamped down on the crook of your neck. You felt every suction, every stroke from the tongue, and the vibrations whenever he groaned.

Your panties dampened even more. He was voracious with his mouth, his hands moving to firmly grope your breasts, hips, and thighs.

“Oh, mi Luna, la única para mi. Eres tan bueno, tan bueno conmigo.”

He peered into your lustrous eyes, his blazing ones never fleeing as his thumbs parted your lips, talons brushing against your tongue. You wrap it around one of them, sucking on it, not wanting to break contact, until you get lost in it. Lapping the digit in circles, you bob your head back and forth, causing him to purr and tug your head back.

“Such a naughty girl, making papi hot and bothered like that.”

Heavy pants heave out of you before you take Miguel back into another amorous kiss. You latch your tongue around his, your squeaks filling the room, causing Miguel to groan, squeezing your chest.

Moving away, he peeled you off the couch and hoisted you in his arms, bridal style, carrying you to the bedroom and dropping you wearily on the bed.

“I'm going to devote every second to pleasuring this body.”

“I know you will, mi Estrella.” You contentedly sighed out.

Claiming those sweet lips one last time, he tears the bra off your body.

“Miggy! You have to stop ripping my clothes!” You squirm and pout.

“You know I'll buy you a new one. I'll buy you an entire new wardrobe if it means I get to see this body.” He kneads your breasts, pinching the nipples and receiving a gasp. “So responsive. One thing I adore so much about you.”

Taking your left nipple in his clutch and chewing on it as his fangs threatened to draw out, he had to consciously keep them in check. His tongue lapped and sucked the bud as trails of spit leaked down your breast.

“Oh, Miggy. So good, that feels so good.” You shuddered at the feeling.

Pulling back with the areola still in-between his teeth, he released it, then delved into nibbling the valley of your bust, leaving faint traces up and down your stomach and thighs.

Your whimpers drove Miguel up into the stratosphere. His jeans were unbearably constructive, and his body was burning with full lust. He removed his blazer and tossed it, his mouth not once leaving, wanting to mark all over you. Your body relaxed, humming at the nips and laps from his tongue.

“You are so amazing, mi Estrella.” 

He smiled, popping your right nipple out of his mouth. “And you are even more so, mi Luna.”

Surveying the purplish-red bruises, he nearly patted himself on the back, prideful over what he did. He leaned up until your face was in view. You couldn't make much out, as the room was dark, with only a shimmer of lights protruding from your window. 

The one thing you could see was the fiery, vermillion irises feverishly longing for you.

Grazing your luscious figure, Miguel trailed his hands down to your panties, stroking and playing with the waistband. “Mi Luna. Don’t think I didn’t take notice of you shaking that perfectly cute ass for me at the lounge. You wanted to rile me up; I know you did.”

His heated breath on your chest and neck made goosebumps spring all down your body. 

“Mm, you were such a gentleman; it was only fair to reward you with a little something, papi.” 

“Now let me reward you.” Miguel pecked at your collarbone.

“For what?”

“For being you. For being so amazing to me and taking the time to... care for someone like me.”

Your hands brushed along his neck until each one was placed on either side of his cheeks. Lowering him to you, you displayed your love. “You deserve it all. You are worth it all.”

His stomach and chest fluttered as the kiss he gave held so much devotion, fondness, and ardor. He wanted to give you everything—to give all of him to you.

Bracing himself on his knees, he speedily unbuttoned his shirt and paused. “Sit up, mi Luna.” He commanded as you followed the direct, confused.

He wrapped the fabric around your backside, took each of your arms, and slid them into the sleeves.

“Fóllame…” He croaked out.

It was loose on you, as one part drooped off your shoulder. Seeing you like this made something tick. A carnal desire. A primal rage.

The wedges, your wetness leaking down, messing up your thighs. The love-bites on your perfect breasts and neck. The fishnets have tiny, damp spots, and you're wearing his shirt. Your scent mixing with it.

The image alone nearly made him explode.

"Miggy, are you okay?” You tilted your head.

And that was it. That innocent call of his name. You checking in on him. That lovely voice. That voice he always wants to hear.

He slumped on the floor, grappling your legs and anchoring them over his shoulders. “I want you to scream out. I want them to know who is making you feel so good, mi corazón.”

Arousal and fear settled in your eyes—that blazing desire you saw within. How you craved it so much.

“I want you, Miguel.” 

He dove in.

His tongue lapping up the streams that trickled from your inner thighs, making sure to leave love-bites in his tracks.

“Mines, you're mine. Eres mía. Eres mía.”

You wail out, grasping onto your bedsheets. The firm push of his tongue against your clothed opening had you spying stars. The cotton becoming slicker and stickier with each lick around the folds nearly had you releasing.

“I need these gone.” With a swift rip, your underwear was torn off, and you couldn't help but snarl at him.

“Miggy! No more ripping—oh fuck.” You cried out. Miguel plunged deep within your damp opening, jutting his tongue in and out as he felt every clench of your walls around the muscle.

A possessive, guttural growl reverberated from his chest, making your legs tremble from the resonance.

“Miggy! Take your time. Oh fuck. Please take your time!” Your hands gripped your face, raising your upper torso.

“I'm sorry, mi corazón; you're so good. So, so sweet.” His tongue swirled around your labia in rapid succession, provoking a screech.

“Ple-please, Miggy! Slo-slow down!” 

He had to force himself away from his delicious meal. His claws pierced into your thighs, and he fought to regain his breath.

“Te pido disculpas, mi Luna. You just taste so good; you are my addiction. But for you, I'll go take my time. I'll start when you're ready.”

An admiring smile embellished on your face. How it managed to elevate your beauty even more, he would never know.

“Gracias, mi Estrella. I'm always ready for you.” You stroked his soft curls before Miguel took his claws and interlocked them in your fingers.

Lining himself back up, the tip of his tongue carefully lapped around the edge of your folds, taking in every whimper and mewl leaving you, blessing his ears.

Relieving all stress, you relaxed your body, yearning to feel every part. The passion from every glide over your vulva to the flicks on your clit sent you to a blissful heaven. Your defenseless moans of intimacy ricocheted off the walls. Miguel battled the inner frenzied side wanting to unleash its assault on you as he steadily made eights around the clitoris and entrance.

“Mi-Miggy.” You slurred out, “Go faster. You can go faster.”

His eyes glinted at you, a fierce scarlet, as that beastly part didn’t take that request for granted. Miguel took a hold of your legs, pushing them up a bit more until your wedges dug a bit into the upper part of his back. A few sweat drops ran down the side of you, attempting to backtrack, but it was too late.

Miguel shook his head briskly, his tongue wiggling madly, making out with your pussy. His mouth engulfed you, and a raw scream of his name departed your lips, having your neighbor knocking on the barrier in-between.

“Mi-Miggy! I can’t be too-”

“What did I say? Let them hear you. Let them know who is doing this to you.”  He slurped and sucked on your cunt, letting the murky fluids leak from the sides of his chin. He devoured every inch of you as you desperately bucked your hips up to his face, sobbing out.

Miguel came to a sudden halt, his tongue still buried deep in you. With a disoriented gasp, you jerk your head down, bewildered by the sudden stoppage.

“Keep going. Why did you stop?” You sobbed.

Yanking his tongue out, a wicked grin appeared along with his pearly, razor-sharp fangs. 

“I sensed your desperate rocks. So, mi Luna, you’re going to do some work as well, as much as I love to worship my prey.” 

Rising to his full height, he removed his jeans and the confining briefs, the glistening shaft springing out, throbbing madly. You immediately clenched around nothing, a longing gasp huffing out.

Crawling near you, he unceremoniously guided you towards the headboard as you nervously shuffled until your back hit the cool wood. You gulped loudly while one of his knuckles stroked the side of your cheek.

“I'm going to fuck your little pussy until you fall apart over and over.”

Clinging his claws to your waist, he flipped positions in such a way that he was on his back and you were straddling his waistline, feeling him poke against the cusp of your bottom.

“On my face.” He ordered with that husky grunt.

You hesitated when a firm hand smacked your left asscheek. A surprise cry left as Miguel spanked it again. “No stopping, mi Luna. On my face, por favor. And remember, you're going to go at your pace.”

Squirming your way up to him, you hovered over when Miguel dropped you down. Kissing the crevice around your folds, he plugged his tongue in your hole, not moving a single inch. 

Luckily, you connected the dots, rocking your hips in a circular pattern. His muscular arms kept you sturdy as your velvet sex squeezed and squished around it. Miguel's nose swiping your stiffened nub whenever your hips propel forward.

Throwing your head back, you felt the release creeping up, and you pressed on more and more.

With him allowing you full control, Miguel lays there as your fluids cover the bottom half of his face. You whined out, tears pricking in your vision, your mind in a frenzy.

You didn't want this to end. He wasn't doing anything, and he was still making you feel like your head was in the clouds. 

You were on top of the universe.

His hand roams up your soft thigh. His thumb and pointer pinching, rolling your clit in between, creating a split low moan between you two.

“I'm going to—I'm going to cum, Miggy.”

Deciding to help you out, his tongue drove into you with immense momentum. You squished from every thrust, your juices splashing about, and your walls squeezing tight.

“Miggy, Miggy, Miggy, close, I'm close, I'm- I'm-” rasping out, you bucked alongside. When his tongue dipped in, you'd dip down. A shrill left you and your body maniacally spasmed.

“Miguel!” Your orgasm was potent. Digits curled in his hair, your body slightly curved backwards before slumping over with hard, heavy breaths. He cleaned up a bit of the mess, wanting to still keep some as a remainder. “Mi Estrella… fuck me. You are too good at that.”

Plucking you off and settling you on your back, he nuzzled his face into your chest, enveloping his lips around yours. You waltzed your tongue around, tasting all of you.

“So sweet; how fitting for a woman like you.” He kissed your cheek multiple times.

“I think it's more tangy, so someone's taste buds are broken.” You both laugh, placing your foreheads together.

“¿Estás bien, mi Luna?” He trailed a line of affectionate pecks from your cheek to the crook of your shoulder.

You nodded your head, your upper limbs entwined over his thick neck. “I'm always okay whenever I'm with you.” A coy smile spread on your inviting lips.

“Mi corazón, I'm going to worship every inch of you. It's just me and you.” Miguel leaned downward, catching you in a fierce, sloppy open-mouth kiss. You gladly returned, your body the hottest it has ever been.

He cast you back up, hitching your legs around his waist. Rotating so your head would prop up against your pillows, he sank his body weight down, entrapping you.

“Las cosas que me haces, Luna mía. Las muchas cosas.” Miguel muttered in your ear. 

“Are you ready, mi Luna?”

“Always.”

Lowering himself, his erection rubbed against your folds, lubricating you both as much as possible. You croon, eyes half-lidded, leaning up to suck and lick the crook of his neck.

“I'm going to start pushing. Relax, mi Luna, relax.” The tip lined up to your entrance, gently nudging it in to stretch you. Groaning out together, Miguel's compulsion nearly took over from your tight heat clenching him for dear life.

“Ne-need to adjust. I'm sorry.”

“Shh, it's okay. Your pace, corazón, your pace.” Miguel slid further in, your walls pulsating with any single shift. Half-way, you grinded up against him; loosening yourself. Miguel gritted his teeth, taking every inch of your reaction.

“Go–go ahead. All of it, please.” You cried out.

When he bottomed the rest in one go, you both froze. Every twitch against your fluttering, wet muscles causes cascades of heavy grunts from him and sultry moans from you.

“Apretado, apretado a mi alrededor. Muy bien, eres muy buena mi Luna hermosa.” 

He starts to pump. Withdrawing himself to the head before ramming it back to the hilt, contouring it until it was perfectly molded. Flinging your head back, a lusty moan leaves your mouth.

His hips smacking against your hip bones, your painted nails digging into Miguel's back, leaving more marks and scars that will bring loving memories instead of anguish. Your whines are bouncing over the bedroom walls, driving him wild.

Slightly angling your hips up some more, Miguel found that sweet spot as those more modest whimpers devolved into pure, lustful adulterous screams. Miguel took pride as you squelched with every thrust, your juices covering his entire length. 

“Music. Music–ah, fuck. Such a beautiful song leaving that alluring mouth.” 

“Mi-Miguel.” You wailed his name like a trance you couldn't escape. The only word you moaned as he relished it.

“Yes, my moon, speak only my name. How did I get you? How did I get so lucky to get you?”  

Bodies coated in sweat, some of Miguel's trickling on you as he pressed his forehead on yours, gazing longingly into those fervent eyes. He never wanted this to stop. He never wanted it to end. He didn't want to lose you. Because at this moment, nothing matters. At this time, he only focused on you and your shared admiration.

It was only you two.

“Only us, mi Luna. I need to... I need you.”  Miguel crashed his lips into yours, muffling your cries, tongues whirling in a wild duel. The bedframe creaked aggressively, his sharp piston humping causing the headboard to ram against the wall, provoking a knock from the neighbors, but Miguel didn't care.

Your arms cloaked around his backside, dragging your nails all over. The wedges chafing against his lower back, as his tip brutally assaulted your cervix.

“Mi Estrella! I love you, mi Estrella. Oh fu-fuck.” Your head turned towards the side of the pillow, causing a growl to rumble out of Miguel's throat.

“No, look at me; let me see that gorgeous face.” He forced your head back.

Flushed and flustered, your mouth opened, your tongue flopped out, and saliva dribbled down the sides. Your pupils dilated, with more tears welling up in your lashes and staining your face.

His tanned cheeks were red as you locked on to his hungry, driven, and lustful stare, yet you could make out the authentic love. Your heart swelled, and your affection, passion, and love for him rang true wherever he was around.

You never wanted this to end. “I'm close. I'm so close, mi Estrella.”

“Yes, mi Luna. Let me appreciate you. Cum for me, cum on this cock, corazón.”

The sweet musk and strawberry champagne perfume radiating off you attacked his nostrils, his brain swirling with lascivious urges. 

His penetrating eyes appeared redder than ever. His member was pulsating with every plunge. His balls snapping against your folds sent you in a spiral. “S-so tight. Tight only for this cock destroying this— Ngh, this beautiful pussy?”

“Yes, just for you. Only for you. Miguel!” Your senses blurred, and the coil finally burst.

Your back arched off the bed, your chest squishing into his as your legs trembled wildly. Shrieking his name violently, there was another irked knock, although it went unnoticed.

Miguel grunted as his length was vehemently squeezed from the intense orgasm. His claws were harshly clutching the bedsheets, leaving tears. Attempting to come off your high, you shivered, still sensing the palpitations from Miguel's shaft. Your emotions were going haywire. You moaned in his ear.

“Come for me, Miguel. Please, mi Estrella. I need you. I need you rooted deep in me.”

When those words flowed out, he grabbed your ass before yanking you up into his lap. You yelped, your hands clutching his broad shoulders.

“Be careful with what you ask for.” He licked your earlobe before kissing your sweaty forehead. “Te voy a dar exactamente lo que quieres. Tú. Son. Mía.” 

Checking to make sure your legs were locked and steady, taking your behind in his gigantic claws, he pulled out until it was just the tip before shoving it back in one go, vigorously impelling you down on him.

You screeched, your toes curling, still very sensitive from your previous climax. You kissed his bulky chest and shoulders in no particular order. Taking in his heavy musk, the cedarwood aroma from him. It was so intoxicating that you could be addicted to it.

The air filled with gushing, wet slaps as it harmonized with your and Miguel's moans.

“Mi corazón, my moon. You are the only one. Mines... nunca querrás perderte.”

“I'm only yours, my star. I will always be yours.”

Miguel released an animalistic growl as he nearly pounded into you with his inhuman speed. The wooden legs holding the bed up threaten to snap. The headboard surely left streaks of chipped paint after this.

Miguel would drag you down while simultaneously pushing his pelvis up to meet yours, and as you shamelessly dripped onto the torn sheets below, you added more to the murky puddle underneath.

Your bodies collided in a rhythmless dance of lust.

“Mis ojos adornados por la Luna. Para bien de mí, no te merezco. ¡Joder, corazón!” Miguel was reaching his limits.

He thought of you together, far away. Happy, full of felicity and hope. Trying for the first child, the first one who will have your smile, that will have his ruby-red eyes. The one with your caring personality. The one with his head-strong personality.

And as the snow turns into flowers and the green leaves transform into many shades of warm colors, there will be more. More with his glimmering, crimson-eyed and your smile running around full of that love and compassion. Maybe wrestling, or doing fun experiments, or in the mini-farm picking those fresh fruits and vegetables.

He will finally be happy with his family once more.

Three more strings snapped.

His movements grew sloppier. His mind is only on filling you up. He grasped the back of your head, carefully wrapping his long appendages in your hair, and tugged you close to his mouth.

“I want you stuffed. Seal you to the brink with my seed.”

“Yes! Yes, yes! I love you! I love you!”

His name was heard for all of Nueva York.

Miguel's fangs snuck deep into the side of your neck. Snarling, he coated your heated, moist cavern with thick, heavy spurts, threatening to leak out. Talons pricking your bottom as a bit of blood colored the tips. Even your blood was sweet. Still very fitting.

You shivered at the pleasurable pain from your crashing finish and his bite. How easily it was inserted into your skin made you hum with delight. The venom coursed through your bloodstream as you began to lose mobility in your body.

Miguel idly opened his eyes before a short burst of panic forced them wider as he promptly retracted his fangs.

“Mierda. I'm sorry, mi Luna, I-I lost control and-”

With the last few bits of strength, you uncoordinatedly and gently whacked his shoulder before it flopped down. “It's okay. All okay.” You slurred with a grin on your face.

Miguel searched for any discomfort before a smile was placed on his lips.

He licked the puncture wound clean; he gradually pulled himself out as a satisfying pop rang out, causing him to grunt and you to groan.

“You're going to be immobilized for a good minute. I injected a bit too much.” He pulled your shoes and fishnets off, but decided to leave his shirt on you. You couldn't move a thing, but you did not mind. In fact, you accepted that this may have been a new experience you will thoroughly enjoy in the future.

Your eyes glazed over, observing Miguel assiduously clean you before your eyelids grew heavier before shutting them all the way.

A piano and saxophone blended within the stars. You pivot back and forth, only to see him there. He shimmered more than the ones penning against him.

You floated over, taking his harsh claw into your hand. But yet, it was pleasant and gentle. 

His arm around your waist, he gazes at you as you spin around the skies, the stars, comets, and planets.

The illuminated dance and song of naturalism and intimacy swirled alongside you both. 

You are the moon and he, the shining star.

• • •

“Pete- E-616 Peter!”

Jess waved her wrist, refusing to go through the ordeal of having a bunch of Peters point at themselves, deducing who she wanted.

“Hey, Jess. What's going on?” His short, shaggy hair, five-o’clock shadow, and huge, but tired, brown eyes popped into frame.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Her head whirled back and forth. “Privately.”

Peter scratched the back of his perplexed. “Uh, okay.” 

He lagged behind her, seeking out any answers to the questions he imposed, but she stayed hushed until they reached a hallway that he was highly unfamiliar with.

“Is this part of the medical bay?” His head rolled back and forth between the white panels and blue tiles.

“No. This is a restricted area that not many know about. There were only supposed to be two people made aware of this location.”

“But with me here, I'm the third person who knows of it.” He leaned against one of the walls, still lost on where exactly he was and what Jess exactly wanted.

She shook her head. “You're the fourth person who knows of it. Can you guess who the others are?”

Squinting his eyes, he began to conjure up suspects. “Well, obviously you, so that's one. Me being two. Miguel. He created this, so it makes sense. And the fourth?”

Creasing his brows, he went through the list of potential candidates before swaying his head after a minute passed. “I got nothing for the last one.”

Jess tapped her foot and nodded her head. “Okay, let me get this out of the way. I know you have a soft spot for Miguel, and like myself and others, you want the best for him.”

“Yeeess?” Peter crossed his arms, wondering where she was headed with this. 

“And we want him to be happy. Well, as happy as this man can possibly reach, which isn't high.”

“Jess, I'm confused.” 

“Over the past week or so, I've been gathering records and information on where Miguel goes and the people he's been bringing here.”

She taps away on her watch, pulling up an undisclosed document. “You have your officials, building regulators, the usual. But there's one person, specifically a woman, he's been ‘slyly’ bringing into this establishment.” Jess closes out the file, then plants her hands on her hips. “With that newly added info, care to take a gander at who the fourth person is?”

Peter bit his lip and stumbled on his brain to object to any of that. “Still no clue. And come on, Jess, keeping track of where he goes and who he invites is a bit… of a helicopter parent move. He isn't a teenager; he's a full adult with a life to live. So surely it shouldn't be anything bad.”

“Peter, I'm not trying to helicopter him, but when he's being more sneaky about what he's doing more than usual, that's where we have to draw the line.”

“Is it still about the paperwork? I thought you all caught up with that?”

“It's not about the paperwork, Peter. It started with that, but it descended into more when he would randomly leave his post for hours on end, lying about making codes and inventions, or bringing in some random woman who isn't a spider!”  She threw her hands up, slapping them back down to her sides.

“Well, he might have reasons for them. He can do what he likes, you know? Sure, he's been slacking a bit, but we all have our slump moments.” He pushed his shoulders up before bringing them back down.

“Peter–”

“I have moments where I disappear. I do it all the time, and I still get my work done. Maybe that's where Mayday gets it from; it might be a Parker thing, but still, all goes well. And besides, I think she's good for him. But what do I know? I mean, I remember when Miguel blew a gasket over some harmless prank E-573 and E-25667 did. My God, that man needs some type of break, like all the breaks–”

“Wait, wait, backtrack. Did you just say she's good for him?”

Peter's eyes squeezed tightly, ‘ah, fuck me,’ on loop in his brain the second he slipped up.

Jess sucked in her teeth and bowed her head. “You only get one. One. One chance to tell me where he is right at this moment.” Her arms connected over her jutting stomach.

“Forgive me… He's on a date with her. That's all I know. But, I don't know where they could be at this very hour.” Peter scrunched up, discomfited.

A critical laugh escaped from Jess. “Wow, okay. You knew exactly where he was and who he's with, and still tried to play dumb with me?”

“And that was wrong of me, and I'm sorry, Jess, but he's a grown man. He's allowed to also go out and enjoy himself as well.”

“I'm not saying he's not allowed to do any of that. If he wanted to go to a damn nightclub five times a week, then whatever, it would be his life!”

“I feel like a lounge would suit him more…” he sardonically mumbled.

“PETER, I-” Jess brings her hands up to her lips in a prayer position to calm her nerves. “I'm trying not to be the bad guy here. We all have needs and things we want to do, but skimping out on tasks he highly enforces and expects us to do? Sneaking an outsider into the HQ like he is some goddamn teenager, Peter?”

Peter lowered his head, pretending that Mayday, his source of comfort in these distressing times, was right there.

“Who's to say what trouble that would be put on us if it was someone else attempting that? He needs to be able to also balance this out, but that's the problem!”

He pressed his lips in a thin line as he allowed her to continue.

“This man is so unstable that he doesn't know how to exactly balance these things! We all went through the training and counsel meetings for these reasons. To understand the situation we are in. We did, Peter.” She firmly pointed at herself, then at him. “Yet him?” She's turned toward Miguel's office. “Not even once, yet still expected and expects every one of us to do it.” She spun her pointer finger.

“Well, Jess, how would you exactly know that?”

“Lyla.” Her voice was assertive and full of control.

“Yo, yo.” She pixelated between the two.

“Give me the file for Miguel's family training, counseling sessions, or anything in that department.”

Lyla opened up a screen in front of her. A minute passed as Jess patiently waited, and Peter stood awkwardly until the monitor disappeared.

“Uhh, yeah, so about that. They don't-”

“They don't exist. Thank you, Lyla; you can go.”

The A.I. left as quickly as she arrived.

Peter glossed over, having no more rebuttals. "So, what's going to happen?”

Jess’s shoulders slumped. “I'm going to talk to him,” she held up her hand when Peter tried to interject, “and find a smart resolution on how he can still do his job and still see this girl. I won't go hard. He will have to face repercussions, but it'll only be temporary.”

His eyes lowered to his fuzzy, pink slippers, eliciting an exhausted sigh from her. “And if I need help, I'll call for you.”

“You think he will take it well?”

“Depends. How much does he like this girl?”

“Enough to get you on his tail more so than you regularly are.” He joked, gaining a smirk from her.

“That's a lot. But I won't do it immediately. I still need to know what I want to say and make sure all things are in order.” Jess clicked at her device, dragging items into folders.

“Promise you won't go too hard on him. It's nice seeing him happy.”

“I'll try not to, Peter. I'll try.”

• • •

“Hey.”

“Hm?” Miguel stroked your back, his eyes fluttering open.

“The solace reached a hundred percent.”

“It was already there, but what makes you raise it all the way?”

“We're the neighbors who found it within each other.”

You felt the vibrations in Miguel's chest as you both huffed out a chuckle.

The light continues to glow; it continues to shine on the object that wants to be seen. He's able to sit up. 

But the strings can reconnect.

And the darkness can still swallow that light whole whenever it wants.

Chapter Text

An alarm began to beep, rudely awakening you from your comforting dreams. Groaning out, you rolled over, only to groan even louder.

“Man, I am sore.” You snuggled up closer to him, locking your arms around a bit of his torso.

“Means I did a good job.” He kissed your shoulder, and then the marks from his fangs lingered on it.

“Mm, is that going to be permanent?” 

“Depends. It's going to remain for a good several days, but I can make it permanent if that's what you prefer.” His voice dropped, tightening his grasp on your waist, spinning you on your back, and squishing his body mass on yours.

“Miggy, bleh! You're too heavy!” Your head was buried in his chest, swatting anything your palms could. “Off! Off, I say!” 

Ceasing your attack when the rumbling from Miguel's laughter juddered your body, you flopped your hands down in defeat. Taking in his scent, you closed your eyes. The cedarwood and the smell of your union attacked your nose as you drifted into the future.

Waking up to him every morning to him spooning you, or you spooning him, dallying in bed for an extended period, aware that work or household chores have to be done, yet you neither bother to budge.

Knowing that you're able to be by his side, engulfed in a warmth so prominent, you would never ask for anything again if it meant you got to be by him.

All you would want is to stay in that moment. At this point, at this instant, nothing would wedge you two. Nothing could break this or the future that will bestow.

“Mi Luna? You okay?” Miguel himself shifted off to give you some breathing space, until you shoved yourself back in-between his pecs, muffling.

“I can't hear you, mi corazón.”

“Why do you have better boobs?”

“Huh?” 

“Better boobs! They are just so mesmerizing. Impeccable.” You giggle at the pun causing him to groan out.

“I swear… but I don't know about that; I think yours are pretty amazing. If not better.” He hauled you up, eyes on yours.

Entrancing. That was one of the many words to describe whenever he admires those glistening eyes. He admired you, and for the first time in years, he faced sincere peace and authentic love. Dawning how much he pined and ached for this.

Knocking your forehead on his, you joyously grinned. “Let's say it's a tie, with you slightly closer.”

“Deal.” He grazed your lips with his.

You stayed that way for a minute. Your alarm goes from the irksome beeps to the relaxing notes of rhythm and blues. Dulcet breathing is shared between you.

“I have to get up for work.” 

Miguel gruffly scoffs, turning you both onto your sides and holding you more firmly.

“Miggy, don't you have work as well?”

“Si.”

“So we have to get up.”

“No. Let's stay here.”

“You know we can't, mi Estrella.” Caressing his forearm, you slightly turned your neck to peek behind, and you were met with that endearing pout and baggy, pleading puppy dog eyes.

“Come on now; don't do that. You know I can't…”

They seemingly got bigger.

“Damn it, Miggy. Fifteen minutes, but that's it. If Ronnie finds out I'm late because of canoodling, she'll have your body as a display mannequin.”

“Now why am I the one going to be punished?” He smirked, lapping the base of your neck.

“Because she says you're a bad influence on me. And you know, maybe she's onto something.” 

“Aw, do you really believe that, corazón?” His tone is harsh and gravelly, yet he holds every bit of that sexy hold that you don't bother to escape.

"I—ah—I think you are. Fu-fuck, Miggy. You have too much- ah, too much ascendancy on me.”

His long fingers found their way in between your thighs as he glided his pointer and middle digits up and down your already dampened sex. “Mm, I feel as though I don't have that much. But we both know I can strive to add a lot of… guidance on the matter.”

He teased your clit, gently tugging and pinching it, his finger barely pushing into your entrance, evoking a whimper.

“Wha- ah! What more could you want–fuck.” You cried out when Miguel gradually drove his sheathed finger into you.

“I'm a very selfish man, mi Luna.” He emphasized your nickname. “I will find a way to get what I want.” He propelled in and out, spreading your legs to provide better access, and plunged another deep into you. Your walls cling as he brushes against your g-spot repeatedly.

A strangled cry broke free when he began to scissor. Your slick was dripping down, and the noises emanating from you overpowered the music.

“And from the way you're reacting, I think you like me being a bad influence on you.”

“Miggy.” You drawled out, fidgeting under his touch, ashamed of how you could crumble under his touch so easily.

His palm rubbed against the stiff nub, twisting with each push. His length was pressing against your inner thigh.

“Tan agradable y húmedo sólo para mí. Mi hermosa Luna haciendo esos sonidos solo para mi.” He frantically pumped, biting down on your neck and leaving fresh, new hickies.

You rolled your hips with him, adding more stimulation. Throwing your head back, you covered your mouth to prevent any loud sounds from leaving.

“Luna mía, no los escondas. Hay ocasiones en las que quiero que otros escuchen quién te hace desmoronarse una y otra vez.” He fingered you faster, his appendages working in a hasty motion, your muscles feeling every satisfying breach, juices smearing and coating his fingers with every stroke.

Slamming both hands over your lips, your head was in a full whirlwind of ecstasy.

“¡¿Qué dije?!” He barked, tugging his fingers out. “Let them hear you!”  He grinded his cock against you before burying himself to the hilt, your wetness melding. His ragged breath sent sparks down your spine. Taking tantalizingly slow bucks, you sob out.

“Mm, don't do this. Please, please, faster.” You tried to press down against him, only to have him grip and hold onto your waist.

“Will you scream?”

“I-I can't be lou- aah!" His sheathed hand wrapped around the sides of your throat as your breathing picked up.

“Will. You. Scream?” He snarled, fairly squeezing.

“Ye-yes. I will.” You garbled out, hot tears streamed down, your vision foggy from the immense burning passion.

“Bien.” He thrust at an intense pace, your back dragging up and down his hard abs and chest as you wailed out.

His balls slap against your folds, adding more to the already noisy orchestra of thrills. The engorged tip strikes the top wall as you flutter around his length, feeling every vein and drive.

“Oh Miguel, so big. So good with your fat cock.”

His ego shot up. Gripping your neck tighter, your mind began to race.

He could easily snap you in two if he wanted; in a split second, you could be broken into nothing. How exposed you were. Yet he's so rough, but gentle, that he's holding back so much just to bring you these fleeting experiences.

And that aroused you further.

You shrieked his name, begging him to go faster, and Miguel happily obliged. He pulled out, briskly moving you into your stomach, shuffling around until he was behind. One leg planted on the ground, the other perched and bent up next to your leg. 

Propping you up until your ass was in the air and spreading your legs, Miguel grunted at the sight of the glistening streams of your shared fluids.

“Oh, mi Luna, I will devote and admire you and your body until the end of days. And even that wouldn't suffice for my needs and wants for you.” He started to handle himself, pumping a few times, and began to slip back into your tight entrance. His hands massaged your back, sliding down until his talons groped your rear, making you whine out.

Sweaty and disheveled, you awaited in anticipation when he penetrated, filling and stretching you back up.

You sharply inhaled at the suddenness, shouting as Miguel rolled his pelvis into you, watching your behind bounce back whenever he rocked forward.

“Such a nice ass that only papi gets to see.”

“Miggy, you are so–fuck–so untamed.”

“That's right. Take it, mi Luna, take it all.”

Clenching onto the sheets as tight as your heat, the bed lurched against the barrier, embarrassed at how you would have to really apologize to your next-door neighbors now.

Pushing you down even further, he found the right spot that had you screaming your head off. Your heart pulsed, your brain was heavy, and your body was flaming hot.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your skull, your tongue flopping out as saliva ran down your chin and onto the pillow. Miguel strummed your stomach, hips, and thighs, stopping right over your clit and stroking it with figure eights.

“I love hearing you scream; everything about you is so good, mi corazón.”

“You're so wonderful to me–Mmm. Fuck, fuck. Right there.”

The tandem syncing of each push drove you two delirious. Your words were incoherent, with every slap and squish holding that daze deep in them.

He was drunk on you. Drunk for it all. The pooling from the sweat and your slick as he smelt your heady release was edging its way up.

You eyed the clock and internally winced. Your little rendezvous spilled into overtime. Ronnie would survive.

“Close, I'm close—mi Estrella. Cum in me. Fill me up. Give me every drop.”

Miguel moaned out, the fuse ready to explode from your needy cries. Digging into your hips, he sank in as much as possible, nearly slipping out from his violent thrusts and your drenching cunt. “Take–take it. So tight for papi, so good; such a good girl, mi Luna.”

His mind floated back to his kids. A vivid scene of them jumping on the bed, wanting you two to wake up and make cinnamon waffles for breakfast, as you try to scold them but end up laughing at the silly situation. 

You'll turn and kiss him, rolling out of bed to put your house slippers on, as he’ll carry the little ones as they crawl and swing all over his body.

“Mmmph!”  Miguel spilled out and bent forward. You felt his hefty chest on your back, convulsing madly and milking nearly every spurt and every drip. There was so much shooting deep in your core.

You whimpered as a certain set of fangs found their way back into your neck. Miguel held you securely when realization snuck up on him.

“Fuck. Luna, mi Luna, corazón, stay awake. I didn't mean to bite. Mierda, shit, shit.” 

He pulled himself off you, shoving some of the stray strands of ejaculation back into your opening, satisfied with the result. Flopping you on your back, he stared at the stickiness of your body and your glossy, fulfilled eyes.

Leaving the room before coming back, he began to dab you with a clean, damp towel, sheepishly grinning at his interim paralyzed partner.

“Call… Ronnie… gonna… late…”

“Do you think I'll look good as a mannequin?”

A shiver of a curved smile appeared on your numb face before Miguel kissed you tenderly.

He did get an earful from Ronnie, nagging and demanding to know what he did to ‘her girl,’ and how she was going to stuff him to be a display dummy. Luckily, Ronnie had a severe hangover and had a special guest over, so the shop was closed for the day.

Taking advantage of that, he assisted you in striving to reduce the immobilization timeframe. While ordering breakfast and cuddling you, you eventually regained your voice and chatted about everything and nothing at the same time while awaiting the meal.

“You know, I was wondering why I didn’t scream; you caught me before it could come out. And my poor neighbors. I hope they’re cool like the downstairs one.”

“What was that thing they told you?” Miguel scratched feather-light touches with his claws along your back.

“That you were stirring my meals all in one pot.”

“I still don’t understand what the hell that means.” 

Stifling your giggles, you exhaled a content sigh. “Also, thank you for calling Ronnie. Sorry she cursed you out like that.”

“I’m used to her diablerie behavior by now; she is basically your version of Peter. And speaking of Peter, you met him the other day? I'm surprised you didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh yeah, that was an hour of… irrefutable absurdity. I was tempted to call you and beg you to come over, but I held my own.”

Miguel rearranged the positions so you were eye level with him, interested in hearing your side. “What all happened? What all did you talk about? Peter didn’t harass you, did he?” He glowered his eyes, nearly awakening a new wave of desire from you.

“N-no. He was fine. Though a bit overzealous, he was very sweet. And that Mayday is such a sweetheart, but you can definitely tell that she is his daughter.”

“Did you show her around?”

“I did. We played with some of the toys and read some pop-up books together. We had a grand time.”

A quiver of a smile nearly glinted on him. “I would’ve come by, you know.”

“I know, just didn’t want you to experience Ronnie and Peter under one roof yet. I was the guinea pig for us. And it went entirely as we expected. It was a R-rated Ronnie and PG-Peter story; one was more brash and the other modest. But one day you will succumb to the eccentric extravaganza.” You simultaneously grimace at the thought of all four in the same room.

“I also heard you talked about me.”

“Of course, why would I not? You are amazing and deserve to be gushed about. Even though I have moments of me being a bit selfish and wanting to hog you all for myself, I know that at the end of the day, I’m yours and you’re mine, and that I will always get to be around you. Well, not always around, but you know what I mean. But yes, I do want to shout from the rooftops and yell, ‘hey! That’s my handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway lover. Let me give a bazillion reasons why he’s the best.’”

His pulse raced, and his cheeks crimson like his eyes. The compliments and unfeigned love from you still shocked and bemused him after all this time. You never saw him as this tainted figure; you accepted his flaws and the mistakes that he wanted to better and mend with open arms and patience. And you didn't uphold any ridiculous standards or expectations for him.

Thud.

He dropped his forehead down for that welcoming sign you both knew, and pushed his lips into yours. He was hungry and ardent for you. He would devote his time to you at the drop of a hat, and he wouldn't let anything or nothing hold him back from it.

“Me traes muchas cosas que pensé que nunca podría volver a sentir.” 

“I love you too, Miggy.”

Interrupted by a buzz from the doorbell, Miguel scowled and stumbled out of bed, ready to tear apart whoever was at the door. After inadvertently frightening the delivery person, Miguel helped you sit up against some pillows and mostly fed you.

“Hey.”

“Yes?” He held up a fork of eggs and brought them to your mouth.

“How is–this is yummy–how is Jess doing with her pregnancy? How far along is she?” You swallowed and opened up for another bite.

“Jess? Well, she's okay. She's going pretty smoothly, I think.” Miguel picked up his toast and chomped down on it before turning back to you.

“It's okay to say you don't know, Miggy.”

“I don't know. Is that a bad thing?”

“I wouldn't necessarily say bad, but they are still your workers who have feelings and probably suffer copious amounts of pain. It'll be good to check in on her. Especially if she's working so hard, it could be taking a toll on her.” 

“But she's a spider; she can handle it.” He took a sip of your orange juice before leaning toward you.

“Thank you. And not exactly the external aspects; I'm sure she is a strong woman, but the internal ones as well.” Trying to lift your arm to point at your brain, it promptly plopped back down. “Gosh, your venom is strong. Back to the matter at hand. Pregnancy is a tough thing. Well, I wouldn't know, but I've read the stories. You're carrying another being in you, creating a new life. A baby deriving one's energy is a lot to handle.”

Another bite. “So simply see how she's doing in general, deal?”

He smiled and munched the rest of his bacon. “Deal, mi corazón. Also, I see you eyeing my potatoes. I'll give you some in exchange for your strawberries.”

“You know, potatoes aren't even that delicious. They're the weakest of all the starches.”

“¡Oye! Weak?! You know, I take offense to that. You're making my ancestors weep.” 

“Ah yes, I don't want to upset the potato ghosts, do I now?” Your voice was innocent, but the outspread grin was crafty.

“How very stereotypical of you. For that, you will be disciplined.” He plucked one of your strawberries up and ate it, leaves and all.

A rasping stutter of squeaks and other noises came out of you, causing you to full-stop at the sounds you somehow managed to produce. Staring at one another, Miguel began to choke on the fruit as uncontrollable howls of laughter escaped.

“Oh my God. I can't even hide. This is clearly the worst punishment. The worst timeline!”

You bickered frivolously as Miguel gave in and fed you some of his potatoes, much to his amusement.

With the sliver of sunshine on your bed, dust particles suspended in the golden pigment, the soft melodies from the alarm clock, and your beaming smile and snickers, Miguel completely forgot about his straining life. His taxing “job.”

You were really good at doing that.

He thought about how he'd be prepared to trade nearly everything to preserve these moments with you forevermore. And it wasn't the first time these convictions came to light.

“Miguel… Miguel, where are you? We need—hey. Hey. Be careful with that! I said, be careful! He'll kill us if it's- Miguel. We need you here at the headquarters. We caught two Electros, and they are trying to mirror each other's attacks, but they're messing with th- Put it down! Hey, hey, no! Miguel, please hurry!”

His watch blared from the floor. He forgot that he threw it off last night in the heat of the moment, but he didn't turn it off.

“Tienes que estar bromeando, ¿por qué estos idiotas no pueden hacer nada?” He sneered before tidying up the area.

“I'm assuming it's a big danger?”

“Doubtfully. They're sadly too incompetent to get anything done for themselves.”

“Hey, there are some days we need extra help. I mean, you literally had to feed me.” You gave a lopsided smile.

“Yes, but there's a difference. I don't mind doing that. In fact, I would do that all day, every day.”

“So you'd rather shove spoonfuls of eggs down my throat forever than fight electric people?”

“That's exactly right. Especially shoving more than eggs down your throat.” He winked, gathering up his underwear.

“Hey. No! Stop that!” You were flustered by the accidental innuendo you made and his cocky response.

“You brought that upon yourself, mi corazón.”

You blew a raspberry at him and tried to cross your arms, but to no avail. He smirked, grabbing his devices as his suit began to materialize. Your eyes glanced down as the digital outfit hugged his general buttocks area nicely.

“Even got a better ass; now how is that fair?”

“I heard that.” He perched himself on the edge of the bed and stroked your face.

“Good.” You puckered out your lips as he inclined inward, giving you a sweet kiss.

“How did I get you? Me of all people.”

“Simply by being you and this handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway, but mostly you.”

Those genuinely compassionate eyes had him in that trance. If given the opportunity to become trapped in them, he would purposely avoid the exits.

“Do you want your shirt back?”

“No, leave it on. I don't want mi Luna to get cold.”

“It's almost summer.”

“Right. You justifiably look cute in it, and I now have a newfound obsession with seeing you in my formal clothes.”

“Leave your clothes; I'll wash them. I may even be wearing that blazer when you come back. Just the blazer.” Your eyes were heavily hooded at the thought.

“Don't tempt me, mi Luna.” He tilted your head back and growled down your neck, obtaining a hushed moan.

"Ah- ye-yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He simpered, appearing pleased at the response.

He settled you back in bed, making sure you were comfortable. Ready to doze off, you quickly halted him before he climbed out the window.

“Miggy?”

“Si, mi Luna?” He phased his mask on and turned back to you.

“Do you have a thing for Peter? I'm validly curious; I wouldn't even be mad. So is it on the down low or…” You blink as he narrows his eyes. You couldn't exactly see them, but his mask did it for him.

“Ay dios mío. You're lucky I find you wonderfully beautiful and amazing.”

“I love you too!” You yelled out with the last bit of strength and fell right to sleep.

Miguel shook his head at your ridiculous Peter comment, flinging himself around his city. If you were going to start joking about that, he wouldn't mind. He imagined him chasing after you as you teased him, wiggling your cute bottom and sticking your tongue out, taunting that he couldn't catch you.

He'd take that challenge, catching you off guard with his speed, and begin to mercilessly tickle you. Your shrieking laughter will fill the room until you'll cry out for mercy before catching him off balance, attacking him into submission, rolling around, and play-fighting before one thing may lead to another.

He never wants this to end.

Down goes a string.

The arrival of summer was a welcoming one this year. The leaves are now a richer green, the air is heating up, and above all, the skies have been fair.

You decided to take advantage of this day and scroll down to a certain park, especially since you got an extra thirty minutes added to your usual hour break.

“I wonder if it'll be crowded. I hope not. School should still be in session for the next couple of weeks or so.”

Arriving at the spot, there were a few picnickers, joggers, and a couple of teens probably skipping classes.

“Well, I'll have to make do. I can't have this lovely day all to myself.”

Scoping out for a place to lounge, you caught wind of a certain person in everyday wear, whose head was thrown back, body stiffer than a metal pole, likely due to the quantity of people, and seemed more tired than usual, despite the shades disguising his eyes.

Bounding your way over, you made sure to stand a few inches aside to not be caught immediately.

“Is this seat taken?” You shrouded your voice, trying to bring it down as deeply as possible.

“¡Ay dios mío! ¡Sí, este asiento está ocupado! ¡No! I'm not interested in-”

Miguel frustratingly snapped himself up, ready to tell off whoever was harassing him this time, when he caught himself. “Luna? Mi Luna!” His strident tone instantly dropped as a zealous perk drifted out instead. “What are you doing here? I thought you were working around this time.”

Wriggling yourself next to him, you took up any room, sitting arm to arm. “Usually, but Ronnie allowed me to take my break early today and gave me extra time, so I decided to use it wisely. And boy, did I use it well or what?” 

“Or what?” He smirked and gruffly chuckled, receiving an eye roll and a jab from your elbow.

“Haha, so funny. I'm shocked to see you out here. From the way you flared up and nearly barked at me, I'm assuming others have been taking an interest?” You roamed over potential scouters who made an effort to play their hand with him.

“No creerías la cantidad de personas que no aceptan un no por respuesta. Es increíble, si te digo que no me interesa, déjalo pasar, ¡¿por qué los idiotas insisten en ir más lejos?!” He spouted out so fast that you got lost in a vortex.

“One of these days I will learn all of that. Mark my words. Mark it.” Your finger aimed at the sky in determination.

“Ay, sorry, mi Luna. And yes, you will. I just don't understand why people can't leave me alone! Why must they persist in any sort of advancement? And it's worse when I tell them I'm taken and they still try.” He jeered out, nearly grating the bench.

It was difficult for him. There were even points where some would try and hit on him when you were right there. They were very seldom, but when they happened, it was never fun. Miguel would shut it down, but in the most Miguel way possible. His towering stature and that unnerving presence he seemingly always has.

And it really shows when someone tries anything with you. He's a formidable person, but it seemingly ramps up to the point of no return.

Nonetheless, you could imagine how much worse it must be when he's by himself.

“They probably have this idea that you're saying that just to say it. The ‘well, I don't see them here,’ thought. Or some genuinely don't understand.”

“More likely the latter.” His snarkiness jumped out at no one in particular. “Tengo momentos en los que quiero darles un espectáculo. Inclínate y-”

Your eyes flickered to his face, cocking your head to the side.

“Nevermind. Ranting at this point.”

“Alright, what's going on, mi Estrella? You gave yourself a sporadic moment to recuperate, so something is bothering you, somebody made you upset, or the mixture.” You swirled yourself so one of your legs was on the wooden seat and the other swayed, your attention all on him.

You've been able to pluck up details about him effortlessly over time. With his usual stoic attire, many have a strenuous time depicting what exactly could be wrong with him, to the point that they eventually give up. Yet he allows his barricade of stoniness to partially crumble around you, so you don't face as much strain from getting a reading as much. He doesn’t feel the need to only sanction his two main emotions, stern and militant, toward you; he can express a handful with zero inconvenience.

And he plans on leaving it that way.

“Jess’s little rookie. She's been testing my patience as of late. Very, very thin ice she's been skating on. Les dices una cosa, pero siguen insistiendo, siguen intentando insistir en un punto que no se tendrá en cuenta, pero persisten.”

His knee hastily jittered, nerves and aggravation coursing through his veins and blood. All over. Your hand hovered over it and waited for the signal. It took him a minute to pacify and decrease the jerkiness, but he felt that hand massaging his joint.

“The ghost teen, right? What has she been doing exactly?” You spoke in that serene way that soothed him temporarily.

“She’s been wanting to see this ‘friend’ of hers. She’s been pestering me non-stop about it, but she knows she isn’t allowed, yet keeps fucking insisting!” He impaled his talons into the bench, overextending his very little patience from stripping any wood off it.

“Ah, yeah, teenagers don't take it kindly when third parties tell them who they can or can't hang out with.”

“But I gave her a reason. That should be enough, and I talked to her without yelling. So I don't understand!” 

“It can go a bit deeper. If she has a strong, established bond with this person, reasoning and logic can sometimes be thrown off the table. Yes, they may understand what you're saying and may see your point, but when emotions get involved, it can be a bit finicky.”  You mindfully removed his claw from the seat and took the other, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles. “Take us, for example. If someone were to forcibly tell one of us to break it off, even with or without reason, would you do it?”

Miguel furrowed his heavy brows in deep thought. “Yes? No. Maybe? No. Yes? No. I don't know.”

“Mhm, there it is. You know the logic is still there, but it's on the floor, out of sight. The emotions are still on that table.”

His hidden eyes observed your gentle hands. “Would you?”

“No. Maybe? Well, honestly, no. It depends, but I'm pretty obstinate about what I care for. It takes a lot to dissuade me, but once I have that vice grasp, you'll need an entire brigade to move me.” 

Miguel smiled, but it faltered just as fast. “I don't know what to do. I had Jess try and discuss it with her, but that fell flat. I tried to listen, but she would try and pick an argument when I gave her the known causes. It's never good enough.” He didn't bother to mask his scathing crabbiness.

You licked your lips when an idea struck. “How about you have a compromise?”

“What?”

“Compromise with her. Maybe have someone watch over her, a parental figure or guardian, when she visits him.”

“What if she gets too engrossed when we need her? Or try to do something more?”

“Keep her preoccupied, so she isn't that distracted, even though she's a teen. Well, it can help her learn balance in a way. Maybe have her sweep the area; uh, are they from the same universe?”

He shook his head.

“Well, tell her to keep an eye out for suspicious activities and document tabs to immediately give to you. She could still see him and be kept busy as well. Also, like with any teen, give her a curfew. She can dwindle and hang, but not for too long.” 

The cognitive gears in Miguel's mind began to bustle and turn. “I could—I think I can work with that.” 

You watched the inquisitive thinking process take over before he feverishly nodded his head. “Yeah, I can do something like that. I can work something around it. Are you sure you aren't a spider with that beautiful, smart brain of yours?” He swamped you in a strong embrace. A sign of affection and a sign to make sure others stay the hell away from you two.

“Miggy, nooo. I try to see what can fairly work, if it could work, and hope that it makes sense.”

“Well, whatever it is, don't get rid of it.”

“That's the plan. And also, you're conflicted about wanting to keep me around?” You mischievously hummed out, nestling your head in his chest.

“Ay, no, I'm stubborn. And even if I were to say yes, I'd still find a way back to you. You have this magnetic hold that if I were to pull away, I would come flying back right to you.”

“Now that's very sound and reassuring. And I'd say you're more iron-willed. You don't back down at all.” You smiled so largely that it seemed as if your mouth took up most of your face.

“I certainly don't. Well, maybe there's an exception.” He stroked your hair, scratching and massaging your scalp.

“And what's that?”

“I wouldn't mind giving in for you. You, the commander, and me, the lowly, humble subordinate. Whenever you tell me to jump, I'll question it at first, then immediately do it mid-sentence. Tell me to rollover; I may. Tell me on my knees… you know, I wouldn't mind that one at all.”

Blowing a raspberry, you covered your face from the sheer implications. “Oh my gosh, Miggy. I swear you are so indecorous, I wouldn't know what to do with you.”

“I can think of many things.” He pinched your inner thigh, making you yelp and playfully chastise him as a few shifty and nosy eyes cast their way towards you two.

You wasted some time mindlessly rambling back and forth about how the day has been treating you two, from people to unremarkable tasks. The normality that he adores so much. Eventually, you both had to get back to your respective jobs. To Miguel, it was his penitentiary. He posed innocence, asking if he could take you back to your job, but you insisted that he go back so he wouldn't get in trouble.

Then he strained his eyes by giving that endearing puppy-dog look, and somehow, it ended up with him walking you halfway back.

“How are you doing, Miggy?” 

“Huh? I'm fine. My mood hasn't changed in the past five minutes.”

“No, I mean in general. It's been a minute since I asked you that, so I'm just interested. How are you feeling?”

Peering up at the partly cloudy blue sky. The moon was slightly visible, but still enough to be seen by many.  “In general?” He had to really think.

Things have been seemingly off-putting for the past couple days. With Gwen being so keen on visiting him, the sustainable mass of anomalies surfacing frequently, and more random hounding from Jess and other spiders, he evidently cannot catch a single break. More so than before.

Even with himself, he’s been feeling weirdly skittish as of late.

“I’ve been busy, to say the least. There is more frustration dealing with missions, as you know, and things have been... abnormal. I can’t exactly explain it.”

“Right. One of those occasions where you can’t pinpoint the exact emotion. I had many moments like that, even some that came at the most inconvenient of times.” You swung your arms back and forth, jumping over some cracks in the sidewalks.

“That’s the thing, mi corazón. I feel the usual annoyance and tiredness, but there is still an unspecified emotion that I know is there. Maybe I can’t pinpoint it like you stated, but what I do know is that it’s bothering me to no end.”

You faltered a bit in your steps. You wish you could understand what he does slightly more. Being on the outside and only allowed peeks from shreds of slits in the wall isn’t the most instructive and fortuitous way of receiving information. Especially when that tall crack only opens up so much to be viewed. Maybe you could ask for him to go further into specifics or get a personal tour of the teeming headquarters itself in the near future.

That would certainly help out a lot more. However, knowing him, would he even dare to allow it?

Miguel is very acute when it comes to separating the workplace from you. Well, not fully. He purposely makes sure to not let many things slip. He's particularly precise about what he gives away to keep you in a loop and still out of it for your safety.

“If only I were more helpful to you. It sucks hearing you have to deal with all that and have so much fallback on you.”

“Ay, mi Luna, you already do so much for me.” He halted in his tracks, lightly grabbing your arm. “You bring me serenity and this sense of openness whenever I'm around you.”

He still saw the self-inflicting guilt on your face when Miguel bent down until his forehead plopped on yours.

“Want to know how else I'm feeling in general? Happy. A scarce emotion that I haven't felt since mi osita, Gabi. I honestly thought I wouldn't have ever gotten to experience it again, but here I am. So trust and believe me when I tell you, mi Luna, you have done and do so much.”

Wiping away the tears threatening to form, you smile, kissing him with tenderness and love. “You big, loveable, gorgeous oaf. Don't make me cry before work, or Ronnie will think you made me upset.”

“Ronnie doesn't scare me. I'll show her the true reason why that'll make her recoil deep into her office.”

You share an earnest laugh before leaning in for one more deep kiss.

A string snapped.

“I love you, mi Estrella.”

“Y te adoro, mi Luna.”

When you reached the midway mark, he slyly tried to escort you all the way, but you caught on and ordered him to go back to work.

“At this moment, I'm the commander, and you are?” You folded your arms and tapped your foot, throwing back what he proclaimed at the park.

“Ay dio—I'm the lowly, humble subordinate.”

“Mhm. And as your commander, I am commanding you to go back to work before they harass you any further, and that I will be okay.” You grinned; the patience and affirmation in your pitch said it all.

“Yes ma'am. I will go.”

“Good boy.”

That definitely stirred something in him.

“I'll see you later on, Miggy. Bye, mi Estrella.” You blew a kiss and strolled away.

He hated to watch you go, but he knew that at the end of the day, you'd always be there waiting. He turned and began to trudge back.

Back to that place. Back to the hellscape. The plague that never ceases. The turmoil that will never stop. Just like this itch brewing deeply. What was it? What was this incarnation dwelling inside?

The fact that he had no control over it or any logical insight into it drove him insane. Was it a guttural reaction? Was his own body betraying him, refusing to gift his mind with information that loomed on his already pressurized shoulders?

He can't sense much. No spider sense. So why was he so hunched over this? Why does it seem that there's an arbitrary danger lurking somewhere?

Did the room become faintly... dimmer?

Chapter Text

As days coasted by, the agitating feeling never deserted its place. It stationed and wedged itself so deeply that roots began to sprout out in all wavering directions. Not only down under, but also creating these rhizomes above.

Miguel was irked to no end by this strange instinct. 

He would disregard it by piling massive loads of work on himself or others, a way to keep his mind churning on extra things.

Or his favorite distraction: spending time with you.

At one point, he offered to have you spend the week at his apartment. An excuse to be closer and keep his brain at bay instead of questioning the inner mechanisms continuously running because of this unfound cipher.

You gladly accepted it in exchange that he brings you into work without generating major whiplash if he uses his Spider-Man abilities.

It only lasted one day. You decided to start calling a cab in advance.

Patting your stomach, you lay aimlessly on the wooden floor next to his mattress, head turned towards the metropolitan lights that are ready to overtake when the dusky skies vanish into the dark, as Selena's harmonics naturally echo all around.

“Mi Luna? Why are you lying down there?” 

“I don't know. Decided on a whim, so here I am.” You stood up and teetered over to him. Wedging your face in between his pecs, you release a lengthy sigh.

“Everything okay?” His tone brimmed with concern.

"Yeah, everything is fine; I'm feeling absolutely cuddly. I'm surprised you're here early; you usually come in around one.”

He would end up getting caught up in his labors, rushing to get back to you as swiftly as humanly possible. However, without fail, there was always a circumstance that inconvenienced him, prolonging the unwelcome separation.

How the other spiders managed to have piss-poor timing whenever he was ready to leave infuriated him to the point of no return.

"I decided to give myself a second break to eat dinner with you. I asked my secondary to take over for the next hour.” He caresses his retracted claw through your hair.

“Jess, right?”

“Yes. Jess.”

“Did you ask?” You took his hand and brushed your thumbs across the back.

“About?”

You poked his nose and grinned. “Her pregnancy; remember the deal we made?”

Miguel creased his lip in a thin line, sheepishly scratching the side of his stubbled cheek.

“Uh. Yes?”

“It's always good to check in on your employees, Mr. O'Hara.” You caroled out, tickling underneath the left side of his abs.

He started to squirm, wanting to hold on to that roar of hysteria. He regrets you finding, and now exploiting, his weak spots so easily. You couldn't help but smugly blow a raspberry, giving a chuckle under your breath.

“Now, hopefully that'll be a good reminder for you, mister.” You poked his stomach a few times when you noticed he wasn't saying a word. “Migu- Miggy! Put me down! White flag! I wave it!”

Miguel slung you over his shoulder, smacking your butt a few times. Slapping his back a few times, you giggled like a mad woman.

“Punishment, mi Luna. You try to utilize my weaknesses, so you have to face the consequences.” He pushed his bedroom door wider and carried you over to the couch.

“You know, this is also a great view of your behind. It's so well-defined.” You lightly bounced on the sectional couch, your eyes longingly gazing into those brownish-cerise ones.

“You really like looking at it?”

“I have my secrets that I prefer to keep.” 

“Then I'll be taking that answer as a yes.”

His lips were on yours, tongues lazily winding around as Miguel's hands found your wrists, pinning them to the arm rest. Lowering his taut body on your softer one, he placed kisses on your forehead down to the chin.

“Eres hermosa, ¿lo sabías?”

“As much as you say it, I may start to believe it. But I know I'll never reach that beautiful Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes and pried you into his lap. “You are the most beautiful being in the multiverse, and that is final. Yes sir?”

“Sir, yes, sir, mister boss man, sir.” Your tone deepened to mimic his voice, giving a mock salute as Miguel griped about how he doesn't sound remotely like that.

The routine you two created flowed so smoothly; even in a different environment, it fell so easily into place.

Miguel brought two containers of empanadas and two glasses of red wine over, settling right next to you. You chattered about his job and about how you spent your day off.

“I did some cleaning up in here; you don't mind, do you?”

“Isn't that something that should be asked first? You disorganized my organization.” He smirked before taking a giant bite out of his pastry.

Your eyes widened in horror as regret washed over you. Did you actually screw up and mess up his pattern? Was he keeping all his stuff scattered about on purpose?

Dropping your meal in the to-go box, you started to scramble up to go toss his stuff all back around before his burly claws sturdily held your waist. “Cálmate. Estoy bromeando; I'm joking. I never have the time to clean, so I appreciate it.”

“Right, sarcasm. It nearly gave me a heart attack.” You whined, plopping yourself back on the couch.

Miguel's smirk never dropped as he chewed. "So, what did you do?”

“Well, I washed your clothes and folded them up. I even made a drawer for some of my stuff.” 

“That's reasonable. Maybe I'll start leaving surprises in it like you do for me.”

You beam and munch on the fried goodie. You cleared out space for him in one of your dresser drawers due to how often he stays over. And there will be times you'll pick up his favorite snacks or small everyday items you'd believe he'll enjoy.

Just the little things that bring him comfort.

As the album continued on in the background until reaching the last note, you and Miguel ate in comforting silence. Inner peace slithered in his soul. Your presence was enough to wash away a bit of grief from the workdays.

How he loves it.

Peering over at Miguel, who was too busy chowing down the rest of his food, a lightbulb went off in your head.

“Hey, Miggy.”

“Mhm?” 

“Want to see this cute spider I found online the other day? They were so adorable.” 

“Sure.” Miguel glanced to see you pulling out your phone, pressing the touch screen a few times with a gigantic grin on your face.

Bringing the phone video out of sight, you pretended not to know where you exactly saw the photo when the timer indicated it was recording. “Okay, I found it. Ready to see? It reminded me of you.”

“It did; did it now?”

Dragging yourself over to him, you held the phone up so the camera was on the both of you. “There he is. The cute spider! Isn't he the most endearing, loving creature you've ever seen?” Squirming, you kicked your legs jovially as Miguel posed a sulking leer towards the device, but the edge of his lips quirked up, giving away his phony act.

“Come on. I know you wanna smile! You walked right into it, mi Estrella.” You nuzzled yourself into his neck, gleefully kissing it a few times.

He broke and began to let out a few snickers until it turned into full-blown laughter. “Alright, alright. That was a good one, mi Luna. I guess I'm a cute spider, as declared by you.”

You squealed at that. “I now have that officially on video of you saying you're cute. I will never get rid of it!” You both share another laugh before simmering down.

“You are a minx, you know that?”

“But you like it. You can't deny that.” 

“I'm neither confirming nor denying it, mi corazón. I have my secrets I prefer to keep.” He steals a kiss from your soft lips, pressing his forehead on yours before pulling away. 

“That's also in the video.” 

“Bueno.”

Your smiles never leave as you end the recording, promptly sending it to him. The minute he received it and downloaded it, he called out an unfamiliar name.

“Lyla!” He yelled out.

“Ly-Lyla?”

In a split second, the tiny hologram appeared out of thin air. “Yo.”

You yelped before your mouth parted, blankly scanning the small woman who emerged out of nowhere.

“The video that was just sent, upload it to my main monitor.” 

“Can do, boss.” She waved her hand before tilting down her heart-shaped glasses and releasing a low whistle. “So this is the beauty Miguel has been ravaging over for the past few months.”

“Lyla, don't start–”

“It's finally nice to meet you! I'm Lyla, but I'm sure Miguel has told you all about me.” She batted her eyes, her interlocked fingers placed under her chin.

You shook your head back and forth, still awe-struck by the floating woman.

“What?! You've mentioned Peter B., but not your faithful companion? I take full-on offense to that.” She stuttered over to you, eyeing you up and down, causing Miguel to pinch the bridge between his nose and growl out.

“Look, I'm sorry. Please upload the video and go."

“It's uploaded, you old man. Let me get a good look at ya. How did you manage to snag this one, Miggy? She's obviously out of your league.”

You wrinkled your nose at that. “I like to think it's the other way around.”

“Nah, you are definitely a ten, and he's about a two on a good day.”

“Lyla!” Miguel swiped at her, only causing her to jump closer.

“What? I'm purely telling the facts. Hey, Miguel, did you finally clean your place? It's about time. Oh, wanna hear a fun factoid about spiders?”

“I will shut you off in the next five seconds if you don't leav-”

“Did you know spiders are fastidious creatures when it comes to cleanliness? They take pride in it. It's also not the only thing that they're exact about, if you get what I'm saying.” She wags her eyebrows as you shrank into the sofa, clearly taken back by the vulgarity of the woman. It was now time to add Lyla to the list of people—well, people and seemingly A.I.—not to have in one room.

“Lyla, leave. You're making us uncomfortable.” Miguel held back, knowing she was being vindictive and using you as a shield for herself.

“I'm solely assessing who she is. That's all, Miggy. If he ever bores you, you can always eat him. The female spiders gracefully kill the males if they are not feeling their dosage of satisfaction.”

You didn't know what to do at the moment. Miguel was swearing at his creation in Spanish, two seconds away from activating sleep mode on her.

“She isn't a spider!”

“I know! I'm just teasing. Joshing with you. You know this, Miguel. But fine, I'll go; next time, sprinkle a few things about me. Bye now, gorgeous.” She winked over in your direction as your torrid gaze barely dropped.

“Goodbye. Lyla.” Miguel hissed through his teeth, baring his fangs.

After a few seconds of quietness, Lyla opened her mouth one final time. “Also, spiders are some of the freakiest sex deviants you'll ever know. Okay, bye!”

Miguel slapped his claws over his face as a groan of anguish muffled through him. “¿Por qué yo? ¿Por qué creé eso?”

“She is quite the… character.”

“Quite the annoyance. I have days when I regret creating her. She's so set in stone, I keep forgetting about wanting to rearrange her coding to be less... that.”

“I wonder if the other Miguels made Lylas precisely like yours.” You rested yourself on the back of the cushions. “I've been thinking about that lately. What the others are like in their relationship.”

He decompressed into the sofa as well, winding down after that ordeal. He eyed your face, waiting for the thoughts to trickle out some more.

“Ever since you told me that it's possible that there are others like me, I wonder what their personalities are. Are we similar? Or is it way different? Would it be rude to snoop? Take a quick peep into their daily lives, even if it's for one day.”

Miguel wasn't alone in that circle now that your interests are seemingly peaking about the different variants. Maybe he will glimpse into it now that you're in his life.

“I can do it and tell you what happens.”

“You can?” The excitement radiating off you was strong.

“Si. Remember, I keep watch of the multiverse.”

Your giddiness ramped up as you rambled on about the potentialities of what he might discover. He got lost in you and your tendencies, which sparkled in those wondrous eyes. He couldn't lie; he shared the same eagerness.

For the entire rest of the evening, you envisioned what they'd be like–if they were going to be as cheesy and romantic as you two. Maybe even deeper into the domestic lifestyle.

He wondered if there were any kids in those realms.

When the week was over, Miguel safely walked you back to your apartments, per your request, with him promising to check in on Jess and search for alternate universes of the relationship.

However, an entity severely wanted him to suffer. It was horrendous to find any time to do any research for you two. Whenever he was primed to start, an anomaly would abruptly develop. Or Gwen would burst through his office, pleading to visit him, causing a full-blown meltdown of arguments. Or Jess would come in being strangely cryptic while lending out daily reports.

Or that huge, gut-wrenching sense that would not go away.

There was always something. The never-ending hell.

Whenever he needed a mandatory cooldown, he turned to two special videos.

Him and his osita. And him and his luna.

If he couldn't text you or you were overly busy, his eyes were glued to that screen when permitted. The ones who kept him going. The reason he's doing this in the first place. The motives to continue on. Seeing those smiles never failed to warm his heart.

He is truly devoted.

Then finally, the day arrived when his office was completely noiseless. Devoid of any interference or laborious activities, he checked his surroundings one last time, completely determining that all signs were clear for him to safely check.

He sent a quick message to you, prompting that his investigation was now ongoing, and you excitedly couldn't wait to hear the outcomes.

Beginning his search, he typed away until he located ones that contained both him and you and what would be interesting to share. He stumbled on a good chunk of you existing across a strew of dimensions. One was the owner of a bakery and bookstore; another was a substitute teacher for kindergarteners who was begged by the students to be full-time (how befitting); and one was a freelance programmer who does impromptu jobs whenever she wants to help her community; that would certainly catch your attention. Yet, the one that caught his eye was one where you're a STEM employee for Alchemax. 

Even in other worlds, you were finding ways to spread compassion.

Diving in a bit more, he decided on checking in with the scientist variant.

“Working for Alchemax in this one. She will definitely be in shock.” He chuckled, clicking around the screen some more and bringing up files and video feeds. “Though I don't recall if this one is dangerous.” 

Locating live footage of her, he was absorbed in her movements, watching her pour liquids into vials, taking notes, and ripping back and forth. She was on a roll.

“She still has that high-spirited energy.” He grins to himself, shaking his head.

Eyeing her for a few more minutes, the lab door for the room opens. The body was covered by the barrier, but with how she began to positively react, Miguel took a wild guess at who it might be.

“Guess I'm working for Alchemax. Though I swear this variant left this place, I wonder if he saw her and wanted to come running back. I wouldn't blame him.” His eyes were permanently glued to the screen.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, ushering for the person on the other side to come in.

Miguel, who was ready to cringe from seeing himself in that stupid lab coat that was always too tight for his body, intently surveyed the scene as the figure stepped more into frame. His heart raced, a smile taking over his usual grouchy demeanor.

He was going to see his moon and him together. Knowing he is admired, seen, and wanted by her–

The man who trudged in didn't even look remotely close to him.

He was tall, yes, but he was more slim and toned. Shaggy hair and big round glasses. He was okay, appearance-wise. He wasn't a ‘handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway;’ it was some arbitrary average Joe.

“¿Qué demonios?”

Maybe there was something wrong; obviously, this version hasn't met Miguel yet, and their affection will surely blossom in the future. So, he checked in on the others, and the results were staggering.

Your teacher variant was single, with no signs of having any acquaintance with him. He hunted through that version's contact list, and nothing arose from it. The freelancer knew of him and was made aware when they collaborated on a project together, but yet, those copies barely picked up any forms of communication after it was completed.

The more and more he searches, the more confusion shoots up. Where is he? Where was he? Each one he surveys exhibits that there are Miguels in the universes you both reside in, so why aren't any of them with you?

Something isn't right. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong. This was wrong.

He frantically tapped away on his keyboard. Holo-screens swiped left and right in a deranged manner.

Not together. With someone else. Negative. Not close. Never met. So near, yet so far.

Wrong.

Wrong.

WRONG. This was all WRONG. 

Searching. Locating. Pinpointing. Uncovering. There's nothing. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.

He found one. One more. One last one. You worked in a small sandwich shop. He frequents this restaurant in this dimension. Surely, surely, this would calm that itch. That sixth sense.

Please. He prayed. Please.

They do. They thankfully speak to one another. He eavesdropped.

One. Only one.

He needs one to help solidify it all. To help ease him. To do what he believes could be causing that to happen. Go. Away.

They seem oddly distant. Is it an ordinary, basic customer and employee interaction? Though they seemed to know each other well, the air was tense and cold. Weirdly stressful.

“Lyla! Turn up the volume!”

Your voice filled the space, strained and full of melancholy.

“Here you go.” 

“Thank you.” Miguel grabbed the bag and awkwardly stood in place.

“So, how is your day treating you?” She pretended to act busy by straightening up the counter.

“About the same as every other day. You?” Miguel eyed her, a glint of longing in his hold.

“Same on this end. Still taking it day by day, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” 

Dreadful silence.

“Um, how is she?” She restocked some cookies, doing everything in her power to not cry.

“Who? Oh… we're fine, I guess. Three months? I think.”

“Four months. You've been together... four months.” 

“Right. Four.” Miguel's shoulders slumped.

More silence.

“I should be heading out. Thank you for the sandwich. Are you sure you don't want me to pay?”

She waved her hand and stuck out her tongue. “Nah, it's only a few bucks coming out of my pay. I'll survive.”

“You say that every time, but they're going to start adding up.” He smirked, moving closer to the counter.

“Ooh, four dollars and some change. So much, oooh.” She giggled, making him laugh as well.

“Hey, that could go towards milk. I'm completely letting you know that four dollars could go a long way.”

“Like for a sandwich?”

“Like a sandwich.” He shook his bag.

They were suddenly an inch apart.

Miguel could feel their hearts beating.

“Right. So, I'll see you tomorrow?” She was ready to cry.

“Yeah. Tomorrow, mi gati- friend. Tomorrow… friend.” He had to fight the urge not to stroke her cheek.

“Yeah… friend.”

Miguel turned it off. He couldn't take it anymore. It couldn't be. There was no way. He refused to believe it, but it made perfect sense. That hunch. That itch. That feeling…

It was for you. For this relationship.

It explains the anomalies—why things were going too well for him but not around him. They were warnings. But he ignored them. He was selfish and disregarded the clear-cut signs.

You aren't supposed to be together. You never were. 

This isn't canon.

He knew it. That was the sixth sense.

Miguel suspected it had to start when he randomly left the HQ during the system maintenance check. He would never leave like that. Never! Clearly, something was knocked off course when he did that.

So why? Why would he randomly step out? He would have gone back to his room and prepared for the next day. Miguel's mind was on a rampage, with many questions being formed but no answers being given.

He messed up. He fucked up. He thought it'd be okay if he didn't say those words; everything would have been fine. Everything should have been fine.

His scalding, distressed eyes landed on you. That smile. That merriment you hold. The patience. The care.

That love. The love was all wrong. That love that's not supposed to be.

It's happening again. He's killing them again.

His body shook, and his talons grated the desk harsher than before. His bags, the fear if anyone saw him in plain sight. Hot tears threatened to prick from the side of his face. Was it for him? The world? You? Or all three?

“Miguel.” 

He stiffened. He didn't need this. Not right now.

“How are you doing, Miguel? Everything going well?” Jess aimed to sound comforting, but it was too lukewarm.

When he didn't reply, she pursued it, needing to get this out of the way. “I was going to ask how the coding and inventions were coming alone. I know I've said things like that take time, so I'm here for any sort of upda-”

“They're fine. Now leave.” His tune is colder than ever before.

Jess rubbed her stomach to console her nerves. She wasn't trying to attack; she only required facts to help him out. Not because he was her boss, but because he was also a friend.

It was time to rip off that bandage.

“When are you going to tell us who she is?” Jess leaned on the nearby wall, crossing her arms. Buzzing and beeps swept along the room.

“What?” Miguel suddenly seemed warm and clammy.

“Here, let me rephrase it. When were you going to tell us who she was?”

Miguel knotted up even more at the words, as if someone had jabbed him with one thousand knives.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Nuh-uh, no. Don't play me for a fool.” Jess held her hand up, the other firmly on her hip.

“I'm going to skip right to the point altogether, for both of our sake.” A tired yet merciful exhale escaped from her. She regrets not having Peter with her.

“Over the past couple of months, there have been recent sightings of you bringing in an unknown woman into the facility. As you know, Miguel, we try to keep up to date with who visits and exits the building as much as possible.” Jess brought her watch up into view, her fingers moving at quick speeds. “Searching through, I took note of her and came to the conclusion that she was never seen entering the front. Although there are many instances of her coming in through another way.” 

“How's your pregnancy, Jess?” There was viciousness, a cutting malice in that question. And she knew. 

“Fine. Almost seven months.”

Not even Miguel's talons could sever through this tensity. 

“Miguel, you're going to have to talk about this.”

“Why the hell should I? What is even there to talk about?” He knew he shouldn't stall. He shouldn't bother. There was essentially no point anymore. Yet his pride, his dignity, and his need to still protect you from any type of risk slunk into the depths.

"Miguel, we both know. There's video footage of you sneak-”

“Why are you so motivated to check those cameras all of a sudden? How do you know it was even me?”

“Miguel, don't make this harder. Even a rookie caught you bringing the woman in.”

“Why the hell was that rookie even going back into a restrictive area? You're declaring all these damn rumors like they're facts, but not once have you shown any evidence proving that any of that facetious gossip is even blatantly tru-”

“Oh, you want the proof? I have the proof. Here, let's start with that little slip-up of the restrictive area comment.” 

Miguel punched his desk repeatedly. There was no way off this long-winded hellscape of a ride he's been forcibly strapped in. 

“I didn't specify where the rookie had seen you tiptoeing around, but I will happily correct you. They caught you sneaking her in on your floor near your room. They couldn't remember the layout of the guests hallway and would accidentally take the turn too late. And they told me for those two weeks they kept getting lost; every other day, there was you and some ‘Spider-Woman’ sliding into your room when you believed no one was watching.”

“Who told you?”

“To protect them from you, I'm not saying a word. Now, to the restrictive area. You seem to have forgotten some things, Miguel.” She clicked her watch as a recording of you and Miguel in clear view, making your way towards the hidden door and strolling in. 

“That's only one instance.”

She flicked to another clip. Then another. Then another. 

He turned back towards the monitor, eyeing that video of you two. 

“Miguel, there's a security cam that you personally installed back there. Even though you didn't add any more to the rest of that area because you and I were the only ones aware at the time, you did that for reassurance.”

He hated this. He was loathing this.

“Why the fuck do you have access to this?” His voice gained that grief-stricken anger. 

“You told Lyla and me that if you ever were to leave, I would access nearly everything with a few exceptions. Me being given rights to security footage is not one of those exceptions. And you've been leaving a lot as of late.”

He threw a monitor a meter behind Jess, glass broken into a million shards. He was pissed at himself. Pissed off at Jess for snooping into his business because, God forbid, he lives a normal life in a normal relationship once again.

He wanted all of this to stop. How he hates that he still wants you. That he still misses her. That he still wants to build up the apocryphal fairy-tale that latently roams.

“Look, if you want to be with her, that's fine, Miguel. That's your outside life and personal business.” She let her arms down in a way to tell him that she didn't want any harm. That she wants him to be straightforward and honest with himself and everyone else. “But what you won't do is disregard your work, but ridicule and attack us when we do the same. That's not how it's going to work.” Jess checked her watch. She sent a message to a certain spider during her presentation, praying that he'd be here soon.

Miguel didn't say a single word, which made Jess grunt out in frustration, but she tried to cling onto that wink of patience.  

“So, what we can do is start with your classes that you never took. We can get you in there and maybe bring her up as well, or hand her guides and pamphlets, giving a quick run-down on how these things will g-”

“It won't matter.”

An eerie stillness pricked the air as Jess’s spider sense started to tingle.

“Miguel… what do you mean it won't matter?”

You were beautiful. He was happy. A strong happiness he hasn't had in so long. Your laugh. The way you looked at him. Full of want. Full of love. Love.

Love.

A connection he isn't supposed to go through. Happiness, elation, and being wanted are one thing. Love. Love is all of it combined. Love is at the center of everything.

And now that love is once again going to be their death.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jess, a vigilant, nervousness engraved on her face as she was met with a dismal yet mournful gaze from him before he turned back.

“Miguel. What is the problem? What the hell is happening?” Jess's eyes jutted to her device, then back up to him. She should've had Peter here from the get-go. Not when it's too late. She invoked whatever Gods was listening to have him swing in any minute.

Miguel stood contemplating. Maybe it could be the death of others. These spiders could leave whenever their senses would go off, so nothing was preventing them from escaping. His vision stayed affixed to your face. He could find a way to save you. Just you and him. 

He could create a watch for you and transport you both into another universe where no one would bother with what you both built. You two can be happy somewhere else. You both could go anywhere. As long as you were together, that's what would matter. That's all that will truly matter. This was his second chance.

Then he heard the laughter from her. From his Gabi. The main reason.

He couldn't do it again. He couldn't bear to go through it again because of his selfishness. Even though it wasn't his fault. He didn't know it would happen; he didn't mean for it to happen.

But it did. He did cause it. They're gone, and she's gone because of him. And he refuses for you to be in that same boat as well.

“Miguel, answer me. What is going on-”

“I messed up. It's happening again.”

“What is happening again? Why are you suddenly being cryptic, Miguel?”

He balled his claws up, the sharp tips digging into his palms. As he fully turned his attention towards a now overly concerned Jess.

“The world... this world is unraveling as we speak.”

Jess felt her heart suddenly stop and crumble into her stomach. Surely she misheard him. He was clearly mistaken. She was clearly mistaken. “Miguel, I think I might not have heard you correctly.”

“No. You heard every word. My world is slowly dying, Jessica.” 

Jess knew he was being serious.

“I shouldn't have started anything with her. I shouldn't have given in, but I did. I was inconsiderate. I was self-centered, self-inflicting these pains because I only wanted to experience them. She made me feel it again. She did.”

Jess desperately needed Peter. “Miguel, please just tell me why this girl is connected to your world suddenly unraveling. Is she an anomaly? Is she exactly from here?” 

She hated how his platform was elevated to the highest point. She wasn't like E-616, who would fling himself up all willy-nilly; she would never go to him, but in this moment, she was prepared to break that stance.

Miguel wanted to weep. Not for him, not for the world, but for what will have to happen. “She is from this world, but that's the problem. What she did doesn't align with my canon. So now the world doesn't know if she's supposed to fit with my canon or not.” 

Jess furrowed her brows together, contemplating what was frighteningly warned. “Miguel, do you know this for a fact? Have you looked into any of this?”

“I've seen this, Jess. You know I've witnessed this first-hand.” 

“Yes, but have you specifically checked? Are you absolutely sure?” 

“I don't need to check to know it's happening. I knew something was wrong the moment I left. Everything that's been happening isn't on track anymore.”

“But there isn't definitive, concrete proof, Miguel. If this girl you've been seeing is from here, in this dimension, then why would she be the one to cause a catastrophic event such as your world unrav-” 

“Because of the others, we aren't meant to be. We never were.”

She gave a dejected look, or maybe it was masked to contain the pity she truly felt for him. Her mouth tightened thinly, her eyes pretending to observe everything around her, but she refused to fall on him.

“Miguel, maybe there's a miscalculation. There has to be something you missed.” 

“I know what I saw. I know what it's trying to tell me. I should have listened from the start.” Miguel thought he could hold back. He sincerely believed that he could hide those miserably painful emotions he's suffering through. 

“I have to make things right... I have to fix this, always. I always have to–I have to get rid of her. It's the only way.” 

Jess was stunned as she impulsively grappled her way up to him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, hey! Miguel, let's not do anything regrettable now! That's not the Spider-Man code of ethics. We don't-”

“I'm not going to kill her! You honestly believe I would stoop that fucking low?!”  

There was an artificial, livid veil impressed on his face, but when she stared into his sunken eyes, there was a paranoid, repentant gloom. She saw the visible heartbreak in them, as if he was struggling to hide it or not. 

For a split second, her eyes traveled to the glowing PC. Two videos were played, but you were the ones in main focus. Jess hasn't seen him laugh like that. A smirk here or there, but nothing to that extent. 

“Miguel, I-I don't–”

“No! You don't know! You won't know!” The sudden visible switch. 

His eyes were crazed and widely dilated, training that ballistic aggression all over her. “That experience, this agonizing pain, this—”

“Jess, I'm here! I got caught up in trying to put Mayday to sleep, so that took longer than... expected.” Peter shriveled at the jarring, bitter cold nuances casting throughout.

Miguel's head circled over to the spider before his attention was directed back to Jess. His sanity was slipping away. Millions of convictions and assumptions stormed through every fissure and rift in his head. The affliction resonating for his secondary was boiling over faster than he could contain it. 

“What the hell is this? Why the hell is Peter here?”

“Miguel, please listen. Yes, this may come off as distasteful, but I told Peter to come here when I needed help–”

“Needed help with what?! Cornering me and intervening in my relationship?!” Miguel smashed his control panel, forming perfectly ruptured webs on the surface.

“No, that is the last thing I wanted to do, Miguel. I wanted to help you make it work.” 

“¡Maldito mentiroso!” He ripped cords out of nearby machines and threw a few monitors at the walls.

“Miguel! Jess wanted to talk to you about finding ways for you and your lovely girlfriend to stay togeth-”

“She's not my girlfriend.” He rasped. A sharp pain skewered through his heart when those damned, cursed words left between his lips.

Deaden nothingness. A stifling grip caught them all by the throat.

Peter's brown eyes widened in blatant shock, a hint of skepticism within, knowing that what Miguel announced was a bold-faced lie. 

“She. Isn't. Anything.” He failed that reiteration as his voice cracked.

“I-I can't, no, I won't believe that, and you know this, Miguel.” Peter straightened his back, raising a shaky but determined finger at his lovestucken boss. “The times I have come in here to you going back and forth, anxiously wanting to visit her, with a blazing passion for wanting to do these amazing things for her, were nothing to turn a blind eye to. Miguel, you love this woman; we both know this. To the point where you were leaving your post to see her! You've never done anything like that before her!”

“And that's the problem!” Miguel marched dementedly on his platform as Jess managed to vault carefully off the metal platform, landing safely next to Peter. 

They watched the grief and panic emanate. Peter hasn't seen Miguel like this since the incident. He conjured up ways to talk him out of this high, but nothing could specifically be placed into full sentences. Jess didn't even know how to handle this, and she usually had a hold on him when he started fuming up into these paroxysms of blowouts. 

The two side-eyed each other, reading one another's thoughts on what to exactly say or do next that could even slightly help their friend out. But nothing they could think of seemed like the correct response.

He was heaving uncontrollably; anxiety settled and took over. Everything was a fog; figures and objects seemed distant and rippled. He was eyeballing you again.

That laughter. That smile. Your beautiful smile. 

That warmth. His smile. His laughter. 

That warmth he feels. He felt. 

He can no longer have it. He can no longer feel it. 

He can't lose it. He doesn't want to. 

He has to.

“And why is that a problem, Miguel?” Peter found that courage, sensing that spiral overbearing his boss. His friend. “Why is it that all of a sudden doing normal, everyday things unexpectedly becomes a problem, Miguel?”

“We aren't supposed to be together! We never were!”

“Says who?!” 

“The canon! My canon! I looked and looked and looked, but in each universe, we aren't meant to be! She is—it's unraveling my world as we speak because I'm with her.”

“How do you know it's unraveling for sure?” Peter wasn't backing down. He refused to back down, prepared to oppose any premises Miguel would throw. “Have you looked into this?”

“You've seen this, Peter! You, of all people, have witnessed this. Do not try and sit here and act like-”

“So you're just going to take this at face value? You're allowing this certain concept to win? This particular predestined faith is saying you can't be with her because other Miguels aren't with her?” Peter hurtled himself up to Miguel, Jess alerting him to quit while he's ahead, but was downright ignored. 

Both spiders stood ground, encircling one another until a singular point was made. A spurning endeavor befallen. Peter wasn't giving in to that. Miguel wasn't giving into him. 

“I'm not going to have you tear something like this down, Miguel. I'm not.”

“Peter, you don't get it. It has to be done.” Miguel's fangs revealed a cautionary hint for him to stop now.

“Nothing has to be done just because you've only seen a narrow path. You basically said you didn't even check to see if it was true! Maybe there's a reason you two aren't together yet in the others. Keyword–yet.” Any threat was brazenly overlooked.

“You don't understand!”

“Then what do I not understand, Miguel?! Tell us what we're not understanding!” Peter argued back, generating a vicious, choking growl from Miguel as he shoved his main screen in Peter's face.

“I got too attached! Just like with my osita! I. Got. Too. Close!” His voice swarmed the office as Jess faintly blenched at the wrenching roar. “I got attached and- and this is what caused it. This is what caused her world to disappear. I can't show any signs, or it'll be gone. This will all be gone! She will be gone! I've already lost her! I can't lose her. I can't lose her, Peter. I can't do it again; I don't–I can't do it, Peter. She- I lo-”

Their faces dropped. Peter's into sorrow, and Miguel's into hopelessness.

He didn't know what to do. Drained brown eyes glazed over at the video of you and Miguel. He's so happy, full of this vigorous spirit that he doubtlessly kept buried for so long out of full view. Into the shining cast for one to see. But when Peter stares into the ones in front, he only sees the imprisonment inside those impending claustrophobic walls, managing to crush him even more than before.

“I- Miguel, we... That's not- we…” loss. A loss for words. Peter didn't want to give into this, but he knew and sensed that this was how it was supposed to be. How things are supposed to go.

Supposedly.

Jess rubbed her temples. This wasn't the route she expected any of this to take. This isn’t what she wanted, but the outcome has been essentially made. She didn’t want to ask this next question, though she knew she had to.

"So, what's going to happen next?”

And that's when Miguel cracked. 

In his mind, he was broken, groveling on the bitter ground, tattered and alone. His bloodshot, red eyes were on you. Peter only backed away, aware of how it would end. How it’s going to end because of this faith. Because of this rigid concept, this inscrutable credence.

The strings that lay snipped, the ones that were declared to be dispersed and unchained, crept back into their place. Stitching him back into his webs of despondency. The life he knew. The life that he felt he deserved. 

The life he does deserve.

  The flame dwindled, and the droplets that wanted to help guide him faded into the dark. He couldn’t leave; he couldn’t escape. 

Whatever was to be shown has now, once again, disappeared into the bleak oblivion.

Chapter Text

Things have certainly been off as of late. 

You picked up on it when Miguel suddenly showed up to your place around two in the morning after not hearing from him regarding the other relationships in the multitude of dimensions. You probed at him, curious to know about his search and discoveries, as he only slipped into your bed, wrapped his arms around your waist, and held you close.

Not many words were spoken that night, as Miguel only mumbled praises in Spanish against your shoulder, kissing the puncture wound, and refused to loosen his grasp.

You were lost, but you allowed him to continue as you gave admiration and affection back. 

And that's when you also noticed the regression in Miguel. 

Whenever you throw a compliment at him, he immediately dodges it or completely denies it with the most sincerest of despondency, proclaiming he isn't anything positive that you commend him for.

You would knit your brows and counterattack his negative views on himself, which only rifted him farther.

He's been hanging around your job, nearly from opening until it closed, for the past few days, doing tasks here and there that even Ronnie couldn't help but comment on. She was joking around about it first, that her underuse was finally understanding his potential as a true employee for her, but it started to slowly freak her out.

It then took a sharp turn when Ronnie arrived one hour early to work, when a gigantic, broad brooding figure loomed by the shop's door. 

Customers don't usually line up for anything here. Especially before the crack of dawn.

“What the hell?” She slowed her steps, hand in her bag, ready to mace whoever was lurking near her place of business. 

Each tread seemed heavier than the last, her eyes squinting when the sturdy physique intensely wheeled its body towards Ronnie as a pair of glowing scarlet iris sharply stared into her soul. Yanking the small bottle out, she held it up and got into a defensive stance.

“I’m not afraid to spray! So I suggest you back away, and this is my only warning!”

The character took a step forward, forcing her to lift the bottle higher. “Alright, you dumbass idiot, you asked for it!”

“Sé que no tienes ninguna duda. Watch where you're pointing that thing.” A familiar voice grunted out before pushing himself off the wall.

“Miguel? What the hell, man? Why are you here so early? And why are you ominously in front of my store like some creepy stalker?” Ronnie huffed out, stuffing her weapon away and pulling out her keys.

“I'm here to surprise her before she comes in.” He slogged in after Ronnie went inside.

“By being here an hour early before her shift? If that’s the case, you could come—oh, I don’t know—five minutes in advance?” She snided, settling her things behind the counter. “So why are you really here at this forsaken hour of the morning?”

Miguel placed his sunglasses on when Ronnie strolled over and turned on all of the lights. He didn’t have a clear-cut reason as to why exactly he was here before she even clocked in. He knew he should be spending these last several moments with you, taking in any time that is left before the sand trickles to the last drops of the glass. Maybe it was for the reminiscence that would ensue once that end struck, leaving only those memories of laughter and enjoyment from this cozy premise. 

“I also wanted to do some of her tasks as well. I can help out with some organization or cleaning. I want to show my gratitude for all she’s done and... and will continue to do.”

Ronnie couldn’t help but scrunch her nose up. She was highly aware of how ridiculously cordial and fond you two were of each other, but there was something about that particular answer that set flaring alarms off in her head, and she did not enjoy it one bit. But she decided not to dawdle on it too much, for her sanity and potentially yours and his. 

“Alright then. But as this is my place and my business, you are the lowly worker who will follow and do everything I say. Got it, lackey?”

“Ay, ¿en qué me he metido?” Miguel muttered under his breath, rubbing his scalp roughly.

“You got yourself into a load of hell, that’s what.” Ronnie retorted back, making him roll his eyes. He certainly would miss this banter.

The two spent the time going through materials and antiques, with Ronnie directing Miguel on what to do and where to exactly place certain items. There were moments when they began to clash, asserting their points in a very tolerant yet quarrelsome manner.

You tiptoed in, catching the middle of the mayhem, troubled by who Ronnie could exactly be disgruntled with already. Neither of the other two employees should be in this early, so you chalked it up to Ronnie oddly squabbling with herself until you caught wind of the second voice.

“Miggy? Miggy!” You squeaked, jogging up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

He returned it, but to you, it felt unfamiliar. The hugs that used to be toasty like freshly baked cookies near a warming fire on a lightly snowing winter night were polar stiffness. Numbness of distance that you haven't seen since your first encounter. And this coldness seemingly won’t melt away.

“Mi Estrella, is everything okay? Have you been feeling under the weather as of late?”

Those eyes. Those earnest and patient eyes that you give to him whenever there is something wrong. He didn’t deserve it; he never did in the first place. But he knew it was coming; he would receive the well-deserved punishment he corroded on you and the ones that surrounded you. 

“Ah, no, mi… Luna. I’m okay. I have a migraine at the moment, so that's making me a bit sluggish.” He brushed the side of your face; your unsullied, delicate skin being touched by his horrendous, murderous claw seemed as if it were a  privilege for him. 

He will make this wrong… right.

You gave him a slight smile, kissed his arm, and knocked your head on his solid biceps. From the morning until the afternoon, Miguel barely moved away from your side. He would only leave you when you used the restroom, merely to be right back over you. 

As in the previous days, he assisted by doing heavy lifting, restocking and rearranging objects, cleaning, or whatever ridiculous projects Ronnie had him do. You couldn’t understand where this sudden altar of behavior occurred, and frankly, it was throwing you for a loop.

He trudged around, picking up the vintage items, ignoring the other customers when they would come in. Lost in his own subconscious, you wearily peered in his direction, outwardly dazed just as he was.

“Yeah, you're not the only one.” Ronnie placed her tablet away and situated her elbows on the counter. “He's fighting something; I don't know what, but whatever it is, it's kicking his behind.”

A waft of air exhales from your nostrils. What could you do? There was only so much that he allowed himself to say, but now he's been virtually distant. Yes, he's been visiting more than before, and even so, something made it appear disingenuous in a way you wouldn't be able to unravel.

“I wonder if it's something I did. I mean, I know he will usually tell me when he's upset with something, but it's that internal instinct, you know?”

“Nah, I can definitely clarify that it isn't you. It has to be a job thing or a random slump; he is a very broody and moody one.” 

“Ronnie.” You shot her a weighty caution not to continue.

“I'm just saying.” She threw her hands up in a defensive stance.

“I'm sorry, I'm utterly stressed out. I don't know what to do.” You rang up a customer and wished them a great day.

“Hey, don't be sorry; not good timing on my end.” Ronnie slouched on a wooden stool and crossed her arms. “I'm having a weird feeling. A hunch. I want to say that this doesn't concern me. I should only express so much, but I have a million and one opinions that are eager to yap and scream about this situation.”

Ronnie eyed your miserable and despairing state, taking the hint. “However, for your sake, I won't say anything. I'm sure things will be okay; maybe it's just that entire ‘bump in the road’ thing. Gotta do the whole, ‘be there for him,’ ‘time will heal and prevail,’ yadda, yadda, all that crap.”

She was trying to form that reassurance, the persuasion you acknowledged, but nonetheless, it fell completely flat on its face. 

“Look, know I'm here for you. Things like this happen, and even with my involuntary comments, you guys will push through. And besides, I don't like my favorite being down in the dumps. I can whack his senses back for you if you want.” Ronnie alluded to a certain bat, and you couldn't help but chuckle as your boss joined in, nudging you a few times. 

“Nah, I don't think that's necessary. But, I'll let you know. Thanks, Ronnie, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I have your back.” She gave you a side hug when Miguel meandered his way back up to the front, his eyes landing directly on you.

“I hate to go, but they need me at the HQ, mi… mi Luna. I will pick you up later on tonight, and I'll order in for us at your place, alright?”

“Yeah, that'll be good. And mi Estrella?”

Miguel forced himself to not snatch his hands away from yours when you stroked his knuckles with your thumbs. He hated this. He hated that you still give him these fragile touches, as if he's some glass waiting to break at the seams from the lightest of blows. 

Because he knew he would fracture any second.

He swallowed thickly and stared into your eyes with his cowardly, shaded ones. “Ye-yes, m-mi Luna?”

“I love you. Remember, I will be here until those lavenders and marigolds are there, and all you do and continue to do will always be enough.”

Miguel's unrelaxed mannerisms weren't subtle. You carried on that set of sparkling kindness, not allowing it to fade, and he detested it. He gripped onto that animosity; you shouldn’t merit him with that patience. That tenderness. That smile. That beautiful smile. 

“Thank you, mi luna. I will always treasure you.” Miguel pecked your forehead as his watch went off. “Tonight, see you later. And have a good day, Ronnie.”

“Yeah, thanks. Miguel.” There was a twinge of malice as she barely tilted her head in return, pretending to be busy with her tablet. Miguel scowled but immediately deadpanned. He didn’t need to cause you more pain.

You knotted at the sudden uncertainty and traction weaving through the air. You simply gave a faint simper and a courteous nod to try and falter the situation. “Miguel. Tonight, mi Estrella, tonight...”

The minute he stepped out, you groaned and reprimanded Ronnie, questioning if that was necessary, to which she responded, unapologetic, that it wholeheartedly was. 

Miguel soberly trailed back to the HQ, his sight on the piles of buildings, businesses, and citizens marching along as if all was okay. 

He was hindering this. Putting it off for as long as time will allow. The paranoia made a cozy nest; he had no plans on retiring off his brain anytime. More thoughts, more unsettling concerns, and more problems. His psyche races, speeding along to that oasis, until he hits it, only to reveal that the mirage was a cartoonishly painted brick wall of inevitability. 

He pauses in front of a certain entrance. The twists and twines of ivy, the plethora of colors burning brightly into his gaze. The low-hanging flowers were beckoning him to remember how it used to be. 

He took a singular step forward. 

Then he drew back and faced the other way, proceeding to the HQ.

Several new strings roped themselves around him.

Teeming as usual, Miguel made his way to his domain, dismissing any others who scrambled their way to him and babbling on about mindless stories or questions. Passing the many anomalies that stockpiled because of him, because of you.

That tingle was not leaving until he had to fulfill that consequence. He leered up at the monitors encapsulating the glorious hell of the multiverse. The trillions he must protect are the ones he must sacrifice his time and days for to keep everything as it should be. Climbing onto the platform, he pressed a button, eyeing the screens as he gradually ascended.

Getting back to work, disapproving of any distractions, Jess’s voice snuck up to his ears.

“Did you do it?” 

“No.” He carried on with his work, paying her no attention.

Her lips tugged into a frown, her hands in a prayer as she brought them up to her face. “Miguel, I understand this is hard for you; trust me, I do, but if we’re essentially on a timeframe, you will have to get this done.”

“I’m working on it.”

“And I get that. This must not be easy for you, and as a friend, I am truly sorry and sympathize with your pain.”

Nothing from his end, as she released an exasperated sigh. “Miguel, you have to do this. If I could, I would have helped in a way to ease the blow, but this is all on you, Miguel-”

“I know.” The pot began to bubble.

“And if what you said about your world is slowly collapsing, you have to work fast to undo this.”

“I. Know.” The water is rising.

“As much as Peter and I want to intervene, we can’t handle third parties like this. We’re trusting you. You can't dwindle.”

“I. Know!” It spilled over as he punched a hole right in his desk.

Jess closed her eyelids and fluttered them back open. “Peter and I are worried, Miguel. We are putting this faith in you. It's hard to hold onto confidential evidence as heavy as this. So, please, not as a boss but as a friend, we understand your pain, and we will be here. We just want you to make the right decisions, not wholly for us but for you as well.”

The right decision. The one he doesn't want to let go of but has to. Why? Why did this have to happen? 

Miguel dug his talons right into the bed of his hair and into his scalp. Jess only studied the broken man. She saw the signs of him drifting, but she recognized this was the only way if it was to save them all.

“You could explain why it has to happen. I don't personally know her or how much you talked to her about this, but if she's been sticking around you for a good minute, she has to be understanding.”

Jess deduced that no matter what advice she utilized, it wouldn't change anything. She originally needed to discuss Gwen's insistence on visiting the boy, but figured another day would have to suffice.

“Take it easy and ease her in. We know you can handle it.” Jess strived for that upfront attitude, a conflict swelling, but she entrusted that blind eye to him, hoping he would do the right thing.

He didn't bother to dismiss her, as she took the cue and left without another sound. He snagged the other video out from the corner, despondent by it. 

He was happy. He was loved. It was his fault for wanting to relive it. He was the fool in his own court.

  Strings bounded more on his body, tightening their hold.

  The room is nearly back in the lone void with that flicker of a dying light.

You and Miguel slouched on your couch, carelessly watching a random bad action film you threw on. The flashing glows from the screen were the only thing casting any light in the living room.

Half-eaten pancakes sat in two clear containers as you decided on breakfast for dinner, but you both couldn't digest them due to how hard they were on the stomach and the discomfort cramming in the air.

You did your best to bring in some enthusiasm, but ultimately stopped trying. Your energy was depleted, yet you still gave him space and warmth. Not much was exchanged during the duration of the film, and when he held you, that glacial contact wouldn't unfreeze at all.

“Miggy?”

“Yeah?” He barely looked downward to face you.

“Talk to me. I noticed things have been running through your mind as of late. Hell, even Ronnie detects something is up. I'm wondering if everything is okay. Is your job giving you crap again?”

Just as the first night you hung out, that pang of perturbation surged through him; you could feel it. You suspected it dealt with his work, and that reaction proved that you were on the right track. You tested to see how far you could stick yourself into the compacted cage he's in.

“After all this time, still? You are allowed to do what you have to do.”

“It's partially my job.” Lies.

“So they're not giving you a hard time?” You glide your fingertips up and down his arm, trying to subdue whatever was stirring in him.

“No, they are, fortunately not as much.” He hated this.

“That's good; that's good. I want to make sure you're okay. I've been worrying about you. After you crawled into my bed that night, it seems things have taken a turn.” You kissed his forearm. 

“If you're in a slump, know I'm here, alright? We will work through this. Days like these happen, but we will go at your pace. Life is taking that unexpected turn, but we will find a way to that destination.” Your giggles flowed in his ears, nearly creating a knee-jerk reaction to move you from this position.

He hates this. He despises it so much. You don't deserve this, but he keeps giving in every time. Your comforting comments have him crawling back; your gentle nature. He needs to let go; he has to for this world. 

But what has this world done for him? He gives, gives, and gives, and all it does is take, take, and take. 

Yet, that's the harsh reality. It's a give-and-give with zero receiving. Not one.

He refused to open his mouth, burying his face in the crown of your hair. The room was still chilly, but you noticed the tenacious grasp had loosened some, so it was a good start. You remained this way for several minutes when you were smacked with a thought.

“Hey, mi Estrella?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you peek in your drawer? When I did some washing the other day, I think one of your shirts shrank down a bit. Can you double-check for me?”

He only nodded and untangled himself, scooting off the sofa. You waited until he was nearly in the room and leaned against the doorframe. Miguel didn't think too much of it. Kneeling down, he opened his personal drawer, ready to see the shirt on top, when his eyes suddenly cast a blank gaze.

Records. Music that he enjoyed from his childhood, in general, and ones he learned from you, and an empty picture frame with marigolds embedded in the molding.

“Surprise! I had to hunt down some of these in the shop; it was crazy. And the other week, we got a bunch more but never looked through them. But I deliberately and thoroughly took extra time, and this batch was a really good one.” You shifted from leg to leg. “And the framework was so pretty when I spotted it as well. It reminded me of you, as corny as it sounds. You can put whatever you like in it! Maybe a stock image of empanadas.” 

Your joke didn't even gain a smidge of a smirk as you ungainly crossed your arms.

He removed them one by one when another item rolled on the side, tucking itself into a corner. It was a dark violet bottle with lavenders decorating the paper wrapped around it.

“It helps ease the mind. A single spritz or two, and it should help with the aches in your brain. I tested it out when I woke up feeling off one night, and it made me feel so comfy, it startled me,” you chuckled. “Felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.”

Crouching next to him, you placed your head on his shoulder. “I hope you enjoy these. I thought maybe a few presents can be a pick-me-up, even if it's just for a few minutes.” 

Those soft eyes. That smile. That patient smile. Why? Why were you so gentle? Why were you so kind to him? He did damn all to deserve these moments of clarity. 

He held the items in his destructive claws and only dazed off. Why were you making this harder? Why did you have to be the one to find him that night? Why did he have to abandon his realm for this new one?

Burning blood-red eyes that have witnessed so much hatred, pain, and grief peering into ones that hold compassion. That admiring charm. That relentless amount of love.

Only for it to be gone.

A troubled look made its way onto your face. You did have second guesses about the gifts, believing it was too early to purchase things such as this when he's not in the best mindset.

“Do… do you not like them? I was thinking that it might have been bad timing, but I wanted to make sure things were oka-”

His lips were on yours. His claws energetically roam your curves and softness. Your unruly tongues collided as you enfolded your arms over his shoulders, locking your hands in place. 

Miguel pulled you both to your feet, hoisted your legs up, and forced them around his waist. He easily steadied you up and onto the creaky bed, still connected in that fierce duel. You do all of this for him. So much for a disgusting creature who is greedy and unmindful of others. 

It’s only fair.  

It was only fair to give you the last bout of tenderness, lust, and passion. To give any final positive emotions he had clinging onto the edge. To give it all away before it becomes another cautious tale for others to heed and understand.

It's only fair that you are granted one last act of affection from him.

You were sweet; you smelled so divine. The sugary syrup was still fresh on your lips, and your soft moans grew as Miguel grinded against you, his length growing under the fabric of his suit. He wanted to take his time. He has to; this is for you; you both will never have this again.

You pull away, sucking in an abundance of air. Your lips were puffy and red, while Miguel only watched. You started to speak until Miguel took your back in, nibbling your bottom lip, his tongue down your throat, and whirling it madly. 

Miguel has never acted this way before. You would joke around about how he's a predator who is delightful and soft to his prey, but now he evidently might have stripped away that title to be a full-blown predator. You were frightened, though highly aroused. Your hands massaged his shoulders, but it was nearly impossible to get rid of any tension in them. Finally, you managed to pry away from the starved kiss and gulp down some more air.

“Miggy, are you stressed out? If this is your way of saying you want to take out some frustration on me, all you had to do was ask.” You laughed, nudging your forehead into his.

The joyous sounds began to die down when Miguel didn't make a single peep. Those intense irises were all you mainly focused on. You were seriously fucking worried. 

“Is... Miguel, is everything okay? You haven't said much, and I want to help, but I don't know how much I'm allowed in for this-”

“I want to make love to you. Will you allow me?” He said it in an unsettling tone.

That caught you off-guard. You gaped, your mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. “I-I, I mean you can. You are allowed, yes.”

“Will you allow me to fuck you?” He commanded, but he also sounded distressed.

That severely caught you off-guard. There is something going on. Miguel is a straightforward man, but not excessively concrete when it comes to intimate moments. You primarily decide to discuss whatever was going on after; even though now would have been better, there was a desperation in his eyes.

“Yes, mi Estrella, you can, but please know we should tal- mmph!” Once again, you were cut off by the lip lock, as it somehow amplified. His conscience was growing berserk; he had to please you. He needed to. He had to.

He ripped off your tank top. You wanted to protest, impishly pretending to be displeased, but stayed hushed. Your back arched when he harshly groped your breasts, tweaking and squeezing the nipples. He tugged and pulled them, his unsheathed claws carefully dragging against the smooth mounds, taking in your faint moans. 

Circling the areola, he bent downward, taking a hardened bud in his mouth, sucking and greedily gnawing at it. Your fingers stroke his hair, releasing a comforting sigh. 

Maybe it was the mass of stress from work catching up to him. It explains the haziness and absence in his eyes whenever you observe him in his current condition. Tapping his head, you pulled Miguel out of his trance of mindlessly moving back and forth between your breasts.

“Miggy?”

“Yes?” He popped the right nipple out of his mouth and scanned your face to see if something was wrong.

“I was thinking… When was the last time I’ve gone down on you?”

He froze. No, this isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was going to only take care of you because you needed this. He shouldn’t receive any treatment from you. 

Yet, when he stares into those tempting eyes, he wanders in, adoring the feeling of becoming lost in them.

“I-I can’t remember. Maybe a week or two ago? I–I don’t know.” He was being selfish. This is for you, not him. He fought and shoved those malicious thoughts of your lips around him. 

How your pretty little lips will engulf each inch for him. 

He mentally shook them aside.

“I want to care for you. Will you allow me to, mi Estrella?”

Internally, he's shouting, dismissing any variety of pleasure that he shouldn't rightfully have. But, to make you happy, he will do whatever pleases you because you're the one who is truly deserving.

“Ay, si, mi… mi Luna.” With no hesitation, he swaps positions, mounting you on his stomach. 

“Suit, mister, I feel you poking me with that stick.” You grinned, eyebrows wagging flirtatiously. A rising quiver of a smile nearly trailed his lips until he dropped it. 

“Don't worry, mi Estrella, I'll make sure you feel extra, extra good.” You rubbed his unseen chest, igniting that excitement in you. “Now, the suit, Miggy.”

This was your rule, and he must follow through no matter what. Removing the gear entirely, he powered down, detached his communication watch, and tossed it on your nightstand. Nothing will deflect him from this.

“There we go. Let me value and dedicate my devotion to you.” Your fingers drifted across his pecs, the curves and indents of his muscles, your mouth watering at this marbled bronze beauty of a man who lay underneath. 

You wondered if you had unknowingly sealed a deal with the devil. A contract you'll never break.

“What did I do to get you?” You tried to knead any strain from him, “Tell me what I did to get an amazing, gorgeous man like yourself on my bed, lying beneath me?”

You left feather-light kisses anywhere you could on his scarred, tanned skin, your tongue occasionally dipping into the nicks of his rough skin and creeping up to his neck, nibbling the brawny flesh. Your warm breath sends prickles down his spine, gaining a ragged grunt.

Miguel caught the rebuttals that were ready to tumble out. He’s not entitled to spoil this for you. His brain was a broken record; he replayed one thing over and over, skipping over the other lines that got lost in the track: ‘For her. This is for her. All of this is for her.’

His shaft ached for you; he tried to keep the begs in, but they taunted him. “Mi… Ah- mi Luna... por favor, necesito que me toques—I need you to—”

“Shh, yes, mi Estrella. I will take care of you.” You whispered against his chest, edging yourself down tantalizingly slow.

He had to prevent himself from bucking and compulsively rushing you down with his hands. He could only observe your engaging lips making their way down until you finally made it to his pulsating, raging erection.

“Whoa, Miggy, I don't think I've ever seen it this prominent. Everything about you is so beefy.” You snickered, eyeing the phallus. His tip was red-hot; thick heaps of transparent fluids smothered most of the firm length, veins webbing from nearly all sides. 

“Let's see.” You tapped the glans a couple times before brushing your fingertip over the body to the base and back up. You were the paintbrush, and Miguel was the canvas. 

Sucking in air through his teeth, he keenly watched you stroking him, adding finger after finger until you wrapped around him. “You're so big, mi Estrella. I love this cock so much.”

You hummed, leaving random peppered kisses, before pumping in a steady manner. He groaned, his head writhing on the pillow. “There it is. Don't hold back, okay, mi Estrella?” Your hand held that rhythmic motion as the other crept its way up his meaty thigh and began to palm at his balls. 

Miguel pursed his lips as your wispy digits generated electrifying jolts. He was unfit to be touched by you. The twisting on his cock and the cupping on his sack sent his brain into a fever. 

He couldn't control his moans when your tongue found his balls, flicking and twirling between the two. He gripped the linen at the vibrations when you purred and lifted your head back up.

“Joder, Luna mía, por favor, por favor no, necesito poder cuidar de ti—Aah!”

You enveloped a quarter of him, noisily slobbering as many fluids drooled down your chin and on his trimmed pubic hair. Bobbing up and down, you cautiously squeezed his scrotum, moaning to send exhilarating thrills to him. 

“I- fuck me, I-I need, I can't-” Miguel gasped when you swallowed more until he reached the back of your throat.

You were on a mission to have him submit and relax. Placing both hands on his thighs, you sped up. Your hooded eyes peering up into his hypnotic, mesmerizing iridescent ones. Your tongue glided and swirled in spirals as you sucked in your cheeks to have it rub against them.

Miguel groaned at the warmth of your mouth, tangling his fingers into your hair, and bucked his hips. Tears rushed down as you deep-throated him like your life depended on it. 

He was so big, but you didn't care; it was just you and him, no one else. You were determined as you moved quicker, gagging yourself as the suction got louder.

He was prepared to burst; your muffled moans and his were harsh in his eardrums. Your nails pricked his tough skin, imprinting markings on them. Pushing your tongue out, you uncontrollably bobbed your head, tasting the delectable saltiness from his pre-cum.

Your palms caressed his abs and proud V-line, not lessening your immediacy and craving for him to spill over, when you were hastily moved away from his cock and twisted on your back. 

His eyes were glowering, a darkened red, as he took in your disordered, foggy state. Drool and his filth were running down the sides of your mouth. 

“Mig- mi Estrella, you didn't get to—wait, wait! Miggy, let me- Miguel!”

He tore your pajama bottoms and panties off in one fell swoop and stared. It was perfect. Your murky juices shimmered on the sheets, seeping out, as you clenched at nothing. The pride that usually swarms through his veins was blocked out. He couldn't be proud of that anymore.

He moved himself between your legs, spreading them all the way, and bound them to the bed. You fidgeted, poking at the silky netting, before he took your wrists and pushed them over your head. 

“I will make you feel a way you never felt.” He snarled on your neck, forming goosebumps all over.

“O-okay.” Was all you could squeak out.

He traced phantom lines and circles against the inner thighs and outer folds, concentrating on memorizing your delicate skin and listening to your sharp breaths and drawn-out moans. He alternated between light touches and firm pressure, letting your wetness soak his fingers.

“Mi-Miggy.” Your eyelids waned in anticipation, his darkened gaze having you timidly shiver.

He brought himself to his knees and dipped his head, the air dense with temptation. Nipping and biting the soft flesh, he worked his way up and reached your heated sex as streams of wind came from his nose onto your sensitive, swollen clit. The need in your loins and stomach was heady in temperature.

“Mi–Mi Estrella.” You blurted that out louder than you thought. 

“Sé que sé.” Licking the outline of your pussy with his tongue and along the slit. Your chest heaved, hands running through his curly locks, whimpering out from the lazed movements. 

You were enjoying yourself; that’s what he wanted. What he wanted? The mental feud began to sink in.

No longer taking his time, he dove in, lapping up your sweet nectar. He slurped and flitted at every tender spot he found on your folds and labia. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sudden change of mood. He is a sheer predator at this moment.

“Oh, Miggy, this pussy is all yours–mmn! 

You squeezed around his tongue as Miguel switched between rolling your clitoris with his teeth and fingers, operating in an uneven pattern. 

He melted into your sopping pussy, swashing the juices as he buried his head, wagging it fanatically. His claws penetrate your skin, generating his own engravings.

His grunts sent sparks shooting up your spine. You were in space; you could see the whole infinite universe. Your raspy pants picked up when he devoured your vagina, trembling over every sloppy taste and lap. 

“Miguel, I'm close!” You slurred in that drunken blur. Your walls tighten around the invasive, ravaging appendage.

Increasing the intensity, he sucked harder, your nails clawing his shoulders as your back curled off the bed when he pushed three of his sheathed, long digits into your hole, pumping wildly.

“Mi-Miguel, OH SHIT-”

“Mmph! Mmmn!” 

His tongue wriggled over the throbbing nub, his fingers spraying out your creaminess over his palms whenever they came into contact with your folds.

White was the only thing you saw as a powerful climax washed over. Your figure trembled as your muscles quivered and pulsated. Hoarse cries escaped, your body shimmering in sweat, mouth open, and eyes glazed over. You are an angel to him.

“Holy- holy shit... Miggy, that was... You were an animal, I-” You were disrupted when he intrusively gave you a rough kiss, tasting the tang on his tongue. The mesh was removed, and his sheathed hands clumsily roamed, pinched, and grasped any part of your body, wanting to savor these last moments.

“Miggy, everything will be okay. Whatever is going on, know I'm here.” You pecked his check, leaving even more on his neck.

He nearly strangled out a sob. You were so generous. Unselfish. He needed you. He wanted you one final time. 

Why was he so inconsiderate? 

“I need… I need you; please let me…”

“You can have me, mi Estrella. You always can, because I trust you.”

  Several strings snapped in place.

Grabbing your leg, he bent it up to your chest, and wrapped some web around your ankle. He shot the silk to the ceiling, tugging it a couple of times to make sure it was in place. You trembled, looking up at Miguel. The fervid stare wouldn't disappear; your vision was hazy. You were displayed as he raked his eyes over your panting lips and the sweat dribbling from every gland. 

A glistering art piece in the infinite night's heavens. Art that is being defaced by his corruptive hands.

Squeezing your grappled thigh, he positioned himself once more, taking the other leg around his waist and shoving himself in one go. He rutted into you, and the bed impacted into the wall repeatedly as it clashed with your cries and shouts of pleasure.

“Mi-Miguel! Slo-slow down! Slow–ah!”

His cock was rubbing up your walls, taking in every squelch, every squish, and every drenched slapping as you constricted, squeezing the thick, veiny shaft as he thrust with his crazy speeds.

Your wetness sloshed out on his lower abdomen and thighs with every bullish lurch. The sheets were defiled with murky blotches as Miguel dug his talons into your outer thigh, a few trickles of blood seeping out. Your screams could be heard from the whole apartment floor.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

That hammering pace never lets up, his length throbbing as he remembers every part of your velvety pussy fluttering and tightening. Every cry you made, every euphoric moan because of his cock molding and overwhelming your loving, yearning sex.

The bedframe cried alongside you. Shocking jolts coursed through your veins, and drops of tears ran down your cheeks, nose, and mouth as you tasted the salty water. Miguel grunted close, nipping your earlobe and feeling his fangs graze against it.

He heard his and your hearts beating irregularly, his hip bones buckling into yours, which would surely leave bruises in the morning. The engorged cock bulging you with each fill. He needed to remember all the senseless garbles and whimpers.

This beautiful face.

Enclosing your arms around his taut, damp neck, you croaked and gasped out vulnerable and cherishing remarks.

“I love you, mi Estrella. Oh–mmn, you are wonderful to me.”

He clenched up, his hips involuntary picking up more momentum.

Don't say that.

“You deserve the world; you deserve this. You deserve it!” Your whines chimed louder.

He growled out, leaning down, and rolled his pelvis into yours uncoordinatedly and immoderately. The floorboards groan with each jolt as the bed legs scrape against the wood.

  No, I'm a monster. Don't say that.

His arms crash down to each side of your head, his razor-edged fingertips slashing up the fabrics underneath. Your fluids covered both lower regions as they dripped down to your bottom and splattered on your stomach and his abs.

With foggy vision and a heavy head, you couldn't handle the overstimulation. Your brain was so far gone that you could hardly continue the enchanting praises. Eyes flickering in the back, you sink your nails in his skin, your bounded leg losing its feeling, but the battering from Miguel overwrites it as his bulbous tip abused your g-spot, refusing to hold back.

“So- so good—so, so, amazing.” You slurred as he found the right spot once more. “Ah! Don't stop! Oh, Miguel, I love you.”

Why?! Don't say that! Why do you make this so damn difficult?!

A guttural, animalistic noise reverberated from his chest and throat. He tore right into your blankets and mattress. He yanked one claw out of the tattered furniture, slicing the web, as you yelped at your limb suddenly collapsing back on the bed.

“Miggy!”

He picked you up by the sides, propping himself on his knees and lodging his clawed feet in the bed. He hooked your legs around his waist and lower hip. You didn't loosen your hold on his neck, as his robust arms kept your back sturdy, his chest against yours.

He pressed a kiss against the puncture wound, erupting back into his beastly action.

His balls striking against your ass, your melodious moans and raw whines, his low groans and husky rasping, and the crashing collisions of your sticky, soaked bodies resounded all over the rooms.

You would put any orchestral symphony to shame.

You took every inch. You were able to be molded by him. He will look back on your beautiful expressions from every passionate session. He will think back on how he was the one to make you float and feel these incredible sensations.

“Miguel! Mi Estrella! I-I can't keep–Aah!”

“Fuck—mmn- fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Those screams, those dilated pupils, the dribbles of spit, tears, and sweat raining down on your face and body.

This body. He will never forget your body.

A carnal, maniac tempo set further, his cock ramming into your insides. He will recall how you perfectly squeezed for him or how he rubbed your g-spot so nicely to elicit more raspy wails for the Gods above.

“I love you. Oh Miguel!”

  I'm so sorry.

He will never forget your love. He will never disregard these tender and compassionate moments with you.

He captured your lips. Your tongues in a slow, mellow waltz, despite the contrast of the barbaric movements. Placing his forehead on yours, he choked back another sob. He will miss this display of affection.

“I'm close, I'm close. I'm–I'm- Miguel!” You screeched out, shockwaves convulsing from head to toe. Goosebumps took over as you shivered and clamped around Miguel, whose thrusts were irregular as he neared his release.

He will miss you taking every drop of him. He will miss how you devoted a part of your life to him.

He will never forget the kids that ran through his head. In that ever-growing garden of beauty and goods, with your smile and his eyes.

Miguel shuddered and roared out, shooting thick webs of white deep into your core. He didn't stop until he was empty, and every vile string painted and coated every part of your walls.

You whined when his fangs pricked your neck, essentially stabbing at it. He didn't let up either. He remained this way for a few moments as blood ran down your shoulder. You were fully immobilized.

Pulling out, he licked and cleaned the wound, slowly laying you down. Streams of his essence spilled out until he forcibly gathered a satisfying amount and shoved it back into you.

“Mi... Mig... I love... you... you are my... laven…”

You couldn't move a single thing, not even your eyes. He inserted a good amount. You listened to your heart palpitate in your eardrums. In the morning, things can be discussed and disputed.

He only stared at your spent and limp body, covered in bruises, marks, scratches, and hickies. He skimmed over at the shredded covers and mattress, and dents now left on your wall. The floor must be damaged and streaked.

There was no clarity. There are no remedies for this tormenting misery. Only disgust, bile hatred, and disdain for the cardinal sin he imposed on you.

Strings covered his legs and lower torso.

The intoxicating aroma lingered in the atmosphere, his nose picking up every scent of your lovely fragrance and his putrid stench.

He slid off the bed and into the bathroom, coming out with freshly dry and damp rags and a tube of pain ointment. He intensively wiped and cleansed your body, applying the cream over the scars he caused.

You evidently appeared relaxed. Your chest was rising in a gradual, even sequence, as you were fast asleep. You're at peace. You've been tainted for the last time. 

Miguel snared, then went vacant. That itch was heightening, or was that guilt? He imposed an act so heinous, an act so atrocious for his true motives. He couldn't keep doing this to you. Disturbing you with his recklessness in a falsified manner that he disguised as devotion, fondness, and appreciation…

I'm so sorry, mi Luna…

He stroked your cheek, hot teardrops streaming down from the tip of his nose onto your beauty. He took in every feature, from every lash to every perfection you found imperfect. This is what he wanted to retain the most of. Being able to gaze upon this gentle, compassionate, and divine soul one last time. 

Especially after such an undignified exploitation.

He leaned his forehead on yours and let a tortured cry out. 

“I'm so sorry, Mi Luna. For all the burdens I have borne. You won't have to bear them any more.”

He didn’t get any sleep that night.

Chapter Text

Your eyes shoot open as you examine the still room with the occasional muffled car horn blares or morning chirps from birds draping in. Dimly rays of golden yellow filled the parts of the area, leaving gorgeous streak patterns on your walls and furniture.

You groaned out from the achy, tender stings flooding all over and rolled over to an empty, torn bed. 

“Miggy?” Your voice was very gravelly. He really did a number last night.

“Mi Estrella?” No response.

It wasn't bizarre for him to be gone before you awoke at times, but when it comes to an extreme moment similar to last night, he normally waits to check if everything's fully okay with you. It was odd that he rearranged your guts and then dipped. Even more so, as you wanted to express your concerns about his new out-of-the-blue habits. 

Deciding to strain yourself, you reached over for your phone when an excess amount of medicated pain pill bottles, your heating pad, and a glass of condensed water sat on the bedside dresser. 

Snatching the phone up, you began to scroll through the texts he sent before the crack of dawn. “That’s odd. Why so early?”

‘Morning. Sorry for leaving before you woke up. Work needed me.’

‘I left some pain relievers and other things. I also put money in your bank account to cover the deliveries for breakfast and lunch. If you need extra for dinner, let me know.’

‘And I’ll replace the sheets and mattress again.’

‘Enjoy your day off.’

You sat up quickly, flinching at the sharpness from your hips downward. Pulling the covers back, you staggered at the many welts and blemishes. He enjoys leaving markings on you to boost his ego and self-pride, but not to this degree. Furrowing your eyebrows together, you reread the messages, and ran your hand through your hair in complete and utter disbelief and bewilderment.

There is something going on, and he’s trying to run from it.

All day, you've been messaging him, only to be met with lackluster responses or barely any. You tried to get a hold of Ronnie, but she was too distracted by the business to give any sort of feedback besides, ‘I’m here for you, remember that.’

You refused to believe what your boss was implying. Simply denying it all. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Overworked and spent, obviously. That was the only explanation that made the most sense.

It couldn’t have been anything else.

Yet, as two days passed, nothing changed. Miguel still answered with those lifeless replies, and the scarce times he did visit your place and job, you were met with forlorn stares and that freezing embitterment.

You and Ronnie conversed during the slow hours of work, as Ronnie did everything in her power to not drive to the point that Miguel was maybe trying to wedge himself from you on purpose. 

It did, however, go south when he showed up Sunday with a box of gears he wanted to return while you were out on break. Ronnie nearly wrung him a new one, spouting how dare he try to pull a stunt like this while you weren't here.

“I don’t fucking know what the hell your problem is, but whatever it is, you need to get it fixed and not bring my girl down in your sinking ship.”

She rejected the tools, spitefully mocking him, saying that she had no room to store those supplies and that he ‘better’ keep them. So he snatched them back up and left without speaking another word. Even at your job, he couldn't escape the boorish judgment.

Miguel was catching flak on both ends. Peter was pleading and bargaining not to call it quits with you, to objectively take a peek into the others to find out if he was missing something. Jess was back on his ass, wondering if he had broken it off, in which case he would furiously dismiss them.

No matter what happened, it was destined for failure. He couldn't make anyone pleased. 

And the one he wanted to please was originating destruction upon the world.

The more he isolated himself, the more you would communicate. He was stuck. He struggled to keep away so he could figure out what to do, but you always made it so difficult with that magnetized, gravitational pull you held.

It's hard to keep pretending not to want to be near someone you want to be around. Especially in his case. 

He hated this. He hated himself. He hated this whole thing.

Trapped in this cell. A bandage he didn't want to rip because he knows that wound will never heal; it'll only sit there bloodied and pained—an unsettling integrity. 

When he left the shop, he went back into his office and on his platform. He yelled and catapulted the pack of trinkets everywhere, letting them shower all over the cold, metal flooring.

“You know you don't have to do this. There could still be time to fix this-”

“I'm ending it when she doesn't have to work the next day. It makes things easier. Now leave, Peter.”

“Miguel, things like that don't magically become easy. I would know. You would know.” Peter began to clean up the tiny cogs, placing them back into the box. He wanted to try one last, final time to steer him away from this decision that may impair him even more than he already is.

“Nothing can be done, Peter.” 

He could hear the cracks in Miguel's heart.

And that's when he understood his friend was set in stone. Sacrificing that slice of what everyone else gets to have because that's how it goes. They have to listen to this entity that predetermines their lives.

Peter once again has to merely sit back and watch Miguel's world slip through his fingers. He is the hourglass that holds the sands and can only watch the particles trickle beneath his feet before being swept away by the winds.

“I'll… I'll alert Jess about it.” Peter turned his back. Reeling his head to his depressed friend, he opened his mouth, but immediately closed it and gripped his empty chest, silently leaving him to his own devices.

Miguel waited until the sounds of Peter's footsteps faded away. He was alone. How it's truly supposed to be.

All he could see were the twines of enshrouding twilight. No light, not even his own, could be seen by him.

You glanced over your phone for the millionth time today. Miguel hasn't texted a word all day. Which didn't help with your anxiety because he somewhat chatted with you the last few days. But today, you didn't even receive a ‘good morning’ or a ‘how are you?’ 

Your mind went down a rabbit hole of scenarios about his job—that something drastic happened to him, and he's gravely injured somewhere out there in the billions of universes. Or, a better option, that work was crazy today and he had to haul around non-stop. 

You endured to keep your thought process on the second path.

Checking the time, you typed a few messages, hoping to get something from him. “If he doesn't respond by eleven, I'll give another call. Yeah, that's reasonable.”

It was less than five minutes away, so you put on a song and slumped on the couch. Closing your eyes, you allowed the notes to flow over your anxious body, soothing your jittery knee and overloaded conscience from indulging in any more negative notions.

Inhaling and exhaling out, you were beginning to find that inner peace when a knock snapped you out of it.

Fluttering your eyes open, it took a second to regain your bearings when the rapping at the door got louder. You didn't order in and weren't expecting any guests to come over. Stumbling off the couch, you looked out the peephole and nearly gasped.

It was strange for him to be out this late today, but you chalked it up to him coming over to clarify why he couldn't respond. Clumsily opening the door, you beamed at the giant man.

“Miggy! I was just about to call you. Come on, don't be shy now.” You sang out and teetered out of the way with an arm outstretched.

Miguel nodded and slogged in; the heavy weight on his shoulders seemed to only worsen. He barely had any sleep, going over a script on how this would go and how fast he wanted to get this over with.

He scanned your place, and the memories of laughter and admiration directly flooded on him, which wasn't helping with the tons of grief and weariness settled upon.

“I was so worried about you, you know?” You locked the door and gave him a warm hug from behind, triggering him to stiffen immensely. “I thought something bad had happened. I wanted to keep other options on the table, of course, but your line of work makes it kinda tough.

“And I can't believe you used the door. You didn't use your key, but hey, this is a step in the right direction.” You snorted and giggled, then abruptly paused, noticing the melancholy on his face and in the air.

“Mi Estrella? Everything okay?” You pulled away and seated yourself back on the couch. “Is it time to talk about what's been going on in your mind?”

He didn't sit down along with you; he only towered in the middle of the apartment, feeble and inconsolable. Everything he practiced went out of the window. He couldn't explain this to you; he couldn't do this to you.

And yet, he had to. He had to be one to turn this wrong into a right. The wound is there; it's hidden under that patch. Does he rip it away painfully quick or tenderly slow? Either way, the damage will still be in the open.

You firmly tightened your lips into a thin line. Your heart suddenly began to race, nerves were blasting off all over, and your body began to burn up. “Mi-Miguel? What's… what's going on? Is everything alright? You know we can discuss it at your own pac-”

“We need to break up.”

Quick and painful won the round.

You blanked. There was not a single noise. Not even from the outside. Maybe you misunderstood him. That had to be it.

“I-I'm sorry, I don't think that I- maybe I misheard what you sa-”

“You heard it.” He didn't mean for it to come out brashly. “We… we can't be together anymore. Lo siento mucho.”

Miguel glazed down on the floor as you remained motionless. Your brain was trying to comprehend where this surfaced. It could explain the weird detaching, but it still makes no sense.

“I-I know it's coming out of nowhere, but there's multiple affirmations behind it. They may not make sense in the beginning, but the logic and justifications when I explain down the line are all there.”

You didn't know rather to hear him out, dissociate, or evaporate into thin air. You picked the first and second options.

He has disdain for this, but even when he's the one creating pain, you are still willing to be patient and listen. 

He was certain he didn't deserve you to begin with.

“Okay. You know that there are infinite universes. I told you that, and I don't think I need to go over that again. Right? Right, no. No. I don't think so. Yeah, I think.” He was off to a horrible start.

“Remember that day you wanted to know about how you and I were in other universes? Wait, no, that's—that's too early, I think.” His thoughts jumbled as you stared at him to continue.

“The night we met, I went to the park, but when I did, I didn't go out the back; I went out the front. You may not see it as nothing, but it isn't. That isn't like me going out where I can be seen in this sort of manner. It isn't a canon thing for me to do.”

“Canon?” You held some sincerity, but mostly hesitancy.

“Yes, canon. I remember the night when you told me you lov-” he choked before clearing his throat. “You looked into the idea that life doesn't have a road and that it can take you anywhere. But, from what I've learned, life is predetermined no matter what. There's a reason behind everything you do. Like a beautiful web.”

You didn't say a word.

“And my canon got knocked off track when I walked out those doors. Now, you're thinking, what does that mean? Why is that a big deal?”

You only nodded.

He took in a huge gulp and exhaled loudly. “It's a huge deal because... because this... because this world is... it's unraveling. It's being destroyed as we speak.”

Your eyes broadened and your throat parched as you clenched onto the sofa until your knuckles turned white. 

“Yes, it is a terrifying thing to think about. One moment everyone is here and the next,” his eyes glassed thinking about Gabi. “The next... they're simply gone. And that's why we have canon events to make sure things like that won't ever happen. To prevent a catastrophic devastation such as that.” He balled his hands up.

“Is there a way to stop it?” You whispered, eyeballing the floor.

Miguel bit his tongue to hold back the tears. “Yes. My canon shows a major flaw in this world. There's a flaw that's detrimental to us all... and that's us being together.”

Your shoulders slumped down as you tried to retain all this new, strange information.

“We aren't meant to be together. Remember when you asked me to check out the other versions of our relationship? Well, each and everyone I saw, you were either with someone else, we didn't know each other, or we did date... but none ended well.”

Words got caught in your throat. What if you never made that request? Would things have been okay? Would the world still have been destroyed?

“And that's when I realized it was happening again... You loving me was wrong to begin with.”

Your head snapped up, accidentally pulling a muscle, but you didn't care. You leered at him bug-eyed, as he was alienating his brain to wanting to end this as swiftly and fluidly as possible.

“When I walked out and met you, that's when the world started to glitch. The new waves of anomalies, this strange gut feeling, and how things were seemingly going too well. The world was knocked out of place, confused about what was going on.” He shook his head and wiped away the threatening tears that wanted to leak down. “We shouldn't have ever met. We shouldn't be together. And the only way to stop this universe from being consumed is for us to stop... to stop what we have going on.”

He turned to you with that stupid pouty face—the face you grew to admire and fawn for. The face that showed you true love.

“So... what I'm hearing is that what we did was for naught? What we had was all just… nothing?”

“In a way. No, wait, not like that. Yes, but no. Mi Lu- look, ever since that night, I've been doing things I would never do in a million years. Yes, I have things I enjoy, but this,” he gestured at everything between you two. “This isn't me. This was never me.”

“Are you serious?” Your voice full of disbelief, trying to hold back a scoff.

“I'm not joking; this is all serious. Our world is dying because you wanted to become attached–” Miguel dug his talons into the side of his hip. You gawked over that incriminating stance, nausea taking over your stomach. “I shouldn't have said it like that. I-I didn't mean for it to come out that way.” He roughly ran his claws through his curls.

No response.

“Look, just listen; if you didn't—if I didn't—if you didn't cause me to step out, we wouldn't be in this danger. We wouldn't–”

Crickets.

This isn't how it was supposed to go. There was supposed to be a back-and-forth conversation where he could steer it in a way that it could've gone through effortlessly. But you weren't saying anything; you barely spoke a word. 

You barely even expressed any emotions, unless he somehow missed them. But he has to keep going. He has to shove all that guilt aside for your protection… And for the others.

“Please say something… I know–I know it's hard, but it has to be this way. It has to. I have to—I need to protect you. And I know my Spider-Man work was always confusing, but please just... please give me something.”

Hushed. A blank glaze.

“Don't—don't make this more difficult than it already is. I know it's so sudden; that's why I tried to distance myself, trying to give you the last few good moments together. I know, it's hard, but for the canon's sake, we have to go through with this.”

You crossed your arms and stared ahead. This was all too much to take in. Many questions scrambled in your head. Why was his work unexpectedly a huge interference in this relationship? Why is he haphazardly saying something about this to you now? Why is he making this decision for the both of you?

But you kept listening to this whole nonsensical, pious conception.

Miguel paced, anticipating something, anything. The only sentences that are repeating in his head are his own, and they aren't clear-cut winners.  

“¡Por favor! Please! Say something! Anything!”

Not a single peep.

“Look! I know it's hard! You don't think this is hard for me?! Knowing that the person who I lov- the person who got attached to me—shouldn't even be here? Shouldn't even be with me?!” His eyes were blurry as droplets of tears and snot dripped onto the wooden floor.

“Excuse… excuse me?” You straightened up your back. “What… wha-what did you just say?”

Miguel recoiled, agitated, and vexed with himself. Regretting this whole affair that he still wants.

“I shouldn't be here? I shouldn't be here?”

Your words were low but penetrated deeply. Miguel's own heart pounded in his ears at that.

“I… I'm the one who shouldn't be with you? Not you. No, no. Me. Only me.”

“I- you…” He trailed off, his voice inaudible.

“What?” Your tone slightly increased.

“You shouldn't… shouldn't-” 

“Huh?! I can't—I can't hear you!”

“You–you…”

“Speak. Up. Speak. Up!” You tried to control your rage, but it faintly seeped out. 

“YOU SHOULDN'T EXIST!” He roared out, grasping his skull to prevent himself from breaking something in your apartment. “You—you don't belong! You don't—you don't belong in this universe!”

He was losing his mind but managed to lower his voice, yet he still had it marginally booming. “You... you shouldn't have fallen in love with me! It's wrong! It's all wrong!”

He plopped down on his knees, rocking and shaking as you mournfully gazed at an empty rift. “You're an anomaly in this world... The others... the others didn't fall in love…”

He stained your dusty, wooden floors as he strangled those wails he didn't deserve. This isn't what he imagined. He thought more words were going to be shed, but he only heard his.

His vile words that he stormed onto you.

You were ready to flatline. There was too much given, and there was no way to properly handle it. You didn't want to cry. You don't want to shout anymore. You didn't want to do anything. You wanted to daze ahead in a white space for hours.

“Please... please just say something.” His whimpers were pathetic and he knew it.

Your head turned down as the shriveled, broken man curled up. His eyes are red, either from sobbing or whatever his spider condition is. It took you a minute—a good, long minute—as Miguel dreadfully sat still, forced to endure this pitiless, silent void, but you did find the right words.

“I have work in the morning. There's the door.” You spoke in a scathing, withdrawn way, standing up to open the exit.

He froze at the mistake he had caused. Not knowing what to do anymore, he obeyed, stood up, and lumbered out the door, capturing the jaded fuzziness plastered all over you.

“I'm so sorry…”

“Yeah.”

And that was it.

You closed the door on his face and instantly collapsed onto the ground, scorching, broken tears now flowing down your face.

  The light will shine no more. The dark side of the moon and burnt-out stars form nothing in the damaged skies.

Both now completely bound by the twines of endless heartache.

Chapter Text

That's it.

                     That's how it ends.

Grimly and anticlimactic.

You've been lying down, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, days even.

You tried not to be shocked; you should've seen this coming from a mile away, but here you are, sobbing your tear ducts dry until you wilt to become a stale zombie.

You can't even recall how you ended up in your bed in the first place. The last thing you remember was being in front of the door, allowing the dullness of damn all to consume your inner torments. 

Your apartment is buried in the shadows of the night, and your eyes are glassed with endless sorrow. 

Why? Why did he end it? You tried not to believe it was your fault. You trusted your instincts into thinking it was other factors.

Well, it was mostly you skewing your mind in a direction where it was something you wanted to hear, not needed. You only did it to make yourself feel better. To give yourself this distorted narrative that things are just in a rough patch, but with a little care and time, they'll go back to normal.

Well, as plainly vanilla as it could get with someone like he is. 

Was. 

Having to start thinking of him in the past will be a strange, unaccustomed response. To think back instead of thinking forward.

Which is funny—how many forward-looking outlooks were there? You try to remember if there was any deliberation about a probable future between you two. You certainly know you've voiced your desire to stay together, but now that you consider it, were there any times he mentioned a foreseeable life for you both?

You really tried to dig into your memory bank. There was that conversation you had about how you'd both raise kids if you were to have any, but was that more of a theoretical train of concepts? Rhetorical inclinations because of the tender and vulnerable moment shared before landing on that subject?

Would he have wanted kids with you? Every time you have… had sex, he has… had those primal urges to finish in you. It was very rare when he pulled out.

But that could mean anything. Maybe he has a fetish for nutting in his partners to stroke that massive, dumb ego. Some sense of accomplishment knowing the person he's with will allow him to go ahead and release in them because ‘he's just so hot,’  ‘our babies will look so cute,’ or ‘he would be such a good father to my future kids.’

You weren't projecting.

Did he really want a life with you? Everything that happened seemed so authentic and full of bliss. Did he really want to be with you in the first place?

Well, he was the one to make the first move, so that had to be something. Or maybe he did that because of the vulnerability shared before it.

Was anything real between you two?

Glancing over your alarm, the annoyingly lit green numbers sting your retinas as you hurriedly wipe away the pathetic tears for that man.

It's a quarter to six, and you have work in less than two hours. You thought about sneaking in some sleep. And if questioned about your fatigued state, you could make up an excuse that it was a restless night because you were so excited to come into work.

You would've won the best costume award for your zombie-like appearance.

The minute you stepped in the door and up to the counter, one could immediately see the appalling anger ready to burst just from Ronnie's gaze.

“I knew it! That fucker!”

“Ronnie, I didn't say anything. It was a long night. Couldn't sleep. It happens.”

“That has you looking like you just stepped out of a grave after many, many years?!”

“Rough nights can spring up on anyone, Ronnie. You've seen them on me before, so this isn't a first.”

She scoffed. You figured she wasn't going to buy into it. “I'm going to kill him. Where does he live? I know he works for some shitty tech corporation. Which one? Which building is it?” She banged on the counter with her knuckles, trying to calm herself. “This fucker. I told his ass—I told his ass to not drag you down on his ship, but he did it anyway!”

Your head slightly tilted up at that. “What did you tell him?”

“I wanted to tell you about Sunday, but I held off for your sake, which I now regret doing.”

Your weary eyes peered into her choleric ones. 

“He came by with the box of materials you gave him when he first came here. Asshole attempted to return them during your break, but I told him not to even think about destroying anything that was built up and that he better get his shit together.”

You felt your body want to give in. Crumple to the ground and slowly dust away until there is nothing left. 

He was planning this.

He was planning on walking away, but for how long? How long was this on his mind? How long did he have that wrapped and tucked like a gift you're trying to hide from a kid before Christmas? There's a singe in your eyes as you feel them threatening to well up until you roughly dry them away.

“Did... did he say anything?”

Ronnie shook her head. “Told him we had no space, and he just swiped the box up and left without a single peep, like the bastardly coward he is.”

You didn't know what to say. What thoughts can you even conjure up after being told something like that? He came here and couldn't even face you. It didn't help that when he was visiting your job during the last week of his weird state, he only stayed for less than thirty minutes. 

Not to even mention how he would stroll into your place for an hour, barely say anything, and then depart until the next evening.

You might as well have had your eyes ripped from your sockets to have not foreseen this.

“And the fact that he broke up with you knowing you had work. I swear, the nerve of some people!” Ronnie snarled and turned to her shattered and dispirited employee and friend. “I hate what he's done to you. I should've just thrown in my two cents like I always do. I should've done it. Did he at least give a reason as to why?”

Even though all he bitterly spewed was incomprehensible for you to digest, you weren't going to expose his other life, no matter how much misfortune he battered you with.

“He merely told me it would be better to go our separate ways.”

Ronnie tapped her fingernails on her tablet; the only sound was the clacking against the screen. “And?”

“And that's it. He wanted a break, and here we are.”

That answer wasn't acceptable to her. “You know it's easy for me to find him.”

“Ronnie, please don't.”

“Don't have the last name, but I can go off the first. I have a face to the name.”

You're too tired to draw your boss back down to earth. She can be very petty when a discrete occurrence permits it. And her pettiness is telling you that this was one of those times.

“It was messy. He came in, didn't sit down, and just blurted out that we needed to break up. He went on a tirade about something that didn't make sense and told me…” a knot tangled in your stomach as you rewound his comments and synthetic, devastating explanations. Your eyes were slightly sheening before you wiped them. 

Ronnie was tight-lipped, patiently letting you take your time, but bearing that crazed wrath for Miguel.

“He told… he–he told me I shouldn't ex-exist.” Even just uttering those words made you want to vomit. 

A fracturing crack came from below as Ronnie involuntarily smashed her screen. She was doing all in her power to not go full ballistic, her face puckering to stow it shut.

“Why I can't stand some guys. Always, always the luscious ones, isn't it?” She glared up, as she could tell how sapped and worn you were. 

“I don't know what to do, Ronnie. I know it's only a guy. I shouldn't be getting this upset over him."

“No, if he was nothing but a pitiful lover, then yes, I would've said move on and much more, but this dude came into your life and was beaming these contagious rays, then randomly closed that curtain. He was the match to your firecracker, but he seemed to have gone excessive and hosed it down at full force.”

She could see the deflation with every word she snared. She hated seeing her favorite this way. “Go home and relax for the rest of the week. I'm visiting you tonight after work with comfort snacks and ‘so bad, they're good’ films. I'll also close up shop early Saturday, and I'm taking you clubbing.”

You staggered at the freely given vacation offer. Shaking your head, you began to place your bag down, taking out its contents to start working. “No, it's okay; I'll be fine. You don't have to come over or give me the days off.”

“No, you're getting the time off, whether you like it or not.” Ronnie tried to enforce it, but you wouldn't listen as you pursued your incohesive blubbering.

“And besides, the rest of the whole week? You would have to deal with Freya and Jax, and I know you can't stand them. They don't do much to help you out anyway. I just need a few pick-me-ups, that's all!” You gathered up some magazines that were randomly piled on the surface, pretending to fix and stack them. 

“I can handle them myse-”

“And besides, my day off is tomorrow, so there's my rest day. And you don't have to come; I'll be okay. He's just a guy; things like this happen; it's all a part of life. Life!”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, observing your erratic shift in movements and tone. 

“You know what's funny about life? Life has paths that can weave and swerve without you realizing it! There's so many ways it can go! Not just one! You may never know when things can have you on top of the fucking world before it yanks you right down to the pits of–!”

“Y/N!”

You yielded. Your chest was rising heavily, everything pounding from your head to your toes. Your items were strewn across the wooden surface, and a magazine you held was crumpled with tiny rips on the edge of the cover. You dropped the paperback and entangled your hands, digging into your scalp.

“I'm sorry, I'll–I'll pay for it.”

“It's a magazine. We have multiples of this issue.” Ronnie woefully eyed your current nature and tightly embraced you. “I'm coming over tonight with the best junk food; you will be taking this week off, and we will have a damn good time clubbing. I'm not going to sit back and have you slip and decay away. I'm not.”

You stayed muted, your lifeless eyes beginning to seep out tears. You returned the hug; albeit lackluster, it was still comforting. 

You knew it'd hurt. 

You knew the misery would arrange a huge, pleasant resting nest right in your gutted heart, mind, and soul, needing the full capacity of every centimeter of your being. The more you disjointedly vented to Ronnie, still trying your best to exclude the Spider-Man business, the more sketchy his excuses became to you.

Ronnie eventually sent you off; her blood pressure was skyrocketing. She felt her own heart crunch, and she wasn't even the one who received his horrible comments and arguments. She was ready to find him, tear him apart, and beat him.

It was difficult walking back, especially when passing the garden. You made your best efforts to speedwalk by it, but that misery made sure to slam its brakes, forcing you to gaze upon a now squashed and destroyed memory. You had to choke back many more cries, refusing to garner even a lick of attention. You turned a fifteen-minute trip home into nine. 

You didn't bother to change out of the clothes you were wearing when he dumped you. As you wallow in despair on your sofa, half listening to one of the albums you gifted him, your brain reeled itself into rewinding last night, no matter how hard you tried to veer away.

A physical wound won't go away the next day. Most certainly, a mental wound wouldn't pack its bag and leave when one wanted it too. For some, it can come with ease.

You thought of Ronnie, an individual who can seemingly move on from one relationship to another. If someone breaks her heart, she will twist and snatch the pain out, gladly replacing it with a new one until the pattern repeats itself. It wasn't a very… healthy coping mechanism, as you expressed your concerns about it, but right now, you envied that technique. 

You envied the ones who could deal with heartbreak with such ease. That vicarious sense of seemingly disregarding the instigator as if they were just another snotty-filled tissue made you jealous.

Why must this hurt? Why can't you just let him go? You both barely dated for a year, so why was this such a difficult feat to handle? Why did he have to make every day feel so special? Was that simply the honeymoon phase? Was any of that true love or just a quick and simple fling?

Your hands found your face as you whimpered before bawling your eyes out. Your shuddering breaths filled the air as you rocked back and forth, trying to cool yourself as much as possible.

It was impossible. 

It's still too fresh. Straight-out-of-the-oven fresh, that will sear one's tongue if they bite into the meal. You thought about the five stages. Denial is the first, and you certainly can feel it raging within. Then your brain had an idea. Maybe you can speed up the process. 

You said it yourself with the advice you gave him when he broke down to you about all the wrongdoings in his life. 

The ones you took the time to hear out and accepted them because you didn't care. You did care, but in a way where one can acknowledge that humans make mistakes. You took them with so much propriety. 

You aggressively shook your head, not wanting to drive yourself down an irrational, winding mental rampage. 

Does healing begin with yourself? Does it come with time? Your previous relationships eventually did, so it has to, right? 

Right?

You stood up and stomped into your bedroom, knowing exactly what particular thing to grab. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the vase with rosy, pink tulips and snowy, white daisies that sat perfectly healthy and radiant from the day he surprised you with them. 

You took extra time caring for them. You wanted to see them keep their beautiful colors. You wanted to see them strive and keep that potential they had in their lovely fragrance and presence. You took every second, minute, hour, and day to make sure they knew their value and worth. You wanted to be there for them. You wanted to be there for him—them. 

You wanted to be there for… them.

You hastily yanked it up, making your way back to the kitchen, and ripped them out of the vase, dumping them right into the trash bin. This was certainly a faster way to get to the second stage of grief. You were speeding up the healing process by beginning it with you.

But then you found yourself immediately pulling them back out, washing any food off them, and muttering apologies about how they didn't deserve the treatment that he caused. How they don't deserve to suffer the fate you’re going through. You tried to rearrange them neatly and prettily. It wasn't as plausible, but it was still decently okay.

You sank to the damp floor, clutching on the vase, slumped yourself on a cabinet, and stayed there. Even when the record ended, you didn't budge an inch. Not even when there was knocking at your door and a call of your name, not a speck of movement. The knocks eventually became banging, with Ronnie exclaiming it wouldn't be her first rodeo entering a locked place with only a credit card and bobby pin.

You stumbled up and wobbled to the door swiftly to prevent your irrepressible employer from having the cops gang up on her. She held up a giant fast food bag in one hand and desserts and snacks in the other. She did seek to interrogate you about the vase you held, but held off as this was a night for you to ease some burdens.

That night, you and Ronnie laughed and yelled at your TV at the ridiculousness of the films while stuffing your faces with fries and your favorite ice cream. You talked about everything under the moon, excluding him, even though he lingered in the corner of your mind. You shoved it there, but he was hidden in plain sight.

Ronnie made herself even more comfortable by spending the night, cuddling, and chatting in your bed. 

“You know, I haven't been in your place in so long. I have forgotten how much stuff you got from the store.” She stroked your hair, scanning the cozy abode you had made throughout the years.

“They are interesting. And besides, it's fun digging into things from the past. Remember that one time I dressed up in clothes from those Leopard Tunes magazines?”

“My God, how could I not forget? You did look good in those camo pants.” She wanted your mind anywhere else. 

Eventually, you began to quietly weep until you dozed off. It felt nice at the moment, but even with the rest of the week off, you were still alone.

You mostly slugged around your place aimlessly, letting your music override your endeavors to forget him. It wasn't easy at first, due to the fact that you purposely kept choosing the records he was supposed to have, looping them non-stop, when you finally found the strength to shove them back into his drawer.

You remember the first present you snuck into it. It was a gift card to a restaurant you discovered that made killer empanadas and other delicious cuisines. How he swung himself to the establishment and purchased a week's worth of food, as you playfully chastised him for spending it all in one day, as he munched on the fried pastry with muffled praise. 

“Stop it!” You nearly snapped your own personal vinyl before carefully placing it down next to the turntable.

You prefer silence now.

The couch was your only security. Or that's what you like to tell yourself. 

The only time you got up was to use the bathroom or grab another bag of fruit gummies. You didn't even realize Saturday night had rolled around when you heard the shout of your name and the thumps on the door once again. Ronnie nearly keeled over when she registered that you haven't changed out of your clothes since Tuesday (you caved in and told her the exact day)  or how the ghostly stagnant space never left.

After using her work hierarchy, she had you take a nice, hot shower. She dolled you up with makeup and picked out some tight jeans and a red tank top she brought for you. She wanted to accentuate your figure, and it surely worked. She boosted you up with all sorts of compliments all the way to the club. At the moment, it was nice, but he was still there.

The entire time, you tried to have fun. You didn't want to ruin Ronnie's efforts at cheering you up, but it was difficult. The strobing lights and new-age techno music didn't exactly match your solemn mood. You tried to follow along to the tunes, but nothing came of it. 

You observed the scene, eyeing your boss hitting on some guy before she pointed to the booth you sat in. You clutched your drink as they made their way over. With another man in tow. 

You considered giving the ‘moving on quickly' a chance.

It didn't help.

The two dudes were overall jerks. It started off with normal conversations asking about how you and Ronnie met, your job, and how long you've stayed in Nueva York. The basics. Then it started to snowball when every other word out of their mouths was how you and Ronnie were lucky to be ‘the winners,’ as they skimmed over all the other ‘fine babes’ for us.

It only made you think of the first encounter with Miguel. How awkward he was, but still so pleasant. Well, as pleasant as one could be after being lunged up onto a bed that's less than twice his size. 

Ronnie snapped you out of your daze and took a hold of your wrist, irate at the now overly befuddled guys, practically screeching about how they're being pigs and not one woman would sleep with them even if they were the last ones stranded on earth. You were just as hazy, but you took the spontaneous escape with a stride.

“The two were such bastards. Fucking lowlife degenerates!” She dipped and weaved you both out into the cool and humid bustling outside of partygoers trying to enter. “And I saw him in your eyes.” 

You didn't mean to make it obvious. You didn't want to. 

Ronnie offered to take you home. You slowly nodded, with no other words exchanged, and made your way to her car.

Your head was against the cold window glass the entire ride, viewing the twinkling lights as the city passed by. Ronnie spied on your deteriorating state, suggesting that she spend the night again. You deny it, thanking her for all that she's done for the past week.

“These scars will just need some time, you know?”

“Just… I'm here for you; remember that, alright?” She parked in front of your apartment building, the pitter-patter of rain plunking against the vehicle's roof.

“I know. Thanks, Ronnie. I'll see you on Monday.” 

“Here, take my umbrella.”

“I'll be okay.” You opened the door, wishing her a good rest of her night and a farewell.

You went straight to your bed and laid there. Time will heal all. It has to. It must.

Days turned to hours. Minutes into seconds. Hours into days. Everything has merged into one. 

You would come into work late, appearing frail and worn. You would make up for the lost time by overworking yourself to consume your brain with other insignificant images and thoughts. 

You would go until you were dead exhausted, go home, sleep in, come into work, labor away, and repeat the process until you decided when you were feeling better. You have to heal. This was the only way. 

You were managing. Lies. 

You were fine. Lies.

Ronnie was severely worried about your mental health, but you were surviving. You were okay. Lies. Lies. Lies.

It was going smoothly. You had your routine. Nothing was going to break you from it, and nothing was going to deter you from this healing.

Then one night, right as you were ready to fall asleep, a slew of cash was randomly deposited into your account. Perplexed, you texted Ronnie, pleading that she doesn't need to boost your pay and that you'll send the money back. She was confused, more so when you told her the price, and then she was really flabbergasted.

And that's when it popped up. That's when his face appeared.

‘I’m sending you this for the bedsheets and mattress. I hope you've been doing well.’

This bastard.

You wanted to throw a fit. Nearly two weeks. You were doing so well for that long. Now he has the nerve to arbitrarily become this mindless ‘sugar daddy?’ He was arrogant and dense. You directly sent it all back, along with a message stating you don't want or need his money.

‘I've already replaced the sheets and all. I've survived before you, and I can continue on without.’ You didn't replace the mattress.

‘Right. I'm sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

You needed some fresh air. You had to get away from it all. Why? Why would he randomly text you? Especially when the first message back is him sending cash for something so fruitless as linen? Why did he mosey along, ruining these moments of alleviation? Why couldn't you hate him? That would make things much smoother. But here you are, heart drumming unevenly after seeing his name and stomping out of the building to escape from it all. From him.

Rain. How fucking cliché.

You began to wander aimlessly until you found a destination. 

Why does the sky shed its lament for you? You didn't want it to pity you. You needed it to pity him. He’s the root. He's the one who put you both through this.

You released a shaky breath. Who were you fooling? Why couldn't you be angry all of a sudden? Why couldn't you scream? Kick? Anything?

The rain was masking your tears, as you couldn't tell the difference. You felt so numb. Lying and suffocating all these thoughts because you didn't know how to open up the lid.

Is this how he goes about life every day? Suffering from your own inner demons all because one can't face them? You knew you certainly couldn't, no matter how much you toiled on convincing yourself.

You continued your walk when you began the descent into that hellscape rabbit hole. You slithered back to that night, triggering everything he threw at you unanticipatedly instead of the usual waves. You hated how that endless loop occupied your mind. You tried to bluff your way through, but you knew you were trapped.

You shouldn't exist because you're not ‘part of his canon?’ You need protection? From what? Him? Others? Yourself? That whole canon debacle?

You didn't necessarily get a full answer. All those reasons he dropped didn't add up. You don't understand his Spider-Man drivel; you never could, but you withhold the judgments because that's who he is. Though he seemingly couldn't separate or differentiate the two lifestyles.

He lied to you. He lied to both of you. You contemplated if he was forced into a corner to bite that intractable bullet. You desperately craved to believe that, but from how it deteriorated, he made an unbending choice for all, the royal we.

You tried to make sense of the logic behind it, but every turn was a dead end. 

You're an anomaly? You shouldn't exist?... Why were you born then?

You debated if that was existential. You concluded it was, and that was the last thing you wanted when attempting to solve a puzzle with different pieces from an overflow of different boxes. You can't make it work.

Or maybe you can, and it'll be this beautiful, monstrous amalgamation.

The rain picked up; maybe it understood something you couldn't feel. Your clothes were heavily drenched as you journeyed onward, but you didn't care. Ronnie offered that you show up during later hours for the next week or two after demanding that you participate in more self-care activities. She's sympathetic to the ones she loves and takes pride in helping them. 

You don't know how long you've been going, but you came to a halting stop in front of a certain bench. You desired to venture to the gardens but didn't want to take the risk of explaining your situation to an employee or passerby about why you were soaking in your pajamas.

Yeah, your nearly seven-foot-tall now vampire ex-boyfriend dumped you, hollering how you essentially shouldn't exist and that you'll only be there to self-reflect on your true purpose in life. 

Surely it wouldn't raise any concerns.

As you sat, the raindrops were sticking to your rear, dousing your already ruined bottoms. A flash of lighting and timid rumbles of thunder settled into the skies. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a feeble hug, discovering how alone you truly are in this moment. You appreciate your boss, but there's only so much she can feasibly accomplish on your self-guiding voyage. 

You can't casually go into a full, unambiguous conversation with anyone. This is an inescapable burden you have to face by yourself. How you must bear that information that you were going to be the cause of the world seemingly perishing away. 

How he left all that on you.

You were the reason, not him; even though he was in the relationship too, it was somehow your fault. 

When a star dies, it explodes into a supernova, turns into a black hole, or can create new stars.

This one became a black hole.

He was destroying it all. He did destroy it all. You shouldn't have fallen in love; then what were his actions conveying? It doesn't make sense. If life is basically predetermined, why did he start a meaningful connection with you? Wouldn't he also effect that canon event situation? How did your existence become an inconvenience to him?

You don't belong here. You still couldn't cloak your head around that; in fact, you couldn't do it for none of it.

You were his scapegoat. How he blamed you for doing normal, everyday things. You aren't some form of destiny, and you aren't a puppeteer. You're just an individual who wanted him to be okay, to have him forget about his worries, even if it was for one measly day.

Or maybe he was right. 

Maybe your relationship wasn't meant to be. It doesn't excuse him tacking all the blame on you. He was going all in as well. You sink your back on the bench, knowing you're going to catch a cold, but you didn't care. 

Your eyes start to scan the scenery. The burnt orange dims from the streetlights, the pond with no animals, the shrubs with blooming flowers being pelted with water to keep them going, the trees sweeping alongside the battering rains, and...

And a familiar figure in a Spider-Man suit sitting on a bench across from you. 

Miguel appeared as a child with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. A deer in headlights. The night you accidentally first saw him in that get-up.

Despite the heavy rain, you both managed to catch each other's gazes. Your heart nearly blasted out of your chest. Not even the speediest racecar could compete with how fast it was racing. You closed your eyes, then pinched your arm, breaking a bit of skin, hoping you were just dreaming, and once again overslept. But when you opened them, he was still there, visible as can be. 

With a stroke of horrible luck, the rain began to let up, seemingly mocking you. You hated how clearly you could see his face now. He was gawking, his mouth agape, like he was trying to speak to you. 

You wished for him to say something. You dared him to express anything with the blazing leer you directed towards him. You refused to remove your inhospitable attitude.

You wanted him to do it. You desperately wanted him to call out for you.

You're still staring. Why is he such a coward? Ronnie was right. Yet, you're one to speak if you couldn't do what you wanted him to do. 

His lips move once more, but he catches them. You wouldn't know what to say or what questions to ask. Well, you did, but you didn't have the willpower to achieve it. 

You doubted that you would both move. You learned that you're both very headstrong, unbending to crack, and will hold your stances. Rather, it was for something as simple as spoiling one another while the receiver tried to deny it or as big as someone who would try to wedge in between you two.

How ironic that the one who did successfully wedge in between was the one you trusted most.

You both were stuck in a staring contest as your eyes started to sting. Was it from not blinking or the tears threatening to well up because of him?

Say something. Say anything.

You could tell his talons were digging into the wooden seat; you surveyed that knee vigorously judder. You gripped onto the edge of the bench, repulsed that your own hand wanted to help soothe and rub the troubles away.

His lips were pursed firmly as the rain stopped. You could hear the grating emitting and the sweeping winds whooshing in your ears, but they were also stinging at your eyes. You fought to keep them open, your eyelids twitching uncontrollably. He wasn't moving. He was straining himself, and you knew. You wanted him to break first. You needed him to.

But you broke and shattered all over.

You yelled out and slammed your eyes shut, rubbing them fiercely. Blinking rapidly at the wet, muddy ground as you attempted to get some moisture back into them. You jerked your head up as a scowl formed on your face.

He was gone. 

You hated how he continued to prove Ronnie's point over and over. He is a coward. Running at the first signs when things go downhill.

You refused to cry. You refused. You stayed seated for the next twenty minutes, until you finally opted to just go home. 

When you made it back, you stormed straight into your bedroom, not even remembering how you grabbed one of his shirts, but you did. You hugged it close to your chest and fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to you, he was still there. He was there, making sure you were safe and okay. That he will still care for you even when he's not there with you.

As another week passed, you lazed on the couch swiping through online dating profiles, another attempt to rush the healing business. This was a way for you to get some control back, whatever that may have been.

It hasn't been the best of luck, especially when you jumped the ship for the first guy who swiped right on you. He wasn't that bad-looking, and the conversations you held were decent, so you decided to meet him at some restaurant downtown. 

And it was a horrible time. 

It didn't help that you technically didn't really get to know him. It was only enough to clear your mind after the park incident, but you regretted your poor intuition and lack of judgment due to being desperate.

He was more of a talker, which didn't seem bad at first, but he wouldn't allow you to get a single word in, and he nearly ate all the food off your plate. You couldn't remember the rest as it was a blur, but you recalled texting Ronnie to save you from it.

She rescued you after paying for your meal, and you both went to get ice cream fudge sundaes. You didn't mention him at all to her. Rambling about everything, how it was a silly date, and you'll discover a better pick.

But you didn't want to pick another. You didn't want to mindlessly search over and over because he still lingered. No matter how much you persist in trying to remove him from your thoughts, he always finds a way back.

You needed something back. Stumbling up to your feet, you slogged through the clumps of candy wrappers and bags from cheap snacks, clothes you mindlessly tossed on the floor, not even bothering to pick them up, and several empty soda cans and half-finished or barely touched water bottles.

In your room, you eyed the flowers, whose petals began to fall off. Grabbing a water bottle, you poured the liquid into the vase, gently stroking a tulip.

“It's okay. Just because I'm withering doesn't mean you have to as well.”

Satisfied with the given amount, you flopped to your knees and eyed a certain drawer you left untouched. Taking a hold of the handles, you wrenched them open and absently glared at the clothes and objects, daggers of grief and solemnity cascading on your heart and mind.

Pulling each item out one by one, you ridiculed yourself for reminiscing. Have you forgotten the words he spoke to you? What all he threw at you that night? The actions he took upon himself that led him up to those final moments?

You needed something back, and you were going to get it.

Gathering up all the records, fabrics, picture frame, and the lavender spray bottle, you marched out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, right up to the bin. You were ready to take it all back. You were prepared to sonic boom your way to a mended soul. You are ready to take back that control. You needed this.

You were ready.

Suddenly, you were back on the couch, his contents left sitting on the coffee table as your thumb hovered above his name. You were dazed as you clicked it and began typing.

‘Hey…’

Don't. Why are you doing this? You know this is wrong; you didn't want to.

‘Hey.’

Why did he respond so quickly? Don't, don't. You needed to take back that control.

‘I forgot you have a bunch of stuff still over here. Do you want to pick them up?

Stop. Stop. You know what will happen, so why are you trying to give in?

‘I will come by and grab them. And I'll drop off the key and your things.’

Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck you. You shouldn't be crying; you can't, but you couldn't stop the endless, flowing streams.

‘Okay, just text me when you're coming by so I can have them ready.’ Your eyes darted up to the table, then back down on the screen.

You remembered during your schooling days when you learned about the dark, blue parts of the ocean. If you accidentally fall into one, you get sucked into an abyss. They warn you about avoiding them by staying in the light, crystal-blue parts. But those parts have been tainted. Why would you ever want to be near a singular spot of transparency if you know that there is more out there to be discovered? Even if that small section is open and clear, what about the others that are purposely hidden?

He's still texting. The three dots have been going on for over a minute now.

You shouldn't be curious. You shouldn't care. You don't want to care. You won't care.

‘Okay, I will.’

Your phone slipped from your hands as you gripped your hair.

“Please tell me, Miguel.” 

“Please tell me your true thoughts.”

“Please tell me you still love me; even though you never spoke those words, every action you displayed said it for you.”

You can't feel your face anymore. Was it from the tears? Or the lack of emotions?

At this point, that split second of control you audaciously acquired was snatched. Snatched away like a thief to a jewel.

What have you done? What devastation have you scorned upon yourself?

Chapter Text

He did the right thing.

He had to do the right thing.

 It was the right thing to do.

He hated that he had to do it. He always hates making the most ‘moral’ of decisions because that's how it presumably goes. He always has to make these gut-wrenching sacrifices, all because he was forced into this position.

Your face was now forever engraved in his mind. Those last moments of torturous vacancy and heartache. That repentance he was struck with the moment you closed the door on him. He replayed everything he told you. It was to protect you. He didn't mean to yell. He didn't mean to get so heated. He never meant to hurt you. He never means to hurt the ones he cares for, but it always happens. Every. Single. Time.

It was difficult. He remembers heading back to the HQ after standing in front of your door for a few minutes, debating on knocking, before coming to the conclusion that he did not want to cause you any more pain. 

How he begrudgingly called up Jess and Peter to his office, alerting them of the new status of the relationship, and despised how pitying of a conversation that was.

“We're sorry, Miguel. We really are. Letting go of someone you care for is one of the hardest things to do.” Jess rubbed her stomach, her eyes staring into his tensed back. “You're not alone; we will get through this. You will get through this.”

Peter's arms were crossed, his eyes darting back and forth between Jess and Miguel, determining what would be the most crucial and befitting thing to say, but he held back to let Jess do most of the speaking.

“But things should be back on track, right? Time heals all wounds. It may take a while, but it will come.”

But he doesn't know when it will begin. Does it begin with him? Or will it happen on its own? What happens if it never comes?

Jess rambled off more tasks and briefings before voluntarily dismissing herself, leaving the two Spider-Men alone.

“I'm not going to continue judging your choices. This was the decision you felt as if you had to make, and I understand. I want you to know that it's true; you aren't alone. It's okay to be scared of the unknown and to run from things that you feel will hurt. I'm not going to give you the whole ‘leap of faith,’ ordeal. I just- I just want you to know that I've been down this road before. And... and I'm here for you, Miguel.” Peter waited for any response, only to turn and leave in the end to give him space.

And that was it.

Days passed as he overworked himself.

Dishing out more missions for himself and others, more reports filled out, and his eyes rarely vacated those burning orange, iridescent monitors. Always watching, always viewing, always seeing.

He was running himself ragged into the ground because that's where he belonged. Buried alone and away from wounding others. His temper flared up even more from astoundingly new extortions and nuisances.

The anomalies were still rampant as ever, and Gwen's perpetual badgering and long-winded palavers about visiting him ceased when he finally snapped, compromising that if there's an anomaly in that universe, she can go. He knew there was a one in a billion chance of that happening, but she seemed content with that answer.

And that damming itch.

The biggest hindrance was that the itch was vexingly meandering. He took care of the problem; he removed himself from your life, so he couldn't comprehend why it was still stationary. Was it because he still had strong emotions for you?

He thought they would have shaved away the second things ended. Well, he struggled to convince himself that, but he was well aware that's not how these eventualities occur. Far from it. They don't disappear overnight as much as one imagines. They don't vanish in a day, a week, or even a month. Some may never disappear at all.

And he wasn't helping that wound. He was only jabbing and ruining it even more.

He keeps your messages open, rereading all of the texts several times a day. It was godly unhealthy, and he knew it, but he didn't give an ounce of fucks in the world. A part of that dignity died when he walked out of your building for the last time.

He holds those moments of weakness by wanting to text you random things, but always shuts them down and backspaces his thoughts. He would stay on your page, praying to hear anything from you. Even if it was a purely hateful message, he wanted something. The pressure of guilt and his sins weighed down on his back.

He stopped going back to his own apartment because he would replay all of the record albums you gifted, especially the Selena album. He resorted back to sleeping in his office, a habit he slowed down on when you two got into a relationship, but now that you're gone, his damaging routines throttled full force.

He hasn't felt this way since he lost Gabi. He hated how this was for your own good. For everyone's own good. His own good.

And as those days became two weeks, things have been even harder around the HQ.

Before, the other spiders hopped along, usually avoiding the broken eggshells and glass whenever they were near him, and if one managed to slip and step on one, they bore the pain for a second and continued on as if nothing happened. It was common practice for everyone. But now, the field has gotten broader. Along with the remnants of eggshells and glass, mines now lay next to them. A volatile war zone whenever anyone even dares to step into that domain. One wrong move, and it will trigger devastating explosions.

The office appeared more scarlet, while others believed it appeared to be a cobalt blue. Either way, it certainly matched his mood.

Now only a handful of spiders would be brave enough to speak to him, yet they would still be terrified of his reactions. Some would have competitions over who would have to converse with him, as their spidey senses never turn off when he's around.

His office was thrashed more due to his new charged-up temperament and impatience. Claw marks made their way onto machines, and his yells when a poor spider would accidentally make a mistake could be heard halfway through the establishment. 

Things have been very difficult for everyone.

It got to the point where E-616 Peter scarcely brought Mayday due to his offsets.

But the rumors were still spreading. Word got out about why he could be easier to provoke and how his short temper increased into utter wrath.

“I heard he was dating a Spider-Woman, but Jess fired her.”

“I heard it as a regular human from a whole different dimension. Very much a Romeo and Juliet story.”

“Don't they die in the end?”

“Oh yeah. So not like that, but similar.”

“I heard he would sneak her in here. I wonder how they got in without being seen. Surely more would've noticed.”

The telephone line never ended; they made sure to keep hush whenever he stepped out of his den, which became even rarer at this point in time.

But there was a reason for his increased fury. Miguel had that moment of impotence. That hint of shame.

The day he saw you at the park.

It was a quiet night in his office when he decided to drag the video of him and Gabriella into view. He wanted something to smile at, but only for a tiny bit. He chatted with his osita as always, asking about her football game or any ideas on what they should have for dinner.

It was going fine until, in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of you beaming into the camera before it shifted over to him as you both shared that genuine laughter. It was an ingenuous moment you created.

That's when he blanked, knowing all of that was too good to be true. His brain taunted him, whispering how he managed to not only trick you but himself as well.

His hands acted faster than his brain when he sent that money off to you. He had to give you something; he needed to. 

He waited for you to respond. It took several minutes before he received a message from his bank stating that the money he gave was deposited back in his account. 

He remained staring at that screen.

And that's when those dots finally appeared. His heart nearly leapt out. Then it immediately cracked when he read those words about how you didn't want or need him anymore. He was fully glazed over. He needed that fresh air. He wanted to go to the gardens but decided against it. 

He walked out the back. The correct way. He let the rain drench him; he didn't care anymore. The park was his escape from it all, but now it's only a crucifying, hollow memory.

He sat at the bench where he first accidentally laid eyes upon you. That first mistake. That one slip-up that caused the downfall. The one that nearly ruined and destroyed everything. The one who took the perils away from him.

Miguel stared at the streetlights, the empty pond, the violent rustling from the trees, the shrubs with flowers that were pelted by the rain and were likely going to lose their petals…

And you.

He was stunned the millisecond your eyes met. The adrenaline of terror and tribulation that coursed through him was miserable. Even in the pouring rain, you were as enthrallingly beautiful as ever.

How he wanted to rush over and keep you warm, to protect you and keep you dry. How he wanted to question why you were out in your pajamas so late at night and how you needed to get home before you caught a serious cold were all stuck in his throat. How nothing was the right thing to say or do deeply stabbed him.

The profound stares you gave each other as a sharp pang of self-reproach hit him harder than any punch he has ever received. He didn't even remember how long it lasted, but he knew he couldn't be around you anymore. He was hurting both of you; he was still breaking you.

He waited and waited for you to blink, to avert your gaze onto something else, but that unbending persistence you held was proving itself. That vice grip you had, so he had to be the brigade.

The minute you slipped up and released that unnerving cry, he used his speed to conceal himself in the trees as he monitored your well-being. He didn't want to evade your space, but it was required. You didn't leave immediately, but he didn't mind. He would sit for hours if it meant he got to be near your presence, even if it was from a distance.

He kept his eyes open for danger; he didn't want a repeat of the first night you two crossed paths. When you eventually did head off, he followed you until you were safely back. You were okay and free from any harm. Free from any uncertainties that would have jeopardized your life in any way or form.

That was when realization struck him, when all the detrimental waves crashed into him. You were truly free from him. Unimpeded by his marred claws, mind, and body—all of him.

When he returned to his 'safe haven,’ he yanked one of your shirts from your drawer in his room, cuddling it and smelling it. Hot tears flowed down as Santana's Love of My Life joined in with its own flow. 

Miguel was cracking each and every day.

As a new week approached, things were still the same. The increased anger, the despairing sadness, the rife of anomalies, and that gutting itch made themselves all at home.

Miguel startled himself awake. His vision blurred as he rubbed some crust out of his eyes.

“Mi Luna?” He gazed around the room, trying to get some of his bearings back. 

He was all alone. His moon wasn't around anymore. He hates that his own head would conjure up those nightmares to frequently patronize him. How they have to be nightmares instead of wondrous dreams.

He cracked his aching bones from the uncomfortable position he slept in again. His body was sore all over, but he, of course, didn't care. Allowing a minute to pass so he was semi-up, he stared at his main monitor, expressionless. The two smiles he misses. The smiles he missed making.

He expanded the recording of Gabi, mostly maintaining his focus on her, barely observing himself. “Buenos días, osita… Espero que hayas dormido bien. Te extraño mucho… I—remember that very sweet person you met a while ago? Well, she and I will... We are no longer together.” Miguel balled his fist and achingly shuddered.

“No, no, no fue tu culpa; te lo prometo. Papa made a very...” he tried to find the right words. “He made a very bad mistake. It was pretty bad. Yes, that big of a bad. But I didn't want to hurt anyone else, like how I hurt you, mi osita.” He found himself caressing the screen.

“I don't know if she'll forgive me, but I know she'll remember you. You are stil- would've been the bestest of friends. I just wanted to tell you if you ever ask about her.” His workstation held a few droplets. “Yes, I will miss her... Maybe. It was still too early, but I would've loved to have made her your…”

He froze, but had to continue on. “I would've loved for her to have been your new mama.”

He tried not to peek; he didn't want to see it. It was there, hidden in plain sight. His hand began to gravitate toward the video before he caught himself. Rapidly telling Gabi he had to go, he exited the recording and pushed the monitor away to the side.

His trembling fingers began to type and swipe around, surveying the spectrum of dimensions. The eternal vastness of such fleeting lives for those who experience the ordeal of not knowing they're being guarded. How lucky they are to live out their mindless days without a fear of knowing what's truly out there. How they can go about and love freely without the consequences of the world collapsing on itself.

The sacrifices he has to make for them. 

He went on about his daily tasks; no one bothered him unless he would specifically alert them to missions or other duties to fulfill. But for most of the day, it was noiseless. Nothing. Keep watch. This is how it's expected to be.

“I'm surprised your platform is on the ground instead of suspended in the air.”

So much for a quietude time. 

Peter charily bounded his way over to Miguel, taking heed of the many empty coffee cups, styrofoam take-out containers, and a lone red blanket hastily shoved underneath the desk.

“Jeez, Miguel, when was the last time you cleaned? Do you want me to send one of the janitors or no?” He leaned in a bit, getting a good glimpse of his friend's face.

Miguel hasn't shaved from the very noticeable five o'clock shadow that overtook him; he reeked of empanadas and one too many cups of joe. And he obviously saw that he wasn't either barely getting sleep or if any at all.

“Miguel, when was the last time you exactly moved from your station?”

He ignored the spider, his eyes still attached to the screens, doing his best to pretend that Peter didn't exist. He refused to allow any more distractions in his life. That is a lesson he must abide by.

Peter cleared his throat and scooted closer, bringing his voice up some. “Miggy, when was the last time you showered or had any other forms of healthy nutrients running through your body?”

Miguel didn't avert his line of sight, but the scruffy spider was still in his peripheral view.

Peter was becoming marginally irked by his boss blatantly snubbing him. This wouldn't have been the first time he's done this, and Peter wasn't going to have him surrender to his own self-imposing defacement.

“Alright, let's go. To my dimension.”

“Go away, Peter. I'm not playing your stupid little games.”

“You call them ‘stupid games,’ I call it, ‘helping out a good friend who is very distressed and forcing him to do some self-care.’ So stop whatever you're doing and let's go.” He began to fiddle with his watch, setting it up to go back to his world.

“I'm not going anywhere. Leave. Me. Alone. I'm not repeating myself.”

“I'll tell MJ to fix an extra plate. I think we're having stir-fry.” Peter was playing Miguel's hand by brushing off his words. Miguel knew the tactic, and it pissed him off.

“Peter, I'm not going anywhere with you–”

“Oooh, she's doing shrimp stir-fry and hot and sour soup? Man, she is pulling out the stops tonight.”

“I'm not going!” Miguel was about to boil over.

“Maybe we can throw in some desert too. I can order a molten chocolate cake with some vanilla ice cream we have–”

“Peter. I'm not fucking goin-”

“What type of drinks do you like? Do you like lime soda? A good red wine? You know, maybe we should stick with water to help cleanse your system.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Peter! What don't you fucking understand?!” Miguel raked his talons through his metal, creating that ear-wrenching, grating sound.

“I'm not going to stand here and watch you suffer again!” Peter slammed his fist down, creating his own deep indent in Miguel's desk, startling the giant man.

Machines, other voices from spiders, and heavy breathing whisked through their ears as Peter tried to control himself. “I'm–I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-”

“Don't. Don't bother apologizing.” Miguel slumped down, with Peter sliding down right beside him.

The two sat shoulder to shoulder, both starting ahead at nothing. They were still for a minute, knowing someone had to break the ice if they wanted to get somewhere, and Peter was aware it was going to have to be him.

“I'm worried for you, Miguel.”

Miguel held that deadpan look to him but still heard him out.

“I've been there; I've been here before. When you're faced with a challenge you don't know how to handle, you could either face it head-on and fight it, or run away.” Peter stared at his hands before closing them. “When MJ first said she wanted kids, I was so scared. I was so scared of bringing another being into the world because I genuinely didn't know if I would be ready to face such a huge responsibility.” He chuckled at the irony.

“So I ran at the first sign. I ran, and I was so afraid to look back. I told myself that it was okay, that this was the right thing to do and it'd blow over, and that no matter what, I would always keep getting back up because that's who I am and that's what I'm supposed to do.

“But there was… something so funny about that. Physically, I was able to get back up and up and up with ease, but mentally… mentally I was down. I was kicked and on the last leg, struggling to keep that stance. I lied to myself every day, saying to myself that I was in the best tip-top shape that I could ever be in and that all I needed to do was keep going.” Peter ran his hands through his hair.

“That was the most hurtful thing I could have ever done. I didn't care for myself; I didn't care about a lot, actually, but I kept sticking those white lies in my head to keep moving ahead. Those temporary markers that I would attach onto, and if one fell off, I would tack another right in its place.”

Peter hesitantly grabbed Miguel's hand, weary about the talons sticking out, but didn't care if he accidentally poked him. “I'm not having you go through this agonizing pain again. You are hurt because you had to do what you believed was the right thing.” He squeezed it tightly. “I know you're scared, I know you miss her, and I know you love her–”

Peter felt Miguel's claws dig into the back of his hand, but he fought through the unpleasantries. “And she loved you. And I would like to believe that she wouldn't want you to rot away. Even if you aren't together, I know she would want you to take care of yourself.

“Others would want you to take care of yourself. Many may not show it here in the society, but it's there. I want you to care for yourself. So please, don't fall into the same despair. Let others help you, Miguel. You aren't alone; you don't have to face this alone. Even if it's just a smidgen, a peek, let those few see inside; don't try and keep it all in. It will only fester more sorrow than the lies of convincing yourself that you're okay.”

Peter saw right through the mask. Right under the engraved stoicism of a leader lies the dispirited hero, who's worn down, afflicted, and fearful of the outcomes that entangle themselves in his webs. For the ones who don't know the true faith that has befallen upon them when they get caught in it.

Miguel peered down at their entwined hands. His brain was in a frenzy. He didn't know what to do; he knew he shouldn't leave from here; that one step out of line will have it all cave in. Yet Peter's words rebounded in his ears and his thoughts. Has he not learned from you?

No. He hasn't.

“Only for tonight. But then you leave me be for the rest of the time.” Miguel removed his hand from Peter's, who was beaming and wiping that invisible drip of relief off his forehead.

“Deal. But I don't think you've had MJ's cooking; ah man, it's the best. And I'm still ordering the molten cake. She told me that we can't give Mayday too much sugar, but this is for a special night, so I think she'll let it slide.” Peter rambled on as he thought about what Peter said about you. Would you still care for him? Are you still caring for him after all he did to you? He knows he would still want you to take heed of your health.

Disturbed from his thoughts, he peered up at Peter calling his name, and a portal opened up leading to E-616.

“I said, are you ready?” He nodded his head at the multitude of swirls and colors, confirming that everything was okay.

“Uh, I-I suppose I'm ready…” he stood up before gazing back one more time at the monitor. “Yeah. Let's go.” He plucked his phone up and gradually made his way into Peter's world.

• • •

“So that's when Webslinger went, ‘hands in the air, Parker,’ so me, and like thirty other Peters, we all threw our hands up and simultaneously yelled, ‘We're reaching for the sky!’ In the crappiest country drawl. And I swore I saw him die a little on the inside, but it was all in good, positive fun.”

MJ and Miguel nodded along as Mayday laughed while being fed by Peter. The two were uncertain on how exactly they got on this subject, but they spared him from the questions, not wanting to ruin any excitement or entertainment he was creating.

When Peter and Miguel strolled through the portal, MJ was ready with shampoo, conditioner, a strong body wash, fresh razor blades, and more for Miguel to go clean himself. He attempted to dodge the products, claiming he was only joining for dinner, but that stern, earnest outstare she presented and the assertiveness in her tone made him suddenly reconsider that a shower and other things were beneficial to him.

The water was nice on his skin, despite how he'd nearly towered over the showerhead itself. He didn't register how grimy he was on the outside, but he undoubtedly knew he was inside. The sounds of thunder rumbled along with the shower, Miguel being lost in thought throughout the duration as his mind kept leading back to you.

He dazed into the streams that rushed or trickled down the sky-blue walls, eyeing the inconsistent patterns in how they ran down the drain. He began to think about how you would see something as simple as water going down. Would it be grand? Or would it be that simplistic notion of water leading to the sewers?

He then ventured further downward. Those shower discussions would lead to scrubbing each other thoroughly as he imagined lathering your body, making sure to take his time running his calloused claws over each dip and curve. Purposely slowing his movements over your sensitive spots, hearing your soft whimpers and whines, bringing out that primal reaction from him. He would grope and cup every part of you, pushing you up against the wall and pinning you until you were fully trapped.

Hearing your needy moans, he'll bring his head down, crashing his lips into your soft, pretty ones, your nails raking against his harsh skin, your cries echoing around him, your gentle body pressed against his as you will beg out for more of him—

Miguel had to cut the shower short when he realized he was tugging and his body was hot and sweaty, despite the water being freezing cold.

He was still as disgusting as ever.

He was cleaned and given fresh clothes from Peter's dresser; they were a bit tight on, and he did complain, but eventually came around. When dinner was served, Miguel didn't eat much at first, but Peter coaxed him by dramatically saying the reason why Miguel wouldn't eat was that he was implying that his wife's cooking was atrocious. 

He only ate to shut Peter up.

But Miguel was appreciative, even if he wouldn't admit it. MJ was cool and collective throughout the meal. The two chatted about Peter's habits and other ordeals at the establishment, as Miguel helped out with May's not wanting to eat her vegetables. Peter was a bit jealous when Miguel got her to eat two-thirds of her carrots and peas, but held his tongue as he didn't want to snark on him too much.

“Oh, MJ, even though we didn't really talk about this, I'm ordering dessert—mmm, that's some good mushy rice, isn't it Mayday?” May babbled and wiggled her fingers.

“Peter, hun, we talked about this.” She drolly said, gesturing to May.

“Okay, yes, I know! But—and hear me out—special occasion.” His blithe tone and smile tried to overpower her while gesturing to Miguel, who wanted no part in this.

The two went back and forth in a lighthearted disagreement as Miguel awkwardly finished the rest of his soup. They eventually settled on a compromise that Peter will deal with May if she suddenly goes hog off the walls.

Another train of imagination rode through his head. Would there have been moments of you and him having silly debates about feeding the kids too many sweets? Would you have caught on if he snuck them a few extra? A dour look on your face as a roguish grin will be placed on his. But he will promise to handle them if they start ricocheting all over the place.

“Miguel!”

His head snapped out of his reverie, and attention was all on him.

“Do you like cherry vanilla or just plain vanilla?” Peter held up the tubs of ice cream, weighing them up and down.

“I- plain, please.”

Peter nodded and pulled out the ice cream scooper, blathering away about whatever as Miguel hardly paid any attention to it. MJ and Peter exchanged a shared glance as Peter went on, adding Miguel to the mix and forcing him to mingle.

Dessert went exactly as expected. Peter barely gave May even a teaspoon of ice cream and cake, and she was scuttling on the walls. MJ and Miguel examined the scene with plenty of amusement, as he did everything to wheedle her into her pajamas and to drink some water.

“Do we help?”

“I usually give it five more minutes.” MJ nestled herself on the couch, sipping her tea. “He'll learn one of these days. We'll get there eventually.”

Miguel joined beside her, still observing the humorous incident. “Thank you for having me over.” 

“Of course. I'm not going to let anyone suffer through something like this alone. Especially when one is a good friend.”

They listened to Peter cooing Mayday over, only for her to shoot a web directly at his face and scramble up the wall faster, screeching with laughter.

“Things like these have to pass, just as time does, but as someone who has been there, you start to lose that faith that it will never pass. Your days will still come by, but it will still dangle.” MJ kept a keen eye on her child as Peter began to shoot his own webbing at Mayday, but she managed to dodge every single one.

“Maybe this is how things presumably go, and you'll have to be forced to live with it.” She glanced down at her tea, staring at her reflection. “Or it can lead to more, and what you expect can lead to the unexpected.” She turned back to her husband and child, a twitch of a smile showing on her face.

“Okay! You win! MJ, please help!”

“Alright, I'm coming. Did you learn now?” 

Miguel blocked out the two and turned to the lone teacup on the coffee table. That is how the canon works. It dictates the outcomes of not just his life but the other spiders’ too. There are no unplanned paths; there's only a foreseeable future.

That's how it goes. That's how it'll always be.

Then, when he turns to MJ and Peter, cradling and soothing May down for bed, he floats back to you. You were unexpected. You were not meant to be, yet, everything fell into place, and everything was okay.

He needed to leave.

After MJ finally settled May into her crib, Miguel made an excuse about heading back to his post when Peter forced him down on the sofa with his strength, coercing him to spend the night and to relax. Miguel broke out in a discourse, and when he was met with two pointedly blazing looks, he figured he wasn't going anywhere, much to his dismay.

Peter and Miguel were slumped on the comfy cushions, senselessly watching some baseball game. MJ went to bed, and Peter decided to keep his boss company, not wanting him to sneak off or be alone with his thoughts for too long. Not many things were shared—a question and a quick answer—but that was about it. Peter tried to lure him out of that pit, but nothing seemed to work.

So he decided to try the worst of plans: small talk.

“Thanks for coming again. I hope the food was to your liking.”

“It was fine.” Miguel didn't bother to look.

“Just fine? Come on, there must be some other adjectives loitering around. It was only fine?”

“Delicious. Grand. Tasty. There. Does that satisfy everything?” He huffed and scrunched his face into a scowl.

Peter wasn't giving up. “How about the dessert? That cake was super sweet. My gosh, it tasted like they added thirty pounds of sugar! Maybe that's why Mayday went bonkers. I… should've seen that coming.”

“It was fine.” The water was already at the top of the pot.

“Come on, Miguel, there has to be more adjectiv-”

“What are you–!”

MJ flung a door open, a scathing glare directed at the two. Miguel knew that face all too well. The very iconic, ‘in the name of all that is holy, if you wake my baby,’ look.

“My… apologies. I'm sorry.” Miguel gave a remorseful nod as she slowly went back into the bedroom.

Miguel glowered at the man as Peter twiddled his thumbs, his eyes burning into the television. “What are you getting at here, Peter? I respect that you're trying to help, but you pressuring me into having dinner with your family and spending the night? Do you really think this is helping?”

A draining exhale releases from Peter. “I don't want you alone. That's all. Like I said, I've been here, Miguel. Secluding yourself from others and telling yourself shams that you're fine will destroy you.”

“I don't need the help. I am fine. This is what my canon says. I'm only letting you ‘help’ just so you can get off my back.” He muttered the last sentence.

“I swear, you are so stubborn. It's okay to admit you aren't fi-”

“Will—will you please just stop?! Just stop! This is how it's supposed to go. It will pass. She will pass! She will just be another thought. This was an error that's been fixed, so we can all move on.” Miguel's talons popped in and out, doing everything in his power to not slice the furniture.

Peter was ready to refute him about you being this ‘error,’ and how you're clearly more than just some drifting conception, when Miguel's phone pinged loudly and buzzed on the coffee table, startling Peter.

They both stared at the device before Miguel swiped it up and turned it on.

And that's when his heart nearly exploded. 

“Who texted?” Peter tried to pry, but Miguel didn't answer.

It was you.

His mind was instantly unbridled with floods of aches and emotional discomfort. His hands puppeteered to your name and clicked it. His fingers responded just as fast as he received.

Then he dropped the phone in horror. His ears rang as Peter patted and shook his shoulder, trying to bring him back, until he snatched up the phone for himself. His brown eyes nearly launched out of his sockets when he saw exactly who it was and what Miguel did.

“She's asking if you want to grab your things.” His head twisted toward his friend, who was having an internal panic attack.

Miguel was far gone. His eyes were bulging out, there was turbulent heaving in his chest, and his leg bounced crazily. Peter went between the cellphone and his boss on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. He sat it down and went to console his friend.

“Hey, it's okay; I'm here. Breathe, relax.” He hovered both his hands in front of Miguel, but created enough space to not overwhelm him further.

He tried to swallow, but a giant cork seemed lodged in his throat and head. He didn't know how to unscrew and pop it out without it rebounding all over, spewing the contents that'd been shaken in the already damaged and tenuous glass bottle. 

A mess that would manage to spray all over, and if he were to unlodge it, would the cork just fly off as streams of liquid words would pour out, flowing onto the floor? Or if the bottle would simply rupture, as hazardous shards and the stickiness would tarnish the surrounding area.

Miguel was stuck; he didn't know what to do; he didn't even know why he replied with zero hesitation. Peter never took his sight off Miguel; he carefully took his hands when he noticed that his own claws were penetrating the sweatpants and his thighs.

“Okay, here, big guy. Come on, I got you.” Peter scanned the holes and the impaled wounds. “Miguel, I'm here; you don't have to face this by yourself.”

He bit his lip when Miguel's talons pressed into the back of his hands, but he persevered through the excruciating pricks. “Ready?”

Miguel's irises were redder than anything Peter's ever seen, his pupils enlarged, and his face inflicted with tension and anguish. Peter began to inhale and exhale, letting Miguel take his time before he started to mirror. It took a few times, but he was able to get him to do it and calm him from his high.

“There we go. Okay, doing better?”

He could only nod.

“Alright, good. Good. Now tell me, did you mean to respond, or was it a spur of the moment thing?”

Miguel side-eyed him and sunk himself back into the couch.

“Right, stupid question. Well, do you want me to text her and tell her I can pick it up? I think it'll be easier for you both to not try and see each other, even though I would advise you to try and talk it out, but right now, I think it'll be-”

“Tell her I'll come by and pick up the stuff... And I'll drop her things and the key off.” Miguel didn't even bother to look at the screen.

“Are you sure? I really don't think that'll be healthy for you to try and see her no-”

He seized the cell from Peter, wrote the message out, and sent it. All Peter could do was quietly gape at how Miguel was acting out on impulse. Eyeballing his hands, he typed out a long-winded paragraph about something before deleting it all and returning a message with three straightforward words.

“I'm seeing her. I'm going to see her in the upcoming week. I'm–” Miguel's claws found his head, sharp stabbings in his skull. “Dios mío, Peter... ¿qué he hecho?”

The TV was the only noise in the living room as Peter cradled Miguel, fearing what could possibly happen next.

Chapter Text

You inspected the bag one last time, triple-checking that everything was placed on the coffee table and ready to go.

Peeking at your phone for the hundredth time, your body was littered with nerves, those annoying jitters not budging the second the number changes on the clock.

You weren't expecting him to come by later in the week, as you deemed it way too soon to see and confront him. But when you re-read those messages, you clearly were possessed, as you agreed to let him come by Thursday. And that day furtively found itself right in your doorway and into your humble abode.

Your legs shook with every fiber of their being, waiting for it to turn to 7 p.m., his items staring you in the face as you did your best to gaze at your now clean apartment.

You debated leaving it a mess, but you didn't want to go down a rabbit hole of him dwelling his altruistic ways on you. Oh, no. It was much easier to make up these facetious falsities that you manifested into this illusioned wellness that you're clearly in. You refused to let him care for you, and that will still continue until he's fully out of your life. Whenever the hell that may be.

“Where the hell is he? I want to get this over with.” 

You scrolled over your messages, the last one being sent nearly thirty minutes ago by him stating he's on the way. Despite it being five minutes away from the desired time, he should've been here. He always arrives before the planned schedule, so why wasn't he doing it now? Just because you two broke up, does that mean the way he does things is going to be different now with you? Not that it matters, but he could still be consistent with it. So why start doing things out of the ordinary now?

A knock at the door halted you from falling faster into that hellish mindscape. He was four minutes prior. So not much has exactly changed.

You staggered to the door before breathing in one good swallow of air, swinging the door open.

You both just stared. Not one movement. You didn't want to break the silence. He didn't want to break the silence.

You both didn't want to break this barrier. But it had to be done.

“You can come in.”  “May I come in?”

You purse your lips, and he rubbed the back of his head as you stepped aside. Off to a very awkward start.

He slid his boots off and tucked them on the bottom rack, having them jut out just a bit. It was still relatively fresh, so it made sense that the habits wouldn't dissolve that soon. Well, that's the conclusion you decided to ultimately reach.

You both stood in the middle of the living room, several feet apart. Miguel's eyes were glued to his stuff on the table. Pajamas, extra everyday wear, his toothbrush, bodywash, the records—everything is next to a duffle bag. His duffle bag, to be exact.

“Is this everything?”  “This is everything.”

You both fell quiet. This was getting ridiculous. You can't share the same mind; you didn't want to share the same mind.

“I'm sorry that I...”  “I'm sorry that I didn't–”

You released a frustrated cry. “Will you stop?! I–”

Miguel stared as you paced around in a circle.

“In. Out. In. Out.” You were using your breathing techniques, but with a more speedy approach. “I'm sorry for snapping. And I'm sorry that I didn't put them in the bag. I wanted you to look over everything to make sure I got all your stuff.” You rubbed your temples, eyes squeezed shut.

You were very prepared to get this over with. Miguel didn't know what to do, well, besides gaze at you. He couldn't have it end on a bitter note like this.

So he made small talk.

“Yeah, from what I've seen, it's everything.”

You raised a brow, rotating your head towards his belongings, then back to him. “You didn't conduct a thorough search.”

He shrugged. “I know all my things will be here. I only had one drawer, and my stuff in the bathroom didn't overtake your items. So I know this is everything.”

“But what if I'm hoarding some in my other drawers?”

“Are you hoarding anymore of my stuff in your dresser drawers?”

“No.”

“Then this is everything.”

“What if they're under my floorboards?” You don't know where this ‘witty’ banter even surfaced from.

“These are apartments. Won't they just fall into the place below?” He was so far succeeding in making this interaction less… troublesome.

“Maybe? I never really put in the thought of how these places work.”

“Exactly. So, again, this is everything.” He smiled and pushed his hands into his pockets.

He missed this. He will miss this.

“What if I'm lying and I secretly do know the exact location? You must know how that goes. Keeping things so hidden while luring the person farther from the actual site. Saying all these other places to deflect from the true location...”

And you both flipped right back to that stagnant air.

You didn't know where that petty jab came from. Well, you did. You believed if you blurted out that off-handed comment, that sense of pride and taking that ‘control’ back would barrel onto you, having you appear as this all-mighty soul who was thriving. Instead, all you got was you subconsciously shaming yourself and more sadness.

His body felt as if someone was heavily crushing a steel building on him. The reminder of the interminable affliction that was provoked. That he inflicted. He needed to divert.

He turned his head back and forth to the clean home and then to you. “Ho-how has work been? How has Ronnie been doing?”

“She's been doing okay, still the same as ever.” You wanted to affirm how much she wanted to basically kick his ass, but you held your tongue back. “How has work been for you? How have Peter and Mayday been? Jess?”

“Fine. Things have been about the same. More new annoying recruits, but it happens. And they've been fine. Peter is still Peter, and Jess is seemingly checked out with the pregnancy. Well, checked out amongst other things too.”

“I'm glad Peter is still bothering you; I hope he ramped it up. And I don't blame Jess one bit for being tired of everything.” Your voice was letting that sour tone slip out.

He caught on, and it was gnawing at him. “How have you been?”

You wanted to scream. “Been fine. Taking it day by day. Been breezing along pretty nicely. You?” You wanted to kick yourself in the face.

“I've been… I've been about the same. Taking it day by day, just like before.”

He couldn't say more. He couldn't mention how much he missed you. He couldn't mention how much he wanted you. He couldn't mention how that itch swelled exponentially, to the point of no return, even though he broke it off with you. He couldn't mention why it was there if the problem had been fixed.

He was going off track.

“I have your stuff, and the key is on top.” He held out the drawstring bag you left when you first came to his job.

“Thanks.” Taking the bag, you tossed it on the couch and watched as he intricately placed his objects in the duffle bag, piece by piece.

You both kept to yourselves. This was going to be it. A relationship that went on for months but felt like it lasted for years. You felt a bit overdramatic having thoughts like that, but it's difficult when strong emotions are in play. Craving to hold onto that floating feeling of soaring in the clouds until you find yourself drifting into the endless beauty of space. You hated that he took you to that sensation.

Stacking the last bits, he was packed and zipped up, ready to go. At least in a physical aspect. Mentally, he wasn't ready to leave. The wound is still bleeding out, infected to the point of no return. But he will let it stay if it is to fully stop that incomprehensible tingle. He will let it stay as a memory to remember what was caused.

Hoisting the bag on his shoulder, he clenched the strap and bit his bottom lip, his fangs faintly peeking out. “I think that's everything.”

“It is.” You rubbed your arm.

“Like I said, all of your stuff is in the bag. Besides the records and record player, I will send them to you tommo-”

“Don't. Those were, and still are, for you.”

He nodded his head. “Right… right. Thank you for letting me keep them.”

“No problem.” You swayed from leg to leg, your arms hugging your body tightly. 

He eyed your figure one last time. He was a selfish man; he truly didn't deserve you. He was relieved for you to no longer suffer underneath his doings. You wouldn't even need to tolerate him anymore.

“I should probably get going.”

You looked up at him.

“I'm needed back at the HQ; I can't waste anymore time.”

You pressed your lips into a line.

“Thank you, mi corazón, for everything.”

You didn't want this, but you needed more. You needed something. You couldn't have it end this way.

“I'm so sorry for everything. I'm so sorry for hurting and pushing you so far into this.”

Your brain was boiling over.

“Goodbye, mi Luna.”

The lid exploded. 

“Why? Why?! Why apologize for putting me through all this when the answers you gave make no sense?!”

Miguel withdrew from the outburst, perturbed by the unexpected switch. “I-I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–” 

“What?! You didn't mean to what? Hurt me? Have me believe all these lies? Having me wonder, where did I go wrong? Or what did I do to be this surprising problem when, the more I thought about it, I may not have been a problem in the first place?! Or maybe I was! I don't know! I don't know!”

Miguel clamped up as he tried to keep his composure. “I told you, the canon—my canon—got knocked off course. I didn't mean for you to be a problem.”

“You didn't mean for me to be a problem? What does that even mean?!” You couldn't control that seething rage; you decided to let it take its course.

He balled his fist up. “I didn't mean you were a problem; you were just a problem for my canon event.”

“Canon this, canon that! I still don't understand what that means! You—you know what's so funny? I've been doing some thinking, a lot of thinking, and as I submerged myself in this dilemma, I discovered some very interesting and funny things.”

Miguel folded his arms in front of his chest; his body was heated but numb at the same time. He debated if he should even speak. Maybe it could clear up the confusion and give you the proper closure.

“Mi- I can explain it better if you let me–”

“Let's start with this ‘canon’ debacle. You told me that our lives are already ‘predetermined,’ that ‘there is a reason behind everything we do,’ right? And that when you seemingly walked out the doors at your job, everything coincidentally got knocked out of whack.”

Miguel went to open his mouth, but you kept going.

“So why did I step out of my apartment complex? Huh? Why was I at the park when you were there? Was that not a predetermined faith for me?”

“I don't know why you were there; I just know that it wasn't supposed to happen.”

“What wasn't supposed to happen? Huh?”

“You- you weren't supposed to-”

“Here, let me take some guesses. I wasn't supposed to be there. I wasn't supposed to have ever met you. I wasn't supposed to interfere with your canon. Oh! How about I wasn't supposed to exist? Could that be it?!” You weren't done, as you immediately cut him off before he could open his mouth again. “Oh! I know! I wasn't supposed to love you. Was that it? Was that the thing that wasn't presumed?!”

Your body was burning; that wave of exhilaration, resentment, fury, despondency, and all in between was slamming into you with full force. The more and more this marinated in your brain, the less and less sense it all made. You had the questions; you always did; you were just too afraid to let them out. But now, now you are going to get those answers, whether you both liked them or not.

“This is all so infuriating! How I was evidently the fucking source of the world being fucking destroyed!”

His eyes were drained and glossy. Hearing back, all he said was killing him more than before. He never meant to hurt you or leave you in this mentally mangled mess. But he couldn't have it infiltrate and shove aside the truth, and he had to get you to recognize it's for your own good. 

“Mi- I didn't mean for anything to come out the way it did. I never sought to make you out to be the main reason or burden for this… cataclysmic event that can transpire! Something that I frankly wish I could fucking control, but I can't.”

“But you did, Miguel! You. Did.” You knocked your bag to the floor before kicking it halfway across the room. “You stood here—stood here—and basically pointed at me when my hand was nowhere near that cookie jar. You stood here and pinned all of this shit onto me. Barely did you even bother to take any of that responsibility on yourself!”

“I know! I shouldn't have done it. And I'm sor-”

“But when you did let it slip that you could've been at fault as well; you would turn that ship around and backtrack right onto me! You. Did. That. Consciously or subconsciously, I don't know at this point! But from that self-explanation, it had to be all consciously.”

Those iniquitous and revolting words he beseeched on you that night pummeled his body until he would end up as a bloody pulp on the freezing concrete floor. They haven't let up since the minute he walked out of your place, and now they have added bats and other weapons to the mix.

Miguel flung his duffle bag as a loud thump echoed in your ears. “I know! I-I was being a selfish man. I am a selfish man! Just please let me explain in a better wa-”

“An-and you know what makes this harder?”

Miguel's claws were running through his curls, trying not to break down in front of you. You didn't care anymore. Your brain, heart, and mouth were on a warpath, and they weren't stopping until that sliver of white was raised in the air.

“Me falling in love with you.”

Miguel felt his heart crack deeper into those webs.

“Maybe I shouldn't have fallen in love with you, but that's the hardest part. You said it wasn't right, that none of this wasn't right, then... then why did everything feel like it did? That everything aligned so perfectly?”

Miguel finally took the hint. He lets you keep going.

“The day I messaged you was one of my weakest moments. My hands were moving faster than my brain because I felt like I needed to have something, but I didn't know what it was.” Your brows furrowed, and your face scrunched up. “No. I knew what it was. No point in Iying. It was you; I wanted you. But now—now I don't even know if I want you here, but I still do! I'm just so confused! And I will never understand your spider stuff. I never did, and maybe I never will. I don't care! No, I do. I don't… No, I do. I don't know, I don't know!” You were a swirl of an inevitable decline. 

“I just want you! You say we should have never fallen in love, that I,” you thrust a finger on your chest painfully, “I shouldn't have fallen in love with you. Then what about you, then? Huh?! If you knew the earth was going to implode on itself, why did you have us continue if you knew we couldn't?!”

Miguel lowered his head in agony.

“No! You don't get to feel pity for yourself! Answer me!”

He snapped it back up, his neck catching a cramp. His eyes widening at that warranted yell. 

“I'm sor-sorry. I didn't mean to-”

“Because... because I hol- held the same affection for you.” His voice was hushed. Soft and on the verge of defeat, sparing the fact he already hit that low point.

You pinched your skin, refusing to collapse into tears in front of him. “You hurt me. I-” you ran your fingers through your hair, not knowing anything anymore. “I believed everything. Every action and every word you spoke to me. I took it all in stride because I was so happy to know that I was yours and you were mine. That nothing could ever break us apart, no matter what. And I believed it. I still believe all of it. And I hate that I do. That I'm holding onto these inveterate notions because I still want to feel that way.” 

Your eyes were on his bag. “Maybe I'm being selfish. Maybe I'm gaslighting myself. Maybe I'm merely torturing my own heart and mind because it still wants to attach to that sentient that we are one. That we are still in love. That I still... I am in love with you, Miguel.”

Miguel's heart nearly crumpled all the way. He was curled up and left for dead, rotting away till he was a pile of bones. He dropped to his knees, staring at you but also past you.

He truly didn't know anymore. He was in the same boat, but you two were on opposite ends. Manning different emotions, or maybe they were the same. He could no longer tell. This was all he could do. Damage and destroy the ones he vows to keep safe. The ones who love him, and he can never understand why.

“I never meant to cause you any harm. Believe me when I say I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to lose you. Por favor, cree esas palabras.” He flicked his eyes to stare at your face. “I wanted to distance myself to not hurt you more than I already had to. I tried to push away, but you made it so difficult to-”

“Fuck off with that, fuck off! No, no, no! You're literally doing it. You're pinning it on me again.”

“No! I don't—fuck! I didn't mean—I made it more difficult! My selfishness got in the way. I said things that I regret even throwing at you, but mi Lu- I needed to... I had to do it. For your safety. I didn't want to see you gone or hurt!”

He abruptly shot up from his kneeling position, storming back and forth in your living room. “I had to do what I had to do. To save us. To save you! I thought about only taking me and you away if it were to happen, and I really did. But I know you wouldn't have wanted that! She wouldn't have wanted it!”

“Please don't.”

“We have to comply with the canon. We have to follow what the models say. We can't disrupt it! We can't stray from it!”

“Please! Don't keep–”

“And I hate that I'm the one who has to fix it all, and I still manage to hurt others! I'm the one! It's not all your fault, but you shouldn't have caused—I shouldn't have hurt you, but I did it because we weren't meant to… I just want you to understand!”

“Just stop! Please just stop.”

“Mi Lu- coraz- I-I know it's hard to understand! I don't underst- I don't want you being involved and getting hurt even more!”

“Stopstopstopstop,” you sputtered in a frenzied repetition.

“It hurts. This hurts! All of this hurts because this is what I have to do! In order to protect others and defend you! I had to Mi Lu- cor- I had to-”

“STOP! Please! Just… stop. Oh, God, please just… stop.” A shuddering sob nearly escaped, your palms covering your eyes as your fingers harshly gripped the edges of your hair.

His face was red, his irises that crimson blood-red, as he eyeballed your quaking and hunched over frame.

“I can't, Miguel. This–this is torture! It hurts me because—because I trust you. And that's what's making this even harder.” You wiped away the attempting tears threatening to form. They stung, it burned, but not as much this moment.

Miguel's heart was now shattered completely. Whatever he was struggling to clutch onto dissipated as scornful ashes in the winds.

“I won't understand your work or the complete actions behind it, but you do. And… and knowing that I need to trust in your words because I love–” you pause and move on, not wanting to exhaust yourself even more. “I only wish you were honest with me from the start. You dragged me along for how long? How long did you know that this,” you pointed between you two. “That this wasn't supposed to last?”

“Since… I knew when—when you first told me you loved me.” 

Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Fucking liar.

“And you still,” you balled your hand and bit into your knuckles, having to force back so much. “And you still went on about it. You still went and continued it. This is why I'm conflicted; this is why I'm so confused.”

You crumpled onto the couch, your knee shaking. Miguel wanted to soothe it. “I trust you, but I hate how you went about it. I don't want the world to end either; I don't, but trying to convince me that I'm the only problem and it's all my fault takes a fucking toll on someone, Miguel. Especially when there are other players in the game.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know you're sorry, I know, but that's not going to fix all this! You are still refusing to take on any responsibilities yourself. You tell me it's for me; you're telling me it's to shield me from this inevitability, but you're still trying to shoehorn your way into pushing all of the blame onto me.” You felt your body slowly becoming fatigued, but you still had to persist. “And I'm having to comply only with your life! What about me?! You tell me I shouldn't exist and I don't belong, but why am I here then? Why was I put on this earth then?”

He opened his mouth, but you raised your hand to stop him.

“You know what? I don't even want to go there.”

Despite being this huge figure, he couldn't feel more like a small child being reprimanded for the string of trouble they knew they caused.

“I have to have this faith in you. You possess a better understanding of this canon crap, because that's a thing in itself and something you have clear knowledge of. I just need you to tell me, and be straight up honest, is it—is it wholeheartedly my fault that the world was going to die solely because of me?”

“No. Most of it wasn't your fault. Because it is still my canon, I had a hand in it too.” He stuttered over nervously and peered down at the unoccupied cushion on the sofa.

“Yes, you can sit.” You were coming to a simmer. Your body slightly rose when he sat down next to you. You were sinking into the couch, head on the headrest, as you blankly stared at the ceiling. Now his knee was vibrating the couch, but you curled both your hands on a pillow you grabbed and kept them there.

“Mi Lu- I'm so sorry. I know it'll never be enough, but I just want to reiterate it a million times. I was thrown off track when you weren't saying a word. I was going to chalk it up to you taking it well, but I immediately threw that out the window.”

“Yeah, smartest thing you did that night. You used that interstellar spider brain for that split second.” You brought your thumb and index very close to each other.

Half a smile showed on his face before he wiped it away. “Yeah. I just… I-”

“You freaked out because it wasn't going as you expected? That need to control?”

“I- well, not really control. More of an, uh, need to intervene.”

You gave him an irate glare, sizing him up and down. He regretfully rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “Okay, yes, technically control.”

“Not everything will go your way, Miguel. There's going to be days where things will not always play out as you want. Well, if the canon has anything to say, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Your eyes were back on the ceiling as he joined you. “Nothing? Cool.”

“That's not how it works; it's not something corporeal.”

“So a mystical God then, good to know.” You blew a frustrated raspberry.

Miguel kept his jaw shut, not wanting to disagree or throw more of the rules at you.

“I'm just so lost. I thought beating you down and having you crack into giving me answers would make me feel better, but it honestly left me worse off than before. Now I don't know where to go from this point.”

He observed your face and knew you still had more on your mind.

“I still want to be near you, but that's not going to help. It's only going to cause more heartache than anything else. We could try being friends, but that hurts my stomach thinking about it.” You groaned out loudly. “You big idiot! Why did you have to waltz into my life being this dumb, loveable oaf?”

There's so much Miguel wanted to say and needed to say, but would it have made it any better? Would it be best to let you go and let it truly be the end, or still hold on to that slither of something that is there but can genuinely never be? It's like the others. You were the ones who loved, the ones who ventured so far, only to trip off the side and plummet to the immeasurable end of hardship, affection, and so much more.

“Lo siento mucho.” He hovered his hand over yours. Not a sign of love, not even a sign of forgiveness. Just a sign that he will be there for you no matter what.

You hesitated. You've been seeking control, but at this stage, you don't even know what it is. You were mad, justifiably upset, and the more you leered at his clawed fingers, the stirring in the bottomless pit in your heart relentlessly swelled with that want. Despite what seemed like an eternity—most likely one minute—he never once removed his hand. Was it stubbornness? Endurance? You didn't know.

You took his hand and squeezed. You both stayed quiet, only the sounds of your breathing in sync filling your ears.

Was there truly nothing more to say? You don't know how much time has passed, but a long, streaming exhale departs from you.

“Maybe I said it too early.”

“Said what too early?”

“I love you. I'm debating if it was a 'spur in the moment’ ordeal, or was my heart absolutely secured when I spoke those three formidable words.”

Miguel stared out of the corner of his eye. Was he allowed to speak on that despite never uttering the words back to you?

“When I first told you that night, my brain had an ‘are you sure you want to continue? Are you really sure?’ But there was no argument when I decided to let it out. It felt right. There were no second thoughts, no doubts. It was right.” You chuckled some. “Love is such a weird thing. I thought I was in over my head, but I chose to accept that I wasn't. Were we rushing into something we didn't fully know, or was the timing just right?”

Miguel believed it was just right. Well, that's what he also wants to believe. To accept that he himself was going so deep into it, begging to escape these constricted ropes.

When he’s around you, those chains are unbounded, to a certain extent, but now he’s too locked up.

“Where do we go from here, Miguel? How close are we exactly allowed to be? What do we do?” Having to put your faith, this credence, in this unearthly cosmic matter was the worst, but what else could you do?

“I don’t know. That’s one thing I plainly have no precise answer to.” His fingers still didn’t leave yours.

“Could we at least check-in on one another? A text here and there? Nothing too grand. Maybe our feelings will dwindle in time.” Your voice shifted drearily, and your face was completely depleted.

He wanted to be near you. “Yeah, we can try that.” 

“Meager acquaintances. Great.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s… I don’t know. No, it’s okay. It will have to be okay.”

And that was it. 

You and Miguel remained hand in claw, hardly moving. Now there was positively nothing more to say. The red petunias and purple hyacinths won, and the fields that were going to grow with those beautiful marigolds and lavender were buried, tucked away to no longer be seen. You wanted to see them in that everlasting meadow. He wanted to see them in the everlasting meadow.

You still do. He still does.

After twenty minutes of lounging on the couch, gazing up with hands interlocked, Miguel’s watch began to blare. 

“Something urgent?”

“Name a time when it isn't with them.” He unraveled his fingers, grunting from the lost touch. He never forgot how much he missed your soft connection.

Pushing himself off, he stumbled over to his bag and picked it up, but took his time doing so. He still needed to be around you as much as possible. Scooting yourself off, you wavered over to the door and leaned against the wall, watching him. Belongings in hand, he made his way towards you and froze. You both stared at each other, trying to gleam what the other was showing in each other’s eyes. Melancholy? Longing? Forgiveness?

Love? You both couldn't tell.

“So, we're just friends going down to acquaintances to strangers once more?”

He mumbled something under his breath, but you suspected it was him agreeing.

“I will still check in on you until something fades away.” You pinched your arm. You have to constrain the tears.

“I don't… Yeah. Until something fades away.” He had to be strong.

A few seconds went by with his device going off, but it became background noise for you two. This was final. So why not do one more regrettable thing?

“I- may I… Can I have... May I-”

He waited anxiously.

“May I have a—can I have a hug?”

No hesitation; Miguel dropped his stuff on the ground and pulled you into a tight embrace. You were so gentle, so passionate, and so kind. He wanted you, and he never wanted to let go. But he needed to. He hates that he has to let go so others can keep going.

This was wrong, but you both had zero care.

“Mi Luna.”

“Mi Estrella.”

He stroked your hair and took your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head to look at him. Only him. Only those cerise eyes.

“Mi Luna.” He wanted you.

“Mi Estrella.” You wanted him.

His lips collided into yours. Your arms tangle around his neck as he picks you up and pins you against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your tongues hungrily clashing. You couldn't stop it, and he didn't want to stop it. Your dainty fingers ran through his thick curls before they were pressed against either side of your head. He pries himself away, a trail of saliva stringing between you two.

“We shouldn't, Mi-Miguel.”

“Uno más. Lamento mucho ser tan egoísta.” 

His fangs extended as they grazed across the crook of your neck. You shivered and whimpered out, rediscovering that ethereal bliss you struggled to forget. His calloused hands and his sharp nails slinked their way under your shirt, sliding along your supple skin.

“So responsive. That's one thing I missed.” His husky voice sent electric waves from your head to your toes.

“We have to stop.” You barely fought back, but why would you?

“Lo sé. Lo sé.” Miguel left feathered kisses from your neck down to the collarbone.

You tipped your head so he could have better access. He bites down right near your shoulder, letting his fangs penetrate and marginally numbing you. Your soft moans of ecstasy riled him. His tongue whirled around and sucked profusely before pulling away, enjoying the reddening blotch. He brings you back into another heated kiss, your hands clinging onto his broad shoulders.

This was going to be a regret. One that you'll hate tomorrow and forever until you forget him, but one that you'll relish in this moment.

“Mi Luna.” He bunched up your shirt, ready to rip it right off, as the kiss grew sloppier when a voice blasted from his watch.

“Miguel! We can't hold off this Doc Oct variant! He's too powerful; please hurry up!”

You yanked your head away and shoved him back some, stiffly patting his chest. “I-I think it's best if you get a handle on that. It sounds like they really need you.”

“Yeah.”

Clumsily, you unhooked your legs and let them dangle when you felt your feet touch the cold floor. 

You both dared not to look up. You both only saw the ground and realized that's the way this will have to go. His device may have been a blessing in disguise for any future endeavors that would've potentially ruined what was already broken.

Miguel heard the faint clicking and squeaking of the door.

“Well, I'll check in from time to time. That'll be okay, right?”

“Yeah, I'll do the same.” He grabbed his bag and walked out the door before turning back to get one last peek. “You deserve nothing but the best, and I'm sorry that I couldn't have been the one to give it.”

“You did, and I would've loved to have seen more, but I guess it is what it is.” You tapped on the doorframe before extending your arm out. “Have a safe trip back home. And be careful.”

“Be careful with what?”

“Life. Just in general, be careful.”

He shakily took your hand, engulfing it with his. His hold was firm, but it was always gentle.

“I'll try. And you be safe too.” He plastered that neutrality in his voice.

You released and folded your arms. “I'll try. Goodbye, Miguel.” You had much more to say but decided it's best to let it go and have it wilt away.

“Goodbye, my moon.” 

You both nearly broke, but concealed it all in.

The night seemed endless. The moon was out, but not a single star graced alongside it. Whenever he would scope out a shimmering speckle, it would merely be a plane tricking him into believing one had finally found its way out. Even the sky above mocks and prods at his shortcomings.

When you closed the door for the final time, that was the curtain call. Knowing you both will have to move onto the next chapters of your lives was certainly not a whirlwind of an ending he would've asked for. 

But that's life. That's what fate decided. That's what the canon has chosen. 

At least for Miguel, that damn sixth sense or whatever could finally be off his chest. It was just a shame he had to lose a valuable significance to get rid of it altogether. 

Because these are the sacrifices that he has to make.

In order to protect, he must confine.

In order to love, he must let go. Always.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Chapter Text

Miguel was in his element. He jumped right back into his main priority, the multiverse. This is where he needed to have his head. Focused with no other distractions. 

It's been nearly a week and a half since you two had your culminating goodbyes, and things have been slow.

You text here and there, saying basic things like ‘have a good day at work,’ or ‘I hope they don't give you a hard time today,’ but as engaging in conversations, that's how far you both would go. There was this seemingly laid-out threshold where you two neither dared to cross nor bothered to try and reach.

And he wasn't going to be one to complain.

Short and simple. That's how it was going to continue until that eventual cutoff was guaranteed to happen—until one of you blatantly dissolves into that obscurity. And Miguel was nudging on being the one to whiter away from your mind first.

He would deliberately seem disinterested in any topic you possess by giving one or two words or reading your messages, but he would take hours to respond back. Very rarely, he wouldn't even bother to respond.

He was seeking to speed up the process for you because he knew you would never leave his mind.

As long as that video replays in the corner of his monitor, you will truly never vacate his inner hellscape, which he's forced to call memories. As long as your smile stays on that screen, he will never let go.

Sure, it wasn't that long, but he grasped onto it, denying any unshackling from those moments of a pure domesticated life. That normality he was deprived of once again. That love was snatched right beneath him.

But now there was no time to dwell on it anymore. It was another cog in this machine to keep operations moving along. The other reminder is why Miguel has to keep doing what he's doing.

The spiders did take notice of how weirdly his mood had one-eighty. Well, his tenor was definitely the same brooding, agitated, and spiteful man, but to a lesser degree. It was as if his former self found its way back, and that started a new slew of the telephone game.

The canon was still intact. Things were back on track. Things were back to normal.

This is what Miguel kept trying to convince himself.

Even though he himself had his head in the game, there was still a problem suspended right over him. The anomalies still weren't seeing a decrease in activities, and there was always some sort of stirring commotion in the HQ because of the rampant villains in these universes.

And that fucking itch. This postulating clairvoyance that was supposed to vanish by now. Yet, here it still was.

Now something was wrong. Obviously, something is very, very wrong.

You aren't in the picture anymore, and he's rushing the process of having you forget him. His events are okay, so what the hell could be going on? The pricking tingles of all he has to deal with creep onto him, burying him until he finds the who, what, when, why, and how.

He made the right choice; he did. Why must he keep searching for more? What is still causing this? When will it exactly cease?

He couldn't have been wrong. No. It probably needed to completely pass by. It's still fresh. That's all there is.

That had to be it.

Three more days went by, and Miguel was chest deep into the multiverse, swiping around, his eyes scanning at a lightning pace.

Today was chillingly silent. Not the average; everyone is happily doing their own thing and merely not disturbing him with non-related work inconveniences or assigning missions. 

No. There was something more to it. It was particularly harrowing that the other universes were oddly calm, and he tried to ignore that there was weirdly nothing happening as best he could. It was only a slow day.

“Lyla.”

She began to pixelate in front of him by having bits of cubes scramble to fully form her. “What's up? Also, did you like that? I've been working on new ways to fancify my entrance.”

“It's fine. I need a check on the activities of anomalies.” He said it in the most monotonous, yet serious, way possible.

She huffed at that lackluster answer. “Really? I could get a bit more praise than that. And aren't you already sort of doing that?”

His stony attitude wasn't changing. “I need to make sure there aren't any hidden infiltrations that I'm not seeing.”

Lyla blipped away before reappearing a second later. “Nope. All good.”

“You barely checked.”

“I did check. We're all good to go; there's not a single incident happening at this moment.”

“Check again.” He turned his back to the screens, making Lyla's eyes roll all the back in her digital skull with an annoyed groan teaming in.

“I've already checked! What is there more to look at?”

“Lyla. I'm not saying it again.” He hissed out as his temper began to steam.

“Jeez, were you always this crotchety? I miss that period when you were actually pleasant on some days. Then again, your mind was preoccupied with her–” Lyla clamped her jaw shut as she was met with those flaring and infuriated scarlet eyes. She knew not to break that barrier. She would mess with him on a lot of things, but even she was aware of the limitations. 

She decided to do what she was commanded to do and conduct a precise inspection. “So far, I'm seeing nothing. We are all clean for today, or just in the moment.”

Rudely dismissing her, he combed his hand through his hair. There is clearly something he is missing, and it's irking him to the extreme now. A sense of paranoia was sinking right into his skin.

No one stepped into his office for most of the day except E-616 Peter, who badgered him about some banal issues. And mostly to check in on him, with the added obscene ramblings.

“You should come back for dinner sometimes. It was nice having some other company. I haven't done that since Harry... Anyways! You have to have MJ's stuffed ravioli; those things are so delicious!”

Miguel didn't catch the rest as he tuned him out, grunting whenever he went on much longer than he would've liked. But, when he asked about how things were going with you, Miguel's brain promptly blanked before his eyes darted to the screen, toying with the thought of pulling the video up.

He glanced down at his phone, reaching to grab it, when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He swung at whatever was attempting to harm him.

“Hey, hey! It's just me, buddy. I was calling your name, but you wouldn't answer. I'm assuming things are a bit…” Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, locating the right word, “Arduous?”

“We're reverting back to strangers. It's a bit difficult, but she seems to understand.” Miguel typed on the screens, keeping an eye out for any sort of suspicious occurrence. 

"Well, that's good. I think? At least it was mutual. Right?” 

“Yeah.”

Peter held his tongue and patted his friend's back. He understood that there was nothing more to be said, and he let Miguel be.

Solitude was back in Miguel's bubble, and he didn't know what to do anymore. 

Things were too stifled and peaceful for his liking. That strong urge was chewing at him, not having a plan of evacuating.

He kept searching and searching when he received an incoming call from one of his favorite Peters, E-13122. It seemed as if things were getting back on track. He could get anyone on it, but picking out the right one was the tricky part. 

It's most likely another villain of the week.

“Don't just stand there, Jess. Who would be a good candidate for this?”

Jess crossed her arms before leering down at her watch. “Did you exactly see which dimension the anomaly was originally from?”

Miguel whipped his head back to the orange-glow monitor when his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Oh no. 

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Oh no.

No. No. No. No.

There was no way. It couldn't have been; there had to be some kind of mistake. But no matter what he did, no matter what files confirmed it, no matter what other information he received, that number did not change. Those four measly yet twisted numbers alarmed Miguel to no end.

“Should I be the one to tell her?” Jess placed her hands on her hips, slightly wary about what's to come.

His sight did not leave that monitor.

E-1610. 

There it was, in the clear flesh. The odds should have been high. There should have been no chance, but there it was, wickedly jeering at him in all its misfortune.

“You promised her, Miguel. This will be a good time to see that she is capable of doing these things by herself. This would be good for her.”

The fact that he even made that promise was the worst thing he's ever done. He didn't even know why he did it in the first place.

As if you heard through the other side, your laughter flowed in his ears, and that's when he remembered the ‘compromise’ conversation you two had at the park. He didn't take heed of the small chunk of influence you had on him. Well, small is the loose terminology. You had a… moderate influence on him.

Yeah, that was it.

Jess's eyes drooped. From the weariness of her pregnancy, her boss, and stress, all of them combined to create a concatenation of a migraine. 

“Let her try, Miguel. And if it makes you feel any better, I will survey her from afar. I'll make sure she doesn't get too close.”

“Bring her in.” He didn't turn around; his eyes were still fixated on the earth number.

It was simple. A simple task anyone can do. 

Gwen was ecstatic that she could finally go visit him, but she had to keep her cool. Miguel gave her the rundown. Go in, observe what the anomaly was devising, and secure it before any havoc comes to fruition.

“And if I take care of it in record time, I'm allowed to go visit, right?”

“The spider cam is attached to your watch, so there is no need to worry about that.” Miguel sent her extra details so she could cross-reference them.

“That wasn't what you told me when we came to an agreement. You said, if there was an anomaly in his universe, I could–”

“You could go to the earth only if an anomaly was in his world. Yes. I did say that. But I never told you you were allowed to visit him.”

Gwen threw her arms up and huffed out a heated breath. “That isn't fair! You can't keep me from my friend. Why am I not allowed to see him? Why are you so afraid of me visiting Mil-”

“You know why. You are dismissed. No further questions or comments. Now leave before I change my mind.”

Miguel pretended not to see the daggers she was giving or the middle finger when she stomped out of his office. She knows the rules and the repercussions that will follow if she were to try anything, but Jess made it clear that she will handle it all.

He was skeptical about it but decided to put his trust in her hands.

As minutes passed by and there was contact between neither Jess nor Gwen, Miguel checked on the spider camera to view the location where she was scoping out. It was a regular brick apartment building; maybe it held some significance.

The more and more he stared at the apartment, the more and more he thought of you. He checked the last message you sent nearly two hours ago.

‘I hope the day goes well for you and they don't give you too much crap. I really do. Remember, you are still allowed to be you.’

Even after all of that and the agreement, you still found it in your heart to be respectful towards him. He started to respond before getting lost in the message. His thumb kept going and going when he startled himself, gawking at the paragraph he nearly sent.

He reread it, inwardly flinching at how grateful he was to hear those words and how he's grateful to hear from you in general. How you're one of two who wants to be in his corner, and how he's sorry for letting things get the way they did.

Aggressively shaking his head, he backspaced every word and kept up with the distance charade.

‘Thank you.’ 

He was writhing in misery when he pressed the send button. Setting the phone down, he placed his hands on his head and stayed this way for a minute.

Eventually, he was rewatching both his osita and his luna. His little bear and moon.

A smile crept up on his face—those fond remembrances. He misses her. He misses you.

No one will ever go through this. No one will ever have to worry about the incidents. No one will ever have to worry about a world thinning away.

That's what he was trying to prevent. That's what his entire purpose is, and no one would take that away.

Until she did.

No words could rightly convey the wrath that was brewing in and out of Miguel.

He went berserk.

She slipped up. She messed up. He fucked up.

He blamed her. He blamed them both. He blamed himself for letting such a deplorable measure slip through the cracks—through his claws.

Jess's rookie decided to go rogue and strayed so far off the beaten path that it's highly invisible to the naked eye.

All Jess had to do was supervise her little lackey for a short amount of time. That was it. But no, she had to instill that twinge of trust in her. She granted that crumble of bread, and unsurprisingly, Gwen scarfed it down in one go. She was given that inch, but she didn't merely go for the mile. 

Oh, no, no.

She snatched that inch and decided to go for the Miles.

A canon event was disrupted because of her. The event was disrupted because of him. The original anomaly.

He didn't know what to do; he precisely knew he had to fix it. As always. He had to get a handle on himself. He came up with a proposal on how to combat this irrevocable disaster that he had to impose on the world.

All because he wanted to be the hero. All because he got in the way. This domino effect needed to end and be stopped before more innocent civilians became hurt or worse due to his recklessness.

He stared at the multitude of screens displaying ‘Canon Event Disrupted’ and the footage of him stopping it. The footage shows Gwen trying to steer him away but failing. How could he do this? How would he do this? A fear of his is coming back, all because she couldn't let go; she couldn't simply move on.

That's when her smile showed once again. Your smile. He blinked. What would you have said to this? What would you have done? How would you tell him to go about something as devastating as this?

He thought back to the first night he took you to his apartment, that night when you told him it's okay to show vulnerability and ask for help. How we all rely on each other from the smallest to the biggest of things.

And right now, this is no tiny matter.

He began to contact spiders—anyone who would be willing to step in. Spectacular, Peni, Riley (sadly), and the main one. Peter B..

You didn't have that much jurisdiction over him. You didn't. But to make sure, he placed your recording away in a file and scanned the others, awaiting their arrival.

He was doing this for you. For them. Everyone.

He decided to upscale the video of him and his osita. He had everything rehearsed and took some deep meditation breathing beforehand. With a curve of a smile, he continued on viewing until his face dropped when he heard them—him— getting closer. 

He ran everything back through his mind. Miguel was doing everything in his power to not lash out and start fulminating right then and there. He had to keep himself semi-calm. Enough for him to listen and fully understand the damages he has caused once again.

He had to keep a cool head. This time he won't mess up; this time all will line up exactly. He won't stumble over this like he did with you. And maybe he'll be like you. Sure, it didn't go initially as intended in the first round, but you seemed to apprehend the concept of what it meant in the second.

“Miguel O'Hara, meet Miles Morales.”

He didn't need an introduction to that. He was very well versed in his existence.

Yet, with that simple introduction, that's when everything would begin to take a plummeting nose dive. It didn't help that Peter brought May, despite Miguel specifically asking him not to. Typical, Peter. 

He tried to repeat a mantra in his head, but the way things kept going, it wasn't going to be that easy.

Miguel strived to get Miles to understand. To warn him and prevent any more detrimental possibilities from happening.

Maybe he should have shown the explanation to you. It would've made things easier. But that's the past now.

It was supposed to be falling smoothly into place. He really wanted him to comprehend.

“Miles. We all want to live the life we wish we had.” Miguel's mind snapped to Gabi. “Believe me, I have tried.” Then it went to you.

“And the harder I tried, the more damage I did. You can't have it all, kid.” He wanted to disassociate. The hardship and grief he piled on the ones he loved. He desperately wants to hold his little bear and moon.

But he has to persevere. This is what they signed when they took on that job and that responsibility. Those sacrifices.

Miles wasn't taking it well, but Miguel had to confine him. 

He will learn, even if it's the hard way. He's going to have to.

Or so he thought, until Miles decided to break free from the light cell and dash, sending most of the spiders on a wild goose chase throughout his HQ. It was bothersome how no one could catch this one kid.

Miguel has to do everything.

He nearly had him, but he leapt straight out of a window. Now for Miguel, it should be much easier to capture him. He's not in his little kingdom of cluttered buildings. No, he's in his territory. 

His empire.

They go and go until they end right in the underbelly, a drastic flop compared to the pristine estate above. Miguel really hates going down to this slimy area for a few reasons, but right now, his priorities are centered on him.

No one still can catch him, and Jess and Peter were bickering over pointless shit on who is a terrible mentor or whatever, and they weren't getting any step closer to catching Miles.

Miguel has to do everything.

It was irritatingly frustrating to Miguel that he wouldn't stop moving. Miguel is pissed off, but now it's reaching a point that even he didn't know he could reach. But he doesn't give a single goddamn care.

He snatched the day-pass off. That should certainly slow him down. Right? Miguel was grasping at any straws at this point. He began to climb up the shuttle, his heated anger festering more and more.

“Dude, are you sure you're even Spider-Man?”

How dare this anomaly question his ability of being Spider-Man? He already questioned his authority and reasoning for trying to keep his universe safe, but essentially insulting who he is vexed Miguel.

He wasn't going to lose. He couldn't. Miguel chased and chased.

“You're an anomaly!” 

You're an anomaly. Every blissful moment he spent with you, he purposely turned that blind eye. 

But he's not you. 

Miguel was done. The original anomaly tested his patience for the last fucking time.

“You're not supposed to be Spider-Man!

“You're lying; I am Spider-Man!”

Then why question if Miguel was? He is. He is Spider-Man.

Miguel is done.

Miles needed to hear this. He needs to listen, and if he refutes, then fine, so be it; Miguel will get it through his thick skull.

“You're a mistake!” Like all the others he has caused.

Miguel went on and on. His Peter died saving this anomaly. They would've lived. It would still have been there. None of it would've been destroyed.

They only died because he wanted to save her. 

You would've died if he hadn't done what he did.

He couldn't do it again with you. None of that should've happened.

“And all this time, I have been the only one holding it all together!”

That's all he's able to do. Everything, everything, always falls back to him. He has to carry this weight. 

His mind flashes through the memories of Gabi. Baking cookies and cupcakes, watching her football matches, taking care of her hair while she ate breakfast while watching cartoons. She was so happy, brighter than the sun.

His mind flashes through memories of you. The chats that went on until the late nights, snuggling close and listening to records, enjoying the lyrics and vocals doing the talking for you two. The jazz lounge date and the trips to the botanical garden. You always managed to glow even more when you were near those flowers. 

He has to be the one to save them all. The others don't know he has too much for them.

But why can't he sacrifice for the ones that really matter? Those billions matter, sure. But they aren't them. 

They're not her. They're not you.

“You don't belong. You never did.”

You didn't belong. You didn't.

He didn't belong in her life. He didn't belong when she died in his arms. He didn't belong in your life.

Who cares if this isn't what they had planned? Who cares? He doesn't care; he doesn't want to care.

Miguel's brain was in a frenzied state.

He claims he isn't a kid, but he's wrong.

They never know. They think they know, but they don't. He knows. He has seen it; he has lived it. He wanted to live again; he wanted the normality and the love you and Gabi granted him. He needed it so badly, but he knew. He knew he could never do it again.

Why couldn't he? Why couldn't he?

Why does this anomaly get to live scot-free? Living it without a shred of fear or care in the world? He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

Miguel doesn't know. He. Doesn't. Know.

But Miles somehow does. No one was guarding the HQ. He was going to be outsmarted by a child; he was going to be humiliated.

Red was all he saw; he couldn't escape. They couldn't send him back. But they did. And now he is gone.

He tried your advice; he tried to talk; he tried to have patience. But now Miles has forced his hand.

It was his fault. It was all his.

Gwen tried to doubt him. Doubting if they were the good guys. 

They were. He is. You said it yourself that he was a good guy. He is a good guy, and he's doing what is right.

They stepped into his world.

He had Ben and Jess search as Miguel eyed all the places that Miles would usually frequent, constantly checking in if they spotted anything. He wasn't going to be bested.

“Jess, any signs of Miles? Or any sort of activity in that area?”

She debated telling him what she heard and saw on Miles's rooftop, but held her tongue and pretended to feign ignorance. “Only his parents. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

"Well, keep searching. Call for more backup! Do not stop!” Miguel punched a hole through a steel beam and called up Ben for the sixth time. He didn't understand why he suddenly put his watch on silent during a fatal time such as this. 

“Ben! I will have your head served on a silver platter if you don't respond!” He left the searing voice memo, webbing himself around what seemed to be some type of school.

Searching for a specific room, he crawled up a wall, peeking into a dormitory. There was a bunk bed, a shared room, and some kid with headphones in, typing away on a laptop while eating a bag of chips.

Centering his watch, it began to scan the room, a yellow grid flashing the area before a flaming red ‘negative’ popped up on the screen.

The teen paused, swiveling over to the window and slightly cracking it open.

“And he wonders why I refuse to be his guy in the chair.” The boy mumbles and slams it shut, going back to whatever he was doing.

Miguel checked for the next area. His claws were spiking into the side of the building, and his back was pressed against it. He thought about going in there to interrogate his friend. A nice and friendly chat on the whereabouts of his roommate and the concerns about finding him to fix everything before everyone dies due to Miles's impetuous judgment.

His contemplation was beginning to become a reality as he reached for the sill, right for the opening, when he received an incoming call from Jess.

“You better tell me you found him, or hang up and stop wasting time.” He snarled at his second in command, praying for good news and only good news.

The rain was starting to slow down, but it still held that battering from each drop onto Miguel's suit.

“I was going to ask if you got in contact with Ben. I can't seem to get a hold of him. Did he go awol?” He could hear her on her motorcycle, heading somewhere.

“I can't get him either, and it's pissing me off.” He scaled up the school's dormitory structure until he was perched on top of the roof. “Where are you? You better not be taking a joyride.”

Jess bit her tongue to hold back any sarcastic comments, not wanting to deal with him even more than now. “I'm coming near you. I feel like we need to regroup and think of a proper plan instead of running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

She hoped that her idea could get through his adamant search party for one kid in an entire city.

“No! We need to stay split up! He could be anywhere, Jess, and if we were to stick together, the more chances he'll have to escape. Did you and Lyla get others to look in different dimensions?”

That's what she was afraid of. She was prepared for that answer, but it still weighed down that he was so keen on sticking to this one-minded game plan. 

“Yes, and each one has been non-affirmative. Miguel, I really think we need to come back and rethink this whole thi-”

“I'm not stopping, Jess; not until he is found, we do not stop. Get more spiders to seek him out. We need to stop him before he reigns down a massacre on this world.”

“Miguel, sending out more people isn't going to help. Ben is gone, and we are utterly lost.” She was going to regret her next words, but they needed to be done. “I'll meet you near the Williamsburg Bank Building. We can discuss more and get a better grounding of-”

“I'm not going. I'm checking out this underground location that he frequents. I'm not stopping to play your silly games, Jess.”

Jess screeched her motorbike and placed her hands to her mouth in a prayer. “Lord, give me strength,” she mumbled toward the sky. Her agitation was skyrocketing when she decided to stick with her plan of reassembling. “Perfect. I'll meet you there, and we can talk. See you in five.”

Before he could refute, she clicked off so she wouldn't have to deal with the backlash. She could handle his temper tantrums in person rather than going back and forth over the watch.

Miguel roared out, bashing into an air vent. That was the problem; no one ever listens to him. He has his ways and particular steps, but they always have to diverge and veer off onto another track.

He wished they were like you. You heard him out. You always did.

He shook his head at going down that path.

He followed the directions that eventually led him down an abandoned subway tunnel. Jumping over a wired fence, he continued down a long corridor until he finally reached the end, greeted by a few lights buzzing overhead.

“The kid is talented.” Jess leaned back on the bench, examining each detail of the drawn figures.

“Did you see any signs of him? Anything?” Miguel had no care for these useless paint splatters on the wall. He's only here for one thing, and if it weren't here, then he's ready to move on to the next.

Jess shook her head, never once removing her gaze from the enthralling and stunning mural. She was highly impressed. “You know, I used to do art when I was younger. It only lasted for about a year back in my early teens. I was consistent with it until I fell off because I gave myself such a bad artist cramp. Who knew you needed breaks in between?” She chuckled to herself before finally tearing her eyes away to stare at her piqued boss.

“Your museum trip is done. We're through down here.” Miguel leered at the wall before huffing out at it all.

Jess squinted at him, then turned back straight-faced to the art. “Peni, Noir, Porker, and his uncle. Peter B..” Her eyes jetted toward her rookie. “Gwen.”

He ignored her and began to leave, not bothering to deal with this.

“It makes you forget that he's only a teen with hobbies and interests. Family and friends.” Jess caught him freezing in her peripheral view, her mind racing at the mutuals that the supposed anomaly spray-painted to dedicate the ones he cares for. 

“What are you trying to allude to?”

“I'm alluding to nothing, if that's what you're speculating.”

He whipped his body around and marched up to Jess, his outstanding height covering her. She gave a sidelong glance before clicking her tongue.

He wasn't going to have anyone try to convince him that what he's doing is unjust. Or try to get him to sympathize with someone who is attempting to destroy an entire universe.

“I don't know what you're thinking, but you better let it go and think about the real reason we're here.” He pointed his finger at Jess, who gave an incredulous look in return. “I said we were through here. Let's get back to the task at hand and–”

They glanced up as the ceiling began to rumble. Dust clouds rained down before dispersing when it reached them. They scrunched their eyebrows at the suddenness. Miguel began to talk when the shaking seemed to increase.

“Is this New York on a fault line?” Jess slowly stood, standing her guard. 

“Not that I'm aware of.” Miguel spun back and forth and held a distorted frown when it stopped again.

“We should probably head back up. I'll alert Be-” Jess nearly lost her balance when Miguel caught her. The ground underneath them began to rock vigorously as pebbles and chunks of concrete broke and smashed as they dodged the debris left and right. 

Wasting no more time, they darted back to the entrance, where an influx of citizens flocked their way down into the already overcrowded area, blocking their exit.

“¿Qué diablos?” He noticed the terror on the people's faces as they shouted and squirmed over one another, creating a chaotic stampede going who knows where.

“A villain?” Jess yelled over the panicked individuals, trying not to get pushed down.

“Likely!” He took hold of her arm and went against the current as more scrambled in.

“These people are going to cause a crowd crush or fall onto the track! We need to–” 

Before Jess could finish, Miguel flung himself up one of the support beams, climbing up, before dangling on the ceiling.

“Hey!” He called out as loud as he could, but no one seemed to stop. “Hey! Stop before someone gets hurt!” He roared out, but there was still nothing. Now his patience was worn thin. 

He fragmented a light as a small section went dark and bits of glass shards rained down. Jess placed her hands over her face in utter disbelief as heads snapped up towards the loud sound. 

“¡Todos ustedes necesitan calmarse y escuchar! Give each other space before someone gets severely injured!” He commanded for all to hear. There were some whispers asking if that's Spider-Man, wondering when he got a new suit, and when did he suddenly become big and buff.

They all complied and began to try to give each other some sort of space. It was difficult at first, but they managed to give a couple inches. Jess guided people before crawling up the wall herself, garnering more whispers about their being a Spider-Woman, let alone a pregnant one. 

“Now, we need you all to stay relaxed and tell us what is going on.” Jess eyed the corner to make sure no others would run in.

“There's this villain out there!”

“But it's not like anyone we've ever seen!”

“It's like some dark figure of matter!”

“I thought it was the Green Goblin. Boy, how wrong was I?”

“Definitely wasn't a Banksy.”

The voices all began to talk over each other as Miguel and Jess looked at each other before another powerful tremor hit. Several people stumbled into the track when a loud horn was heard.

“Oh, you have to be kidding!” Jess growled before they both leapt into action.

Miguel shot out his webs, wrapping them around the steel beams to prevent others from falling in. Looping the lasers around until it formed a thick barrier, Jess flipped to the other side, grappling and shooting her netting around three people, yanking them up and across the webbing as the crowd helped catch them.

The horn blared, inching its way, as Jess quickly roped three more, flinging them towards the platform. “Miguel! I need help!”

Jess managed to hurl four more, but the last one was stuck; their pants leg caught onto something.

“Help! Hurry! Please help!” The person cried out, trying to free themselves, but their hands were sweaty. Jess leapt down with them, quickly trying to help, as the light from the train drew near.

“I'm going to rip it!”

“I don't care! Hurry!”

The gleam closed in, and the noise blared in their eardrums as the crowd shrieked when a red and blue blur flew in front. The train passed by as people looked down for any traces of blood, horrified when someone pointed up. Miguel was hanging above, as Jess and the other person were gripping on tight.

There were a few seconds of silence before the mass burst out in cheers. The two crawled their way back, with Miguel holding the figure in tow, and dropped them with the others.

“Thank you, uh, Spider-Man. Uh, Spider-beings.” The individual waved before the subway station wobbled, throwing people against the mesh.

“We need to get going. Now.”

Jess nodded, listening to the uproarious rally and giving them words of encouragement to stop that villain. She sensed they may need more than simple motivation. 

Finally making their way out, they were immediately frozen.

Devastation wreaked havoc as cars, trucks, and more were torn in half or flung all over, with more citizens running amok in horror as buildings were covered in voids of black holes or bits crumbling down. Fires blazed around, with several fire hydrants spewing out geysers of water.

The earth beneath cracked, and the city was in absolute peril. It was the end of the world.

Jess's motorcycle screeched in front of her as she climbed on. “What the hell? What villain managed to cause all this?”

Miguel climbed to the side and examined the surrounding destruction. “We're about to find out.”

Jess weaved and swerved her way through the traffic of cars and floods of distressed people when they caught up to a floating jet-black form, seemingly sucking up the objects around before launching out a couple of cars or concrete slabs.

“Is… Is that–?” Jess's eyes stretched all the way to make sure she was seeing it properly.

“Jess! Watch out!”

“What?”

A chunk of residential infrastructure came barreling down towards them, and citizens were caught in the crossfire. Miguel leapt off her bike, his fist back, before punching it into millions of tiny pebbles. Slamming down on his feet, he was met with a hostile, enraged Jess.

“Miguel! Didn't you tell us you had a handle on the Spot?!” Jess circled her motorcycle on the sidewalk, vigilantly eyeballing the monstrosity reeking sheer pandemonium across Miles's universe.

“I did!”

“This doesn't look like it's been handled!”

The two began to wrangle civilians from being hurt by more falling debris. The screaming and hysteria from them rang deathly in his ears as he found an unoccupied area to place them.

“Miguel, I swear to God, if you had us chase after this boy without sending someone to go after that!”

“I told you I—”

“I told you that this,” she viciously pointed a finger at the voided beast. “That this was a looming threat! Lyla told you this was a threat, but you lied and insisted we go after a fucking kid?!”

She revved her bike when pieces of metal and bricks began to rain down onto the exposed, zipping back and forth, using her webs to create a net, along with Miguel roping his around lampposts to hold the scraps.

“Where the hell is Ben?!”

“Ben is the least of our worries. Hundreds, if not thousands, will die, Miguel! We need backup. Call off the search for Miles and get others on this!”

“No! If he comes here, then it won't just be thousands dying, Jess! It'll be billions!”

Jess raised her arms at her frivolous boss. She honestly couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. But after all that transpired, she sadly could.

Dropping the pile of weight with a soft thud, Jess started up her vehicle. “Miguel, I'm not about to sit here and watch innocents die because of a canon that hasn't even taken place yet. So you're either helping me or you can stay out of my way.”

Spiteful and grim eyes stared right into Miguel's veiled face. A showdown on whose plan of action, or lack thereof, was the correct choice.

“... Fine. But the minute I see him trying to break it, you are on your own.”

Jess's discreet glare never left him as he mounted on the side once more and sped off towards the Spot.

He was on a rampage. He appeared as if he were increasing in size with each inanimate object being lurched into him. Many PDNY automobiles bordered the monster as they feverishly conversed with one another on how to exactly go back about this. Helicopters flew above, also searching for an angle of attack or news reporters striving to keep viewers updated.

“This is crazy. He's going to wreck most of Brooklyn at this rate. Does anyone know what he wants?” A tall man with broad shoulders shouted out to his colleagues, but none could give an answer.

“Right, of course. Have any other civilians been evacuated from this section?”

“Yes sir. The area has been thoroughly checked and cleared.” One moved closer to the man before inclining inward. “And still no sign of your son, Jeff.”

His face dropped, anxious with every passing minute, but he knew he had a city to protect. “Okay. Right. I can't believe I'm about to say this. Let's try to negotiate with this abomination and go from there. Lower its guard and detain it as soon as possible!”

“I don't think having a lovely conversation with that thing is going to help.”

Jeff took a few steps back, raising a taser at the new and low voice. It was a lofty man in a costume and a pregnant woman on a motorcycle. He took note of how they managed to get to the frontlines and which officers would have a long, stern talk about this.

“All citizens need to vacate this area immediately. Especially you, ma'am.” Jeff nodded his head towards Jess, praying that this ginormous man in front was trying to cope with the dangerous crisis by pretending to be Spider-Man.

“Thanks, but we'll take it from here.” Jess bent forward on her bike, revving it, ready to leap over the safety barricades. “You all get to safety!” Jess didn't bother to look back before speeding off and hopping over the barriers, veering left and right.

“Hey! Hey! Stop her! Look, right now you and your partner, or whoever she is, need to stop and leave. This is a highly threatening situation, and–”

“As the woman said, we'll take it from here, captain. Just stay on alert if we need you close by.” Miguel held his arm up, and out came a laser web as he grappled on a structure and swung himself to keep up with Jess.

“There's another. Of course, there had to be a second Spider-Man. Of course!” Jeff dragged his hand down his face and groaned. “Sanchez! Get more on this and have them follow those two.”

Jess nearly evades a box truck being casted in her direction and steers her motorcycle adjacent to Miguel, who was trying to handle the clusters of the decrepit premises. “Miguel, do you have a plan on how to stop this?”

“I was hoping you had something.” He jumped to the ground and decided to run alongside her.

“I did have something. It was named ‘call for any type of backup.’” Jess scanned for an opening to lasso down the Spot without putting the helicopters in harm's way. Miguel gave a disapproving grunt at that unnecessary comment.

Coming to a halt. Jess scoped out the perimeter and gazed up. “I got something. But I'm going to need a distraction.”

One of Miguel's eyes lifted from his mask, waiting to hear this scheme. “You're going to wrestle him to the ground, or close to it, so I can knock him out and we can strap him down.”

He squinted at that, but she returned it with a wry frown. “I'm not hearing anything from you, and you already shot down my other idea, so we have to work with what we have.”

He teared his leer from Jess onto the nightmare creature and sighed out. Leaping at the adjoining buildings, struggling to keep them from collapsing, he clawed his way up, stealthily staying out of hindsight. Jess hunted for the best weapon to use, informing Miguel over the watch when it'd be the best time to strike.

“I need you to stall for as long as you can.”

He didn't respond back as he climbed higher and higher, avoiding pieces of the city being launched all over. He kept a close eye on the helicopters, hoping there wouldn't be another Vulture scenario.

“C̵̮̭͕͗͊̊ͅǫ̵̹͕̹́̏m̶̧̛͍̺͑͑̚ȩ̴̳̤̽ ̵̛͙̺͛̿͝o̸͚̲̻͒̔̚ũ̷̹̥͈̆̏̚ͅẗ̷͇͕̄,̷̙̝̪̓ ̵̢͙͗̐̓Ṡ̴̹̝p̸̳̺͙̋̈i̵̞͂̋͝d̵̥̂è̵̠͋̽͠ͅr̴̘̲͖̫̐͒-̸̳̦͕̏M̷̘̑̋̏͒ā̷̲͋͒n̸̤̭̦̦̋͒̔.̷̨͗̈́”

The Spot eyed the copters, purposely leaving them to put on a show. He sucked in more chunks of bricks, trees, and whatever he could get inside. He enlarged a bit more, loving every second of the newfound storage of energy.

“Spider-Man, if you were to show yourself right now, I promise to stop all this chaos.” He casually chuckled out.

Miguel inched until he had the Spot in his line of sight. Anticipating the signal, he crouched and focused on the anomaly.

“Jess. I'm ready.”

No response. 

“Jess? We can't delay.”

Still nothing. Today was the day to test his patience. “Jess!” He hissed at the watch.

“Now!”

Wasting no time, he lunged off the building like a ballistic missile, ramming all of his weight on him. The Spot was slightly alarmed but grappled back with Miguel.

“Ah, yes. Not the spider I want, but you are very close enough.”

Punches were thrown back and forth as Miguel was using all his might to bring him closer to Jess, who was holding a metal pipe. The Spot was toying around, letting him get a few good blows in. 

“Come on, Miguel.” Jess jumped on her bike and drove directly under the two, catching Miguel trying his best to hoist the beast down, but gravity wasn't on his side.

“You spiders are a very persistent bunch.” Spot clung onto Miguel's shoulders and swung him into a fire escape before carelessly drifting over to him.

“Esa es una manera de acercarlo.” He snarled, and he propelled himself back to the Spot. He warily examined the placement of Jess. She was four stories down. He only needed to get him to the second level in order for her to strike.

Wrangling him some, Miguel managed to wrap his arm around the Spot's throat and squeeze, surprising him. He twisted his upper body and chucked him like he just scored a touchdown.

He sent Spot crashing through the three flights of the fire escape as Jess bounced and shot her webs around his torso and legs and took them into both her hands, slamming him down.

Using a metal rod, she stuck it deep into the concrete ground and tied the mesh to keep him from crawling around. Miguel added a few of his neon webs and landed on the Spot's back.

“Ouch! Okay, rude.”

Skidding next to them, Jess wasn't taking any risk and stuck a few more to his wrists and collarbone.

“Now I don't think this is excessive at all.” He wryly drawled out as Jess and Miguel ignored him.

“Let's get this back to headquarters, and we can continue on with the search.” Jess swiped at her watch, ready to open a portal.

“Well act like I don't exist then.” The voided man prattled on.

“I knew this was going to be a simple task. Nothing more than a plain villain.” Miguel said nonchalantly.

And that backhanded sentence made The Spot twitch.

Miguel kept pinned him down, his talons sinking into something, but certainly not skin. Removing his mask, he drew out his fangs and prepared to immobilize this anomaly, ready to get back on track.

And that's when the Spot snapped his neck one-eighty, and the scribble of a white hole drilled into Miguel's soul. He was done playing with these toys. He flicked a finger that he had freed from the bondage when lampposts, trees, police cars, and more started flying at the three of them. Jess braced for the impact, but it perfectly flew over her and right into a black hollow that was growing from Spot's forefinger.

He was expanding. Miguel snuck his fangs in before he increased his size further, but it felt like he was biting nothing. Merely air grazed between his teeth.

“Ý̴̨̛̖̟͍̺̥͇̩̺͎̀̋́̀͑͋ͅö̵̢̹̫͉̙̲́̅̉̽́̇̓͑̑̆͊̿͆͠ư̴̡̧̲̼͖̲̪͉̪̼͔̦̺̮̙̐̏̈́͊́̒̈̌͗́͛̅͌̕ͅ ̶̹̰͈̩͖̞̦̮̪̈́̒̽̀̾͌̎̋̿̈́͘̚s̷̟͇̻̩͓͈̠̘̤͍̻̒̑̓̍̀̈́͆̌̉̏̕ͅp̶̛͉̝̣̱̌̏̾̔̓̃̽̿̎̊͂͌͠͠͝i̸̧̦̙̋̎̑̀̊̓̏́͘͜d̷̛̟̹͉̫͍̳̮̙̽̒̅͆̚͠e̶̻̗̥͖̻̻̣̓̓̀͋̆ͅr̷̨͉̻̜̀̅̒̏̂́̈́̋͒͜ś̸̢̧̠̼̪͈̰̱͇̰̱̦̐͗͒̈́ ̷͇̙͔̯̳̱̾̑͑̇̀̋̿͂͆̆̓̒̔̈̾͘͠a̴̦̲͚̅̐͌̇̄ŗ̵̡̛͉͊̉̈́̊̏̾̉́͘ȅ̷̢̢̛̛̪̺͎̩̹͔̥̘̭͆̀͘͘͠ ̵̞̈́̎̎̏̅̉̔̿̇̏͝͝ş̴̛̥̪̜͍̗́̈͊͂̋̓ư̴̛̤̤͚͙̱̪̝̳͍͎͎̥͜c̶̳̲̯̓̒̍̒̌͋̋̚͝ͅh̷̛̛̩͖̻͔͕͕̰̪̻̘̭̲̥̲̬̿̀̿́͑̃͊́͂̒̚͘̕͝͝ ̵͚̰̬̘̼̦̤͉͈̩̳̈p̵͙̖̺̑̎̀̃͝e̴̙͎̖͚͎̖̖̬͚̤̗̲͛̀̉̂̄͠͝s̷̪̱̯͐͌̅͆̓̿̈́͑́̕͠͝t̴̢̢̢̩̺̹̱̤̯̮̹͍̏̃̿͊͠s̶͔̖͇͓͔͈̜̈́̑͗̎̃̄̈̅́͝ͅ.̸̝͙̻̤͔̞͙͙̖́̒”

Summoning a hole under Miguel, he went right through and landed right on top of Jess. The Spot cracked his neck back fast enough to see the giant airborne with his claws out. Making another portal and sending him gliding through before once again crashing into Jess from the side.

Not uttering another sentence, the Spot lifted himself in the air before vanishing to another section of Brooklyn. Miguel and Jess groaned out in pain, propping themselves up. A permanent, twisted glower was on Jess as she rolled over to look back, realizing most of the cops were likely dispatched to follow where that beast was.

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believeable!” She stumbled onto her feet, barely bothering to help her ‘boss’ up. “We can't stop that thing by ourselves, Miguel! Call for backup!”

He made his way to her motorcycle and wheeled it over to her. “I stuck a spider finder on him. We can still catch up to him.” Pressing a few things on his watch, he was too engrossed in the screen tracker to notice the lividness on her face. “He's not that far. He teleported to an area that's roughly thirty minutes from here. If we go now, we can catch up.”

“No.”

Miguel jerked his head up in disbelief. “What?” 

“No. I'm not following after him with you; I'm calling for backup, because right now, that is more of a threat than some fifteen-year-old teen, Miguel.”

He took an admonitory step toward her. “If you alert the others, you are no better than him. You will disrupt the canon, and more than just thousands will perish.”

She was taken aback. “I can't with you... I can't. I can't!” Jess kneaded her temples, wondering if anything her ‘leader’ was even spouting true at this point. “Maybe those kids were right! Maybe Gwen was right. The good guys. We're supposed to be the good guys. But are we? Are we Miguel? Because I don't know what to believe in anymore.”

“We. Are.” He spat back, preparing for the best possible route of attack.

“You say that! You say that, but what I've been seeing—what this is, what decisions you have currently been making—is all-”

“Let it go!”

“No! No, I'm not letting this go! I'm done ‘letting go’ for you. Look at where that's gotten us!” She waved her hands at the ruination. “Look at where that's gotten me. I'm. Done.”

He wasn't here to be ridiculed for wanting to do the right thing. He was doing what he had to do, but no one wanted to listen. Everyone must have their own agenda instead of corroborating with his. It's not difficult to fathom wanting everyone on the same page.

That's all Miguel wanted. Advocacy for sparing the lives of these people that Miles is trying to kill. 

“Maybe Miles was right. Sitting here and waiting for some inexorable event to happen isn't the way to go. Letting others suffer knowing that... that thing is out there while we idly wait for Miles's canon, which you said was supposed to happen in two days, isn't the Spider-Man way.”

He bore daggers, but she didn't care. She was finished with his mess.

“I'm not standing by to let these lives go through anymore torment because you want to be stuck in your ways, Miguel.” She climbed on her bike and turned it on.

“If you leave, you are on your own.” He balled both of his claws up, agitation eating him up as his body stiffened.

“I'll let you hold on to that image.”

He glared as she revved up and took off onto the battered streets of Brooklyn. 

Seconds passed by when a lone taxi cab was thrown into the side of a demolished apartment building. Next, a dumpster went soaring in the air, landing in an alleyway.

Why was nothing going his way? Why was everyone suddenly renouncing his viewpoints? Was he truly one of the few who cared about the world disappearing? He didn't care about some villain of the week; he cared about saving the world and not letting history repeat itself.

Why weren't they like you? Why didn't they want to think that another universe could potentially slip through his fingers again? He forcefully shook his head. No, it was only Jess. Jess, Gwen, and Miles. It was only them. Maybe that spider-punk too, but he's always boycotting something.

Inspecting the whereabouts, he didn't want to waste any more time and left to pursue the Spot. 

If he wanted things done, he always had to be the one to do them. 

Somersaulting and ricocheting off broken structures, Miguel's mind wouldn't slow. Every thump he would land on the rooftops, every pulsation he felt in his heart, his burning ember eyes fixated on the destination he needed to prevail in order to stop the true threat that buried him entirely.

He was closing in, a few for more skyscrapers, and he'll secure the...

Spot?

Miguel skidded to a complete stop. A monstrous, endless shadow stalked around, absorbing or knocking things over. Blinking a few times, he took caution of the holes that aggregated over the parts of the borough and under his feet.

This would be a never-ending nightmare for someone with trypophobia. 

The eyes on his mask squinted the closer he got to this beast. Something wasn't right; there was a glint of light in one of the cavities, drawing all his attention to it. Swinging himself over, he hesitated if he should stick his head in it, but his body moved faster.

Peeping inside, there was another dimension. One that appeared to look like Peter Porker's home. A yellow cartoon cat strolled by with a large plate of spaghetti before eyeballing the man peeking out.

“Tuesdays, am I right?” He stuffed a meatball in his mouth before sauntering away.

Miguel yanked his head out and decided to check on a few more. One world was in black and white. Another was a future more advanced than his. There was a world with pastels bleeding through. A universe that was an overstylized magazine.

A plain New York. 

The further he explored and dissected, the less sense it was all making. Miguel tore away from these dimensions that somehow were made accessible to when he realized that the only reason the Kaiju was swatting his arms was because of tiny specks twirling around him.

“What the fu- Oof!”

Something collided with Miguel in the back, bringing him tumbling down and nearly right off the edge of the tall surface. A distressing groan crowded in Miguel's ears as the man looked up.

Big, white, and unsuspecting masked eyes peered into his.

It was him.

“Oh, come on, man!” Miles dashed right back into the gateway he was flung out of as Miguel chased after him. “Guys! Huge problem!” The teen yelled into some sort of watch that resembled the one Miguel was wearing.

A focused glare was smeared over Miguel. This time, he will not let him escape. He would not let him slip through his fingers and outplay him.

“Miles!” He bellowed out, a wrathful flare laced in it.

The boy wasn't decreasing his speed. One entry to another as these dimensions repeated, neither one refusing to give in. The drastic differences in locations were a bit unfavorable, but Miguel was able to work around them.

From tower to tower, web after web, he's always so tantalizingly close, yet too damn far. 

Miles spontaneously made a sharp left, causing Miguel to practically head straight first into a fire escape before copying that same turn. 

A singular black pit was suspended in an alleyway. Miguel didn't delay. He couldn't and wouldn't.

He dove in.

The Spot was in the dead center of his view, still trying to crush the ones that were running laps around him. Miguel tumbled in and yelled out for Miles when a recognizable voice caught his ear.

“Now!”

The sounds of webs surged, Miguel feeling like a pathetic fly caught in an anticipating spider's territory. Various sizes and designs of mesh encapsulated him. Sidling his gaze at four other concealed faces, a revelation struck him.

“¿Ce la naiba? ¡Déjenme salir, idiotas!”

“No can do, mate. Don't need you jeopardizing a mission with your prejudicial ways.” Hobie crossed his arms, taking in the entwined spider.

He phased away his mask and bared his fangs at the punk.

Peter's brown eyes held some sincerity in them. “Miguel, hey buddy. Let me just say sorry in advance for this whole predicament. What Hobie here was trying to say was that we–”

“Leave Miles alone. Plain and simple.” Gwen's voice was radiating absolute spitefulness. Her blue eyes were stabbing into his.

“Let me go. What you're all making is a horrible choice to let Miles run free.”

“You're making a horrible choice by brazenly letting the Spot get out of control! Then try to blame everything on him!” Gwen's face was aflamed, spitting out each word precisely.

She nearly jammed her finger in his eye, but she couldn't care less. 

“Requesting back up. He keeps trying to make more openings!” Someone that sounded like Peni rang from Miles's watch.

“That's all me. I'm sure you lot can handle the rest.” Hobie faced his ex-boss and jeered at his presence. “Good luck. You're going to need it.” Hobie bowed his head at Miguel, then casually strolled off the edge of the tower before whipping over to the dire humanoid.

Three pairs of eyes elicited three contrasting feelings. One of an icy revulsion, one of determination with a hint of trepidation, and one of poignancy and uncertainty.

A million questions scrambled through his head as he fought to rip out of the web-shackled binding. “Let. Me. Out! You don't know what you're doing! If we don't stop him, all will–”

“All will what? Huh? All will coincidentally die if Miles tries to save his dad? Is that it? Because, guess what? Guess who's safe?!”

“Gwen.” Peter spoke up, but the strawberry-blonde wouldn't stop.

“Guess who's doing fine? Guess who's universe is still here?!”

“Gwen.” He desperately tried to get her attention from Miguel.

“Guess whose world is still intact but could possibly be destroyed by something far more sinister and deadlier than a teenager!”

“Gwen!” Miles beat Peter to it.

Silence managed to uproar the commotion and annihilation happening in the back. Gwen slipped her mask back and folded her arms.

Miguel's heart nearly stopped. He didn't. They didn't. They couldn't have. They wouldn't. They shouldn't.

“You… No. Please don't tell me that you...”

Peter lowered his gaze; Gwen side-eyed him before sizing him up; and Miles clenched his fist, an implacable but proud bearing in his eyes, outstaring the one he fears.

“No… No. No! ¡Malditos idiotas van a matar a todos! Do you realize what you've done?!” He frothed at the mouth, his eyes in a manic state, as he knowingly prevented another canon from happening. Miles was once again going to ruin an additional world, all because he wanted to be this hero and have this ‘happy’ ending.

To keep the ones he loves safe.

But that sacrifice isn't worth it. It was never worth it. He can't relive it again.

Traitors. All of them. Each and every single one.

Why does he get to have the ones he loves? Why couldn't he? He only wanted to hold his daughter. He only wanted to hold you close.

“You have ushered in the end of not only Pavitr’s universe but his as well.”

“You keep thinking that, you keep saying that, but with all we've seen, we know you're dead wrong, man.” Miles guardedly took a step forward. “Your ideas of ‘canon events’ may have been miscalculated, buddy.”

Miles was goading him before Peter slid in front before Miguel could squirm his way out and tackle him. “What Miles and Gwen are trying to say is that maybe we had the wrong idea about—”

“Incoming!”

The four twisted their heads as familiar masks and faces hurtled right into Peter and Miles. Miguel didn't take his eyes off the scene, and Gwen staggered back near the edge before regaining her balance.

“I think I landed on my hamstrings... Nope, my hams are still attached to them.”

“That wasn't the type of entrance I was expecting to make. Reminds me of my early detective days of crashing into rooms.”

“Is everyone okay?”

A choir of ‘yeah,’ ‘sure,’ and ‘define okay?’ was sprinkled in. As the different spiders began to hurriedly help each other up, Miguel couldn't believe the plethora of ones who were trying to help out the anomaly.

Peni, Noir, Spider-Ham, Spider-Byte, and even Pavitr, despite what Miles is doing to his home.

Jess brushed herself off before her eyes met the scorching, violent ones of her questionable boss. The others laboriously came together, panicking about what exactly happened and how they needed to get back to it. The harried jolts and shouts of the heroes were trying to calculate a strategy, but Jess didn't remove herself. She only shook her head in disappointment and returned her attention to what was exceedingly important.

That's when Miguel realized they had fully betrayed him. It settled on his huge shoulders that he'd already pioneered burdens that stockpiled over time.

The others were stuck in their tangent when they heard yelling and whipping to see him free from the web prison. 

“Peter, you told us that was enough to hold him down.” Gwen hissed, getting into a fighting stance.

“I did too. But I guess not.”

Heads moved from the Spot to Miguel, not knowing which threat to combat first. There shouldn't have been a debate from the start, but the way Miguel's deranged, unblinking leer speared into space cautioned and peeved the team against him.

“Miguel,” Peter B. held his hands up and said, “Let's not do anything we'll regret... Well, let's not add anymore collateral damage to this-”

He didn't even bother to listen. He sprinted right at Miles, and mayhem erupted. Noir, Peter, and Hobie tackled him down, while Gwen and Pavitr shielded their friend.

“You just don't know when to bloody quit!”

“Sir, this isn't a good look.”

“Miguel, please! Calm down and listen to us!”

He thrashed about, screaming obscenities in Spanish. Noir and Hobie confined his arms with theirs, and Peter entwined his under Miguel's armpits, holding on like he was a backpack.

“We can't have this,” Miles jutted his hands out at the restraining man. “And that to deal with! We have to temporarily immobilize Spot. Peni, Margo, how is that device coming along?”

“An estimated time? Probably five minutes!” Margo exclaimed over her shoulder.

“Guess we'll have to use the stun bomb now. Pavit-”

“On it, bro!” He politely snagged the spherical item from Miles's palm with his Yo-yo and somersaulted to the Spot.

They waited for him to plant it on him so Miles could activate it. Pavitr flew around the Spot intermittently, eyeing for a good opening before twirling and nearing his hip. The Spot reeled his arm back and smacked the boy, sending him back to the others. Tumbling in, he swiftly regained his balance and gave a thumbs-up.

Miles pressed a button on a watch, and the Spot's increment movements went until he was subsequently motionless.

“Thanks, Pav. That gives us enough time to deal with this.” The teen crossed his arms, ready to speed through it and get it out of the way.

“Your canon is flawed. Just accept that fact. I've seen it,” Miles signaled to the group. “We've seen it.”

They were taken aback by how bluntly Miles started it off. 

Some heads dropped, a couple kept their watch on the temporarily frozen villain of calamity, and others displayed a face of aloofness on the exposed chronic desperation and uncertainty on Miguel.

He was lying. They were liars to him. Each and every one of them.

“You think you know everything. You think you do, but you don't. You all are undermining this whole situation! You tell me you've seen proof, but don't show it. You keep saying what I'm doing is wrong!” Miguel was done withholding his strength and knocked the three off of him.

“You stand there and try to condemn all that I've been doing, but you're wrong! You're. All. Wrong!” He went to charge at Miles again but stumbled over when Peter shackled Miguel's ankles and calves with his webs.

“No!” He rammed his fists into the concrete, breaking apart the asphalt. His brain was rushing.

They watched in sheer horror. The abiding impact of canon events and how they really affected Miguel. It was a depressing and pitiable sight.

“You don't know! All I've ever done... all of this,” he punched the ground some more. “All that I do for everyone is being chastised! I watched her die in my arms! I let her go to keep us alive! Everything I do—everything I have to sacrifice is to save all of you!” He maniacally points at each person. “You don't know what I've seen! Peter has! Tell them!”

Peter clamps his jaw shut, crossing his arms with this pang of sorrow.

“Tell them now!”

The awkward shuffling or stiff distant regards to Miguel chimed greatly in the atmosphere. They knew exactly what he experienced. Most of them have witnessed that backstory front and back, beginning to end.

The glances given added more enragement. Peter debated if he should impart any sort of information, but at this point, there was too much to lose. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip.

“Miguel, it—don't you think it could... What you've been... Do you think what you've been through is different from our stories?”

His talons dug into the slabs, breaking them into tinier pebbles. His face contorted into disgust. How could the one who was there take a cynical outlook knowing what would happen? His heart drummed throughout his heated body, and his head was racing and throbbing, a trembling fuel of wrath at this madness. His breathing was ragged and uncontrollable.

He was ready to unleash all of it when a bellow rumbled the ground, knocking everyone down.

The Spot inexplicably swelled more, stomping and demanding Spider-Man. Any Spider-Man.

“We wasted too much time. Girls, is the goober ready?!” Jess struggled to stand, but the tremors forced her to kneel, placing a nervous hand on her stomach.

Margo nodded at Peni before chucking a containment field at Miles.

“Let's end this once and for all.” Miles faced Miguel with a stony glare before he wiped it away with a bleak one. “Let's put an end to this canon junk.”

“Let's kick some butt!” Pavitr leapt off the building, with Hobie flipping right behind him as they swung towards the monstrous demon.

The rest directly trailed behind the two, only leaving Gwen, Miles, Peter, Jess, and Miguel.

“How is that image still holding up for you?” Jess frowned at her old superior, only receiving a chilled grimace. She shook her head and placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder. “You got this.”

They four-eyed her, revving up her bike and making her way with the spider gang.

“You are making a mistake. You all don't kno-”

“Miguel. It's over. I saved my dad, and nothing happened.”

“Yet. Nothing happened yet.” He twisted his face into a scowl.

“My world is still there after my dad quit being captain because of a speech I gave,” Gwen perked up. “Was that in my canon? A ‘B minus’ speech that strayed him away?” She held on to a small smirk before losing it.

“¿Qué? Ho-how?” That enmity was replaced with anxiety. It was getting worse with every new thing that popped up. It was all crumbling right before his very eyes.

All this he spent wanting to keep them safe is collapsing like a drop of a hat. A finger snap, and just like that, gone.

“I'm sorry, Miguel. It's for the-” Peter froze when a hole suddenly sprouted below the four's feet.

“Ṕ̸̧̡̪̙̼̰̫̫̯̤̰͙̄̇́͌͋̂̆̋͛̈͊̉̓͋̇͗̽͜ē̶̫͕͉̋́̓a̷̜̺̩̭̠̺͓̺̅̐̃̈́͌͠k̴̨̛̲̲͚̳̀͌̄̄͒̆̂̏̚͠ͅ-̶͎̞̬̩̫̥͎͆́̎̓̾́̏̆̈̉̿̚å̷͈͈̮̠͇̹̞͆͊̂̔̒̏́̔̊̀̆̕̕͝͝͝-̶̦͎̝̥̬͑͐͐̿̎͌̒͋͗̅͆͠b̸̨̜̬͍̝̣̩̝̠̗̖͉̰͖̐̀̎̌́͊̍̓͐̂͜͝͠ö̴̧̧͚̲̲̱̫͉̽̾̍̽͛͂̂͌͑̿̀̕ͅͅǫ̷͚̬̲̫̂̋̿̿̊̍͊̔̓̈́̒̉̉̎͐͘,̵̢̛̭̰͉̯̦̖͙̪̠̲̩̱̬̋͑͐͛̈́͆̋̉̓͌́́̀̌̈́͛̋̈́ͅ ̸̝̪̈́́͗̍͂̓̌̈̀͗ş̸̥͇͖̦̮͉̳̞͇͍̙͈̥̅̔̂̏͗̐͛͘̕͝͝p̸̢̧̭̳̗͈͖̭͍̅̆͜ͅi̵̗̠̇͌d̴̡̢̡̰̠̼̮͙̜̬̖̣̼͙̮͉̭̞̎̈́̈́̀̍̃̑͂͆̕͘͝͝͝ë̴͉͈͖͍́͜ͅr̴̡̡̻̖̖̖̼̻̪͕̞̥̗͉̗͈͍̘̅́̈͠-̴̧͓̦̹̆̀́̀̄͌̀̎̀͊́̌̐̉̈́͜͝ö̷͓͙̟̀̅̋̓̑̅͝n̶͇̫̱͔͉͕̻͆͂͂̋́̉̾̈́̕͜͝ȇ̷̡̨̛̺̞͙̖̜͉̬̤͍͓̙̗̗̓́̈͐̈́͜͜ͅͅş̶̡̢̼̠̖̝͚̼̟̱͎̭͖̻͙̥̻̌̋̂̂̒̾̔̀͒̊̀͐̓͋̾͘.̶̜̼͖͎̹́̆̄̊̍͗̊̑͊̕͝͠”

Pitch black and screams.

They landed on a street in a desolate black-and-white city. From skyscrapers to unfinished construction, the area was bare. It wasn't Brooklyn; yes, it had similar features, but this wasn't the Brooklyn they were battling to keep safe.

“Is everyone okay?” Peter groaned out, rubbing his back before sitting up.

“After today, I'm retiring, man.” Miles sprawled out before removing his mask. “Gwen, you good?”

“Yeah, I'm great, fine. Nothing that I haven't faced before.” She trudged over to him and helped him up.

Peter scampered over to Miguel, who was lying on his back. He dwelled on the deceptions of which he was made aware.

“Hey, you okay?” Peter went to reach him, but Miguel swatted his hand away. He didn't want his help. He didn't need his help anymore.

Peter's eyes glossed, and he blinked away the tears. “Right. Sorry.” He stood up and went back over to the teens.

“So, where exactly are we?” Miles glanced up, along with Gwen, who was trying to find any sort of familiar landmark.

“New York? Or maybe a type of New York?”

“I̴̫̚'̵͉̐ľ̶̫ľ̷ͅ ̵͚̉b̵͔̈́ḛ̸̂ ̴̮̈́h̶̿͜a̸̙̒p̶̺̚p̵̍͜y̵̳͘ ̷̧̛t̸̫͊ö̵̳ ̶͚͗e̸͇͋x̸̬̂p̵̮̈́l̴͖̀a̴̩͠i̶̫͒n̵̢̐.̸́”

Back-to-back, they took a battle stance, locating where the voice was coming from. Miguel took to their sides, just in case.

“Welcome to the end of all times. Do you like that name? I thought of it on the spot. Ha, get it?” The villain drifted himself down, but not enough to be attacked. “Ah, perfect. I got exactly who I wanted. And a special guest. I'm a big fan of your work.” He finger-gunned at Miguel, only to obtain a glare from him. 

“Oh, tough crowd. Hello, Spider-Man, you liked what I did to your world? You should consider it an honor that you're the first to be-” 

Miles threw a device at the Spot before he snapped his fingers, and the object was right back at Miles's head. “Gotta be careful where you throw that thing. We don't want anyone getting caught in that, now do we?”

The Spot clapped his hands together, forcing the four to bunch up. They writhed and squirmed, but there were invisible chains caging them. “Now that I have an audience that hopefully won't throw more things at me, shall we begin with the feature presentation?”

He opened a portal that held a clear view of Miles's world, with black ooze and spirals forming around his home.

“I told you, Spider-Man. I'm going to take everything from you.” The Spot momentarily knelt in front of Miles, grabbing his cheeks in his hands. “And I'm starting with your father and mother. You won't miss them, ri̷̖̻͉͗g̷̳͚̺͆ȟ̸̲̺ͅt̶̲̱̖̐́͒͝?̸̩͕͂̌̑”

Miles's eyes welled up as Peter and Gwen strived to free themselves.

“The canon. The canon is still intact, but it's not…” Miguel didn't realize how loudly he spoke, as all focus was now on him.

“Are you still on about that canon event nonsense, Miguel O'Hara?”

They shot their attention over to the villain, who moved his hand from Miles to Miguel. “For someone with an all-seeing eye, you don't observe much.”

Miguel sneered at the mocking tone as the others looked on, slightly confounded.

“For a smart man, you sure are stupid.”

Pulling his hand away, he held his back against them. “Canon events. That's funny how you still believe that exists in your little world.”

Now things weren't making any sense. Gwen, Miles, and Peter knew the canon wasn't exactly objective, but how much did the Spot exactly know?

“In fact, none of it exists in any of these worlds. You have pages of the story, but not the full book.”

“What the hell are you going on about?!” Miguel was sick and tired of these fucking riddles everyone was casting at him.

“Let's use an example, shall we?” He snaps his fingers, sucking them into another vortex and transporting them to another New York.

They were separated from the transparent restraints, grumbling from being flung around like nothing.

“Where are we?” Miles squinted, pestered by the suddenness of Spot's ways of transferring.

Peter pushed himself up on his elbows, rotating his head. There was something conversant about the bordering vicinity that he couldn't put his finger on. “I don't understand. What example could he make with this?” and that's when realization slapped him right in the face. “Wait. Are we in...”

“Nueva York? Why are we back here?” Gwen's senses were going haywire as she scoured to search for the Spot.

“Miguel, would you like to tell them?” The maniac dangled in front, deriving every bit of pleasure from all of this.

Those burning red eyes were filled with horror. Even the bravest and strongest can cower from their simplest fears.

“Would you like me to explain your story, or do we all have the general picture?”

“Cállate.” Miguel murmurs as his head swarms.

“I think we're all aware of Miguel's pitiful, tragic tale; isn't that rig-”

“¡Dije cállate!” Miguel lunges towards the Spot, who only vanishes and reappears behind him, knocking him straight down to the ground.

“Tsk, tsk. Manners now. But it must be hard to have when one is so ill-tempered.”

“Enough with this! Why did you bring us here?” Peter rushed to Miguel's side, completely over Spot's bullshit.

Miles and Gwen tried to sneak out of the Spot's line of view, prepared to barrage him with an onslaught approach, but he measly flung them over with a flick of his index right into Peter and Miguel.

“I applaud this Spider-Man right there for being able to figure out transdimensional hopping. Did it in an effective way that King's Pin collider failed to do. It didn't even come close.”

“I said, get on with it!” The large man shot his laser web out, only for him to snip it in half.

“Hm. I suppose I'll let you in on my little secret, since this will be the last thing you all will see.” He held his arms out as if he were a messiah. “I need to get rid of him, as his impressive comprehension of multiverse traveling will hinder my plans.”

“Not if the events leading to your defeat will-”

“And that. Before I kill him, I want him to know what I've seen and witnessed. Fill in the blanks for you all.” Spot cracked his neck and laughed. “You see, those webs of lies he created are all wrong. You've seen it yourself. Gwendy's father. T̸h̷a̵t̴ ̸b̶a̸b̵y̵.̷” He gestured at Peter, who clamped his jaw shut. “Or the fact that Lieutenant Morales will die today and not the next.”

Miles went to strike him but was anchored back by Gwen and Peter, who whispered not to let him get in his head.

“It's so sad how those events disrupted a non-existent timeline.” Spot drolly spoke, ragdolling his body and rotating to the man in question. “Isn't that right, Miguel?”

“Okay, so you know what we know. Can you float your ass down here so we can kick it?” Gwen amusingly said, aiming her arm, ready to fire her web.

“Oh, little ballerina. Like I said before, you only have a few pages to the book.” The Spot twisted his upper torso towards her before following with his lower legs. “But you all still need to know. He still needs to know the true reasons. And for my amusement to see his last reactions.” 

Miguel's heavy eyebrows creased as the void continued.

“Picture it like this. Yin,” his body remains wholly dark with a white dot in the middle of his face. “And Yang.” He grotesquely transformed until he was his original white form, with a black dot replacing the previous shade.

It was almost as if he was taunting them.

“One can't exist without the other.” He begins to shift between the achromatic shades, almost in a swirling, uncanny way.

“And when you pluck one away, it creates a disruption within the balance.”

“Hurry it up!” Miguel and Miles catapult full force before The Spot juts away, as Peter rapidly slings a web, grappling Miles's ankle and effectively tugging him back before colliding with the steel force of the bigger spider.

“So impatient, but so am I. When you dragged that body from this world, you caused that unbalanced nature. The world tried to fix itself, but it couldn't. That single harmony of nature was ruined.” He reverts back to his pure, voided-dimensional imprint.

“There were never any events. No one's life is foreordained. Mere coincidences. But when you try to be something you're not, that's when everything goes downhill.” The Spot whirls his hand as a familiar sequence plays before them. The world was seeping into the hiccups of colors, from trees to dogs to humans coated in the heap of pixels sprinting in slow motion.

Miguel's ears rang at the recreation, his eyes blurry as he violently swiveled his body at the collapsing world. The others failed to get his attention when a soft voice dwindled in the air.

“P̶a̸p̴a̶?̵ ̸P̴a̴p̵a̴,̸ ̶t̶e̵n̶g̴o̶ ̵m̵i̶e̵d̶o̶.̸”  She held on tightly to his suit, her wide, watery eyes cutting deeply into his. 

“Gabi? Osita, keep looking at me.” Miguel had to run; he needed to run so he could save her. He didn't mean to. He only wanted to protect her.

“P̷̡͕͕̟̲̉ͅǎ̵̭̀̂͝p̸͚̾͊̈́̅͘͝a̶̦̲̔̀̀̇̑̾̌,̴̲̠̓ ̵̧̬̉̍̈̈́͝w̶̡̖̭̼̖̪̠͑̓h̸͙̟͆͒̏͒ạ̷͗̈́̃̇̽̋̏t̸̥̱̼̀͒̓̈͠'̷̡̛͍̫̺̖̜͐̑̍̓̂s̸̫̣̠̩̜̼͇̅̇ ̷̨͔͈̭̌͆̃͒̇̀͝h̶̼̅̈͐̑͂̑͐a̸̖͋̑̄͑̅̒p̶̝̋̐p̶͓̎̂̇e̸̪̓̄̋͒̈́ņ̸̰̼̳̍̍̒̆͆̒̉į̶̠̫̣̓̿͛͊́͜ň̷͓͙̲̝̳̹͗̂g̵͖͘͘?̸̨̣̠͝ ̸̠͉̠̣̞̦̩̊̏͊́̏̌͘P̸̦͓̐́͊͋͘͝ḻ̶̍̋̃͆̆͗ę̶͇̃̉̒a̵̱͇̞̯̬͕̤͑̀͐̚s̴̨̧̘̟̦͉͌e̵̛̬͖͐͛̅̿͊̋ ̷̻͆̋̀̎̎̕h̶̞̻̤̹̊̃̐̄̒̀͝ȩ̵̧̰̣͕̏́͒͠ļ̷̩̂͑̊̆͐̚͠p̸̗̦̻̯̃͗̈́͗̓̚!̸̗͛̔̅̂̈̑ͅ”

“It's just me. Don't look at anything else! Eyes on me, osita!”

Peter bolted after Miguel as Gwen and Miles rallied to combat whatever the Spot was pulling, but he was too impenetrable.

Miguel didn't know where to go. Each step was the same, and each disappearance that replayed was too hounding. She was so small in his massive limbs, so susceptible. 

He was going to save her.

Peter weaved and dodged the simulation, catching up to Miguel, who was caught in a loop.

“Miguel! Miguel, stop!” He snagged on his collar, encasing his arms around Miguel's large neck. “This isn't real! He's only using a reenactment!”

Peter forcefully ripped his friend's view from his daughter to his frightened brown eyes. “This isn't real. What's happening now is a scare tactic.” He nodded his head, beckoning him to look upon his claws.

Miguel tore his gaze down to only see empty hands. Gabi wasn't there; only black swirls were coinciding to form a portal. The men reeled away from the treacherous, endless pit, dashing back to the two teens.

“We need to find a way out!” Miles shouts over the abruptly strong gust of wind.

“Or a place to hide while we figure this out!” Gwen covers her face as fragments of debris fly around.

“We need to start going and figure that out later! He looks like he's not done yet!” Peter takes off, with the others following suit.

The Spot commences his terror by elevating the skyscrapers, lobbing them all over, as the four unhesitatingly clambered and dived from one infrastructure to the next, occasionally losing their footing, trying to minimize their chances of being crushed.

“You destroyed that universe because you h̴a̶d̵ ̴t̵o̷ ̶b̶e̶ ̵s̷e̶l̴f̴i̴s̵h̸ ̵a̸n̵d̵ ̸p̶l̷u̸c̸k̷ ̷t̵h̷a̴t̷ ̵o̵n̷c̴e̵ ̷t̵h̸i̶n̷g̶ ̴o̶u̵t̷!̴ The only reason why my spider didn't reign destruction on a world like yours was because I created it.”

Copious more objects, ranging from vehicles to steel beams to nature, all churned and vortexed closely.

“B̸̩̹̲̼̿̇̕ṳ̸̢̩͌̈́t̸̫̝̝͂͌͂̅̔ ̵̟͇̹̂͗̓̏̀̅y̶̲͉̥̲͊͜o̷̜̅͌͝ͅü̸̖̣͝ —you stole their lives and they all had to suffer!” He was attaining a subsequent excess of power. 

“Ã̴͈͎̠̬̙̍̑n̸̝̪̲̳̣̪̩͙̻̤̹͖̦͑̓͑͒̏̔̿̔̿͋d̶̼̯̥͔̞̘̻͒̀̉̄̌̈̈́͗̃͌̾̒͗͗̚͠ ̷̡̞̖͖̙̝̖̽̾̎́̔̎̔͘I̴̢̛̖̬͖̣̰̬͙̦̹̲̻ ̴̧̈́̀̍̎̉́̚w̷̡̩͔͖̩̼̱͖̼̳̪̻̖͊̊̌͂̔̉͛̿̀̉̏̀͌̀͌ī̷̡̡̗̙͉̝̘̲̖͎̩͖͚̮́̃͛̑̈́̉̐̓̓́̽̅̈́̕̚̚l̵̡̧̲̋̍͆̈̇̍͘͝l̵̛̮̥̱̭̬͍͔̹̜͎͇̾̽̄́̊͗͊͒͐͛̕͠ͅ ̸̢̩̙̼̯̄́̇̀͜ḩ̴͓̰̰̖̱̗̃̒͋͑̈́ā̸̛̹̗̯̥̰̣̮̯̿̉͑̔̑̀̀̕͘͜p̵̨̡̬̙͓̹͖͉̹̆͐̐̿̿͂́̈̓̓p̶̡̧̬̭͚̗͎̦̆́͠ͅi̵̯̟̘͍̲̩̪̋͝l̴̨͇͙͔̱͓͙̮̀̄̄͝ͅy̵̡̧͖̦̼̬̭͓͇̼͉̪̳̆̄͌͂͂͒͘ ̵̖̙̟̭͈̟̳̫͍̦̻̱͆̏̄͗̇͋́͛̚͜͜͜͜r̸̢̭͕̠͎͙̱̙̘̪͈͙̼̯͌͗̓́͐̿̉̚̕͜͝ͅe̵̡̻͕̙͉̝̭̳͉̪̗̥̠͇̩͉͋̽̾̑͘p̶̧̫̮̟̔́̍̏̇̎͆͂ą̸̢̛̛̬̥̜͚͈͗̓́̋̉͝͝y̶̧͈͕̺̮̥̾̉̈́̔̀͗̔̄̌̂̓̕͠͠ ̴̢̯̫͎͕̮͓̙͓̫̮͉̯̗̇͒̈̒̕͜ͅt̴̨͈̹̮͇̼̯̫͓̘͆͜͜ẖ̷̛̩͕̱͎̻̹͎͕͔̈́͑̎́̇̽̀͊̒̇̀̏́͋͘̕͜e̷̠̱͕͙̯̥̜̘̬̾̾̐į̷̢̛̛̫͍͉̘̖̭̗̹̋͗̇̔̎̈́̍̆̓͗͂̊̀r̸͖̄͗̊̋͝ ̷̤̯͖̟̳̙̈́̉͒̆d̷͕̎́͒̂́͗̅̿̇̂͛ę̶̨̛͎̠̟̠͖̱͚͇̹͙̬̯̞͇̻̌̆̋͑̅̇͗̐̉͑̓̃̕̕͠b̴̢̠̯̖̥̠̥̳̪̦̥̔͋̀͘ͅt̸͓̠̀͒͗͗͑̏̔̃͌̆͊̚͝!̵͖̻͓͔̩̘̤̞͂̎͛͋̕͠”

Miguel was barely clipped by a truck, tucking and rolling, catching up with the rest.

“He's getting too strong! He's trying to bring in other dimensions like the collider!” Peter webbed nonstop, scoping out a safe space.

“There's no way we can contain him if he keeps it up at this rate! Whoa!” Miles was plucked by Miguel before being met face-first with a shopping cart.

“I'm assuming you all have a plan?!” Miguel sliced a car and playground slide, rocketing full ahead.

“Of course we have a plan! We just…” Miles trailed off when he had to concentrate on spinning and shifting obstacles.

“We just didn't want to tell you, buddy!” Peter beamed before flopping onto his face and being dragged away. “Hey! Guys! Guys!” He disappeared into the subway they were running on.

“Peter!” Miguel and Miles shouted, spinning back when their shins were netted, and herded in the same direction as him. They endeavored to rip it off, with Miguel bringing out one of his arm blades.

But it was too late; whatever had them in their clutch was going to have to put up a fight. Ready to swing, a pair of small gloved hands emerged in front.

“If either one of you punches me, I swear you will not like what happens next!” Gwen whispered-shouted at the two.

“Gwen, what the heck?! You can't be pulling people around like that!” Miles spastically flapped his lanky limbs at her before she whacked them away.

“We don't have time for this. How do we stop this thing?” Miguel's nerves were shot.

“Well, I'm glad you asked. To save all that tech talk, we figured out that if Spot can jump from earth to earth like the watches you created, we found a way that we can trap him by using this.” Miles held up an overfamiliar circular machine.

“So we had Margo and Penny merge the two together, and if we're able to get him close enough, he will be essentially locked away with no means of escape.” Gwen noted, assessing the scene from one of the windows. "And we were going to paralyze him with this item the other Miles created, but someone just had to go and recklessly try to–”

“Gwen.” Miles pleaded with a look, and she took back to staring at the madness. “We were going to stun him and go from there, but now that's out of the picture.”

“And there's no way to get any closer to him without him creating more chaos and holes.” Peter slumped against a pole, getting serious deja vu.

“Unless…” Gwen stepped away from the pane and stood in between the three. “Unless we distract him and one of us gets close enough to ambush him.”

“Now hold on, Gwen, tell me you're not suggesting...”

“Yes, Peter. I am.”

An eerie chill ran down Peter, Gwen, and Miles's bodies, their spidey senses going haywire.

“We're not doing this sacrificial thing again. I'm not going to let you, or especially you,” Miles poked his finger into Peter's chest. “Go through something as dooming as that again. I'll go.”

Peter was ready to counter when Miguel seized the gizmo from Miles. “I'll do it.”

The three stuttered and exclaimed.

“What?”

“Dude, no way you're going to do this.”

“Miguel, think about what you're saying.”

“The kid said it himself; he doesn't need you two risking your lives for this, and I'm sure you don't need him doing it anyway.”

Miles cringed at what he said and tried to immediately backtrack. “That's not what I meant; I meant it like, I don't want anyone to-”

“Don't bother explaining yourself. You made your thoughts abundantly clear. You all have too much to lose. Too much is at stake.” He solemnly dazed out, eyeballing the mass as the Spot demanded they come out of hiding.

“Miguel, no, we can all find out another way.” 

“What is there to find out, Peter? There's nothing left to figure out. You all have something to return to. You all have a life outside of this… fictionalized conception.”

Miguel's dull red irises were as clear as day. He didn't want to believe the Spot; he didn't. He even wanted to refrain from trusting these three words about the canon. But now? Now he doesn't know what it is anymore. 

Peter pursed his lips and took Miguel by the shoulders, still unwilling to lose faith in this man. “For all we know, he's lying, wanting to get in your head,” Peter squeezed, wishing for more than that deadpan look. “Yeah, certainly he made that up to spook you. There's no way that-”

“Peter, he knew. He knows about my past, and I've never been in contact with that thing. He knows.” He flipped the gadget over, studying how they made it work.

“But he only showed what we know! He didn't provide any further proof.” Miles tried to start, but Miguel instantly shut it down.

“And neither did you! None of you did!” Miguel punched at a glass window, the shards blasting everywhere. “And yet the things you said, how they aligned, that he somehow knew... It doesn't matter. This doesn't matter. Everything that has been done doesn't mat-”

“Guys, sorry to interrupt; things are glitching!” Gwen pointed to the Spot that was nearing where they were, challenging them to come out. He knows they can't hide from him forever.

“You left the other itsy-bitsy spiders all by themselves. Maybe I can wash them out along with everyone else.”

The train jerked in all directions, throwing them against the metal poles, seats, and windows.

“We need to do this now. You guys, go keep him busy.”

They protested, but Miguel was ripping away at the metal entrance, tearing it clean off, and releasing it with the rest of the mayhem.

“Miguel, wait!”

They watched his laser web fly out, catching it on a billboard and flinging himself out.

Climbing himself up his web, he eyed the three evacuating the train car, swinging to the Spot. The teens made their quips and quick-witted one-liners, whizzing circles around him and chucking whatever they could, while Peter kept his main focus on Miguel to make sure he was out of view.

He needed to find that perfect opening. It was daunting to make anything out. His periphery is blinded by the vast array of splotched speckles and jarring strobes of multicolored inanimate objects. 

Bounding from structure to construction machinery, he would examine the three striving to take jabs before getting tossed into one of Spot's many gateways and whacked into a sign or big wheeler. They were doing anything to keep him distracted. 

Miguel clawed up an amalgamation of traffic lights and statues when a hole spawned several inches barely over him. Peter came toppling out, his body floundering right at Miguel. His web was around the man's waist, but gravity still applied in this hell. 

Unprepared for the sudden shift in weight, Miguel was nearly snagged in Peter's direction. Tightening his tension on the asymmetrical form, he watched the pink, fuzzy fabric zoom past and come to a dangle.

Hearts racing, Peter couldn't help but grin. “It's all going well. He's a bit tougher than expected, but hey, we got this.” His fingers flicked the neon webbing, recuperating with the need for some type of optimism. Squinting his eyes, he conjured up an idea as the vortex whirled at a lazy pace. “You know, we didn’t make a signal for you because you decided to jolt out all willy-nilly, but how about now?”

Miguel’s eyebrow raised as his mask showed the expression.

“We’re going to try and have him open a portal connecting us to you; you leap right through, press that button, stick it on him, and it’ll be smooth sailing from there!”

“Easier said than done.” 

“Well, let me go, and we'll leap of faith on this.” He gave a thumbs-up and a lopsided smile. “Trust me!”

And with that, Miguel withdrew his web, with Peter flipping right back into action. He trailed them back and forth, though a bit annoyed with them not sticking to a simple, singular area.

Finally adhering to one place, he camped in a nook, hidden in a blind spot. Spot was getting mad, as they were whipping all around like spiders in the wind, using the blackholes to their advantage.

It was working. Managing to lure him right where they wanted. Miles, Gwen, and Peter put in all their strength to deliver one good blow before diverting paths all near Miguel's location.

“That's enough! I'm tired of these games!”

He made a gateway, but not the one they were hoping for. Miguel was ready to go through the passage by Peter's when he saw that. He snatched up each one by their leg, dragging them back to him. Plastering his back on the brick wall, he peeped over the corner, realizing Spot had them forcibly stuck in the voids they came from while displaying three more.

Miguel watched as the three struggled, their faces contorting from outrage, confusion, and grief.

In horror, they could only look. The black ooze seeped into their own worlds, easily blanking their homes out of existence.

In each portal, they showed their loved ones fighting whatever was trying to absorb them. George Stacy shot at the gunk before bolting out of the apartment, helping others along the way. Mary-Jane and Mayday were driving far, with MJ mumbling that things would be okay and that Peter and his friends would stop this. Their team was doing all they could to prevent more damage, but some were moving slower, a sign that maybe they should succumb to this faith.

The three sobbed and shouted, doing everything to escape, but the seepage of the darkness that was swallowing them up was stronger.

“A delightful sight, is it not? I told you, Spider-Man, I would take everything from you. From you all. And I will start with these two.”

Inch by inch Gwen and Peter were being consumed faster than before. Their begs for mercy battered Miles's ears as he hyperventilated.

“Please! Stop, stop, stop! Don't hurt them! Don't hurt my family; don't hurt my friends! Please stop!” He blubbered like a child crying for his mama.

Even with the lack of eyes, one could tell he was only gazing emotionlessly. A gritty yet slimy smile grew on his face before a grating laugh echoed all over. 

“I am the multiverse. I am your destiny. As I am a part of you, you are all a part of me.”

He brought his arm up to the sky and tilted his neck. “A̶̟͝n̸̛̫d̵̢̍ ̴̠̑Ì̸̖ ̴̖̏ẘ̵̨i̴̤̐l̷͖͗l̷̮̉ ̴̮̃t̸̗̓ȧ̶̠k̷̕͜e̶͕͌ ̸̖͗ĩ̸͇t̶̠͘ ̴̜̈́a̸͎͌l̷̥̂ĺ̸ͅ ̸̐ͅa̶̱̔w̴̟̿a̶͇͆ÿ̵͙́.”

Ready to end it all with a snap of his fingers, something heavy and solid rammed into the Spot's back, bringing him down to a floating skyline. Miguel's fists came smashing down on the Spot. He could care less if he was doing minimal or no damage at all. He just needed him down.

The villain allowed him to get the hits, making him believe he was doing something.

“You are such a fool, you know.”

Miguel growled, baring his fangs at him, and punched him straight into the structure, crashing several stories down. The Spot felt that but kept on going.

“It's so funny how close-minded you are. Really. You are so scared of the truth that you keep using your past as a sad, pathetic clutch.”

Miguel kept going, needing to keep him preoccupied.

“It's such a shame, really. You didn't have to kill your—what was it? Your osita?”

Absolute fury. Adrenaline coursed in his veins as Miguel roared, picking up the Spot, and slingshotting him out, accelerating himself right after him.

“Don't you ever put my daughter's name in your mouth!” 

“Oh, calling someone's child your daughter, how bold.” The Spot was getting a kick out of this, one last game of fun before all was to disappear. “But it really is depressing, isn't it? You didn't have to kill her, did you? But you did. And the other one you threw so much blame on. What did you call her? Your moon? You didn't have to let her go as well. A string of bad luck for you.”

Red. Red began to pervade Miguel's line of sight.

“Well, at least you'll get to be with them if it makes you feel better. That's if you even end up there.” Spot lifted his upper hand one more time. “And don't worry, I'll make sure to drop by her apartment to leave a message. Wouldn't it hurt her to know y̴̙̽͊ô̸͔̓͜ṷ̷̋̉ were the real reason the world was going to die?”

Click.

Right in the middle of Spot's chest was the device that Miguel was very familiar with, which started to beep and gradually cage them both.

“You are done hurting people. You are done hurting the ones others love.” The shield continued its crawl. “And you will not hurt mine. You will never hurt the one I love.”

Miguel wrapped his claws around Spot's neck, strangling him. He thrashed around, clawing at him to let go. There was bloodlust and hatred within Miguel. 

There was also pain and regret bobbing around. He was ready. He knew he couldn't recover from this; he knew it. All that he did, all that was. He was ready to let go. Let it all go for her. All for you.

“I'll let you watch your world crumble too.” Spot coughed and wheezed out, snapping his fingers with a smug eating grin. Miguel kept his eyes on him, waiting for something, but nothing came.

Spot, bewildered, continued to snap, flick his wrist, and point his digit, and still nothing came to light.

“W̵͎̉ḩ̷̪̊a̷̗̾t̶̩̩͉̾̀?̴̛͉̳͓̔̀!̶̟̫̠̀̐ No. No!”

“There's something implanted in this where you can't make your portals.” Miguel's knees were buried into the void's side, digging into them. “You are nothing but a sad excuse. You don't belong.” He whispered right where his ear would be.

Spot freaked out. He headbutted Miguel over and over, shrilling out. The shield was at their feet. Miguel smirked, blood covering his face, but he didn't care. He fulfilled his purpose of protecting the multiverse.

And protecting you.

He closed his eyes, ready to be locked in here with this thing, when his body was yanked out. Flying through the air, he tried to grapple with any surface but was too far from anything. He bumped into a few trees and cars that were coming down along with him when three figures were coming closer and closer.

He collided right into Gwen, Peter, and Miles, their webs lessening the blow just a tad bit.

“I'm definitely going to feel that in the morning.” Peter groaned out.

Sitting up, the trio peered over to Miguel.

“You okay, man?” Miles's voice was soft, exhausted, and raspy.

Miguel grasped his throbbing head, only to nod. Trying to gain his bearings, the atmosphere seemed heavy. A weight on their lungs, the oxygen wouldn't properly release.

“Has time… stopped?” Gwen instructed them to gaze up.

Everything was levitating and rooted in nothing. If one were to unpause at any given movement, they would all be squished to a pulp.

Conflicted on what to do or how to get out, a bloody crimson gleam spiraled at a rapid velocity right at them. Dodging it, they took cover when an ear-splitting boom landed right in the center.

Four pairs of eyes hesitantly went to the thing when they were met with a struggling being desperately doing all in his power to get out of this personal cell block.

“No! Why can't I—why can't I do anything?!” Spot flailed like a fish out of water. “What did you do?! What did you do?!”

“Neat little trick. A device that accesses other worlds.”

“And when disconnected, well, you're basically stuck.” Gwen completed Miles's sentence.

They stonily leered at the enduring dilemma he was in, waiting for him to quit and give in.

“You think this is the end?! This isn't the end! None of this is the end!”

“¿Te callarás? You lost. It's over.” Miguel stepped closer, squinting at the defeated villain. “Your reign and terror end now. We will dispose of him properly, and–”

“You really think this is the end? No, it's only starting. You will all suffer for my faith. You will all suffer my wrath! My curse!”

He grew and grew, but the shield wasn't breaking. 

“ You will see! You will all see the true hell of it all!”

The dangling objects began to topple bit by bit as the four swiftly weaved left and right.

Miguel dodged-roll, nearly evading chunks of bricks, when a lone hole with a desecrated Brooklyn inside caught his eye. “A portal. That's our exit.”

“Do we really plan on leaving Spot?”

Miguel latched onto Peter's shoulders, tattering his pink robe more. “We either die here along with that, or we go. Now.”

No consideration or comments were left; they ran. Dipping, leaping, sliding, and webbing for their lives. All of the hellscape was imploding, doing so much to not get pulverized. 

The sweet escape was so close. Less than a hundred feet away, a deafening wail rattled the ground. Battling that curiosity, it won when their shadows were flooded with another.

Not decreasing their hastened flee, they all whipped to check over their shoulders to the Spot, who was ungodly gargantuas, but his cage still fought to restrain.

“You all will never escape. You all will never truly be free from the horrid lives you live! You all will perish! Suffer!”

“He looks like he's about to explode!” 

“We're almost there; don't stop!”

“Don't look back!”

More tucking, more ducking, and sidestepping from being squashed into bits and pieces.

“Come to me! C̸̱̭͗o̵̗̊m̵̭̹̎e̴͙̼̕ ̸̲̳̓̀a̵̼͊͝ͅn̸̘̚͝ͅd̸͓͐ ̸̜̎l̴̘̻̽̚ḙ̵̈́͆ţ̷̗͒͠ ̸͕̻͒m̵̱͇̈́̋ë̵̬͔͝ ̵̝̐̐s̸̡̉͒ȁ̶̻̎v̶͎̞̓ȩ̴̗̎ ̷͔̹̃̆y̵͍͇͒̄o̶̧̲̊̒u̷̬̘͂̀!̸̤͋͌ I will end your misery for you!   

“N̵̰̼͇̒͗̚̚ö̶̩̟̟̦́ ̵̪͔͚͎̊͠l̴͚̮̭͊͐͆o̶̤̍͠͠n̶̙̘̬̥̿ḡ̴͉̮e̷̫͎̙͘ŗ̵̺͑͆̊ ̶̠͇̝͒̚ͅẇ̷͍̿͑̕i̴̞͌̈ĺ̷̎͊̌̕ͅl̷͖̥̬͂̽͘ ̴͎̞̫̐y̶͙̱̼̾̌ǫ̷̖̠̥̣́u̶̳̞̖̫̭͠ ̵̢̭͑̐h̸͖̭̊̽̾a̴̮͛͋́v̵͍̤̼̹͎͌̽͠͠ě̶̖͕̪͝͝ ̶̫̘͍͂t̴̨͉̫̥̓̏ỏ̴̪̂̂̊ ̵̠̓͆́̍͝š̵͜ụ̴̗̤͙́̈̿̏f̵̳̩̺͓̒̓̚ͅf̷͇͒̈́e̷̢̢̨̠̠̋̓r̶̬̥͓̂̈́͂,̴̛͇̣̟͛̎͝ ̷̛̝͖͌̿̏̓S̷̢̼͇̑̇̑͌͝p̸͚̉͒̎̕̚ȉ̶̗̦͖̪̏d̵̺̝̓͒̿̓ͅẽ̸̙̆͋́r̵̻̯̔͆͂͜-̶̛̤̈̀͝M̵̛̳̪̃̽̑̿a̸͙̩͆̒̉͆̔͜n̷͕̾͋͝.̸̬̰̪͋̒ ̶̡̼͝I̷̱̜͆̆͐ ̷̫̩̑̾͆̓̄a̴̻̿̉͘m̷̜̼͎͖̟͛̾ ̸̧̜̦̱̰͋̏̃̌̈y̶̧͋o̸̞͕̭͋̏͂ȕ̵̙͕͈̖́̀ͅŕ̵̯͇̳̻͆̆ ̴͚̥͎̥̠̆̌̊́͝ţ̴͉̺̣̗͋̉̊̉r̸̨̬̙͚̔̾û̷͍͜ė̷͈̺̘̥̣̑ ̵̨̛̣s̸̠̜̔̈́̈́͘å̷̢̖̩̥v̴͖̥̭͔̯̐̆͐ị̷̦̯̰̎̀͜o̸̲̍̓̉r̸̡̘̹̘̪̽̐.̶̪͙̀ ̶̢̣̱̻̺̔̆͠͝”

Less than a few feet away.

“I̸̛̛̭̲̜̝̭̬͔͓͈̗̹͔̲͈͉͍̖̙̲̟͇̱̖̒̏͆̐̏̏̔͋͛́̐͒̆̉̊̈́̀̉̂̊̍̅̀̊͑̆͊͆̈͌̑͗̈́̓̐̅̀̋̾̑͑̀̈́̉̊͗̓͊̄͑̒̓̋̔̊̋̈́͒̈́͂̅͋̿̈́͆͛̑̈́̇̈̀͋̿̐͒̈́̃͑̑̔̇͌̂̉̒́͗̑̊̍̚̕͘͘̕̚̚͝͝ ̶̛̛͕̝̜̫̥͛̋̍̌̓̇̔̌͆̓̑̉̈͌̔̂̑̌̉̋̏̉̒̐́͐̈́̈́̀͐̀̿̾̎̓̍̉̊̍͂̈́̐̈́́̋̐̋̾͂̎̄́̆͂͛̇̆̏̈́͂̀́̈́̆̊̃̊̐̈́́̂̑̃́̓̕̚̚͘̚̕͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅW̵̢̢̢̡̨̢̨̛̻͎͚͓͉̫͕̫̦̥̣͈̯̫̯͇̭͉̬͍̮̗̹͓̪̫̥̗̩̣͈͔̮̣̰̯̹̫̱̘̹͇̯͎̥̤͚̥̣̺̠̠͙̥̙͕̖̫̰͍̱͈̩͔̰͎͔̻̙̱̞̫͉̦̭̹͔͚͎̳̙̟̩͇̮̦̜̗̄͊̉̓͛̃̽͗̓͌̽̋̓̀́̆̐̏̽̅̈́̒̿͋̑̂͌̇͆̽̐̊͌̔̒̐̈̀̊͐̄̍̉̈́͌͌̐̾͌̆̆̑͗̾̑̈̌̆͑͑̄̂̽͗͐̕͘͘͜͜͠͝͠͝ͅͅÍ̸̢̨̧̨̢̢̨̧̡̡̛̛̺͖̠͕̹͚̫̙̮̘͈̜̻̲̗͕͇͎̣͉̣̘̻͚̣͉͙̞̳͚̦̙͇͓͚̭͔͕̣̙͎͉͎̬̗͕̖̩̰͓̜̪̘͕͓̙͔̩͈̜̰͖͚̖̱̼͕͉͚͇̖͓̭͚̦͕͍̺͙̺̖͕̱̟͈̥̙̭̈́̈́̀̈́͆͒͊̓͛̈́͗̇̃̒̊̈́͗̈́̊͛̈͂̂͑̔̌̀̔̇̄̇̈́̏̒́̈́͑̎̂͌̓͒̋̄̔͛̊͛͂̎̀̉̍̾̒̇̃̂̒̉̽̌̇͛́̋̐̎̉͌̕̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͠͠L̴̢̨̡̧̨̛͖̝̪̪̙͚̮̦͚̭̩̥̝̹̝̬̜͉̳̭̝̮̖̫͕̯̞̘͙̟̗̹͚͖̹͓̪̯̠̭̘̜̲̠͎̯̱̤͎̖̮̥͖̮̈́͐̋̀̎͆̏͐̐̋̏͌̚͜͝ͅͅͅĻ̵̡̛̛̫̲̳̼͚̻̱͙͈̬̟͍͚̭̯̝̘̯͚̻̖̯̬̘͖͚̣̬͇̲͗̇̈́̓͋̓͗̏́̌̑̓͒̏͆͐̂̄̍̾̔͒̏̃͊̇̓͋͒̂̓̌̀̂͆̈̌̈͗̔̓̎̋̔̃̈́͐̈͊̄̕͘̕̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ ̴̧̨̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̩̺̰̩̪̻̮͔̝̻͈̩̟̲̲͚̲͉̠̘͍̲̫͇̗̟͍̺̥̤̯̫̺̝̹̹͎̲͔͚̳̱͙̗͉̗͕͇̺͓͕͎̺͖͙̖̹̰̝̳̦̳̬͙̼̬̭̺̮͖͙̙̖̮̣̠͓̉͐̇͌̊̈́̿̃̾͛̽͑̆̊̈́̈́̓̉̐̊̓̏̿̓̀̈́̂͐̃̽́͌̌̒̾̎͒͋́͗̅̒͑̂̀͗̎̐̾̉̾̄̒͂̉̄͛̽̄̾̈́̂̃͗̾̑̚̚͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅE̸̛͓̅̅͒́͗̀̊̊̈́͐͌̚͘̕N̶̨̛̺̣͙̭͓͓̻̰͎̯̠͗͒̈́̀̑̓̋͑̊̂͆͒̈́̈̐͋͑͌̃́̀̀͑̓̏́̒̀͗̀̾̑̔̎͌̓̐̑͊̈́͐͗͒͆̉̿̈̆̃͑͛͆̀͌̋͛̑͊͌͆́͗͗̌͗́̈͐̈́̈́̀̇̈̿̒̐̌͛̽̈́͛͗͒̽̂́͑̽́̾̈́͌̚͘̚̚̚̚͘͝͝͝D̵̢̡̧̧̢̢̢̢̨̧̛̛̛̼̫̗̹̩̜̤̼͚̲͕̺̫̺͍̣̹̰̭͙̘͉͚̦͈̦͚̙͚͖̻̝͈͍̯̳͎̪̟̮͚̺͖̞̙͖͔̱̻͔̝̺̤͓͔̻̲͉͎̻͚̟̩̼͚̬̐̃̎̋̇̀̓̓́̅̌̊͗̊͂̔̀̑̌̌̍́̄̓̇̾̏̎̀̄̒̀̃̈́͗̋͑̿̆͊́̋͐̽̓͊̄̍͒̌̇̄̄̏͗͐̈́͘̕̚͘͜͝͝͝͝ ̶̢̨̧̛̛̭͍̞̖̤͈̬͖͔̭͓̫͙̌̈́͊̎̆̅͒́̅̓̂͗̀̀͐̈́̈́̉͊͗̍̌̃̏̿̀͊́̒̄̀̿̋̂̾̈͂̀͐͒̚͘̕̕͠͝A̵̡̨̧̛̛̝͓̦͈̻̝̞̻͖̤̰̗̦̥̜̻̲̼̺̻̠͚̮̼̺͌͛̔̽̇̈́̋͗̊̽̈͋͌̌̿͒̓͆̓̑͛̊͐̀̍͗͊̄̈́̐̿̈́̈́͐̈̅͛̃̌̊̃͊͌̀̓̍́̈́̑̈̑̈́̈́͒͂́͒̎̇̔͝͠͝ͅL̵̨̢̨̡̹̰̤̘̲̳̳̮͚̘̱͎̜̦̮͎͕̝̲̼̩̣͎̞͎̰̹͔̺̜̹̣̺̯̳̗͇̰͉͖͎̙͈̭͚̙̰̟̹̙̙̱̬̟̼̥̯͙̙̺̻̼͇̆̀̓͆͜͜͜ͅL̸̨̡̢̧̨̡̢͓͇͇͎̭̟̘̣̼̭̮̘̤̝̟̩̥̗̘̯͖̯̰͓͈͔̜̤̻̥̩̣͈̯̮͈͓̲̱̤͔̻͍̳̗͔̬͈͍̹̦͔̹̩͉̖͎̬̳̜̜̬͎̭͚͓̟̩̰͇̪͈̮̟̺͍̀͆̍̄̒̋͆̅̐̆͒̂̇̀̊̊̆̈́̃̊̀̅͊̀̑͒̓̃́̃̒͂̆͑͒̅̔̿̃̄̚̕͜͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̨̨̢̢̡̢̛̝̙͇̖͖̣̘̻̘̭̰̞̻͔̲̫̞̞͙͖͙͉̱͎͓̝̗̻̘̣̣̮͉̖̝̻͉̞͓͚̰͔̘̖͔̭̭͓͚̠̣̦̗͓͕̞̯̺̼̼͓̙̗̟̼̦͔͉̦̟͉̰̫̮̻̮͕̘̦̬̬̤̳͇̯̩̙͈̥̖̠̳̼̫̽͋̈́͆̌́̅͆̈͒̿͗̊̀͑͑͆̇͌͑̀̋̚̕̚̕̕͜͝ͅO̷̢̢̨̡̧̢̥̙̝͚̫͎̘̻͓̟̭̪̻͚͎̦̬̰̣̲̖̳̬͖̳̪̹̮͚̗̘̬͉̱̖̥̙͕͚͎̝̟͗̔͊̂͛͌́̈́̄̈́̔͊̄̒̅̀̓̾͗͐́̽̀̽̄̔̒͊̚͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅF̴̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̮͍̹̯̣͇͚̘͓̞̹̮̳̖̝̮̙̘̳̖̝̟̭͉̠͕̺̺̙͖̜̫͍͍̥͈͍̙̰̮̻̦͖͉̭̼̭͔̜̻̃̽͆̔̒͋̃̄̐̆͗͐̄͒̽̈́͛͊̽͂̍̈́̆͌̀̄̽͛͗͒̊͗̂̿̅̎̔̍̑̋͑͠͝ͅ ̴̨̛͈̱̣̗̦̝͙͓̪̣͖͉̺͓͎̙͔̯̤̣̥̖̖̬̈́́̐̐̄͂̌͒͛̔̿̿̔̔̉̏̇͐̌̆̒͗͌̈́̓̂͐͑͒̆̑̈́̈́̈̃̌̐͋͊̀̅̋͌̃́̔̃̆͋̓͒̌̍͗͗́̆̅͌̑̈́̉̄̚͘͘̚͝͠͝͝͝͝͝Ţ̷̨̡̢̡̨̧̛̛̬̩͚͔͓̗̰̣̞͇̝̟̩̞̹̩̠͉͈̻̳̥̻̻̙͚̰̰͈̩̮͔̣͔͙̭̙̘̘̰̯̮͈͍͇̹̩͚̞͈̱̗̣̪̝̹̳̮̹͊̿̈́͑̅̓̆̐̀̂́̿͐̋̒̉͒̓͆̍̄̑͛̽̀̿̇̈́̆͛̋͐̾̀̔̉͗̊̃́̈́̊̊̌̌̊̽̍͊͊̂͊̉̅̒̄̕͘͘̚͘͘͜ͅͅḦ̴̛̝͚͙̞͖̩͈̺͕̝̥̱̱̀̄̆̓̾͛̆̊̃̓̿̀͋̈́̊̔̏͋̈͗̈́͛̂̽̒̐͐͊̄̈́̓̏̀̋̔̀̐̀̿͊́͛̄̊̌̿̐͊̐̃̆̇̓̾̔̍͊͋̏̓́͌̆̿̒͋͂̚̚͘̕͜͠͠͠͝͝͝Į̸̢̧̡̛̺̭͈̤̖͎̣̥̥͎̺͎̖̭̫̺̯̞̠̤̯̩̖̱̫̙͙͈̙̳̘̋̄̽̊͛̎́̊̉̇̽͆͋̾́̏̈̎̾͒̿̉̈́̉̐̅̑̋̾͆̏̀̀́̾́̾̅̆͒́̓̌͐̒͊̋̈́̔̄̉́͛̈́̈́͒̉̕͘̕͜͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅŜ̶̛̜̟̤͈̺̟̳̈́̃͋̈́̈́͂͗͑̈́͊̀̄̾̑̽̓͐̍̆̈́͛͂͆͋͊̍̕͘͝͝͝͝͠, ̶̢̨̧̺͈̯͓̻̫̱̻̥̙͎̭̭̥͙̰̬̪͉͎̜̻̮̻̺̩̲̘͖̣̥̰̭̠͇̮͖̱̙͍̞̩̰̺̲́͂͋͒́̀̍̓̔̽̌̇͐̄̓̌̑͆͛͆̆̓̽̋̎̂̊̿̕͘͘̚͜͜͠͝͝͠F̵̛̛̛̛̛̛͈̮̖̯̥͍̭̭͇̯̽͒͂̋͊̂̈́͒̏̂́̒̒͑͋̽̿̓͐̇͛̑̇͒̾̓͑͊͑̊͊̂̈́͒͆̋͆̊̊͌͂̄̎̈́͛̏͛̔̍́͆̋̈́͌̔͋͌́̏̋͛́͆̉̾̔̒̚̚̚̚̚͘̕͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠O̶̡̧̢̡̨͎̹̳͓͎͔̻̥͇̟͙͓͖̹͙͕̲̤̖̗̘̻͔̹̬͖͇̙͔͈̬̜̖̙̻͕͕̩͙̤͉̖͇̭͎͍̟͍̗͕̮̗̳̘̠͍͙̥͙̥̻̙͚̯̺͇͎̣͙̪̞̞̣̣̣̓̿̓͆͊͌̾͐͗͋̌̀̽̿̊̀̌͆͑͂͐̔̅̄̑̈́̀̄̕̚̕͜͝R̸̡̢̛̮̩̫̹̪͚̼͇̺̰̦̱̳͋̔̏̊͗̽́̀͋͂̓̒̈͊̉͛͐͊͗́̾͌͌̓͗̎̃̃́͛̽̅̀͗̀̊̓͐͒̄̔͋͂̆͆̑̈́͆̇̾̅̂͆̓͐̉̌̓̔̍̈́̍̿͐̃̃͒̾͘̕̚̕͝͝͠͠͝͠ ̶̨̛̛̛̭͕̠̼̟̱̤̥̙͉͖̲̖̖̰̩͕̹̮̥͙͉̺͚̪̳̻̖͉̍̿̈͗͌̄̋̓͆̓̎̃́͗͌̽̇̋͋͒̄̊̎̀̏̈́̽̂̐͒́͊̆͆̈̃̊̎̀̊̓͌̉͑͌̽̀͂̏̑͋́͗͊̍̒̀̂̂͌̑́͗́̊́͗́̂̇͋̏͑̐͑̅̈́̍̉̀̚̚̕̕͘͝͠͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅA̵̡̢̧̧̢̨̛̛̛̩͇̪͈̬̥̹̰̟̱̘̤͇͓̼̗͉͖̦̣͖̣̩̬͉̤̰̺̥̯̩̩̝͓̣̼̰̼̲̙͔̟̼͔̬̱̝͈̱̮̫̹̭̬̟̦̪̺͔̝̜̫͖̭̼̙̯̲̠̬̮̳̗̤͓͔̖̔̾͌̓̈́͛͆͗͌̌̂̿̽̂̐̓̂́́͊͑̈́̃̍̅̂̅̿̾́́͐͆̈́̏̏̃̑͛̏͗́͑̈́̓͋̃͊̅̄̈͑̾̈̔͌͐͑͛̏͂̅͊̌̄̅͗̽̌̓̅͗͊̄̇̅̀̏̀̓̊͑̓̔̚̚̚͜͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅL̸̢̳͈̑̌̑̃͂͂̐̐͊͘̚Ļ̸̨̧̡̨̨̛̛͉̝̥͉̞͚̩̝̙͚̜̰͙̭͙̥̮̠̰͖̙͎̩̣̮̫͉̹̱͕̗̫̗̪̙͚̭̜̖̖̫̙̩̱̖͕͕̆̅̓͛̄̂̆̀͗̆͑͌̐́̌̓̈́̀̀͊̄̈́͗͛͐͊̈́̀̈́̈́̽͛̎̓̉͆̈͑̿̊̕̕̚͘͘̚͜͜͝͠͠͝ ̸̧̨̢̡̢̧̢̢̡̛̛͓̟̗̤̱͚̻͖̼͚̼͎̻͉̥̘̩̻̭̙̟̘̪̙̗͇̟̣͔̰͕̲̺͕̯̘͎̲͚̼͚̼͎̫̼͔̱̱̥̻̟͇̫͇̯͖͕̮̖͕̬̻̫̼͇̻̘̹̳̗̳̺͇͕̮̹̤̬̬̖͔̩͕͓̬͙͚̠̰̮͚̥̈́̅̒̒͑̋̈́͑̈́̄̒́́̐͐̍̾̈̎̒̈́̄̆͑͑̉̈́͌̍͆̈́͋̀̎͊͛͗͗̎͐͑̇̋̅͛̔̃̈́̇͂̋̾͑̉̐̎̑͂̈́͒̅̑̃͐̂̍̓̿̊͗̈͒̒̅͒͌̆̓́͐͒̑̾̏͊̋̀̈́̌̋̏͘͜͜͜͝͠͠͝Ǫ̶̧̢̧̧̛͓͕̲̙̬͉̥̖͍̞͙̲̣̯̼͍̙̩͉̣̮̟̱͍̹̩̓̀̊̓̈́̿̔́̃̂͌͒̐̏̈͋̿̔͛͛͂́̍͘͘͝͝͠͝͝F̷̨̛̛̦̰̥̘̖̙̯̟̠͙̬͎͓̪̮͚͊̃̾̿̆̊̓͐͐̄̄̂̉͊̉̈̃̈́̔̔̈́̓̈̇́͌̂̽́̀̀̔͑̒̈́̐̌̉̍́̃͋͂͒̆̋̍͋̂̔͒̈́̐͌͊̇͛̈́͊̐̏̈́̿͊̎̂̉̀̎̎́̃̔͛͂̅͌̏̀̇̃̏̍̓͆̎̓̋̍͘̚̕̚͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅ ̴̧̛̮̩̫͈̻̹͚̰̟̜̗̲̠͚̠͉͛̒̅̌̓̿̎̒́͋̂͌̏̋͑̓̑̍̄̓͐͋̃̔͂̌̉̃̈́̃͘͜͝ͅƯ̴̧̧̧̢̢̧̛̺̭͕̗͙͔̬̼̣͈͓̮͎̪͚̥͕͉̦̠̯̬̖͓̯̥̙̗̞̺͇̳̟͇͇̭̜͓̮͙͍̯̘̪̰̠̼͙̪̩̘̥̖̤̦͈̆̑̔͆̍̿͑̇̈́̒̀̏̇͂̋̿̂͐̄̀͌͑̽͊̃̀̉͐̍̈́̋͋̇̀̚̚͜͜͠͠͠S̴̡̧̢̢̨̡̨̨̢̧̢̧̧̨̛̭̣͖͙̰̭͚̞̹̼̣̰̲̪͈̗̙͔͖̜̝̬̼̻͎̬͖͔̭͓̜̮̱͓̯̳̹͚̪̹̺̳̙͎͖͖̻̤̰͕̲̳̬̦̻̫͉̥̰͉̟̟̦̮̪͎͎̥͇̗̼̥̣̣̘̟̱̥͈̭̯̻̖͙̻͓̹̟͙̋͐͒͂̒͑̍̏̃͆̂̌̿͋̊̚͜͜͝ͅ!̴̢̨̧̡̧̧̨̡̡̛̛̛̛̘̪̹͙͓̱̗̝͇͍̲̺͙̠̳͓͖̞͎͕͇̺̘͔̺͇͇̹̤̬̖̻͙̻̳̲̮͔̥͇̬̫͓̹̜̣̲̰̼̘̼̬̮̻̰̰͖̼͖̻͖̺͙͙̿̉̾̀͛̉͗̉̿̎͊͛̊͗̔̔͆̏͛͋͌͊̑́̒̎͗͌̎̈́͐̅̀̅͌̄̓̿̌̓͒͜͜͠͝͝͝ ̵̢̢̢̨̡̡̢̨̧̡̯̞͈̗̦͕̖͔͉̱̭̞̺͍̲͉̞̟͍̺͉̤͖͓̳̤̙͈͈̯̥͙̭͙̰͇̣̹̱͚͖͓̳̣̘̞̟̣̙̙̣͈͕̺̜͚̤̣̬̪̬̝̞̘͔̝̣̜̞͖̩̲̱̫̱̯̞̱̱̘͔̯͎̽̏̊̓̍͂͒̒̔̋͌͛̌̆͋̈́͌̓̔̉̿́̀͑̈́̂̽̈́̈́͒́̊̉͑̑̉̎̋̏̀͛̐̅͋̾̈́͋͌̈́̎̒̆̕͘͘͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅ”

BOOM.

An explosive shockwave was surging at them, and the hollers to not stop at all costs sprang from them all. It was there; it was getting smaller, but they weren't going to let it win. They pushed through.

Then moonlight.

The silky white glow from the moon above shrouded them. Suits are worn, along with their body and mind. Miguel couldn't stop his intrinsic hold on the sphere. It was beautiful; it shined ever so vibrantly on him. All he wanted to do was grab it and hug it. Never feeling the need to let go.

No stars were adorned alongside it. But it didn't matter; as long as the moon was there, that's what truly mattered.

Buzzing and strong migraines and pains danced in their heads when cheers, words of praise, and cries replaced them. A flock of people neared them all as the other spiders yanked and hugged Gwen, Peter, and Miles. Pats on the backs, longing hugs, and tears from nearly everyone as Brooklyn lied in ruins. More people came out of hiding, their applauding and hoots and hollers around the heroes blared, when two people dashed out of the crowd and right to Miles.

They hugged and squeezed each other, nodding and shaking, before wobbling to their knees, crying from joy, nerves, and maybe more.

Miguel could only look; he was lost in a trance. There were no glitches; besides the ruined city, everything was in place. No pixels, no one trickling away into the nothingness. All was… intact.

“Hey.”

Miguel startled, shook his head a bit, and spun around to the other spiders staring at him and Miles holding his parents for dear life.

“Thanks for helping. I, uh, I appreciate it. Just know that there's going to be a lot to fix. Like, a lot.”

The big man didn't know if the teen meant Brooklyn, the society, or himself.

Miguel only bowed his head toward the cracked concrete, then to Miles. “Yeah. A lot.” Then his eyes were back on the moon. “A lot.”

How much was a lot? The empire he made tumbled and fell like it was a simple house of cards.

Where do they go from here? Where will the Spider Society go from here?

...

Where will he go?

Chapter Text

Doing the whole ‘reversal of knowing a person’ to ‘not pretending they don't exist’ is a hassle.

You try not to get too bothered by it as life makes and breaks its course, but it's still a blow to your heart, perfectly settling a bigger and new scar that'll last for a good while. Maybe even forever.

The decision that was mutually agreed on was the worst, especially dealing with it from Miguel. Even with the basic number of texts you sent, he would egregiously find a way to respond in such a manner that conveyed he could give two flying shits, if not less.

It was very annoying, like pulling teeth. You were aware of his method, and you wanted to bite that bullet and let it float away in the endless breeze, but your stubbornness was winning as you tightened onto that desperation of wanting to fade on some type of positive note. Or, more realistically, a neutral one.

That part was dangling for dear life, while the other was fighting to let go.

When he left for the actual last time, you rewound that evening non-stop in your brain. Not a single detail was lost, and you could recite the argument and the following pacifying conversation verbatim.

It also didn't help that you could still taste his lips on yours.

Your thoughts would drift, the many what-ifs plaguing you if either he or you had removed that watch. Would he have tried to dismiss them and then proceeded to take you back into his mouth? What if they never needed help? Would it still have gone the same way? Hundreds more haunted you.

Ronnie took notice of your weird one-eighty mood shift—well, more of a ninety-degree turn.

You were slightly better after finally coming to some type of conclusion. There were still a few or more inquiries that stuck to you, like hot glue on a broken furniture piece. Was the canon a physical element or merely a hypothetical concept that is only talked about? How legitimate is it exactly? What would happen if a canon was wrong? Were you really supposed to not exist?

You regret not asking for some tangible proof and evidence.

But at the end of the day, it was a momentary experience. An encounter that you wish would have lasted for much longer.

Mindlessly shelving items, you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of whatever world of wonder you stuck yourself in.

“Hm? How may I help you?” You casually peer up, expecting a customer, only to see Ronnie staring at you with a quirked brow.

“You were out of it again. I said you can go on ahead and take your break now.” She turned to the racks before looking back at you. “And to also tell you that you've been stuffing most of the things in that box here.”

You glanced up to be met with clothes, books, and a few board games, all disorganized and shoved in a spot where wooden figures are supposed to be. “Oh, right. I'm sorry. I'll fix this and put them in the right spot. You can go ahead and start my break timer now, if you'll like.”

Ronnie blew a raspberry and lowered herself to the balls of her feet. “You honestly think I'm going to do that? I know I like using my boss powers for... certain intentions, but I occasionally like to use them for good too.”

You rolled your eyes, and she gave you a few playful punches. “But no, I'm not going to do that. I'll take care of this. You go on and relax that pretty head of yours.” She started to remove the articles of clothing, putting them in the box before moving onto the books.

“Ronnie, it's okay; I made the mess, and I'll fix it.”

“How have you been doing?”

You blinked and rolled your neck at the sudden tightness. “How am I doing?”

“I'm pretty sure that's what I said. How are you doing?”

“I, um, I think I'm okay. Yeah, I'm still taking it day by day.” 

She clicked her tongue and sighed. “You think you're okay, or you know you're okay?”

Your mouth went dry, and your throat randomly felt sore. You haven't told Ronnie about what exactly went down when Miguel came that day. It's been close to two weeks, and you were hoarding up all those feelings.

You didn't want to burden her anymore with the mess you're dealing with. She's already done so much that you felt as if you had to step back.

“Yeah. I'm–I'm fine.”

She twisted her lips to the side and ran her fingers down to detangle knots from her hair. “You don't have to be by yourself during this.”

The guilt was feasting heavily on your soul. “I-I know. It's like I've been saying, it'll pass eventually.” It has to.

Ronnie didn't say anymore and rubbed your back. “Alright, I'm not going to pester you. But just know, I'm always here. And I'm still not afraid to find him and beat his ass with trusty ol’ lummy over there.” She exaggerated her wave over to the checkout counter. A twitchy, small smirk made its way when Ronnie hugged you.

“Thanks, Ronnie. But I still think that isn't necessary.”

“Middle ground. If I personally see him myself while casually out and about, I will find a way to make the bat magically appear.”

You silently muttered, “Oh my gosh,” dramatically dragging your fingers down your face and giving a sidelong glance.

“There will be no barrier. Now go and take your legally mandatory break that has suddenly been pushed to an hour and a half.” She stood up and stretched her arms in the air, leaving you slightly befuddled.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I'm sure, an extra thirty will be added.”

Your mouth opened when she jutted in again.

“And if you tell me you don't want to leave me here by myself for that long, you're getting the rest of the day off.”

She knew how to take advantage of these situations, and you were aware you weren't going to win this no matter how many objections you projected at her.

With a huff and a raspberry of your own, you took the undeserved leisure time, eyeing that smug grin while you gathered up your bag. You acknowledged the care she was giving with another embrace and made your way out to get something to chow down on.

Stopping in front of the Asian street food restaurant, you debated on heading inside and relishing the tasty cuisines when your mind aimlessly migrated to the day you two dined here. The comforting sway you both invited when he discarded his sunglasses, gazing into those beautiful ruby-reds, that culminated a sense of ease and reassurance. How the conversations made it seem like no one else was in the building besides him and you.

Realizing your hand was on the handle, you drew away and persuaded yourself that you were in the mood for anything else. 

Settling on a simple chicken wrap, cookies, and fresh fruit, you took the meal to go and ventured wherever your legs led you. You absently munched on the sugary pastry goodness, loving the unpopulated sidewalks before the rush. You were always thankful for having an 11 a.m. lunch instead of noon; you didn't have to endure the bustling nature of crowds or long winded lines and angry customers who held them up just because they didn't have an extra pickle on their sandwich. 

You took advantage of these soothing moments.

Ambling more down and finishing the last of your grapes, you stumbled on an overfamiliar space. Blanking out for a second, you groaned out and plopped down on the bench. You did your best to ignore the park, finding ways to steer clear of this part at all times. But even your body clashes with your mind and reasoning.

The adjacent bench remained empty, but your brain sought to create a visualization of him. You could distinctly remember it all, despite wanting to erase it. You dared not come this way after that last night, when he ran away. It added way too much salt to that wound. A truck load on it.

Tirades of reminiscence frequently bombard your nonchalant feelings for him. You strived to keep it at bay, but there's times like these when it's of no use.

You allowed it to go, just for this day. That night will always be near and dear to you. He left an imprint on your heart. You reached for your phone and clicked on his name.

‘Thank you.’

That was the last message. 

You remember eyeing those three dots going on for nearly two minutes, boring at the screen hellbent on what he was going to say. Your brain virtually knew he wasn't going to send his genuine thoughts or his true words, but that lowly fraction of false hope was sneaking its way into the heart.

When those dots stopped for a few seconds and then continued bouncing, you felt your pulse and heart racing. Maybe he was ready to prove you wrong; he was going to have that sliver of hope prosper and scream, ‘I told you so!’

You did say, ‘I told you so,’ but it was the major side that won.  

Blinking back whatever sentiment was trying to brew, you slipped your phone back into your pocket, holding one last stare at the wooden seat before standing up. You still had plenty of time to wander about, so you took a deeper look into the more downtown vicinity.

It was crowded, but that's to be expected as it's the main hub section. Hover cars speeding by, followed by blaring honks, was such a huge contrast from the serene park that's less than ten minutes from here. 

You dodged people in expensive business attire who were too busy tapping away on their tablets or talking into their watches, which was a hassle. They would bump into you as you muttered an apology, but only to receive a scowl or a “watch it!” in return.

No wonder he barely came out here. If this was a scene you had to grudgingly witness every morning of every day, you would stay stuck up in that stuffy skyscraper too.

You momentarily came to a stop, apologizing to a person who almost ran into you. The tower was deadlocked in your line of sight. You unexpectedly felt cold, despite it being a hot summer day. Goosebumps pricked at your skin as his giant castle leered down at you.

The only difference was that there was no moat. No snapping sharks swimming in lava. No. It was simply automatic doors that were in between you and his domain. 

The world seemed silent, a suspended notion, as time and the ones in front and behind were coming to a frozen standstill.

Your brain was rushing with questions like a rapid river racing downstream into a waterfall. Do you dare step in? Would you be immediately identified by his insane technology? Would you get kicked out by security once you were recognized?

Would he be on the lower floor level? What would happen if he was and you saw each other?

Your legs trembled, and your feet took hardy steps as if they were ready to collapse at any given moment. Your throat parched, clenching like a child twisting a colorful, plastic bendy straw. It was territory you were going to cross; someone was lowering the drawbridge for you.

Or maybe you misunderstood and might drop straight into the trenches. 

You were really going to go in. To trek into his hellish arena. Holding your breath, the doors slid open, and a waft of cool A/C blasted into your face. All you could see was black, your nails burying into palms, breaking some of the skin. You took a deep breath in and swiveled until you were overlooking the active citygoers again. 

“This isn't worth it. I'm not going to just rush into this without—”

Swarms of people were shrieking, pointing up at something from the side of the corporate building.

“Someone is falling! Someone jumped!”

Marginally confused, you pressed through the crowds to see what the commotion was; if somebody had leapt, surely the hundreds of spiders residing in there would've had a prevention plan for it happening. Surely.

Scooting closer, you squinted and shielded your eyes from the sun to get a better view. From what you could distinguish, it was a person in a black suit; you couldn't tell if he was running from something or not, and another figure was nosediving after them. You adjusted and cupped both of your hands on your forehead to see a red and blue suit…

That red and blue suit belonging to a distinctive individual.

“What the hell?! Mig- uh, Spider-Man! Spider-Man!” You jolted out, stumbling and bumping into others; they didn't seem to care as a waterfall of vividly bright dots dispersed in the same direction as Miguel and the other figure.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your sockets at the situation unraveling. You couldn't possibly fathom what was going on in Miguel's head. Is that a bad guy he's chasing? It must be if hundreds of heroes are chasing after them. But why is this villain also wearing a suit? Could they have gone rogue?

You sprinted, wanting to keep up, but the surge of people intrigued to witness this spectacle was getting in your way. No matter how many times you said “excuse me,” no one bothered to budge. You tried to keep your attention on the action, but by the time you finally escaped the abundance of the crowd, he was long gone.

With a racing heart and a garbled yet stunned brain, you make your way out of the cluster and back to the park. Collapsing on the bench, your leg bounced and your brain rushed as you strived to recount what you had witnessed. Haphazardly yanking your phone out of your pocket, almost dropping it on the pathway, you hover over his name and click on it.

Is this a good time to text him? He's obviously busy with whatever he was chasing, but your worries were overtaking you. “I'll just text him now, and whenever he's not busy, he can respond. Yeah.”

Your fingers typed faster than they ever have, asking if everything was alright and to get back to you as soon as he could. Your daily alarm for your break popped up, and you opted to hail a taxi back into work instead of speed-walking back to beat the clock. Arriving three minutes ahead, Ronnie couldn't help but lift a brow when you came hurrying into the door.

“I know you like to be here early to beat the clock, but calm down; you're good—” Ronnie dropped a container on a nearby display table, her gaze tensely locked on yours. You were disheveled, like you'd seen a ghost or been haunted by one. She tapped her nail on the lid, waiting for you to tell her what you encountered.

Admittedly, barging in the shop wasn't the brightest idea because now Ronnie isn't going to let it go until you're forced to talk about it with her. With her hand on her hip and her finger at you, she was prepared to get you to speak when a customer asked for some service.

“I'll ring you up. One minute, please.” You thanked whoever was looking out for you, striding to the back to clock in and hop right back into work.

For the rest of the workday, you were in a cold sweat. Ronnie gave sidelong glances, but you pretended to not notice, taking every shopper that waltzed in or doing all the menial tasks. You were home free when the last person exited the building. After finishing up the rest of your cleaning and snatching your bag, Ronnie blocked your way out.

“Alright, I held it in all day. What made you nervous when you came in?” She folded her arms and leaned back on the door.

“It was nothing, just a dog chasing after me, but I got away, as you can see.” You gave a thumbs up and painted your best ‘I'm fine’ smile. “So you go ahead and rest up; I'll see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

Taking that step forward to get the point across, she didn't budge an inch. Shaking her head, Ronnie groaned out. “I'm worried for you. You can't run in with this deathly and deranged look; then tell me it was something simple like a dog.”

“Dogs can be scary.”

“Some can, but I know it wasn't a dog. Well, unless it was a certain dog that I can't stand—”

“Ronnie.”

“Then tell me. I'm seriously worried for you. You can't keep bottling all of this up. You have to let yourself get something off your chest.”

You bit your bottom lip, your head shifting downward with the blank gaze rolling in. She wasn't going to quit; she's persistent as all hell, and it was beginning to annoy you. You really wanted to go home and be by yourself to check if he replied back, but you knew the more you held off, the less you'd be trapped.

Closing your eyes and titling your head back, a raspberry escaped. “I saw him. No, he didn't see me; I don't even think he was aware of my presence. It freaked me out more than it should; that's why I came in the way I did.”

Ronnie's downturned lips and knitted brows weren't helping your cause or mood. You hoped she was going to stop there and let you go home, for your sake. She couldn't do much to help you, as much as she wished, but with your obstinate demeanor, she might as well have been a fish stuck in the bowl.

“Alright, I won't force it out of you. But you're withering away, and you know you can't hide that from me.”

You expelled a long sigh and nodded. “I know. Have a good rest of your night; see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

With that exchange, you carefully closed the wooden entrance and made your way home. You are fine; why couldn't she understand that? You got that ending to the final chapter, and yeah, sure, there was no epilogue or continuation that uncovered the many unanswered mysteries cemented so deep that it may even go further than six feet; at least you still were given something. 

And yet, it still wasn't enough.

It's still not enough for you to let go. It's still not enough for you to forget him because you know you never will. It's still not enough for you to close the threshold on this self-battle you're facing to make something that doesn't work.

The many days that you've gone by, reciting this shitty mantras of how it's over and how you need to let him wash away with the wild tides of the ocean and you'll make it out okay, were nothing but complete and utter bull. All you've done is tell yourself lies after lies.

And you didn't make it any better for yourself.

You find yourself slowing your steps, standing there frozen, forever consuming those pergolas that want to welcome you in, which taunts you into a false sense of security of dreams and memories. The lush and tempting evocation of your first kiss or how breathtaking Miguel was next to those flowers.

You desperately had to get back home, especially when you heard your phone ping. That self-preservation of not looking was chipping away. You ran like you were competing in the hundred-meter dash, practically clambering into the elevator and into your apartment.

Kicking your shoes off, not caring where they were, you slumped on the couch and opened up your phone… To an email from some store newsletter going on about a sale.

The disappointment did crash down hard when you checked that he didn't even read the message.

“I guess whatever that person he was going after must have been a big deal.” You tossed your cell on the coffee table and went to cook up some instant noodles, lounging on the sofa, half watching some animated film, before laying down and passing out.

Day after day, you messaged Miguel, asking if he was okay. You didn't want to worry, but your brain would gun it to the worst-case scenarios whenever he didn't respond. You tried to squeeze more presumptive thoughts, such as he's busy, he's overly tired, and he's just recovering.

The delusion was tucked in all over.

Every ding was a heart attack. You would drop everything and scramble to your phone, only to be met with this disillusionment when it was some stupid email or a video someone uploaded. 

You ended up having to turn off all notifications except for messages, and the only person who was contacting you was Ronnie, who was checking in.

Two days turned into four, and four into a week when you had enough horrors you were conjuring (to the point you believed you might have been dead), you were ready to call him up when you saw that all your messages had been read. Your blood boiled, but you cooled yourself. Maybe he just read them, and he's going to say something. Or maybe he's been so caught up in whatever happened that he couldn't exactly get back to you. Benefit of the doubt, you are willing to give it.

That, and you don't want Ronnie to raise any suspicion.

‘Hey, I'm just seeing if everything is alright. I know it must be madness over there for you. I really hope you're doing okay and they're not stressing you out more than before.’

You hit send, your eyes not leaving that confirmation. It was delivered. Then a minute went by. It hadn't changed. Minute two, still nothing. You were ready to give up when it switched to read.

Your heart was ready to leave your chest. Keeping a lookout for Ronnie, you glanced back between her office door and the phone. You were patient, ready for those little circles to emerge. You tapped your foot to the beat of the song playing over the speaker, nerves wrecking throughout your body.

“Come on, Miguel. Say something. Please, say anything—”

The door handle began to jiggle, and that's when you spooked yourself, sliding your phone back in your pocket, and rubbed your clammy hands on your pants. Trying to be as casual as physically possible, you pretended to busy yourself by rearranging little figures on a miniature storage rack.

“The feed to the security cameras is in my office. Remember?” She sat a bag of old electronics on the counter and ruffled her already unruly hair with her free hand.

Damn technology. Always ruining your position.

You removed your hands from the items and folded them in between your thighs. At least you didn't have to scramble to come up with an excuse for why you were acting in a weird manner.

“I'm not going to fight you over why his name was in your mouth, but just know, it's going to ruin my psychological state the more it settles. I'm letting you know now.” She vocalized in a chirpy but non-joking tone.

If she wasn't going to engage and tussle you for it, then that's the path you were sticking with. You'll tell her eventually. 

Eventually.

You didn't hear your phone go off once for that entire day. You believed you might have accidentally turned it down during your panic state, and work was non-stop, swamping you enough to not even give it a quick peep. Though you were glad to have the distractions, it took away from the daydreams of what he might have messaged you.

Yet, when you got home that evening, you were met with your sided concerns, forever stagnant on that screen.

You felt yourself being reeled back into that realm of emptiness. You veered off into the void, hot tears descending down your cheeks right onto your phone.

Later that night, you blindly found yourself back on the dating app, swiping left and right, giving low-effort conversations and flirts, before giving up and pleasuring yourself with your vibrator and hand. 

You had to restrain yourself from calling out his name when you got into it. It was going well, from the low buzzing to your fingers pumping in sensual yet sporadic motions. Turning the intensity up, you pressed the button one more than what you were originally going for, and the toy amplified.

Shuddering, you bit down on a pillow, stifling your moans, letting your body become free from the intruding thoughts. Then you granted that embark. That unchained will to let it wander, to let it go into a more imaginative world. 

His name slipped from your lips during the venture of the moment. 

You jumped, removing your fingers and tossing the vibrator at the foot of your bed. You huddled up, your knees touching your chest, as a hefty breath brushed against your skin.

Your mind was gone, and you didn't know what to do anymore.

Ronnie refused to allow you to submit back to your fallen endeavor when you returned to work after learning (she forced it out of you), you had wallowed in bed all day and eaten nothing. Taking your break with yours, she treated you to delicious ice cream, buying you both a huge brownie sundae.

“You're talking. I'm not taking no for an answer either. I'm not taking an ‘I'm fine;’ an ‘I swear I'm okay;’ I'm not accepting any of that.” 

She was holding you at gunpoint. Her persistence was undeniably relentless, and the only way out was to cave in.

So you did. Merely halfway.

You excluded the details on what you exactly saw him doing; you took out a bunch of specifics regarding what was told to you that day he came by. But you did give enough that could satisfy Ronnie's needs.

From how you felt under pressure to text him to get his stuff, bits of the reason why you two couldn't be together (you had to make one up), and how you shared a kiss.

“Please tell me you didn't—”

“I promise you, we simply kissed. That's all.”

“Because I swear I would pummel him into the ground and have you...”

She took your heated silence with caution and took a huge bite of her sundae. You felt depleted by the end of it. Ronnie ended up changing the subjects, chatting about some family drama regarding changing the name of the shop and how her aunt had to be bailed out of jail for the fourth time in three months.

You mostly listened, ad-libbing here and there, as you dazed away. 

There was something so funny about this whole plight. How a simple person can work their way into your life and change your everyday routine, shaping it into this ever trivial but marvelous reality. Then, one day, like a powerful storm striking down an unsuspecting town, it comes crashing into a pile of rubble. Well, at least with rubble, you could probably make out what the structure was originally; this was crumbled into nothingness that even an expert couldn't tell you.

Almost finishing the last of your dessert, you looked into the empty cup and the small scoop of ice cream and brownie crumbs on the spoon. A treat is good at the moment, and when you get to the final bite, all you want to do is savor it forever.

You don't want it to end.

You brought another one after your shift, waiting to get home to munch on it. Kicking your shoes off, you placed a record on the turntable and sat down in your main comfort zone. Feet on the coffee table, you tugged out the cursed electronic device, unlocked it, and closed your eyes.

Earlier in the morning, you sent a single message pleading for him to say anything, to relay a sign that he was okay, that he is okay. You still had your phone on silent to not psych yourself out.

With bated breath, you opened one eye, then flung the phone on the other end of the couch and ate the rest of the dessert. It was just you and the soft melodies in the back.

You gave up four days later. 

You finally decided to give yourself some self-care. You gave your heart and mind the break they probably needed.

With a heavy soul and a heavy hand, Miguel was just another number in your messages. A bunch of random digits that are in your phone log.

As large, thick tears flowed down, you couldn't tell if the weight was lifted or if it harbored you down even more.

You guess you had to let time reveal itself to you, no matter how much you needed that answer now.

Chapter Text

There he was, locked in his bedroom, languishing all that had taken place.

The room was dark; nothing was able to be seen in or out of it. The only noises that were made in the room were his soft breathing or his footsteps when he got up to stretch his legs.

After the ordeal with Spot, things were a bit difficult at the HQ. Word certainly spreads quickly. The building could be close to ten thousand stories high, but everyone will know everything within a span of six minutes or less. From the whispering disdain to the raucous doubts from the spiders, Miguel was in scalding hot waters, and no one was willing to pull him out.

Peter, Miles, and Gwen ended up using Lyla to present to the hollow man their experiences and scientific research on what they detected during the whole exhibition. Nobody else bothered to show, not planning to deal with Miguel's reactions.

Though some of them wanted to see the look on his face when he was told that he's wrong with concrete evidence, they didn't have the patience or care left for it.

Miguel's sullen eyes glazed when he saw Miles and Gwen's world still standing. The reason why Mayday even exists is because of Miles himself. All of it was flashed and clarified left and right.

It didn't make it any better either when that itch that forever trapped him in turmoil vanished after everything essentially settled down. Now his inner conflicts battered him even more.

Was that sixth sense truly for you? Was this red herring he'd been following for months on end—this entity that's been swallowing him whole this entire time—meant for you? or for the Spot and the damn collapse of the canon? 

He didn't want to believe it, but it disappeared when he came back to the apartment that first night. 

It was all too much.

Halfway through, he wordlessly stood up and sluggishly stepped out of his office, leaving the three clouded and lost. They didn't go after him, as much as Gwen wanted to hammer it into his thick skull.

“Kinda unfair how he leisurely walks away after what he did to you.”

Miles could only shrug. “As long as he understands that he's in control of his future, I guess I can forgive.”

Days crawled by, as Miguel wasn't in the public eye. Somehow, less than before. A handful of spiders did question the main crew who was at the incident, what became of Miguel, and what exactly would happen to the society.

Most went about their lives and, rightfully, weren't ready to really go back to this life. Peter took charge by being an unofficial spokesman, reassuring that they would find a way to refurbish what the society primitively stood for. 

He ended up begging Jess to become the new leader because she knew the highs and lows and the ins and outs of the establishment. She was reluctant with the offer, and Peter acknowledged it, noting to take her time and giving her the much-needed space to relax and prepare for the birth of her child.

And as for his old boss? Not even Peter knew where he was.

But he was still there. Hearing in on all the discussions about this place. He couldn't bear to show his face. Riddled with guilt and utter anguish, he had to hide from the ambivalent conflicts he created.

Lyla was, of course, the only one to be aware of his presence, but she promised to keep his location a secret. So whenever Peter B. or anybody else remotely asks if she can track him down, she raises her arms and waves them in front of her face.

“Not even I can find him, and I'm this super-intelligent creation,” was the go-to excuse.

A couple tried to contact him; even Peter got Jess to attempt, but despite her dangling this grudge over him, she gave it several tries and turned up empty-handed each and every time.

Miguel would let the watch go off for a bit before managing to sever all communications from everyone. Now, when they would try, the line would go dead straightaway. He simply couldn't do it.

It got to the bottom line, where they gave up on their search. There were some braver ones to stop by his apartment, but their spider senses would flare up, ultimately making that area a ‘no trespassing’ zone. The speculation of him hiding in there did rise, but died down when Lyla broadcasted fake recordings of the empty rooms whenever they held suspicion. Going as far as to even make it appear as life footage.

He was grateful for her and her effort.

Miguel didn't know how to face them. He couldn't eat; nightmares kept him up for the long nights, and his thoughts made sure to go into overdrive. It got to a point where he couldn't take the silence or even his own breathing. He added music to the ambience, thankful you allowed him to keep them. It did help preserve some of his sanity—whatever was left of it.

As different chords and harmonies filled the air, he lay up with a baleful stare at the ceiling. His head was rampaging, and his ears took in every note, letting it settle into his flesh and bones. He let thoughts run out in the wild, not caring what they breached.

The canon; all he sacrificed... his osita.

You.

You were one of the main ones he didn't bother to try and push away in his rifling mindscape unpleasantries. In fact, you never left.

He didn't notice you texted him right away. The first couple of nights, he crashed hard onto his mattress and slept, allowing his body to recover.

Then the flood of messages poured in, and he would only stare at the first few words and swipe away each one once you sent. He couldn't do it.

He didn't have the right words to say or how to accept your worries and concerns. It scared him, and it terrifies him that you still have this gentle spot for him after all he has done to you. It wasn't fair; it's not fair that he couldn't fully give you what you wanted.

Each message you gave chipped away at his already destroyed heart. Yet he would mentally respond to them with a very distant reassurance. He didn't have the courage to face you, even though he wanted to.

He didn't deserve your emphatic words, but damn it, did he want to read them. He held an urge to see what you had fully said to him. Hour after hour, day by day, he wouldn't click. He would only wait with full anticipation when your face popped up on the screen. It was some cruel punishment he bestowed upon himself. An infliction that he truly deserved.

Then one day, he finally clicked and scrolled up to read. His wants swelled for you, and his desires to reach out were strong, though he resisted.

Every day, he clutched onto your words, desperately needing something to keep him sane. Like before, he kept his phone on your screen, only clicking out when you began to text, because his cowardice got in the way. He would only go back and read the new ones when he knew you'd be busy with your job.

He was indeed a true coward, but he wasn't going to cause any more grievances towards you.

He was scared to bring you down anymore. So all he could do was watch from afar.

Then one day, they stopped coming in. A spear of despair and anxiety pierced through him, aimlessly waiting for you to contact him. His knee would bounce at unsteady tempos, or he would pace across the room, his phone propped up, eyeing the screen for the three bubbles to pop up.

“Please… please, mi Luna.”

Nothing came from you. Not a single peep. 

And yet, he still believed he deserved it. He drove away the last piece of love he had left, and there wasn't much he could do.

He had nothing.

Eventually, after a few weeks, he began to sneak out of his apartment, taking air shafts and hallways that no one knew up to his office. He still missed his osita and would go chat with her for a couple of hours before heading back. He was able to spew whatever he wanted off his chest with no hassle because the space was barricaded and blocked off from the others.

He only knew it was because he eavesdropped on a discussion between Peter, Jess, and a few spiders about what to do with his section. 

Jess was visiting, showing off photos of her baby boy, Gerry. Peter B. couldn't control his excitement, gushing about all the playdates Gerry and Mayday could have, and the rest cooed, congratulating the new spider-mom. 

Topics lead down one road to another; things are tossed in here and there, and the discourse of Jess leading came into play. The ones surrounding her commended her for being more level-headed and comprehensible in how she handles situations. Overall better fit to be a leader.

Miguel's eye did twitch, but he bottled it up.

Debates were thrown about what to exactly do when Hobie suggested they tear it down and turn it into something more impactful. A statement of some sort. Agreements did weave their way into the air when Peter suggested they leave it. They raised their eyes and eyebrows at that, arguing why they wouldn't want to leave a place of bad memories and faith up if they decided to move forward.

And his rebuttal was simple.

“It is still technically his world. We can't really hijack all of his stuff. He created it, and yes, we may now have some… unrequited sentiments about the office; we should at least leave something more personal for him if he ever decides to return.”

Some were on board, a couple opposed, but after a few more convincing statements and negotiations, they obliged to keep it, and it's up to the person if they want to try and meander down in that direction.

Miguel was slightly glad to have someone try to pull him out.

Only one monitor remained on, the others collecting bits of dust bunnies because there was no reason to have them up anymore. Miguel rambling to Gabi felt oddly therapeutic in a sense. He knew she would be one of the last few to judge him.

Well, possibly the only one. His eyes did occasionally wander over to you. He was only able to watch a few seconds of the video before clicking it off. He did still have your messages open, waiting for you.

He doesn't know exactly how much time has passed by either. He knew it still had to be summer because of the time stamps from you, but this season felt more bleak, with more gray clouds above, covering up the skies. Where was the beacon of light? And even if it were to have been shown, would he have merited that warmth?

All he knew was that this was all he had left. Those couple of hours turned into days, residing next to the one and only monitor. Blanket near him, falling asleep to the sounds of laughter. If this was now going to be his future, then so be it. He would take the mass, doing whatever self-reflection would get him by. Or was it self-pity? He decided to go with the latter.

Lyla would eye his deteriorating state, teleporting foods next to him, but not much communication came from her end. She went on helping the others reprogram and rebuild the HQ, mostly being around Jess, who did consider leading and reestablishing the structure.

All seemed to fall into line. They omitted to seek out Miguel anymore, the spider-beings thrilled at the now-new endless possibilities after learning that they don't have to conform to and rely on this made-up entity. A new beginning was starting for them all, and they couldn't have been happier to be able to control their future.

And there was one who wanted everyone to have a future of their own. Everyone.

Miguel sat on his knees, perched up on his control panel, his eyes going back and forth between the hanging screens. He was slowly dozing off when he heard a certain sound coming from behind.

“I figured you would've been hiding in here.”

Miguel discreetly straightened up, forcing himself awake, and continued to blankly gaze into the blacked-out PCs around him. He pretended not to register Peter, but at this point, it didn't matter if he did. Nothing mattered.

“You know hiding away for months on end isn't the best way to handle your problems.” He climbed up on the platform, dropping to his knees, and turned to the flashing images. “There have to be days when you combat them.”

Miguel didn't vocalize a single sound; only his placid breathing was the only thing escaping from him.

“Lyla told me you would be up here. Don't worry, she made sure to catch me when I was alone.” He ruffled his own hair and lightly chuckled. “Her and Jess have been chit-chatting about new implementations and all.” Peter's eyes scanned for any change of emotion, but nothing was coming from it. So, he kept going.

“Yeah, she's been busy with that, so she asked me if I could be the one checking in on you. I honestly felt honored when she asked me after all that happened, but hey.” He raised his arms above his head and yawned. “Speaking of Jess, her son Gerry is so adorable. Not as adorable as my Mayday, but he's definitely up there.”

He knew Miguel wasn't going to open up so easily. He had already mentally prepared himself when he was making his way. It didn't have anything planned, but he felt that was the best way to come about this. To speak from the heart more than the mind. 

Peter believed that's what he needed. He doesn't need a worker or anything grandiose. He needs a friend to just talk to him and tell him how it is. And there was definitely a lot to unpack, so Peter let whatever his thoughts came out in slow, moving low tides.

“You know what? It's okay. It's okay, Miguel. We fuck up sometimes. I know I definitely did during that whole thing.” Peter frowned when he thought back to how he hurt and betrayed Miles, but he pushed on. “I mean, mine was bad, of course, but you fucked up in the worst possible of ways—but you'll get through this.” 

Miguel tilted his head with a burning sense of death in his eyes before going back to his osita.

“I know it's not the best way of looking at it, but it's true. Everyone keeps trying to out you as this sort of liar, but I have to remind them that you didn't build it on this lie.” He twisted his body to look at the entrance and settled on the bottom before choosing to lie down on the metallic floor. “You built it up on your paranoia. Your fears.”

His muscles tensed at that. Was it his fears? The canon was always a subject that seemed correct and made a ton of sense. One thing leads to another, and so on and so forth. A very structural ‘A’ goes to ‘B,’ and ‘B’ to ‘C.’ So was it truly his constant anxiety about wanting to keep billions alive? Was it not him merely trying to do the right thing that kept this idea up and running?

He turns to your minimized video in the corner and thinks about the night he ended it with you. That was him doing the right thing. Right?

“Miguel, I know you don't like hearing the same thing over and over, but I feel like you're going to need it.” Peter got more comfortable, intertwining his fingers together and placing them behind his head. “It's okay to be scared of the unknown, but now it's up to you if you want to face them head-on. The world is a big place, and the future is an endless zone of things that can be great.”

His eyes shut, enjoying the peacefulness of silence. It has been eventful for Peter, so it was nice for him to take it easy for a bit. “I know it must be hard. To believe in this one thing for so long only to have it proved wrong. Not to add insult to injury, by the way.” Miguel didn't bother to look down.

“But it can be an eye-opener to come at these things differently, and that's what I believe you need.” Peter grunted, sitting back up, letting his legs dangle and his mouth roam free. “You're so used to control, so used to having this hold to make sure things run smoothly, but if you were to look closely, you could see the serrated lines in the seams of the walls. Those cracks were creating a rift in the structure.”

Peter cocked his head before gesturing to Miguel to take a seat when he saw the corner of that red iris.

Miguel brought up the holoscreen and sank down next to Peter. He and Gabi were front and center, as the video with you two stayed hidden in a corner. All that was created and caused, all the blood on his hands—was it for nothing?

“Do you think... Do you think people like me deserve this? Another chance at life.”

Peter puffed out a huge gust of air and ran his fingers through his scruffy hair. “I mean, I would believe so.” He glanced at the child and then towards a familiar face and Miguel, when a determined gleam covered his face. “You know what? Yes. People who have been lost for so long and are wanting to change do deserve a second chance. I was given that second chance after running and doing so much damage that, after Miles and all that happened, I realized that I could have that too.”

He straightened up his stance, that driven look never leaving.

“And you can too. It'll have to start with you needing to make amends. From Miles to Jess, hell, nearly everyone in this place.” Peter eyed the holoscreen with him when his view landed back on your face. “And you need to make them with the person who was helping you break open. Who is willing to take a peek at those walls.”

“She would have looked deep into it.”

“So that wall was a shield. Maybe those cracks needed to make a rift to break down and see the full thing.” Peter grinned when his friend started laughing in front of the camera.

Peter was always the advocate for Miguel because a certain spider taught him he could see the potential in others once they put that faith in them. And he was always ready to see Miguel at his highest points that he could get to.

There was silence for a while as he expanded the video, having him and Gabi in the corner. His eyes never left you. His thoughts never deserted you. You were willing to stand by him and walk beside him. Those gentle and genuine eyes, that love you held for him. 

The love he holds for you always shines.

“You don't have to let the past dictate a huge chunk of you. It's how you go about handling these things, you know?”

Miguel twisted his neck, his heart thumping and his mouth agape. The gawking stare made Peter shift, but he realized what he said. 

“Go to her. You have a lot to do and fix, but I think this would be a good start. She would be a good start to the future for you. Learn to be a better you. It's never too late to start.”

He didn't know what to say; he couldn't think of the right words, but Peter was possibly right. Possibly.

He could possibly get one thing right.

“Do you think she'll even want me back?” But the self-doubt was still heavily engraved.

“That's something you're going to have to seek the answer to for yourself. There is no fancy algorithm or canon to decode that.” Peter brushed some lint off his robe and smiled.

“Now go get cleaned. You reek, buddy.” He patted his back and waved his hand in front of his face. “I'll still keep your location hidden until you're ready to face the rest.” Peter stood up, pulled Miguel on his feet, and put his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe.

“Tell her I said hey, and that Mayday wants to hang out again.” 

The giant nodded before pulling him into a hug. “Thank you, Peter.” 

“Of course. But please, go shower. I actually prefer you smelling like too many coffees and stale empanadas.” He gently removed himself and patted his shoulders.

Opening up a portal for him to go freshen up, Peter gave him a thumbs-up and a wink. “Take care of yourself and do for yourself.”

Miguel was going to hold on to those words. He knew he should.

There was more to this, and he wanted to grab it. He wanted it. And he was going to make these mistakes right. 

He was going to make this wrong... right. 

One string fell loose.

Chapter Text

He was doing this. After all this time, after all the bullshit he threw at you, he was going to do this.

He made sure to shower heavily. To wash away all the grime and filth that was caked on. Even though he knew he couldn't technically get rid of all of his doings, he could start fresh somewhere. Harmonic vocals from Selena weaved their way into the bathroom to help him even more. This was one of the first gifts you ever gave—the day you gave him that chance to blossom and unbound those chains of trepidation, anger, and so much more. 

Putting on jeans, a plain shirt, and a light jacket, he inspected himself in the mirror and brushed his hair back before backing away from it.

He checked the time and date and realized it was your off day. It was late in the evening, but not too late, so there was still a chance you were up and moving around.

Opening up the door, he made sure the coast was clear and made his way towards the back entrance, when a voice stopped him in his tracks. Quite annoyed, he flicked his head back when his eyes widened at the acquainted figure in front.

“Still sneaking around like a teen, huh?” Jess's arms were folded as she sized up her now-ex-boss.

Miguel was ready to make a snappy remark when he held his tongue. There was tautness; oxygen wasn't reaching Miguel, as he didn't know what to exactly say besides his crude comment. Well, that was a lie; he had plenty to tell her; he just didn't know where to precisely start.

So he made do with the best thing he considered to be the right step.

“I'm sorry, Jess... I'm really sorry.”

“Oh, I know. Shocked to hear it come out so easily from you.” Her snide voice wasn't even holding back, and her icy stare wanted to wipe away, but she felt no point.

Neither one spoke a single phrase, not a single word. No sounds, besides breathing and the occasional spider-people shouting or swinging by. Miguel, filled with distraught, fights for the next string of ways to verbally express himself and what he's done when Jess decides to open her mouth.

“You know, Miguel, I do see good in you. I really do, but sometimes I see something more that isn't good.” She uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips. “I won't go too much into it, as it seems you have somewhere to be. Common courtesy.”

He bowed his head for her to continue.

“You need help. You need to be the one to get it, because, my lord, you put us through hell and back.”

“I know, and I know sorry isn't much, but I want it to be a step on the right path.”

“Hm, you're certainly right about that.” She clicked her tongue, but held back and heard him out.

“And I'm not asking for this huge redemption—”

“Don't worry, there isn't going to be a giant pity part-”

“Jess…” There was a strain in his throat, so she pursed her lips and stuck her mocking thoughts to the side.

“I just… I want to try and reverse all the damage I caused to you all. I want to reconnect and change for a future that I seemingly am allowed to have.” He stared down at his talons, jutting in and out, before closing his claws into tight fists. “I need to fix all of this.”

Jess did feel the authentication behind what he was saying and rubbed her temples. “You can't reverse all damages. It's like trying to replicate a destroyed house that's been lived in for years. You can't make it look like a one-on-one scale of the original, but you can strive to try and rebuild as much as possible. Salvage it and give more to it than what was there before.”

Miguel creased his eyebrows together, trying to understand, when Jess shook her head.

“Don't try to think too hard about it. I'm willing to rebuild, but I know there's going to be things that are different.” A smirk appeared. “I don't fully accept your apology; I'm more of an ‘action speaks louder than words’ type of woman, and I'm sure you can attest to that.”

A smirk was on his face as well. “You're going to be a great leader.” 

“Oh, I know. You didn't have to remind me.” Both of their smiles grew. “Thanks.”

“Of course… And by the way, congratulations on your new son. How did the pregnancy go? How are you doing?”

She could feel her face lift even more. “It went well, thank you. Nothing that a spider can't handle.”

“Physically, yeah, but mentally?” He pointed to his head before awkwardly lowering it back down.

Her eyes squinted, but her smile never faltered. “Where are you headed?” Even though she had a sneaky suspicion about who he may be trying to see.

“I'm going to go and fix—uh, make amends—yeah. I'm going to try and make amends with someone who really needs it. I'm not saying that you all don't deserve it. I mean, you know—”

“No, I get it. She definitely needs it.” Jess held her hand up and grinned. “I wish you two nothing but the best. Good luck. You're going to need all of it.”

“Thank you, Jessica.” Miguel gave a mock salute, and she gladly returned it.

She felt much better, a warm sense as she watched her former boss go down that hall into a new light that he's finally able to see.

“About time.” She snickered and headed back when she heard her name being called.

Miguel placed his sunglasses on and stared up at the skies. Still bright, but it's wanting to turn in for the day. Strolling down the surprisingly simmered-down streets of Nueva, he began to ponder what to precisely say to you when he got to your place.

Does he go for a methodical structure, or does he completely wing it? Things such as this should come from the heart, and that's all he wants to give, but he also doesn't want to hurt you anymore and screw you both over.

His mind wouldn't stop. He needed this to be perfect—as perfect as it could possibly get.

The heart versus the mind. Or would they both come into play? He weighed the options when he came to a halt.

There was no time for a pit stop, but he was transfixed by the scene. The grounds that brought all of this into light. He strayed over to the park, nearly wandering in before reeling himself back and tapping his forehead. “Ahí no es donde vas. Don't get distracted.”

Meandering down the sidewalk, he rehearsed everything that he was going to start with. An apology—an authentic one. He shook his head. Would that seem too forced? It wouldn't come off as indecent; he thought that it shouldn't. Would gifts be appropriate, or would you have considered that too much of a gimmick and insincere?

His brain began to diverge into many branches. Was he looking too hard into this? How can Peter and others do this with ease? Is there something that he's doing wrong? His feet unknowingly picked up the pace as he descended into this rabbit hole of doubts.

He knows he has to do it; he needs to do it. Then why is he so scared to go forth? 

He froze.

He turned to his left and saw deflated or popped balloons laying on the ground, the strings tied to a stair metal handrail. 

Miguel craned his neck up when the recognizable was staring right back down at him. It's been too long since he's been, but he oddly felt right at home. Staggering in and up to the elevator, he pressed the button and watched as the yellow flash trickled to each number.

5… 4… 3…

There was a tug on his lips as he recalled the time he took you on that date to the lounge. The heightened anticipation when you both stumbled in, attacking each other in a sensual manner.

Or when you did your best to keep him steady the first night you both met.

Blinking himself out of a daze when the elevator doors began to close, he hastily stuck his arm out and strolled in, pushing the button to your floor and leaning his back against the wall.

His heart was pumping, his nerves were skyrocketing, and he was ready to see you again. Ready to face the challenges ahead, ready to go through it all with you. The sounds indicating that the elevator stopped were the point of no turning back, and he will happily continue to move forward.

He made his way to your place. Flowers would've been appropriate, but there was no time to hesitate when that wooden barrier was in front of him. Swallowing a giant air bubble, he brought his fist up to it and carefully knocked on it. Standing to his full height, he moved his hands behind his back and tapped his foot for a bit.

A minute passed, and there was still no answer. You were probably using the bathroom, so he once again rapped against the door and patiently waited for a response.

Another minute went by, and there was not a single sound.

Nearly breaking out into a cold sweat, Miguel settled his ear on the door and attentively listened out for any noises of danger, your footsteps, anything. You could have peeked into the peephole and saw what it was, and now you're pretending that you aren't home. He would accept that if that were the case. But from what his hearing was picking up, or wasn't, it didn't seem like that was a plausible choice.

Moving away, his mind began to race. You usually don't step out on your days off, but you're an adult who can do whatever you want, and you value a sense of routine.

You could've gone for groceries or a walk around the neighborhood. Checking the clock on his watch, your workplace was still open. Ronnie perhaps could have called you into work. He remembers you saying that it's very rare for her to do something like that, but today might be different.

Not bothering to use the lift, Miguel darted towards the stairwell, jumping over a few steps. Dashing right out of the entrance, gaining a few bewildered stares from passersby, he hurtled in the direction of the antique store.

You had to be there; that's what he kept convincing himself. You weren't in any sort of trouble; you were needed at work because Ronnie requested extra hands. That's one of the most reasonable and logical explanations. That's the one he repeated in an attempt to cool his nerves.

In the distance, the shop was approaching closer in view. He knew he had to deal with your employer, but he would gladly accept the beating. 

Bursting through the door, Miguel frantically began his search for you. Ronnie was startled by the suddenness but kept a strong act to not give it away.

“Ronnie, where is she?” He was peering in the back for any sign.

“You have a lot of fucking nerves showing your face here.” She refused to even glance his way as she scrolled through her tablet.  “I'm sure you're aware, but I give a two-count warning for someone to leave my establishment.” She stacked some books and placed the device underneath the counter. “That was one.”

“Ronnie, please listen. I-I know, I fucked up—I fucked up immensely. Please just tell me where she is so I can fix this. So I can make everything right.”

“I told you to take care of my girl. Now, she's a strong woman who can manage, but damn it, I have never seen her like this. She shouldn't exist? Are you fucking kidding me, my guy?” Her left hand was still hidden under. “Maybe it should be the other way around.”

Miguel winced at the words that he threw at you to be slapped right back. “I know, but if you please listen–”

“Should I even bother to mention how you fucked her, proceeded to act like she didn't exist, then broke up with her knowing she had work the next morning?” She yanked her bat out and aimed it right at Miguel. “Cute guys like you always have to have this bad rep, huh?”

Miguel put his hands up but kept his stance. He doesn't blame her for wanting to knock his lights out. “I know. I got my days mixed up when I made that idiotic choice. I shouldn't have done any of that to begin with; I should have been honest with my feelings. That's something I realize I need to work on.”

“You have a lot more than just feelings to deal with, man.” Ronnie's showdown wasn't letting up as she jabbed the aluminum weapon at his chest. “Now get out of my store; you know I'm not afraid to use this.” Her tone held every arctic bite to it.

Miguel closed his eyes and began to lower his body. Ronnie was taken aback as her eyebrows raised at this random display that he was doing. Not moving the bat from her position, Miguel was on his knees, hands by his head.

“What the heck, Miguel? Look, if you don't leave my store—”

“Please… I beg you to please hear me out. Tell me where she is.” His voice cracked as Ronnie's dead gaze wasn't helping. “Por favor…”

She tapped on the surface with her free hand and sucked in her teeth. Replacing the bat with the tablet, a holoscreen popped up into the air with a timer. “You got one minute. Starting now.”

Miguel looked at the numbers going down, only to receive a grunt from your boss. “You're only getting this time. I'm not restarting.”

He simply nodded. “I love her, Ronnie. I'm in love with her. I was a coward who hurt the main person I should have never hurt to begin with. I am in love with her. I'm so terrified to face things that I kept myself trapped, but as time progressed with her, I unknowingly didn't realize she was helping me escape those perils bit by bit–”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“And I want to do right for her—I want to fix this. I need to fix this. Please, Ronnie, please tell me where she is so I can be the one to make this better.”

Beeping went off.

“Time's up.” Ronnie turned off the clock and pushed her device to the side, her expression unreadable.

Miguel's entire body drooped. From head to toe, he sulked back onto his feet and turned to make his way to the exit. Maybe he didn't deserve you. Maybe Ronnie saw something so disgusting that even he couldn't see it.

“The last thing she texted me was that she was going to the park.”

He nearly tripped; he was halfway to the door before whipping back over to Ronnie. “Wh-what?”

“She texted me nearly forty-five minutes ago that she was going to park when I checked in on her. I don't know if she's still there, but that's the last location I know.”

“Is that—that's where she is?” He was hovering close to the counter.

“I didn't stutter. She's at the park; she could possibly still be there, so you better start gunning your way over.” Ronnie smoothly spun her bat back into its rightful spot.

Miguel's initial dread lifted off as hope immediately replaced it. “I- Ronnie, gracias. Te debo mucho… I–can you tell her to stay where she is and that I'm headed that way?”

“Nope.”

He jumped a bit at that. “No? ¿Qué diablos? ¿Qué quieres decir con no?!” His face was scrunched, his hands forming back into fists, puncturing his skin to keep himself from striking the table.

“You heard me, pretty boy. Go out there and find her. This is between you two; you're both adults, so talk it out like adults.” She calmly moved things around when she sighed out due to Miguel's towering, persistent presence.

“Look, I know you love her. It's no secret, but I'm not going to come in the middle and alert her that you're coming, because it should be up to her to decide whether she wants to let you in or not.” She watched as he cooled himself down and steered a few inches away. “How she reacts upon seeing a surprise visit from you will give you what you need.”

“That seems unnecessarily spontaneous.”

“That's how you see it. But sometimes you gotta go for it.”

It is true. At the end of the day, it's your choice if things will carry on. And he's compliant with respecting your decisions, even if the outcome won't be in his favor.

“I guess I have no choice. Thanks, Ronnie. If things go well, I hope to see you more as well.” He was ready to head out when one more thing pulled him back. “Why did you tell me?”

“You were begging on your knees, and as much as I enjoy seeing a hunky beast of a man like you down there, it was for the wrong person.”

A hint of a smirk almost crossed Miguel's lips. “Never change, Ronnie.” And with a wave of her hand, Miguel was once again out in the summer's heat and breezy nature.

Shaking her head, she moved to the back and laughed. “Man, love makes you do some weird ass stuff. Dude is intense as hell.”

If he swung his way to the park, he could hopefully catch you before you left. He knew he should've gone to the park from the start. But it doesn't matter; he knows where you are, and that's the most important thing.

Suiting up in an alley, he clawed and leapt from different buildings when the lush greenery was in plain sight; it was empty, so there was no hassle when he materialized out and sped in. He knew the first place to check, still keeping an eye out in case you were strolling about.

When he came up to the center of the walkway, he looked at the bench in front, then whirled to the other. There was not a single trace of you in sight.

“No me hagas esto. Where did she go now?” If he had to scour and tear apart the entire city, there was not one hesitant bone in his body. 

Thankfully, your place wasn't that far, so he raced back to try there one more time. Using long strides, he was almost at your place when he noticed two balloons floating perfectly in the window of a small store. A crescent moon and a star.

He thought back to the idea of giving a gift, especially during an urgent time such as this, but there was something hounding him to get it. Growling out, he rushed in, snatched the two balloons, and slammed his card on the conveyor belt, spooking the young worker.

“Uh, those are for display–”

“Just... take the card.”

With the balloons in hand and as fast as his legs could carry him, he found himself in front of the complex. Side-eyeing the stairwell, he trudged over and tied the moon and star on the tidy and clean rail.

He knew you were home.

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, he practiced everything that he was going to say to you. He had to get this right; he couldn't lose you, and he didn't want to. Yet when he stood there again, knowing you were behind that locked threshold, it all went seemingly out of the window. Off the tallest structure in the entire multiverse.

With Ronnie's words still strumming high, his jittery hand knocked on the door, his breath held in with the unease of the unknown.

You lifted a brow and glanced at your phone to see if you had any missed messages. You weren't expecting anyone, and Ronnie didn't mention anything about visiting you, so you had no idea who it was. 

The landlord? Maintenance? But nothing needed fixing? A neighbor requesting sugar? You inspected the peephole, and your heart nearly exploded out.

He was the last person you intended to have at your door, but there he was.

You weren't ready to face him—far from it. You could act like you're not home, but with his hearing, he might be able to hear your blood rushing through your veins.

You weren't ready. You simply weren't.

“Miguel? What… I- what are you doing here?” It's funny how your body always seems to betray your mind. 

“May I come in?” 

Words, phrases, sentences—all of it was stuck in your throat, stubbornly refusing to lodge their way out. You pushed the door in some way, so only your head and part of your torso could be seen.

“I-I—” You didn't know what to do. You wanted to make the right choice, and you have two clear-cut options.

Either you tell him to screw off and then ruthlessly shut the door on him.

Or you fight for you both and figure out what else lies more between, because deep down, you knew that there was more to this. There was more that needed to be broken down.

Your eyes stared at the floor before opening up all the way.

Miguel's muscles clenched and tightened. Feeling the strain coursing through him and what was in the air was killing him. He removed his sunglasses, placing them in his pockets, and his shoes, jutting them out on the bottom rack, so if things were to go south even more, he would be gone again, and maybe for good.

It's funny how the curtain call still held remnants of the show behind it.

“Sorry for the mess; I didn't know I would have somebody over.” You picked up some empty water bottles, dirty dishes, and clothes, sticking them where they belong.

“No, it's okay. I shouldn't have sprung up on you like this.”

“But you did, so... here we are.” Placing a few bowls in the sink, you hobbled over to the couch and sat your bottom on the less plump cushion. Miguel decided to stand right in the center, bottled up, not clearly knowing what he should do.

“Peter says hello, by the way. That Mayday wants to hang out with you again.” 

“I'm glad she enjoyed my company and wanted to see me again.”

“She wasn't the only one.” The air felt heavier. 

You both gazed around your place, scared to look at one another. Not much has changed; maybe a few added knickknacks, but the overall coziness was the same. He missed this. Continuing to scan over, his eyes jumped open a slight bit at a familiar blooming vase of flowers settled on the dining room table.

“You—you still have them?” He nodded over to the healthy tulips and daisies. Some of the petals may have fallen off, but they were still trying their best to push on.

“Hm? Oh yeah. I still want to see them flourish. I didn't see a point in having them wither alongside me; they should have the right to grow and have a radiant life for themselves.”

There was that gentleness. It seemed to have never fizzled in you.

God, he missed you.

His maroon eyes are on your body, taking in every part of you. You are beautiful—a fine painting, the moon in the endless sky, the prettiest flower in the garden. You are so gentle, bringing pure serendipity into his life.

He needed to break from this to get to you.

One strand goes down.

Before he even got to say anything, your words finally found where they needed to go.

“You hurt me, Miguel.”

There was a sting to that. A desolate tone that melded in with the sharpness.

“You really… hurt me.” You scooted to the edge of the couch, arms crossed, leering at him.

With a deep breath, he clutched on to that strength. “I know, and I'm sorry. I–” he still didn't know what to say. “I ruin everything that falls victim to me. I need—have—had to make sure things didn't go off the rails, but that's all I'm good at. I'm only good at hurting people.”

“There! Right there! You say you hurt people, but do you know why? Why do you think you hurt the ones around you?” There was no easing into this, but after being ignored for so long, the patience you held had worn thin. Once again, like last time, you let your mouth run free.

Miguel gulped, but pressed on. “Because I'm... because I–I don't want others to make mistakes, so I have to fix them, but when I try to fix them, they get worse. That's how this cycle goes. Because that's what I'm good at: ruining others.”

“You take things at face value, and all the aspects around you that you self-inflict cause the trouble to bubble over more.” You stood up and took a couple steps toward him. “You take that one thing that goes wrong, and you seem to run from it!”

“I'm selfish, mi… mi Luna. I'm truly selfish.” Miguel paces unevenly in your living room.

The air was unsettling. It was an awkward discussion that sat heavy on you both, but you had to persevere.

“Fine, let's deal that hand then.” You folded your hands as if you were playing a card game. “I'm seeing something different.”

Miguel went to lean in, a bit curious, but you swiftly placed your arms to the sides.

“Self-destruction.” You firmly stood as tall as you could go. “Self-destruction is what it is. When you hurt yourself, you hurt the ones around you, whether it be intentional or not.” You comb your hands through your hair to help keep yourself tranquil. “Does that make you selfish? No! Maybe not in your case. Yes, they may come off that way because you try to take a hold on every little thing.”

Miguel's heavy brows lowered. He is selfish, as he kept so much from you, hid the canonical events, and blamed you because he believed this world was going to end. He selfishly left you out of the loop, all because he believed it would've kept you safe.

“Tell me.”

He snapped back from the endless zone he had sucked himself into. “What?”

“Tell me what you're thinking. Be honest with me, Miguel. Speak your mind.”

Those eyes pleaded with an intense determination. You want to be there for him, you want to understand, and you want him to let you see what lies behind those cracks.

“No, I am selfish. I kept so much from you so you wouldn't get hurt. I didn't want you to be in any sort of crossfire where so much pain would be thrown at you.”

You threw your hands up in aggravation. “But it happened anyway. It. Happened. Anyways. You bring yourself down so much that it affects others. It's like you're a burning building.”

“I don't think I—”

“If a fire isn't controlled or contained, it starts to spread, destroying everything in its path. Does it know that it's doing it? No. It only knows to keep going until it reaches a barrier that will eventually stop it. But that's the thing: it leaves so much harm and havoc that it doesn't realize the full effect it has until it's too late. And that's what happened, Miguel.

“Your need to handle everything damages you, and you end up bottling up so much that people will start to wonder what truly started the fire. I've been down roads like that, and they aren't fun.” You didn't realize your shoulders were heavily moving up and down, but you went on. “You don't know how many people are truly damaged until your destruction is done.

“You're able to tick so easily. The moment something goes wrong, you go into a spiral of an internal war rampage, afraid for things to fall apart again. It's scary when you can't have that control over things; it does make one feel hopeless, so one will do anything to have that charge and that power for themselves.

“And that's what you did. Usually people go for their hair and cut it, not telling a person they shouldn't exist, that they're the cause of things going wrong, and that the entire world is ending.” You bit your inner cheek before sadly chuckling. “You know what? People probably have done both.”

You collapsed back on the sofa, stunned by how much you had kept locked away after all that time. Your heart was going a million miles per hour, and your brain, your being, felt exhausted.

He took in every word. Many did see him as this unstoppable force, this terrifying being that never ceased. Hell, even when he went after Miles, he couldn't stop before it was too late. There were heaps of mayhem left in his paths, but he was only doing it because he instilled that it was the right thing to do.

“I'm so sorry. I–I'm so scared of these things slipping out of my hands. Afraid of things not going accordingly due to what I've seen.”

“And you don't want to go through those again, and I completely understand. You simply can't go around and mow others down or force them into these cages you built.”

Miguel flinched when he thought back to how he strictly wanted to force Miles into a cage that he had created.

“Mi Luna.”

“I really tried, Miguel. I really did.” Your eyes met for a split second before you both turned away. “I know you saw them. You saw me reaching out for you. I only wanted one; a single ‘I'm okay,’ would have been enough.”

You tried to be strong, but the emotions won. Streaks of tears dripped down, and you quickly wiped them away. “You face these things alone; you manifest these high walls and towers, and you proceed to hide behind them, and you just—” you shuddered, trying to keep yourself level-headed to the highest degree. “You ignore the ones around you. You place an abundance of pressure and expectations on yourself that, when it comes down, you go distant.

“You distanced yourself before you broke up with me. You distanced yourself when you saw me at the park that you decided to go to. When we were supposed to naturally let the conversations die down, you acted like I didn't exist or tried to rush for it. When I saw you jump from your corporate tower, chasing after somebody, you proceeded to ignore me when all I wanted to do was make sure that the person I love was safe and sound.”

You sucked in a sudden gust of air and held your breath. You brought yourself back down, meditating  your mind, but it was the hardest thing as your teardrops fell on the floor. When did you stand back up?

His knees were ready to give out. Your soft chanting of “in and out” was the only sound surrounding you two. His gaze landed on yours; he eyed your weeping stature, and it was killing him. You were trying so hard to be strong. You held on with so much strength and compassion for him that he was too petrified.

He was so scared that he was incapable of this. He was so scared that it was all going to go away, but it didn't.

It never fucking left. It was here the whole time. This love, this gentleness—you were here. He was here. 

He was in love.

He is in love.

“Oh… oh, mi Luna. Ay, qué he hecho? Oh Dios, ¿qué he hecho? ¿Qué no he hecho?” His legs gave out as he buckled on the floor. “Mi Luna... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. I–”

Was being tough the right thing to do? Holding it all in so you wouldn't have to be worried or in pain, that he wouldn't have to face these demons again?

Then he tipped his head up to you.

“I envy them.”

You didn't speak; you felt like it wasn't the right moment.

“Like you, I envy them so much.” His unsheathed finger was shakingly pointed at the vase. “They aren't afraid. They are never afraid to show when they need help. They never run; they may try to shrivel, but they know that there is someone there who is wanting to give them the love they deserve.”

He began to walk on his knees. “They know there is someone who is there to watch them and see them at their full potential because of that love.”

You stood frozen in place as he got closer. “All they want to do is watch them grow and fight through it all.” He was right in front of you, his hands on the floor, his face looking dead at you. “Mi Luna. All I did was wilt. All I did was let my petals and color fade away because I believed that I didn't deserve that love again. That I wasn't allowed or capable to do it once more.”

His eyes felt watery. “But damn it, mi Luna, I… I was wrong. I was wrong about how I saw this. How I saw us.” His drops of rain joined yours. “I was wrong…”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the curve of your stomach as he cried out. “I was wrong. Damn it, mi Luna. I was wrong about everything.” His sobs grew and grew. “About the canon, the multiverse—everything!”

“Miguel,” your hands hesitantly went for the top of his head as you started to slowly brush his hair back. Soft whimpers escaped alongside him.

“You are the one I want. From the moment we got close, I was so scared to lose you. To lose the one I love once more.” He coughed, but went on. ”I let my instincts get the better of me, a-and I caused you so much grief.”

“Miguel…” 

“The canon didn't... It doesn't predetermine our lives. It never did. I was so sure I—”

Your shirt grew damper as Miguel's cries rang deeply. His talons clasped at you, but you didn't care about the pricking pain.

“It's okay; let it out. Don't hold it in.” You heaved greatly, stroking his hair some more. “It's okay to say what you have to say.”

Several strings popped in unison.

“I love you, mi Luna.” He pulled you closer. “I love you! I was so frightened to say it because I thought if I did, the world would disappear into nothingness.”

His burning red eyes met yours. “It was never you. It was me. I couldn't risk it all again. I couldn't risk losing another.” The showers of droplets refused to end. “But I was too stupid to realize that my actions did everything and so much more.”

You were locked in place. You were left speechless, feeling the quivers as your body and mind felt his raw emotions. Your own legs wanted to stumble down as well, but you planted your feet on the floor and hugged him. You hugged him as his muffled cries managed to sprout even bigger, but that's what he needed and what you both needed.

To let it out.

To let all that you both have packed and tucked so far down that the lids were overspilling, but the tops kept trying to keep them contained.

“Oh, Miguel…” You pulled back and carefully stroked the crest of his cheekbone.

“Mi Luna, por favor. Please hear me when I tell you how sorry I am. I never meant for any of that to happen, but I let it anyway, and I am so sorry.” Miguel's eyes were bloodshot; his face was red and stained with snot and tears. “Please allow me to make this right. For you, for us.”

“Mi Estrella, you–”

“I want to be better; I need to be better for you; I need to do this. I have to be better so I can–”

You shushed him, and he closed his mouth without a second thought. His shoulders juddered as he sniffled a couple of times.

“Miguel, no. That's not… Don't be better for me because you feel as though you need to. Do it because you want to be better. You even told me before, and just now, that you want to be better.” Your thumb ran down to wipe up his tear stains. “You've burdened yourself to make so many other lives better. Other worlds and universes.”

“Mi Luna…”

“Now take the time to be a better you for yourself, Miguel O'Hara. Allow Miguel O'Hara to feel that warmth and love. Allow Miguel O'Hara to realize that there are those who want him to have the best life. Let Miguel O'Hara be happy or sad, to open up when he wants, to be guided if he feels lost.”

Miguel was in complete awe.

“Let Miguel O'Hara live.”

Sniffling and breathing. You both didn't move a single inch.

He only saw you as the world came to a standstill when he released you from his embrace. You let go, nervous, but observed him carefully.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, he wobbled onto his feet and barely stood at his full height. You didn't know what to expect or what he was going to say, but you waited anxiously.

“Mi Luna. Oh, mi Luna.” His fingers entwined in your hair as he felt the sting coming from his eyes down to the bridge of his nose. “Eres tan gentil. Eres tan compasivo. Te amo. Te amo, mi Luna.”

His lips found yours, your bodies crumpling together. You throw your arms over his shoulders, feeling the weight of your body leave the wooden ground.

Your fingers curled around his curly locks, a longing kiss that you both yearned for so long. Miguel sheathed his talons, gliding up and down your back, taking every bit of you that he severely missed. 

You don't know how long you two stayed this way before you moved away, with harsh breathing on both ends. This man was so viscerally integrated into your head and spirit that you nearly pinched yourself awake, and your alarm will go off, yanking you to the cycle of ‘healing’ and slogging days.

But he was still here in the flesh. His thick brows, his prominent cheekbones. The handsome Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway was all here. A breathless chuckle left, gaining a smile from Miguel.

“What are you thinking?”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You've said something akin to it.” He situated you both on the couch, arranging you two so you were sitting across from each other.

Laying your head on the head of the cushion, your eyes danced around the ceiling above, with Miguel joining in. A recreational memory. You were hand in hand, as the path you were walking has taken a turn—not an abrupt stop, a turn of wanting to understand where it will go now.

“Miguel?”

“Si, mi Luna?”

“We will have to start anew.”

He turns downward toward you, but you keep looking up. “Start anew?”

You nod, tearing your vision on to him. “Yes. Picking back up where we left off will feel... weird in a sense.” Your eyes were on your interlocked fingers. “We… we have a lot to work on.”

Miguel squeezed your hand and nodded. “I know, my moon.”

“There is so much we have to work on. I have a lot to work on. You... you have a lot to work on.”

“I do, mi Luna. And I will. Not only for you, not just for us. But I will do it for me as well. I will do anything to make these amends.”

“Therapy... therapy would be a good place to try. I'll be by your side, of course; I just think they can do more than I ever could.” 

“But you've done so much for me.” Miguel had his full attention on you as your thumb tenderly caressed over his knuckles.

“I might have, but there's only so much I can do. And I think it'll be good for you to get things you've been holding off. Lift those constraints that harm you.”

He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He did feel slightly skeptical, not wanting to let that caution out into the wind. But for that future, he will allow the breeze to bring it where it needs or wants to be. 

“I… I will see what I can do and how to go about getting the help I need.”

“Does the spider society not offer good therapists?”

His hand was constricted a bit too tightly, and his knee was trembling. There was clear panic on his face that he was fighting back, but your hand hovered over him, and you waited. He attentively stared at your fingers and slowed his speed.

You were still so calming.

“Go ahead and speak. Don't hold it in, mi Estrella. Let it out.”

Miguel gulped, loosening his grip, but held that firm grasp. He told you what happened and how the society was now possibly going to be under leadership because he was scared and wounded. Mentally wounded. How a villain was the one that set the domino effect off of the canon being wrong, well, how his interpretation was incorrect.

“Was the villain the one you were chasing?”

“No, no. That was somebody who I thought was going to ruin another world, but like with you, I was wrong about that.” Miguel huffed out a sad laugh before his eyes glazed over. “I have so much to—”

“You will get there. These things don't magically get better overnight. Some wounds may even take years to properly heal, and even still, they could be sealed, but the scars still remain.”

He took in your words, marinating them. You resonate with tranquility and serenity. It worried him to no end.

But he was ready to break it.

“I constantly convince myself that I don't deserve you. That someone like me would break a beautiful soul like yours.”

“Miguel–”

He propped himself back on his knees, adjusting himself between your legs. "But, mi Luna, every time I'm around you, I realize that isn't the case. How you open your heart to me, no matter what. Even when I tried to be the bearer of the worst, you were still there, hands out, ready to pull me back in.”

He took your small hands into his enormous claws, kissing each one. “I'm still scared, and who knows how long it'll stay this way? However, for you and me, I'm ready to fight it; I'm ready to shove those doubts far away. I want to let you in, mi Luna. I want you to be here with me. I want to be here with you. I want to show you parts of me that I have hidden or I've never even known about.”

The tip of his thumb rolled over your trembling lip.

“I want to start this new chapter with you. I want to start living with you, beside you. Mi Luna, I know you told me to live for me, and I promise I will, but will you also let me show you this new step, this new beginning I want to share and cherish with you?”

Your eyes were blurry as you wiped them with your forearm. “You… big, loveable oaf. You already know the answer to that.”

“Only if you say it.” His lips grazed against yours.

“Yes. Yes, mi Estrella. I want you.”

More strings snapped off.

His mouth found yours once more. Tongues clashing but swirling in tandem, fervently.

Your hands massage his collarbone, shoulders, and upper back. You wanted to feel him, to memorize him all over, and to take your time. The journey may take time, but the destination will be there.

Miguel grabbed your calves and had you wrap your legs around the middle of his back, leaning you gently on the back of the couch, not breaking the kiss. 

When you pull away for air, he trails down, leaving light kisses on your cheeks, chin, and forehead, before making his way down to your neck. Your body relaxes, and his stubble and tongue tickle you.

“Miguel...” you exhale his name like a smooth puff of smoke when he nips at your skin.

“Mi Luna, I love these sounds.” His tongue-making figure eights on the crook of your neck, near the partially healed puncture marks. “I love your whimpers.” He began to suck on the tiny holes, his fangs occasionally drawing out. 

“Miguel,” you groaned, a shiver racing down your spine.

“I love when you say my name. It's warmer than a spring day; it brings me to my knees, mi Luna.” The suction picked up, making sure to leave a nice mark for others to see. “I love seeing your body filled with these. I love adding more to an already breathtaking artpiece.”

He recaptured you in another kiss, biting the bottom, the glossy appendage tracing the rim of your lips. “I love how sweet you are.” His hands roamed your form, causing you to quiver and moan. “I love how sweet you are from head to toe, inside and out.”

He was back, giving your neck attention, lapping at your heated skin, and nipping the flesh. His endless praise only began as he tugged at your shirt, tracing the seams. “I love how responsive you are to me. I love how you make me riled up from simply making those gorgeous melodies.”

He folds the bottom of the shirt, exposing your stomach. Feather touches from his mouth and fingertips had your heart fluttering and your mind in a daze as you could only say his name. Pinching your sides, you carefully eyed him, making phantom lines and zig-zags with the tip of his tongue all over your belly. Your hips bucked upwards, as your blurred vision was stuck in a hypnotic trance when you looked into those burning cerise eyes.

Miguel wanted to take care of you; he wanted you to feel his appreciation and dedication in any way, shape, or form. Pushing the fabric up, with his tongue trailing behind, he took it off and placed it on the ground. Eyeing your breasts, he began to press small pecks from the side, dipping into the slope and lathering it.

You sharply inhaled, your head canted, writhing back and forth. Your nails were in Miguel's scalp when he took a nipple in between his teeth, gnawing at the nub before closing his mouth around it and sucking it hungrily. One hand groped the unattended breast, while the other stroked your thigh and waist. His fingers were twisting and pinching delicately.

Gasping, you cry out when he teases your covered vagina. The thin bottoms and panties weren't doing much to shield from the treatment. Reeling from your glistening peak, he bit above the areola, leaving teeth indents.

“Mi Luna, I love you. You're heavenly. You are exquisite.” He palms down to the waistband of your pajamas as you knead the nape of his neck, bringing him back to you. Stripping his jacket away, you palm his sturdy muscles. You whine out, already missing his lips, when he rips his shirt right over his head.

“Mi Luna. Amo mi Luna radiante y hermosa.” He starts to pull down your pants, his pants tightening more than ever, but he doesn't care about that. “I want to make my moon feel wonderful.”

Lifting your behind to help, your eyes were half-lidded when he fully got rid of both the panties and pajama bottoms.

“I love the faces you make. Rather, they are lustful like this, or, when you're thinking, happy, or curious. I just love how lovely you look.”

Before you could get a word out, Miguel sunk down some, until his face was merely centimeters from your dampened sex. “I love how wet you get. I love this pussy so much, mi Luna. I love your thighs.” He grazed over the softness, leaving as many love-bites as he possibly could.

“Miguel!” You wept out, body aching, head foggy, and dizzy. But you were still hearing every word he was saying.

“I love the puffiness and the smell.” His breath tickled, and his nose rubbed against the folds. “I love how it looks; I love how sensitive it is.” He pressed a kiss on it, receiving a strong shudder. “I especially love the taste.”

He dove in; the warmth from you and his tongue had you whining. The way he slid around your labia, feeling every flick of your clit, the penetration of the muscle wiggling wildly, the thrums sending vibrations up your core, electrifying shocks in your veins.

“Miguel. Oh, Miguel!” You called out. Fingers raked through his thick locks, as his work was growing sloppier and messier.

Your juices splashed whenever his tongue was shoved in and out, his teeth rolling on your sensitive nub, having you see the stars and moon itself. The juicy slurps and his groans were music to your ears, turning you on even further. 

“Miguel. Shit… Miguel, I love you—ahh!” A silent scream was evoked when two of his fingers plunged into your opening, pumping in until they disappeared deep into your gripping heat.

“I love your cries and your tears. I love your bumbling whenever you get lost in this haze.” He slid to his knuckles, lingering for what felt like an eternity, then buried them back in, your walls sensing every breach.

“Miguel!” Your voice carried throughout your apartment, maybe even out the window. Your wails rose as his eyes stared at you in an intoxicating manner.

“I love when you are at a loss for words, mi Luna.” He bent towards you, teasing the shell of your ear with his fangs. “I love how you do the same for me.” He placed his lips on the side of your cheek before moving to gaze at your disheveled state.

He never wanted this end, and he will always hold you close to him. And this time, he will actually mean it.

The throbbing in his jeans was unbearable, to the point that they might have cut off all blood circulation, but he prospered in wanting to please you. “I love how well you take me.” He moaned out when you scratched down his biceps, sending tingles through him.

“I love when you mark me; I love that you're not afraid to do so.” He stimulated your clit with his thumb, never letting up that speed.

“I'm cumming. Going to cum-” You slurred, lulling to the side to expose your neck, which Miguel gladly kissed.

“Si, mi Luna. I love when you reach this high. Cum for me, on my fingers, mi Luna. You can do it, my moon. Puedes hacerlo.” He murmured in your ear, licking the lobe, when you snapped. 

Your walls contracted around his long fingers, causing violent tremors as you squealed out in pure ecstasy. Your head clouded in the stars, maybe further on. Your ragged heaves were celestial in the air. No song could ever compare.

He drew out and eyeballed the mess before cleaning it with his tongue. “I love how sweet and tangy you are.” He rose to his full height and discarded his pants; you followed when you reached the compressing briefs.

The splotches from his pre-cum soak the cloth thoroughly. “I love that you get me this way, mi Luna.” Moving them down his long legs, he stepped out of the briefs and stood in front of you. 

Every twitch and pulse sent you in a spiral. The gleams of the clear liquid weeping down to the base and the red veins running down were a wondrous sight. Your limbs wrap around his back; put your hands on his ass and wet your lips. You instinctively enveloped your mouth over the tip, tasting the clear saltiness, your tongue stroking the head as you began to bob back and forth.

“Ah—joder, mi Luna.” He pushes you back, making you sulk a tad bit. “I love that you are always wanting to care for me, but I want to care for you, mi Luna.”

You could only nod as he kissed your forehead and sat on the couch. Grabbing you swiftly, he perched you on his lap, skimming over your tender and soft sides. Savoring your tang on his tongue, you clenched onto his shoulders and rolled your hips together.  You forgot exactly how big he was.

“It's been a minute, Miguel.”

“I know, mi Luna. Your pace, always your pace.” 

Capturing you back in his mouth, you lined your entrance against him as the swollen tip achingly rubbed it. Your whines echoed in his ears, your juices smearing the reddening head. The intoxicating fluids mixed as you started to sink down his length.

“Ahh! Mmm… Fu-fuck, Miguel.”

“It's okay; take your time; don't rush.”

His thumbs grazed your jawline and cheeks, talking you through it. He eyed every facial change, from pain to concentration to an almost euphoric pleasure.

Another noiseless shriek escapes, your back arching and your breasts pushing against his hefty chest. He peered down at the outline of his shaft, your walls clutching him firmly.

“Mierda, mi Luna, me perdí este hermosa coño, joder, joder.” A guttural growl racked in his throat, fighting himself from wanting to go at it. 

“I'm going to—fuck—I'm going to start moving.” 

“Ah–go ahead… Shit, go ahead.” His talons slipped and accidentally lodged a bit in your hips.

Your snug, slick walls fluttered when you rocked forward. Your knees prodded his waist to keep steady as you lifted yourself up and down in a slow, rhythmic motion. Your moans combined, drowning any city sounds that snuck their way in.

“Ay, mi Luna. I love how you perfectly fit around me.” He scooted up some and latched your legs around his waist, his arms clinging to your lower back. 

“Big, so big. Always been so good.” You grappled your arms loosely around his neck. “Your cock is so good.” 

“I love hearing your beautiful and graceful inner thoughts; rather, it's your ramblings or something silly. I love them all.”

With no warning, he began to pump faster, his pelvis slapping into your behind. Your garbled shouts were alluring blessings to Miguel. You dug your nails into his back as he kept you balanced.

“Miguel.” He strenuously bucked upwards, his hold on your own hips once more to keep you balanced.

“I love how gentle you are. I love how compassionate and understanding you are for the ones who are lucky to be in your life.”

“Miguel!”

“I love how resilient you can be, never wanting to give up. I love your wisdom. I love how you see life, mi Luna.”

He picked up his momentum when an unexpected peak spilled over from you. Your walls pulsating and your babbling didn't go unnoticed, but he kept going, and you did too.

This is what your love was, is, and will be.

An endless ocean that holds many vast mysteries to explore and seek out. The tides will rise from the highs to the lows, but it'll still be the same bountiful waves that will always flow.

A burning passion that no matter what it throws at you two, it'll only augment the rawness of your devotion for another.

You repeated his name in that trance you would get lost in. The couch was wet from your sweat and his. The murky fluids crawling down and staining it, saturating the color. Your lips meet in a fiery embrace, both clenching on tightly as Miguel rocked upwards, his balls creating that sharp snapping sound against your cheeks.

His vermillion, incandescent eyes only pay attention to you and nothing else.

“I love you. I love you. You have my heart. You have my soul, my body, and my mind; you have it all. I want you, I need you, and you make me strive to be better. You give me that strength, that hope, and that fight to keep going.”

You both cry out, tears mixing with sweat as Miguel continues to pump wildly. He's opening himself up to you; that's all he ever wants to do.

“I love you, Miguel.” Your arms tighten around his neck, afraid to let go, but he reassures you by holding you even tighter.

“I love you too, mi Luna. I will always love you.” His lips slam into yours; this kiss more passionate than the others shared before. Tongues meld into one, just as your bodies do. The clashing of your damp skin resounded all over.

He runs his tongue along yours, his hands wandering over, thoroughly taking his time to worship you. Pinching, grasping, cupping, and tracing every curve and bend.

“I love you. I will never stop saying it. I love you. I love you.”

“Mi Estrella!” Your legs shook as another massive release found its way through.

Miguel breathlessly placed his lips against your forehead, the oxygen from both your lungs thick and high. But he wasn't done. He picked you up and pressed your back against the wall near your bedroom door. Your legs were still tangled around his waist, with him buried deep into your core.

“Mi-Miguel.” You whispered against his lips before crashing back into them. He began to thrust at that fierce pace as you screamed into his mouth.

“You make me whole. I want you, and only you. I love you, mi Luna, my universe, my galaxy.” His forehead was on yours, groaning out from the squelching and tightness of your overstimulated cunt.

He was preventing himself from bursting, keeping that ravaging, beastly pace, but it was becoming rather difficult. Especially when another earth-shattering orgasm tumbled its way out of you. Miguel punched a hole several inches above you, your fingernails clawing up his back, drawing a bit of blood.

He ferociously pulled you in for a kiss, stumbling his way into your bedroom and onto your bed, right into a mating press.

“You didn't change the mattress.” He felt the shreds from the last mistake he caused you those months ago.

“I could never find the chance to. So I simply kept them hidden.”

Immense guilt struck him when your hand reached up to cup his jaw and part of his cheek. Your heart was heavy, but you gave a warm smile.

“That's why we're here now; we will work through this.” 

He didn't let the tears be hidden. He pecked your thumb and under your eye. “I love you, mi Luna. Nunca dejaré de decirlo.”

Nuzzling his head in between your jaw and neck, a hoarse groan releases as he pulls all the way out and slowly buries himself to the hilt. He repeats this pattern, the sopping slaps sending cascades of goosebumps whenever his balls come into contact with your folds.

His hands are on your sheets, claws tucked away, whispering sweet nothings on your ardent skin. Your bed frame creaks along with every rock of Miguel's hips as he turns his steady, erotic pace into feverish strokes, bucking into you with reckless abandon. 

Your raspy cries and his husky moans, the headboard bumping into the walls, the ivory moonlight glimmering in the room. 

Miguel missed this.

Miguel missed you. He missed the thoughts of those beautiful cherry-red-eyed children, the ones with your beaming smile. The ones who will have both of your strong-willed stubbornness. The ones will have your benevolence. The ones who will likely have his powers.

The ones who will be loved by you both no matter what happens.

His thrusts became inhuman. You yelled out, your arms hurled around his shoulders, your hands were on the base of his neck, and you clung to the ends of his hair. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, mi Luna. I love you. I love you.”

You panted in unison. Nearing that edge. Moaning out as you felt that raw ardency, his genuine love.

You are seeing his true feelings. His true thoughts. His true love.

Your teardrops stream alongside his. Because in this true moment, nothing will break this barrier. Nothing will ever wedge between you two. You felt that commitment that he can now fully allow to show and embrace.

You love Miguel, and Miguel loves you.

Your hearts beat in sync as you got closer and closer. Your bodies together as one. That's all you two could ever want.

“Mi Luna!”

“Mi Estrella!”

String after string of his love shoots deeply into you as you milk every drop. You sobbed out, shuddering madly. The kiss you shared was frantic, as droplets of his warming tears dripped onto you.

He quickly found his fangs in your neck, biting down harshly. He is happy. He is loved. He wants to continue to leave his mark on you, whether it be physically, spiritually, or mentally.

“Mi luna, te amo. Gracias, gracias por todo. Nunca más te dejaré, quería estar a tu lado entonces, ahora y hasta el final. I love you, mi Luna. Mi corazón. Mi vida.”

A curve of your smile graced your face as you caught some of it. “You're... you're welcome... I love you too, mi Estre-”

You went limp, and Miguel began to take care of you. He will always take care of you like you would do for him. He held you close because he refused to let you go again. He kissed the crown of your hair as you drifted off into his arms.

A place you'll be in now and forever.

Miguel awoke in the room. He peered around to see nearly, if not all, of the ropes cut from his body.

He was finally able to visibly distinguish the room. Illuminated with golden copper, it brightened the exit that has been facing him all this time.

Tugging that last string free, he ascended onto his feet, even striding as he pressed on, clasping onto the brass handle.

He was going to know. He knew he should.

He opened the wooden frame, stepping out unhurriedly.

There, his eyes met with a field that was blanketed. A plain that held what he longed for.

A field of lavender and marigolds.

Chapter Text

Shades are drawn down, and a lone lamp covers most of the area that the person sitting adjacent to the hulking man needs.

Time was ticking, and so were his thoughts. His eyes always looked at the ceiling, but today he chose the ground, taking in the sounds of flipping pages or tapping on a screen. 

She was efficient, but Dr. Penelope never makes him feel like he's some sort of guinea pig to be studied under some microscope. He was always grateful for that.

“I'm always ready to continue on. Now that I know I'm not necessarily confined to this one singular event, I want to venture on, but there's these moments where I look up to the sky, waiting for that bleak, multicolored death.”

There was a slight pause. “Have the nightmares been coming back from the last time we spoke, Mr. O'hara?”

His eyes closed for a second, and he enjoyed the silence before fluttering them back open.

“I did have a couple.”

“How many in the span of two weeks?”

He tilted his head. “Maybe three? Four? Between three and five.”

She notes it down and reviews older observations. “And I assume you've been practicing the exercises?”

“Yes. She helps me out when need be, but I've been mostly trying for myself.”

“And you've expressed your concerns about Mrs. O'Hara attempting to jump in when you want to practice it alone, like I've asked, right?”

He softly laughed. “Yes, she gets worried every time, but I told her it does make me slightly more nervous if she tries to intervene sometimes, so she understood and will let me be if needed.”

“That's good. Now, have these nightmares been related to your thoughts about the world disappearing?”

He's glad to have gotten used to that clock. At first, it was the most obnoxious and irritating noise in the world or in all of the multiverse.

But now, it's a strange comfort.

“Yes. Because it switches between Gabriella and mi Lun- my wife. Or there are moments where the two merge, and I'm doing everything in my power to keep them alive.”

Miguel fidgets with his wedding band, twisting it back and forth. Soft breathing matches up with the clicking of time.

“Would you like to discuss the most recent one?”

Biting his tongue, he debates. Dr. Penelope places the notebook to the side, providing that much-needed space.

“This time, they were together. Not merged, but separate. Mi osi- Gabi, was holding her hand, and they both had this look of calmness to them. Like they were... happy.” More twisting of the ring. “The world around us was disintegrating, and I was screaming, begging, and commanding them to stop standing there and let me get them to safety.” 

A pregnant pause, then a long sigh. “But they kept smiling. Hand in hand, smiling and telling me it's going to be okay. That things were going to be okay.”

“Did you still try to run for them?”

He shook his head. “I—I didn't.” He swallowed back the lump, the stinging settling in. “My brain was hounding me to ignore what they were saying, that they didn't understand the danger they were in, but my body... My body decided to stay rooted to the ground. I couldn't move a muscle; I could only watch as the colors came closer and closer. I needed to save them, but... but I didn't.”

The pen scratched on the pad. “It sounds like you were in a battle with yourself. The internal conflict of being at war with oneself.”

Miguel hummed. A mixture of needing to repair these infringements or allow the problems to heal naturally without integrating himself into a mess that's technically not his fault.

“I feel as though the control that's been primarily dominant has been shifted. I have my moments where I feel indecisive, and I can never feel if that's a good thing or not.”

She wrote something down and nodded to let him continue.

“When I get that way, I don't feel that resonating anger. I do feel hopeless in a sense when it's out of my control. Like the other day, when mi Lu- ah, my wife, was cooking up chicken in the oven, she needed to bend over to get something.

“Now this was before she forced me to go sit down and relax, as I didn't want her standing on her feet for so long, but I was willing to compromise.”

“And what was that conclusion you came to?” A click of a pen.

“If she really needed help, she would call for me. But here's the thing about mi coraz- my wife. She can be unyielding at times. Trying to redirect her is like trying to stop an unstoppable train heading full force into a wall.” A smile was on his face. 

“Once her mind is set on something, she will do it. She won't ever say it out loud, but I can tell when she's thinking it.” 

A shift in the seat. “So when I saw her struggling, my brain went to ‘make her sit down, whether she likes it or not. She is clearly straining herself.’ And I went into it with that mindset I wanted to suppress, but it got to me.”

Dr. Penelope was scribbling down on her notepad when she turned back to him. “Your aspect to garner that control?”

“Yes. I did manage to talk myself down, but by the time I was over there, she was already sending me back with the item in question in her hand.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I think my problem is that I'm still not used to not doing everything. I do have someone who is willing to help and even take some of these burdens and blame off of me when something goes wrong.”

He lays back.

“I believe that my mind keeps wanting something to go wrong. Not like a small glass of milk spilling on the ground. That's a mess anyone can clean up, but something more devastating.”

More notes are being jotted, typed, and jotted. He always amused him when she used both the holopad and a generic pen and paper.

“Do you think it'll be a fatalistic outcome?” 

“I don't think it's that. Possibly? More like anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“Murphy's law.”

“Yes. That's the one. I'm aware it's a morose, fatalistic view, but that's the philosophy that wants to keep sneaking in. It might be a fatalistic look when I say it in the open.”

Dr. Penelope removed her glasses and scooted up in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “Did you know that the law has been skewed?”

“It has?”

“Mhm. The original saying got misinterpreted by somebody. An air force was conducting research on high-speed jets, and Murphy griped about some of the technicians. He originally said, “If there's any way they can do it wrong, they will.” Eventually, it began to spread around the base, stating that if things go wrong, it's Murphy's law, and here we are.

“But funny enough, he later stated that it was meant to be ‘If it can happen, it will;’ in a more motivational sense, not the latter. Because, guess what? That mindset they held that not everything would go wrong, but it could go wrong, worked, as there is now safety in the skies and on the roads we drive.

“The truth is, things may go wrong; it will happen, but there will be those who keep trying to find that positive component. It's all about how you go about these things. It's more of a motivational perception that many don't realize. It's how you handle those situations.”

“I've been told that by two important people.”

“I can take a guess, but we will discuss that another day.” 

She went over her notes and took several seconds to cross-examine from the screen to the paper. She turned to the clock and nodded her head. 

“For your homework, I would like for you to take someone's word when they assure you they have something under lock and key. The only time you may intervene is if they are actively expressing their need for any help.”

His fangs popped out along with a grunt. “I will try my best.”

“That's the best thing you can strive for.”

The twinkling jingle alerted them that it was the end of the session. Miguel sat up and stretched his back; a satisfying pop drifted in his ears.

“Would you like to add more time for today?”

They were over their usual forty-five minutes, and he needed to get home. 

“No, not today. Thank you, though.”

“Of course, I will see you at the same time next week, right?”

“Yes, I will be here. And if I don't, she will make sure I'm here front and center.”

A wispy chuckle parted from her. “I know she will. By the way, how is Mrs. O'Hara coming along? I think I last asked about her a few weeks ago.”

“Seven months in. She's trying and fighting, but I can tell she has moments where she's ready to reach in and rip it out herself.”

“I don't blame her. Do you know what the gender will be?”

He shook his head. “Keeping it a surprise; besides, I don't think we really care; we just want the baby to be thriving and happy.”

There was fondness behind that lopsided grin. “It's been a process, but I can surely say I have seen the progress made, Mr. O'hara.”

“You can?”

“Mhm. From when you first got in touch with me, I felt that apprehension in your voice. Then, when you came in for the first appointment, I will never forget that.”

“Yeah, she did most of the talking for me.” A mutual laugh.

“She did, but you did find your own voice, as we wouldn't be here now.”

He did with the much-needed push.

“Do you believe you've made progress?”

He blinked, claws folded, his forearms resting on parts of his thighs and knees. “I…”

He was transported into that spaceless void, and the only thing in sight was the question.

Has he developed and improved over time? He's never really thought about it.

Dr. Penelope scooted back into her chair, ready to hear any of his thoughts.

It was still for about two minutes.

“I think I have.” His heavy brows lowered, ready to jump back into the mindscape, when Dr. Penelope waved her hand.

“See this as extra credit. It's not mandatory, but it's there if you'd like. Think about how you progressed over the course of time. Rather, it may be one week or a full year; see how far you have come. You may ask fellow friends, your wife, or whoever, but most importantly, I want you to take into account how much you have grown and accomplished.”

There must be growth within him. “Yes ma'am. Thank you, Dr. Penelope.”

“No need to thank me; this is for you. I'll see you next week, Mr. O'Hara. And tell Mrs. O'Hara, I said hello.”

“I will. Have a good rest of your day.”

Stepping out of her office and into HQ, Miguel debated if he should go through the building and talk to the others, or take it easy on himself and chat with them another day.

Taking his watch out, he checked the time and the location to make sure it was set to home.

“I think I'll give myself ten minutes here. Yeah, I can do that.” And with that, he made his way down the long corridor.

• • •

Swishing to the beat of the song, a low buzz didn't keep the same notes or try to harmonize with it. It did add a visionary ambience as you thought of a multitude of swirling colors and shapes.

“Mi Luna.” You could hear the tiny smile in his voice.

“Mi Estrella.” He could definitely hear the giant, sizable grin in yours.

You placed a pot filled with uncooked rice in the sink and waddled to turn to your husband, arms held out.

“Chicken teriyaki and jasmine rice?” Miguel sauntered over, delicately pulling you into a hug, minding your protruding belly.

“With fresh cabbage, squash, and carrots.” 

“Mm, suena muy delicioso.” He placed a lingering kiss on your forehead until he made his way down to his knees.

“No me olvidé de ti, mi pequeña estrella fugaz.” He rested his palms on either side of your stomach, planting tiny kisses all over. “Mis galaxias.” His lips stayed for a few more seconds before standing up.

“How did it go?”

“It was pretty nice. It took a minute to get back into it, but it went well. And Dr. Penelope says hello. But how have you two been doing? Have they been giving you any trouble?”

His fingers dipped to your underbelly, diligently massaging any harboring pain.

“Besides the many cases of flutters and the endless, rampant kicks, it's been going okay today. I think they might have tired themselves out. I swear, I'm going to put them in kickboxing or track and field.”

“If they have my speed, good luck with the second option.”

You blew a raspberry at him, causing him to crack up laughing. 

Going back to the rice and cleaning it, Miguel took in the rushing faucet, your voice droning, following a note to the next from the current song, and the peaceful atmosphere of birds chirping and winds breezing from the opened window he now spotted.

His heart was at ease.

“Mother keeps hounding me about the gender of the baby. My gosh. One call claiming it's for an update, when in reality it becomes a thirty-minute lecture about the ‘importance of knowing your baby's gender,’ and blah, buh-blah. I'm shocked it's been her; it's usually dad who does those weird ramblings, but–”

“Mi Luna, do you think I've progressed?”

You turned the water off, tilting your head up to him. “Do I think you've progressed?”

“Si. I'm sorry for interrupting you.”

“No, no, it's okay. I would rather rant about that later on. Now on to your question.” You were facing him again, arms folded over your stomach. “Do I think Mr. Miguel O'Hara has progressed? In the past month or year and a half?”

“Year and a half.”

“Hmm, let me think.” You purposely ran your pointer over your wedding band and looked to the ceiling. “You say what's on your mind a lot more easily; you still hold things in, but everyone is allowed to keep some thoughts and sentiments to themselves.”

You winked, making you both grin. “You have gotten a lot more patient. An example will be whenever Peter or Ronnie call and start their craziness. I notice you exude that forbearance, which is really good.” A thumbs-up, but Miguel knew you weren't done. “You still have moments, but you do ease up on yourself if something goes wrong.” You bob your head and tap your chin.

“You have gotten to understand your self-worth more, and it's so amazing watching you get here and continue to grow every day.”

That warming smile was always there as you took his hands and had him put them on your belly, your hands on top of his. “You have progressed so much, mi Estrella. I am so happy for you, and I will continue to be no matter what. I will walk down the path with you every step of the way. My star is seeing that he is bright and wanted like the others.”

Thud.

“Thank you for giving me these opportunities. For giving me this life to do my best, not only for you, for this little one, or for the ones who are or will be around me. But for me.” He felt fluttering. A sense of gratitude. A sense of profound joy and bliss. “Te amo, mi estrella fugaz.” He rubbed your tummy.

“I love you, mi Luna.”

“I love you too, mi Estrella.” Your lips met in a deep kiss.

“Need help with dinner, mi corazón?”

“Nope. I got it, so you go ahead and do what you have to do.”

There was no need for rebuttals, as he pecked your cheek and went to go read his books about gardening.

The field is everlasting. The smells of soothing lavender and the golden bounce from the sun to the already bright marigolds.

His path was grueling and treacherous, bound no matter how much he wanted to escape.

Now, he sits in the flowers, with daisies, tulips, and more sprouting, watching the birds and butterflies who finally left their confined space to fly free.

Chapter Text

“Urgh! He's too strong!”

“Take out his knee. The knees!”

“It's too hard.”

“Try harder.”

“But I don't want to take out his knees.”

“Just get the knee, Mari.”

“Ollie, move!”

“No, you move, Cielo! Come on, Mari, the knee! The knee—aah!”

“Haha, got you three. Now for the tickle goblin!”

High-pitched shrills and loud giggles sprang from three children.

Trying to escape the grasp of the big man, they were doing all they could. 

“Papa is too strong!” Mari, a four-year old, squealed out in delight.

“We will never give up! Right, Cielo and Mari?” Ollie, a rambunctious six-year old, tried to squirm out by doing any sort of maneuver, but it wasn't working out for her.

“Papa wins. Papa wins.” Cielo, who is also four, gasped out before flopping his limbs out.

“Quitters. That's what you two are. Don't let him win!” Ollie screeched as she was hoisted in the air like she was an airplane.

“The other two have raised their white flags. Will you give up and raise yours?” Miguel spoke in a deep, directing voice, but the smile on his face was giving his position away.

The other two watched one, sitting in the grass right by his legs.

“Never! Now, Mari and Cielo, I tricked him!”

Miguel quirked a brow when two bodies wrapped their arms and legs around his long ones, attempting to tug him down.

“I'm defeated once more by los tres inteligentes. Outsmarted again.” He eyed his surroundings, making sure not to crush them. He brought himself to his knees, allowing the three to tackle him to the ground. 

You stepped out, closing the screen door behind you, and leaned against one of the wooden columns, observing the mini-beatdown Miguel was receiving. A sight that never fails to make your cheeks rise and your eyes crease.

“Aren't they just the cutest, Apricot?” You tilted your body towards your curled-up, patchy orange shorthair cat, who was perched up on the railing.

He blinked and went to lick himself, tucking himself back in his position to enjoy his nap in the warming sun. 

“Alrighty, I'll leave you be.” You stuck your tongue out playfully and went to watch them for a few more seconds when Ollie was winding up, ready to body-flop right on Miguel's face. It was time to put a halt to the wrestling match. “Hey! Lunch is ready, guys.”

Three and a half sets of red eyes peered in your direction. Any sort of shade always manages to bring out that glow in them. 

“Race you there!” You heard Ollie shout before taking off towards the house. The other two stumbled behind, pointing and whining that she was cheating and going too fast, but your eldest sprinted by before flinging the screen door wide open.

“No running—no running in the house.” You called out as quickly as possible when the other two flew by. “Wash up, you three.”

A chorus of “Yes, mama” sprung out, having you giggle and shake your head, when a pair of strong hands gripped your shoulders, massaging any tension away.

“Mi Luna.” You heard the smile.

“Mi Estrella.” He heard yours.

Spinning you and bringing his lips to yours, you hummed in the kiss, his claws thoroughly rubbing your middle. 

“Aren't you forgetting something?” You teased, gesturing downward. 

“You know I never will.” He dropped to his knees and cradled your growing belly in his sheathed claws. “Hola, mi estrella fugaz.”

Leaving a trail of kisses from your belly button up to your forehead, he wanted to savor every inch of your gorgeous, glowing skin and softness, until a squabbling match pulled him right out of it.

“I swear those two.” Miguel shook his head, holding the screen door open for you.

“I bet there will be a day when they finally get along.” You strolled in, heading towards the open kitchen, and were immediately met with Cielo and Ollie pointing accusatory fingers towards one another, trying to override the other's argument.

“Okay, okay. Calmar. Ollie, sit properly in your chair before you fall over.” You made your way over to the two, and they started the accusations back up. 

“Ola- Ollie. Silla.” Giving her a look, she fixed herself and apologized. “Now, starting with Cielo—oh, Miguel, the plates are under the warmer; can you get them, please? Now, Cielo, first, explain your side. What's the problem?”

“Ollie was trying to take my mat.”

“No, I wasn't! Cielo was–”

“Olan- Ollie, you know not to disrupt when someone else is speaking.” Miguel sat the meals in front of everyone and took his seat next to yours and Mari. 

“Yes, papa.” She grumbled and crossed her tiny arms.

You bowed your head for Cielo to finish his side. “Ollie was trying to take my mat 'cause she said she wanted it, and she wasn't being nice.”

The oldest was fighting not to speak over Cielo, staring at their baby brother to hurry up and finish. 

“Okay, now Ollie.”

“Cielo was trying to take my seat, so I told him no, and if he does, I'll take his mat.”

"No, I did not!” Cielo bared his small fangs.

"Yes, you did!” Ollie raised her claws, making Miguel clear his throat very loudly. The two turned towards him, who was giving them a look of not trying anything to hurt one another. They both leaned away from each other.

“Cielo, tell the truth. Did you, or did you not try and take Ollie's seat?” You raised your brow as your son's eyes darted away to the corners, gazing everywhere but at you. 

“Okay. Cielo, don't try to take someone's seat or anything unless you ask first. Ollie, no taking his mat when you get upset; if something happens, you come get either me or papa, yes, ma'am.”

They both answered, making you smile and nod your head. “Bien, bien. Ahora bien, let's eat. Thank you for waiting so patiently, Mari.”

She gave a thumbs up and a giant grin, snatching up a chicken nugget and beginning to devour it, the other two joining along before talking amongst themselves.

“I swear, it's like magic how you're able to get them to admit things. But then again, you've always had it.” Miguel pecks your cheekbone, making you wiggle your nose.

“You have it too.”

“Mm, I have the opposite effect. The infamous staredown.”

“That's only with you and Olan- Ollie.” You nudged his thigh with your knee.

“She gets that stubbornness from you.” Miguel takes a bite of his sandwich when he feels eyes on him. He peers down to meet your unamused ones. “Bien por nuestra parte. She gets it from us.”

You roll your eyes playfully, making you both laugh. You loved this man to no end.

For the past seven years, you and Miguel have been joined at the hip. Each day is somehow better than the last. Yes, there are a couple of moments of clashing heads, especially when it comes to the three tiny ones running around, but you both always persevere through them, not letting it toil you both around. You combat them with grace and patience, applying it when matters drive south. You also incorporate it into your everyday lives. 

“Mama, papa, can we have cake when we're finished?” Mari spat a few bits of chewed-up fries on her plate and table. Miguel, on instinct, cleaned her up, whispering calmly to remember not to eat with her mouth full.

You eyed the container of the sweet dessert, half eaten, sitting on the counter. The twins recently celebrated their birthday, and you allowed the two to get a bit more of the treat, but it made them both react in a crazed sugar rush, forcing you to prevent them from hauling themselves up the walls with their lack of sticking abilities.

You found that out the hard way when Miguel almost plummeted off the roof during the building process of your home, when he and a couple of spiders forgot about the giant undid hole a couple of feet away from them. The others managed to catch themselves and stick to the shingles and wood, but your husband couldn't merely cling, or a few of the support beams would have likely snapped from his razor claws.

Thank goodness for his web, but that was a new factor to get used to.

“Mi Luna?” Miguel placed a hand on your shoulder and looked down. “I promise I won't sneak in an extra dessert for them.”

Miguel saw your hesitancy. Because right before the cake was cut and consumed, he went out and brought Cielo and Mari a decent-sized extra sprinkled, frosted sugar cookie, splitting it three ways between him and them. He didn't think much of it because he believed it would have worn off by the time they did the happy birthday shindig, but that wasn't the case.

“And if they get too wound up, I promise to handle it all.”

“I don't know...” you sang, trailing off and looking everywhere else. You guessed where Cielo might have gotten that from.

“Pleaseee?” A choir of tiny, squeaky voices and one smooth, deep one won you over.

“Okay, okay, but only—only for lunch. And make sure to drink something with it.”

A spring of cheers and excitement filled the table as the three conversed about getting the yummy bread. Miguel turned to you with his hand on top of your thigh before sliding it along your stomach. “¿Alguna vez te he dicho lo hermosa que eres?”

“I think I may now believe it.” You winked, leaning in to kiss him, when Cielo and Ollie got into another altercation about Ollie's finger being too close to Cielo's side. 

Miguel offered to handle this one, doing his best to get them to work it out, when the impromptu showdown between him and Ollie began. Mari and Cielo giggled, shuffling in their seats, as you chuckled at the squinted faces of your oldest child and husband, getting a good look at your family.

Eyeing your twins, you distinctly recall the moment you learned that you weren't having not one, but two babies growing in you. When Dr. Penelope stopped by to do your first ultrasound, you did feel off—an apprehensive sensation for the first two and a half months. You expressed your concerns to her, and she got straight to work, hoping nothing was causing any problems that early on in your pregnancy.

Ollie was in her toddler bed, down for her nap, as you, Miguel, Dr. Penelope, and Lyla eyed the holoscreen, revealing your new child.

“I'm keeping an eye out to make sure nothing is harming the child. You've been keeping up with the venom dosages, correct?”

You and Miguel nod together.

“And did you have problems like this with Olana?”

You shook your head. “None, besides her crazed kicks, nothing of the sort.”

“Hm. Okay, let me move to this side and see—”

Dr. Penelope was cut off when Lyla's body popped up in front of Miguel, a giant shit-eating grin on her face. “Oh-ho, you are in so much trouble. Double trouble.”

The three humans gazed at each other, trying to understand the cryptic message from his old assistant. 

“Lyla, what are you implying?” Miguel and Penelope shared the same thought.

“You better hope one decides to devour the other, to claim victor to be the only one.” That Cheshire Cat smile was not going away in the slightest.

It took a couple of seconds, and then that's when it dawned as you reached for your husband's shirt, pulling him very gently to you. 

“I said you could have one child. Una. Niño.”

Those nine months were the most tiring moments of your life. You could handle one pair of feet of karate kicking your stomach, but two? You were prepared to create a device to transfer the luxurious pain to Miguel.

Your perseverance was certainly rewarded when Miguel held the two in his arms. His eyes glossed with many emotions. 

“Mi hermoso Cielo y mi hermosa Mariposa.” That’s what he whispered over and over. 

You both agreed on the names when you spotted two butterflies fluttering in the blue skies on a beautiful spring day. It was cheesy, but you two loved it.

The twins resemble Miguel more than anything. A few swear Cielo has a bit of your features if one were to squint hard enough, but all you can see is his father. They inherit those bright, ruby eyes, but when in the light, if you don't look too closely, they appear as a dusty brown.

“Ollie.” Miguel leaned closer, not wanting to let that smile slip. He clearly means business.

“Papa.” Your oldest held a cheeky, menacing grin; that impish gleam in her left bright red eye showed that she too meant business. 

Ollie is the one who obtained most of your looks, but the moment you put her next to Miguel, the resemblance is uncanny. The back and forth of “Oh! She looks just like you!” or “Oh! She looks just like Miguel!” is staggering. Genetics is a weird concept to you, no matter how much your geneticist of a husband explains it to you.

But, you do know, the most distinguishing part of her was her heterochromia. The first night you went to check on her, you noticed one glowing cerise eye ominously staring up at you, frozen in fear. You and Miguel almost had a heart attack, convinced that your child had somehow lost an entire eyeball during the process of her birth, only to have Dr. Penelope portal in to check and reassure that, no, she didn’t miraculously lose a whole eye in the womb, but had the uniqueness of two different colored irises.

You and Miguel always laugh at the conclusion you two reached. You were first-time parents; everything was a death trap, and Miguel was the overprotective papa bear who refused for even a second to put down your daughter. After the twins' birth, however, you managed to relax more, realizing it's not the end of the world whenever they even open their mouths to let out whatever squall or whine they were building. Miguel, on the other hand, was at their beck and call. In the millisecond, he heard even a single hiccup of a cry. 

You tease, saying that's probably the reason why Ollie takes Miguel's personality more than anything. Maybe even more. 

With neither one backing down, you had to shut it down or they would have this weird standoff all day. Especially since they were distracting the others from eating.

“Miguel. Olana—”

“Ollie!” She jabbed herself in the chest with her thumb.

“Right, I'm sorry, Miguel and Ollie, let's try to finish lunch before it gets cold, please?” You scratched the side of Miguel's hair, then poked Ollie's nose.

“Yes mama.” The two said it together.

You nodded your head in thanks and took a bite of your meal.

You couldn't recall why Olana—well, Ollie—wanted to start being called that. A couple of months ago, during dinner, she randomly exclaimed that she would be known as Ollie now and forever. You and Miguel went along with it, thinking it was probably a small phase, but whenever ‘Olana’ would slip out from anyone, she was right there, glad to correct anyone. 

You remember her name sticking to you out of nowhere, and you couldn't shake it away. But when you did your research and saw that the name's origins meant ‘life’ and ‘continuing on with it,’ you grasped onto it and refused to let it go. Miguel instantly agreed to the name and placed it in the number one spot if the baby was a girl.

It was effective for you both, but for Ollie? Not so much now.

Ever since, the name has been a household one. It does get a bit difficult, but you both stumble over it and fix it in a flash. 

Thankfully, the twins and a few others picked up on it.

Lunch went on without a hitch, the four indulging in their cake and a swift wash up before darting off upstairs to play with Apricot following them in at his slowest pace. You and Miguel stayed down to wash the dishes, listening to the sounds of their feet moving back and forth, exclaiming for them to play nicely whenever an argument tried to wring its way through. The collective “sorry!” would reach you two, and it would always get you both to laugh.

This was peaceful. It made you happy, and it most certainly made him full of joy and happiness.

“Thank you, mi Luna.” Miguel kissed your forehead and placed the last plate in the cabinet.

“For helping with the dishes? We always wash them together.” You wandered over to the living room and cushioned yourself on the couch, making sure to place your swollen feet on the coffee table. 

He followed suit and took your feet off the surface and onto his lap. “For this life, mi Luna.” Miguel reached for a bottle of lotion you kept on the table's storage shelf.

“Of course, mi Estrella. You don't have to thank me; you deserve all of this, and I will not get tired of repeating that.” You cradled your stomach and sunk more into the couch, sighing out from the relaxing foot massage.

“I know… I need to say it.”

“Oh goodness, Miggy—”

“I know, mi Luna, I know. But these past six, close to seven years, you have blessed me with a beautiful life. A new start, a family, a gorgeous home.”

“That you insisted on taking care of.” You blew a raspberry, which got him to chuckle.

Miguel ended up purchasing two acres of land the second he found out about you bearing his child. 

Well, you first took the time to make a plan about the construction of the house, how much you'll have to pay, and the legal process of building up the home. You wanted to do extensive research about the location and exactly where you'd be. There was an instant agreement on wanting to leave the city all together. It was less of a hassle for you two and the kids you were planning, and it was perfect for Miguel to get a complete fresh start.

You were thinking of buying a nice home in a town that held about 400 people, but Miguel practically begged to build up a home that you two could design together. And that was away from people. He didn't mind being close to the population, but Miguel had no intention of residing within it. You were fine with the request and came to the compromise of living on the outskirts, about twenty miles away, in a more wooded area. It was far, but not too far for you to take the child to school, get groceries, or whatever essentials you all needed. 

That was the easy part. The hardest part was when Miguel insisted on paying for every little thing. You didn't mind him getting the land, but when he asserted himself on buying every ply of wood to every small nail, you couldn't help but want to jump in and help. Even when Miguel showed you the ridiculous amounts of funds he'd accumulated over the years, that still didn't get you to budge a single inch.

There was eventually a middle ground where you paid to break your lease when the house was completed. But Miguel handled everything else. Again, much to your dismay.

He did let you help by buying snacks and meals for the spiders who assisted with building the house.

That was a hell of a time for you. In an amusing way, of course.

When Miguel left the society under Jess's hands, things went one-eighty for everyone. It became a giant clubhouse for the heroes. Anomalies still managed to slip through the cracks, so there's dedicated teams to take care of that. There's also times where the spider-humans assist in each other's universes if things get too out of hand or they simply don't have the time to deal with their villains. It's basically an off day for the heroes to catch up on their lives. Things were certainly more “chilled out,” from how Miguel updated you whenever you questioned the facility at the time of your pregnancy.

You didn't get a chance to see the building in action, and even seven years later, no peek, but you didn't mind. He was definitely more at peace when the weight of billions of multiverses was no longer on his shoulders. The most he had to deal with were the bunches of spiders who were there to help construct your new home.

When Peter B. learned that you were pregnant, he blabbed about it to Jess, much to Miguel's dismay, but he held those restraints and heard Peter's plan for having him and the others take care of everything. From head to toe. It took a bunch of begging on Peter's end to convince Jess, but his persistence paid off. 

It was a straightforward ‘yes,’ from you, especially since you were two months into your pregnancy and Miguel didn't want his firstborn or you in that stuffy apartment.

That day, when all was confirmed and house designs for the farmhouse were approved, the work immediately began with Miguel being the leader of the project and you as the co-leader.

Day in and day out, fifty or so spiders would portal in with tools, materials, and heavy-duty appliances into the wooded spot. Miguel guided them on measurements or other details. You would chime in too, having prints of the layout on hand in case someone needed to confine it.

It went well. There were a few hiccups, especially dealing with people who seemingly held similar personalities… and names. That freaked you out when you tried to get Peter's attention, only to have about thirty or so heads snap their attention over to you, concurrently answering you. Miguel forgot to warn you that since they are alternate versions of one another, they were most likely to share a given name.

“So how do you know who is who?”

“By their earth's number.”

“Oh. Well, I don't have that many months to learn all these Peter's numbers, so give me the primary Peter.”

You hung around E-616 Peter and his Mayday, even though he was told multiple times not to bring her, but you kept her entertained. And Jess whenever time permitted her to be around. 

You and Jess did hit it off really well, more so when she learned that you were curious throughout her pregnancy. She also let slip that she didn't blame you for indulging in Miguel's behavior of sneaking you into the HQ. You couldn't tell if it was pregnancy hormones or what, but Miguel got the scolding of a lifetime from you. He was very guilty (especially because he had you believe that all was okay), and you apologized profusely, which Jess brushed off, saying that him getting reprimanded was enough and to let bygones be bygones.

You did nudge him about a bit longer, but only for a couple of more minutes. He also apologized to you many times, but you forgave him with no hassle. 

Things progressed; even when Miguel was at therapy sessions, you and Peter B. took over. A few chatted with you and stated that Miguel seemed much more cool-headed and amiable to work with the others. If things were going south or not going how they should've gone, he would talk to them and hear about other options. It spooked them, but they welcomed the change of pace.

You were proud, and you made sure to express it every chance you were given. He even held some pride in himself for his growth, but he wouldn't admit it.

The home took exactly four and a half months to make, from perfect wiring to furnishing, but when it was complete, you remembered the tears welling up in your eyes as you both strode hand in hand on what the future would hold.

And it certainly contained a lot.

“Mi Luna?”

“Mhm?” You lay your head on a nearby throw pillow.

“Reminiscing, mi corazón?” He trailed faint circles around your swollen ankles.

“Mm, maybe. Wondering if we need to add another room and bathroom.”

He grinned and gave a quick peck at your leg. “Four is enough. And a fourth bathroom wouldn't be so bad in the future when the kids start getting older.”

“Aww, you're not hoping for the constant arguments about who gets to use the shower first or how long one has been hogging up the bathroom for an eternity?”

“The way Cielo and Ollie go back and forth now, I think I'll have to prioritize that extra space soon.” He leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling fan, then back at you. “Te amo, mi Luna.”

Your heart surged with a million emotions as tears began to leak from you. “I love you too, mi Estrella.” Your sniffles were violent as you tried to hold back those sobs choking at your throat.

Miguel pulled you onto his lap and cradled you close. Every day, Miguel has never taken this life for granted. Every second, every minute, every hour, every month, and every year, he wakes up grateful, filled with that memory of love that he has forgotten. The surrounding reminder is that he is allowed to have it and that he has always been deserving of it.

Drying your tears, you buried your head in his neck and sighed out. “I never want to move from here.” 

He slipped away and stared you in the eyes.

Thud.

“You won't ever have to worry about that. Because you know I'm not going anywhere. You'll need an entire brigade to move me, and I still won't budge.” He rubbed his forehead on yours, and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Glad to know that I have rubbed off on you just a tad bit.” 

“Ay, mi Luna, you have done so much more than rubbed off on me ‘a tad bit.’ I'm always excited to know what the next day will bring and what it'll show me. To know what my beautiful family has in store next.”

"Well, luckily, with the four upstairs, they’ll always have something surprising for us.”

A loud thump and Apricot’s screech emerged from the second floor, having you and Miguel whip your necks at the stairs to see the cat rushing down at lightning speeds and right into his tower. 

“Ollie. Cielo. Mariposa. What was that?” Your body suddenly felt more exhausted, rubbing your temples, awaiting several different answers being blurted all at once from your adoring children.

The sounds of tiny clawed feet sprinted towards you two, all, of course, shouting over each other about who did what and who wasn’t to blame. You held up your hands to calm them down, and like clockwork, only Mari stopped, and Ollie and Cielo kept going. You gave Miguel a very depleted look, and he understood right away.

“Está bien, Ollie, Cielo; vamos a darle un descanso a mamá. Tell me, separately, what happened. Ollie?”

She spouted off how Cielo tried to take a toy that she was using from her when he butted in and denied all claims. Back and forth, hearing both sides, Miguel nodded his head and then turned to Mari.

“Cielo was using the toy, and Ollie wanted it, so she tried to take it, and it hit Apricot. Can we go see May and Uncle Peter?” Mari crawled next to you and laid her head on your belly.

“We're going to see them this weekend. And Jess and Gerry will be there also, remember?” Miguel stroked her hair before turning back to his other two. “And you both have to get along. You have to take turns and ask when you want a toy the other is using. And if they're busy with it and they say, ‘Not right now?’”

“You find something else to use.” Ollie swayed from side to side. 

“Mhm, and if they're not listening or trying to bother you, you call for one of us and we'll help, okay, Cielo?” You added in.

“Yes, mama.”

“Me alegro de que ambos lo entendáis. Now apologize to one another, and don't forget to say sorry to Apricot.” Miguel gestured to the cat, who was giving a tired, grumpy expression at the two young ones.

After giving their “I'm sorrys,” the two jostled over to Apricot, apologized, and pulled out his favorite toy to play with him. Mari slid down and joined her siblings, crawling in between the other two and taking more cat toys out of the small bin. Giggles and squeals filled the atmosphere, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into Miguel.

“You're really good at this parenting business.”

“I'm still not as good as you, mi Luna.” He chuckled at the three taking turns dangling toys in front of Apricot, who happily swatted at them all. “There's still times where that fear of me not living up wants to settle in. And not just for this.” He mumbled toward the end.

You heard the last bit and had to hold back that charged flare of him bringing himself down. “I understand that the worry lingers, but stop that. You're an amazing dad and person. That hasn't changed then, and it'll never change now, mi Estrella. You saw what you wanted, you seized it, and you continue to strive for it.” You kissed his forearm and lingered for a second. “Now, would you like to reaffirm my statement?” 

Miguel had to really stop and stare at everything. He zoned out and thought.

The sun rose, and the sun set. Each day that came, he took it on, but in a different light. He was given this second chance, the field illuminated by the new shining glows that cast on him. He allowed it in after being so alone all that time. How that period was encrypted with bleakness until you showed him it was okay to move forward and confine in those who want to see him bloom, just like a flower. 

He did work on this and doesn't feel the need to put an end to it. 

He still has more to learn, but right now? Right now, he's okay.

And when he looks down at you with those gentle and compassionate eyes, he knows he has come far. When he takes the time to look at the family and the home he's built, he knows he did this. Everything he has been through and worked for wasn't in vain. He isn’t stopping or giving up on this life. For you, his family, Gabriella, and mostly for himself.

“You okay, mi Estrella?”

“Si, mi Luna. Taking what you said into consideration and really digging into it, I will have to agree that I’m a pretty decent dad.” He leaned down and gave you a deep kiss, which you gladly returned when the soft snickering gathered in your ears.

“Mama and papa are kissing.” Ollie pointed at you two, and Mari followed soon after.

“They’re kissing! No fair!” Mari pouted and crossed her arms.

“Aww, you hear that, Miggy? They sound pretty jealous. Maybe we should do something about that.” A playful smirk crept on you. Putting you on the cushion seat next to him, Miguel scooted up to the edge as the three stared, anticipation coursing through their veins.

“Aw, no quiero poner celosas a mis estrellas fugaces.” He got into a position and showed a glint of his fangs.

“Run!” Ollie squealed out, but the three weren’t as fast as him. He scooped them up in his arms and began to give many kisses all over their tiny faces.

“We're under attack!” Cielo slapped Miguel's chest.

“Fight back! Fight!” Ollie tried to grapple at his neck but was met with tickles as she squirmed and howled with laughter.

Mari managed to slink her way out, hobble over to you, and climb on the couch. “Can we call Mayday and Uncle Peter before bed?”

You kissed her forehead and poked her nose. “Yes, we can. Now are you going to help your brother or sister, or will you just watch?”

Mari dazed out for a bit before snuggling deeper into your arms with a giant grin on her face. You couldn't help but snort and move her in closer with Apricot dodging the wrestling match (that Miguel was losing) and settling his way to you. 

You couldn't help but encourage the other two to get him, telling them where he was coming and how to get him down. Miguel was flabbergasted by the betrayal of his own wife when Mari jumped back in and dogpiled alongside Ollie and Mari. You cheered when Miguel admitted defeat and laid sprawled out.

The rest of the evening was filled with pillow and blanket forts, a loud video call with Peter and his family while you made dinner, and a very over-the-top and animated acting of a couple of fairy tale bedtime stories.

That night, when the three were fast asleep, you and Miguel cuddled up on the porch couch, the moon and a star gleaming the brightest among the others.

“A new month.” You pointed up and dipped your head into his chest, enjoying the soft breathing and the steady heartbeats.

“A new beginning.” He placed his sheathed claws underneath your stomach and kissed the crown of your hair. “Hey, mi Luna?”

“Mhm?”

“Gracias. Gracias por todo.”

“Now what did I say about thanking—”

“Mi Luna.” 

You turned up to face him, those crimson eyes staring right into you. You smiled and kissed his chin. “You're welcome, mi Estrella. I'm here by your side, no matter what. You know I'm not going anywhere.”

“And I'm not going anywhere either.”

“How many flowers are in the field?” You turned to your own garden, peeking out from the side of the house.

“Many. Marigolds, lavender, daisies, tulips, and sunflowers.” His touch was light on your face. “There's still a lot more wanting to sprout.”

“Endless, and I'm so happy I get to see them.”

“And I will make sure to take care of each one.”

You met in the middle, his lips hungrily attacking yours and his hands gliding along your delicate skin.

“Meet me upstairs?” You gasped hard, your chest heaving up and down.

“Yes, and be careful, mi Luna. I'll be up there in a minute.” He tapped your bottom some.

Giving one more lingering kiss, you didn't conceal your giddiness when you giggled like a schoolgirl and went up to your bedroom. Miguel laughed and peered up at the sky one more time, giving the moon and star a long glance before heading in himself.

On his way, he made a quick detour to the living room and to a bookshelf with many knickknacks and photobooks you both saved that were very important to you both. And right on the second shelf, towards the top, was a picture of Gabi surrounded by lavender and the flower that represents the new month that both you and him decorate and maintain.

“Hola, osita. Estamos bien. Estoy bien. Tal vez incluso un poco mejor que eso. I miss you. Every day I miss you, but I know you're besides us, having a blast with your siblings and your mamá. They love you; she loves you... I love you. I wanted to tell you that and for you to rest well. Buenas noches, mi hermosa y feroz osita.” He stroked the marigold framing, bowed his head, and made his way up to you.

The beautiful moon enriched his view with its milky shine. And the rustling of the winds flowing through never felt so nice. 

The smell of the soothing florals and the tickling when they brushed against him.

He didn't know his path then. He swore he did. He truly believed that his road was only destined to be isolated and crumble underneath. 

  But now...

Now Miguel O'Hara understands.

Chapter Text

Two car doors slammed shut at the same time.

An annoyed huff of air dispersed from one's mouth, titling up at the ridiculous structure looming over them.

“You ready?” A familiar voice called out, triple-checking that the doors were locked.

“Yeah, papá. I'm all ready to go.”

“Alright, let's head on in. After you.”

The two scrolled in very casually, a feigned look of excitement plastered on the face of the disgruntled, who clearly didn't want to be here but had no choice. She was tired of coming into this building; most never held much significance, and it was the same layout across the board with a few minor changes. 

The architecture wasn't as sleek or flashy as the others. It was your standard run-of-the-mill science company. Nothing quite stood out.

Well, except that this one technically did have a very huge importance that she couldn't help but acknowledge. It held importance; it was merely a bothersome scene to go through over and over again.

“¿Gabi? ¿Estás bien?” The man halted in front of her and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “You seem more out of it today, mija.”

“Oh, si. Estoy bien. Nervous jitters of being here; you know how that can go.” She cranked that smile up that always makes her cheeks hurt.

“Well, let me know whenever you want to go home. You don't have to stay here the entire day, okay?”

She gave a thumbs up and signaled for him to lead the way. They made their way towards a few stops, used to the clocking in progress and all that other tedious crap. Thankfully, no one was around to distract them besides the receptionist at the front. She attempted to flirt with him, and even Gabi couldn't help but find that laughable and embarrassing. He always shows off that ring on display for all to see, so Gabi isn't shocked when he shuts it down. She's almost amused by it.

Continuing on with their journey, she pretended to catch on to what he was saying, acting like she was intrigued, but most of all, his words fell on flat ears. Her mind was focused on one thing, and they hadn't been interrupted throughout the walk, and that's what mattered to her.

“O'Hara!”

She didn't believe in being jinxed, but someone was kicking her into believing it.

“Morning Peter, how are you?”

“I'm doing alright; I got my bean juice, and I'm ready to start the day.” He held a large reusable coffee cup and grinned when he turned over to an unfamiliar face. “Now who is this clone with slightly more hair?”

“This is my daughter, Gabriella.” He proudly placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh wow, you can definitely see the resemblance, especially in the height. I've always said you were nothing but legs.”

Rambunctious laughter came from the two while the young girl meekly tittered. She was so sick of hearing about the stupid height, but if it makes them happy, she sucks it up.

“Well, I do hope you enjoy your visit here at Alchemax. It's always nice seeing the younger generation take an interest in the ways of science.” Peter slanted his hand some, taking an outrageous gulp of his coffee.

She wanted out of this.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him.

Smiling always felt too tight on her face. Making this upturned look never felt right, but maybe she can truly make it when she finally sees him.

“You know, science is the future. It's the past and the present as well, and many don't want to realize that. I am a strong proponent of the youth channeling their—”

“Alright, Peter, we get it, but right now we're going to head on off. I promised ‘mini me’ I would show off the mutation area.” Miguel glanced over at Gabi, a look to tell that he had saved them both from whatever spiel he was going to bestow.

“The mutation section? Trying to be a geneticist like dad here?”

“Yes, sir, that's the plan.” She plastered on that dumb award-winning grin, earning a ruffle on top of her head from her ‘father.’

“Ah, man, better watch out for your job then. She may surpass you. But, uh, let me in on a secret. An entomologist is ten times better. Nothing but looking at cool bugs all day.”

“Ay, you and those bugs. You might as well marry one.” Miguel groaned and crossed his arms.

“You know I'm considering it! I don't know how MJ will feel, but she wouldn't mind if I picked a luna moth or an emerald swallowtail. Oh. Maybe a peacock parachute spider. Those things are ethereal, and then some.” He thrust his coffee into the air and caught himself before he caused a spill.

Now she was getting annoyed. All they do is banter, and it irks her to no end.

“Papa, can we go now? I'm ready to look.”

“Ah, yes, still the typical teen. It reminds me of my Mayday. But alrighty now, I'll let you two go. You guys have all the fun.”

A simple nod was given by Miguel and Gabi, and they continued on to their destination. She already had the layout recognized and memorized when she got access to the full map. A simple piece of malware was created to get it, and it was her favorite to make.

“Oh, Miguel. Now hold on, who might this be?” Two women, who may both be in their mid-thirties, approached the two.

Gabi was getting really fucking impatient, but she had to hold it in. 

“Jess, Aya, this is my daughter, Gabriella.”

“You and your wife have a daughter?” Jess raised a brow and placed both of her hands on her hips, trying to recall any conversation about that. “I thought–”

“No, we're still trying for our own, but Gabi here is a special someone who I learned about recently.” Miguel wrapped his arm around Gabriella. Time for the idiotic facade.

“Stepping up and in, I can respect that.” Jess nodded in approval. “You can see the resemblance.” 

“Especially with those long legs.” Aya spoke up.

Gabi wanted to punch her for that.

“Papá…” She had to keep that scowl back. She needed to sound like a bored and impatient teen. The impatient part she had down.

“Right. I was going to show her the mutation lab; she's highly curious about that.” Miguel smiled between the two ladies.

“Well, um, we actually need you on the third floor to check out this diagnosis. That's why we were heading down this way to find you.” Jess peered over at Gabi. “Would it be okay if we stole your dad for about fifteen minutes?”

No!

She needed him so she could have a better entry to where she specifically needed to go. Gabi pulled a disappointed expression.

“I can take her, Jessica. She seems like she's really hounding on going there. And besides, you'll know where we'll be.“ Aya wedged herself in front of the three.

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you sure, Aya? I don't want to pull you away from anything important.”

She shook her head and waved her wrist around. “It's no problem at all. I can sneak away for a bit. I'll give the excuse of me being a tour guide to a curious mind.” She winked over to the young girl. “And she's safe with me, so all is okay.”

Jess and Miguel looked at each other, then at Aya and Gabi. “Entonces por mí está bien. Be safe, and make sure you follow the instructions, mija.”

“Stop it. She's fine.” Aya stuck her tongue out and made him put his palms up in defeat. “Alright, Gabi, ready for a girl's trip out?”

She has to fake enthusiasm. “Of course! See you later, papá!” Maybe that was too enthusiastic, but they didn't seem to take notice of it. In fact, they all smiled at her.

A bunch of imbeciles to her.

Miguel and Jess sent them off, right after he made sure to remind her to text if she needed anything, but Aya shooed him away, and the duo twisted and took off in opposite directions. 

Aya was a conversationalist, which, of course, irked her. This dimension held quite a few chatterboxes, much to her dismay. She thought all scientists were introverted and only went out on those mandatory bar outings so they could talk about something other than nuclear fusion or that weird coding bug in the system. Maybe generalizing should be less of a rudimentary factor for her. 

She shrugged that off. That was an insignificant train of thought.

They trekked down many corridors and took two elevator rides. Some wanted to talk to Aya, but thankfully she shut them down, exclaiming she was on a mission. At least she understood the memo.

After several hundred questions about Gabi and other mundane comments, they reached the double doors of where they needed to go.

“Alright, stay close to me, and don't be afraid to be intrusive with questions. Even though I'm a chemist, I have a huge soft spot for things like these.” Aya pressed a few buttons on the keypad when a faint click hit their ears.

The room was huge. Fancy science tech and gear sat neatly on tables; big machines surrounded by computers sat in the middle; and behind them was a giant glass wall.

“When we have organized tours, they love to show off this place.” Aya strided over to a table and leaned against it.

Gabi inclined her head back and surveyed the area a bit more. They had it hidden away, but she knows it's here. To not make it obvious, she asked a few wondering questions about how certain machinery works or what was the silliest thing that happened in here. Gabi scoped around, peeping into bins and other small glass tanks, but to no avail.

Aya was going on about some stupid story when Gabi slipped a sturdy glass beaker into the lab coat she wanted to try on. Help to create an immersion for the woman.

“So, your father and Sam went back and forth about how a cat can't have the same genetics as an alligator; it was crazy how your dad wasn't catching on that Sam was messing with him. It was clear as—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Aya, but dad told me you all had this spider that you guys were working on, and I wanted to know if I could see it.”

The woman blinked and ran her hand through her black and golden-streaked hair. “That's strange how he talked about that. That was supposed to be a private matter.”

“It was a dad's little secret thing. The ‘accidental’ slip. But he promised me that he would show it off if, of course, he kept it between us. Well, now it's between you, papa, and me.”

Aya bit her inner cheek and glanced behind her and out of the window. “Alright. But you must keep this top secret, as you can tell that this is a pretty big deal.” She winked and strolled over to another door tucked in a back corner, invisible to the naked eye.

There was a keypad next to it, and it took her around thirty seconds to punch in this code. Gabi's heart pounded throughout her body. She wiped her forehead to make sure no sweat dripped down in the well-cooled room. She watched the woman go in and closed the door behind her. It took a minute for her to come back out, but it was worth every millisecond.

She cradled a medium-sized cylindrical glass container tightly to her chest. The inside held some greenery to help stimulate a biome for the creature.

“Here we are.” Aya twisted her body a bit to let Gabi see. “I like to call this fella Chester. We found him in a chest, so that's how his name came to be.” Aya went to a nearby table and carefully placed the container in the middle so it wouldn't fall off the edge.

“This little guy is special to us. He's going to change the way we view life, not only for ourselves but for the world around us. Maybe it could go further with this simple creati-” 

Aya went down as the side of her forehead hit the edge. Gabi's hand shook, and the slightly cracked beaker dropped and rolled underneath somewhere. Gabi crouched to her knees and checked for a pulse. She was still breathing, which was a good sign.

She latched her arms under her armpits and dragged the woman by the door, avoiding all the cameras she knew were placed. Punching in the code, she took her body in and propped her up against an empty storage shelf, making sure she was at least comfy.

Gabi slid out, leaving the door open a tad bit, and almost tripped over to the spider. While searching for a way to unscrew the top, there was a small red button that was barely lit. Her head darted back and forth to make sure no one was coming, and she pressed it.

A hiss emerged from the top as the lid popped up. A scarlet and dark blue creature crept out from a few leaves, staring at Gabi. It had a glow to it, almost like a shiny gem in dim lights. Subtle, but still radiant.

She nearly released a cackle but bit her tongue to prevent causing too much of a disturbance, just in case Aya managed to jolt awake. She stuck her hand in, being as still as possible. It took several seconds for the creature to trust her, but it stumbled on her hand. She watched as the magnificent spider crawled all over it, balancing out her fingers so it wouldn't fall. 

“I will find you, papa. We will be happy again. I finally get to be like you and make everything right.” She took out a pocket-sized notebook that was red on one side and blue on the other, grinning so hard that her cheeks were hurting, but she didn't care.

This smile she held seemed much... better. 

A sense of joy. Of actual happiness.

All was going to be as it should.

Chapter Text

You stared into the full-body mirror, nervousness, happiness, and other raging emotions swirling within. You never felt like this, but here you, trying not to sweat your pits as Ronnie turned you over to look at her.

“Careful, I don't want to stick you.” She muttered, sewing a small tear right on the side of your dress. 

“I'm sorry, Ronnie. I didn't mean to zone out on you.”

She waved her hand, digging through a sewing kit and getting right to work. “Nah, don't be. It's a big day for you. I don't blame you for being all up in the clouds and jittery.”

You reared your head back at the mirror and beamed harder. You couldn't believe this momentous event was happening; you simply couldn't.

You were getting married.

You were getting married to your star, your forever, your everything: Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the engagement ring, you peered at the shining stone. Ronnie grinned, finishing up the last final touches on it. “And here we are.” 

Staring at yours and Ronnie's reflection, you both dawned the same sparkling smile, eyeing the dress in admiration. The dress was beautiful. The flowing skirt embroidered with tiny stars and daisies, the slight puffy sleeves, the V-neck showing just a bit of cleavage. 

It was wonderful, considering that it is an expensive dress as well. 

Ronnie was given this dress by some model who, in a pretentious manner, gave it away along with other clothing because ‘she didn't want to be caught dead with them.’

When Ronnie did research, the clothes were worth tens of thousands of dollars, having her to hoard them away from the public eye.

“But now, since this is technically a very special occasion, I want you to wear and have this.”

You recalled denying her over and over. You couldn't accept a very extravagant item, especially if it was one of her most prized possessions. Yet Ronnie's persistence refused to give in.

She badgered you and even got Miguel to jump on the bandwagon when he saw how it complimented your figure. Even taking notes on the little designs adorning it. 

You did give in by the third week, when Ronnie was standing in front of your apartment one morning holding the dress up to her chest. You were grateful for Miguel being up that early, or you would've tossed her out of your window. She threatened to sneak in and put the damn thing on in your sleep, and you didn't want to take her up on that offer.

Then you got an actual good look, and the rest was history.

“Doing okay?”

“Hm? Uh, yes. Think the jitters are getting to me.” You raised your arms when Ronnie instructed you to do so.

“You're not planning on trying to pull a runaway bride on us, are you now?” She inspected for any other tears or loose strings. “Because if you are, let me come. I don't want to be there when Miguel inevitably freaks out more than usual... Or maybe I'll have Peter record it.”

You couldn't say you were baffled by your friend's train of thoughts, but it still never managed to have you taken aback because of how thoughts chugs along up there.

“No, Ronnie. Besides, my body wouldn't even take two steps before I'm sprinting right back to the altar. I love that man too much, and cold feet aren't an option.”

“That man does seem to have a magnetic pull.” She pinned a part and placed her hands on her hips. “And there we go. You are all ready to go.”

“I'm getting married, holy shit, I'm getting married, Ronnie. What the fuck, what the fuck? Are they ready? Is he ready? Please tell me I have more time to get my shit in order.”

Your boss pulled out her phone before swatting your hand away from your hair, scolding you for trying to mess it up. “I worked on that.” She punched in several numbers, and you listened to the phone ring.

“Do you think he's nervous? Or is it just me? I think it's only me; it has to be me? Right, right?” You crossed your arms and tapped your foot rapidly. “What if he's calm and I'm the nervous one? It's only me!” You started to pace the room, fanning yourself to not get overly sweaty.

After the fourth ring, someone picked up, and Ronnie heard shuffling, then a frantic voice speaking in Spanish at a hundred words per second in the background.

“Calm- Miguel, calm down; it's—yes, I know... No, she won't have cold—go, go sit down! Just relax. Hi, Ronnie. Is she ready to go?” Peter's held a strain in his tone as Miguel continued panicking in the back. 

“About to ask you the same thing. Is he freaking out as much as she is?” Ronnie looked at your worn state, then back at her phone. 

“I'm trying to get him to calm down. He said he's scared if she gets cold feet or if he gets it. I told him he would turn and run straight back to the altar if he tried to do a runaway groom. And he agreed.”

Ronnie snickered and sighed out. “Sounds about right. But she's ready; they're both wrecks, so that means they're good to go.”

“I don't think that means they are ready, Ronnie.”

“They are. Find a way to get him in the car, and we will see you two in five.” She hung as Peter tried to sputter one more thing, but Ronnie wasn't having you and Miguel drag this day on.

“What did he say? He's not ready? Good, grand, I get to relax here for a bit longer.”

“Nope, he's ready. Let's go.” 

You and Ronnie had a showdown. You were wanting to do this, but there was something gnawing at your skin and bones. You couldn't figure out why you were so anxious. Leading up to this day was all fine and dandy. Everything was in order, and you both agreed on how the day would go with relative ease.

Like how you both originally wanted to do a Catholic ceremony, but you didn't necessarily have the right resources. With your mother and father watching the celebration by phone, due to your father's chronic fear of flying, you two didn't really want to go through all those steps. When Miguel explained the steps, your head was caught in a whirlwind, and even with your own research on how to minimize it, it made your head throb. So you settled on simple vows and allowed the officiant to do their thing. 

And the guest list was a breeze to make, even if you both knew the consequences. It made sense for Peter to be the best man and Ronnie to be your maid of honor. You didn't mind Peter's wife tagging along too; you both needed some balance between the two. Short and simple. The way you two wanted it.

Then the next thing you slightly dreaded: your mom and dad.

When you announced the news to your parents about the engagement, they immediately video called wanting to interrogate Miguel. You tried to prevent any form of physical call, only wanting to stick to messages, but Miguel eased you to the idea that talking to them would've been a better option. You did give in, but it was an immediate regret.

“Why are you so big? Do you do steroids?”

“What the hell, dad?”

“Don't talk to your father that way. Now, what's your income salary?”

“Mom!”

“What? I need to make sure he can provide.”

“Occupation?” Your dad stepped more into frame.

“I'm, uh, I'm retired, sir.”

“Doesn't answer my question.”

“Geneticist, sir.”

“Yeah, I don't like him. No scientist needs to be that built.”

“I just searched how much a geneticist could make, and he's retired at a young age? He's good-looking man, smart, and in shape? Good pick. I like him. When are you having children? Keep him because I want beautiful grandbabies!” 

You wanted to evaporate into the air.

“You like him for all the wrong reasons. What are your intentions with my daughter? Do you want kids? Where did you meet her? What are your political thoughts? How much has she told you about us? Why haven't you called us to tell us you've been seeing this man-?”

You hung up and slumped your body on the table.

“Now I see why you only message them instead of calling.”

You gave it a few more days for them to settle down, and it helped. It didn't take long for your mom to love him, to the point where she preferred to talk to him more than you. Your dad did eventually warm up to him, more so when he learned that Miguel was actively trying to seek out your brother to surprise you at the wedding. Your dad accidentally let it slip a couple days before the wedding, stating Miguel is now his new son and how Barkley was a coward for hiding away.

Miguel confessed that he was struggling to find him; even with his old fancy HQ gizmo, it was as if he never even existed. He did feel undoubtedly terrible, and you hugged him, thanking him a million times for going out of his way for a surprise that would've been amazing. 

To help bring the mood back up, you treated him to his favorite restaurant and then came back to the apartment and proceeded to ride him until you both were seeing stars.

Needless to say, you pushed everything to the back of your brain to solely focus on Miguel, the wedding, and nothing else. 

Everything was running smoothly, minus MJ not being able to show up due to catching a virus, so there wasn't going to be any middleman that you and Miguel craved. And Ronnie wasn't helping by forcibly dragging you out to the car. The glimpses of passersby didn't help as Ronnie gave them all a thumbs-up that this wasn't a kidnapping, and you were safe before gently shoved you in the passenger side. Your leg bounced the vehicle, wishing that the botanical garden was halfway across Nueva York.

“You're going to tilt the car if you keep moving your leg like that.” She slid in and started up the engine and pulled off the curb.

“I'm sorry, Ronnie. I don't know why I'm feeling this way.”

“Marriage is a big thing. Committing your life to someone who is willing to go through the ups and downs with you and vice versa. Well, unless you're my cousin.”

Your face bunched up at that. “Why do you say that?”

“She's been married about seven times in the span of five years. She was more worried about the weddings than the actual guy she was getting with.” Ronnie said. “Always keeping up with her needs, barely inputting what the man may want. Every time you saw the groom, they always seemed so dead, tuned out, or going along with it to prevent her from blowing up over the simplest of issues. Kind of sad, so seeing someone excited to be with the person they truly love is refreshing.” 

Your lips curled upwards. It was joy that was amplifying all those emotions that were raging inside. The one that was outshining the rest. 

Ronnie parked and hopped out of the car and dashed to your side and opened it for you. She moved her head around like a vulture, scoping out for the others. Only a few cars preoccupied the other spaces, but she didn’t see the car Peter was taking. You stepped out with her help and pointed out that the officiant was here.

“Hey, we got fifty percent. I see that as an absolute success so far.” Ronnie took your hand, and you two made your way under the pergolas. “You know this would be a gorgeous shot.”

“I'll make sure to tell Peter. I hope he remembered to bring his camera.” When scouring for a photographer, you learned that Peter was one, and he recommended himself to do all the pictures and photo edits.

You accepted his offer but didn't know how the payment was going to work with him being from another dimension. You questioned if it was like another country where you could exchange your currency for theirs. Or if future money would affect the past. They assured you that it should be okay, and if it doesn't, you and Miguel would pay in babysitting Mayday.

“Where the heck are Peter and Miguel? I swear if he did do a ‘runaway groom,’ I'm going back for my bat!” 

You had to pause and grab her by the shoulders to not freak yourself out. “Ronnie,” you began through a tightened jaw and forced smile. “Let's go in and meet the officiant. Remember, if one of us shows up first, we can quickly make sure things are in order. Two, Ronnie. Please. Don't.”

The woman was a bit shaken by your calm yet frightening demeanor. She nodded her head, taking the time to realize stressing you out wasn't the best idea. You continued on as she watched you pull your phone out and dial for your parents. You were immediately met with bombarding questions and what took you so long to call. Your eye spasms, and you were forced to give them a stern talking and practically told them to behave themselves, or you will have Ronnie keep them silent throughout the entire ceremony. 

You greeted the officiant, who was settled on one of the splattered painted benches. She thankfully gave an update that Miguel and Peter were on the way, leading you and Ronnie to the entryway to get checked in. There was an employee there if anything went awry or you simply needed help.

“I need to freshen up, please. Ronnie, stay here if they come. Can you show me where your restrooms are?” Your hands fidgeted with the puffs on your sleeves. The officiant decided to go with you in case you needed more assistance. 

Ronnie mingled with your parents, her and your mom squealing how you were marrying a “hunky hottie,” while your father didn't make a peep. Ronnie's phone vibrated in her back pocket. She grabbed it and cupped the screen. It was Peter. She excused herself from your mom and dad and muted them so they wouldn't start raising questions on why the groom isn't there yet. 

“Where the hell are you two?” Ronnie hissed. 

“We're in the parking lot. Had to help Miguel from sweating up his dress shirt too much.” There were two doors being shut. “Where is she? Is everyone here and ready?”

“Yes, now hurry up—you slow bastards!” Ronnie hung up and hurriedly called the officiant to make her way back. 

When she got there, your boss handed the phone to the officiant and made her way to where you and the employee were. 

“Can I talk to her alone, please?” You smiled at the employee.

“Of course.” They shuffled out of the restrooms and into the outside.

“Letting you know now, I'm not afraid to tackle you down if you try to run.” Ronnie checked behind to make sure the counter was dry and leaned on it.

“Did you manage to get a glimpse of him?” You peered at your reflection, giving yourself a final inspection, inside and out.

“Nope. I think I was making my way here when they came in.” She inched over and rested her hand on your shoulder. “You look lovely, by the way.”

The corner of your lips quivered up. “Thank you, Ronnie.”

“Of course.” She laced her arms around your torso, weary about not wrinkling your dress. “You know I have a sixth sense?” 

You huffed a laugh. “Do you now?”

“I sure do. And it's saying that life with him will be a path that's full of wonder and wander. Full of winding and unwinding roads. You know all that good crap.”

“I wouldn't say it like that.”

“And you're going to march down to that archway, talk about how much you mean to one another, and get married.”

“I was going to do that from the start; it was never going to change, Ronnie.” You scrunch your face. “Was this a motivational pep talk?”

“In a way. I was buying time so they could get into position.”

You sighed out, ready to touch your hair to relax, when Ronnie smacked your hand away from it once more. One more look at the mirror, and you dazed into your own eyes, then smiled. 

“Okay, I'm ready.” You linked arms with Ronnie and headed out to a welcoming sunbeam.

Miguel was steeled to the ground. His palms were sweaty, but he didn't want to wipe them. He eyed Peter, who gave him a thumbs-up, and then the officiant, who simply offered a smile. 

The flowers decorating the arch were the same from the first time he shared a kiss with you. He fiddled with the marigold pinned to his shirt and made sure it was not damaged. Checking in the direction you were supposed to come, his mind drifted to subconscious thoughts, praying that nothing was off or if his breath smelled (he made sure to brush and gargle three times).

Before he could go any deeper, you and Ronnie emerged in full view.

Miguel couldn't breathe. He stared as you made your way to the archway, the sun, and the flowers, always adding on to your already mesmerizing glow. Every step was elegant, and his heart pounded the closer you got to him. There was no one else in the world besides him and you. 

You didn't want to seize up, but Miguel in his suit and the floral around him brought you back to the first time you ever came here. The first time he was open with you, the first time you shared your kiss. The start to where you are now. 

Extending his hand, you happily took it and drifted as close to him as you possibly were able to. You saw Ronnie take back your phone and make her way over to her side with a skip in step. Taking his free hand, you rubbed the back of it to soothe you both.

“You got this. Lo conseguimos.”

“Gracias, mi Luna.”

“You two ready?” the officiant asked.

You signaled for her to begin.

“We are gathered here today on this lovely day, surrounded by one of nature's many beauties of the earth, to celebrate the love and the bringing unity of Miguel and Y/n.”

Miguel felt his eye twitch and wiped at it before going to the other.

You tried to stop the tears from leaking, but they did anyway. Time was slowing down, the officiant's words getting lost and fading into the back. It was only him.

“Eres hermosa.” Miguel mouthed.

“Eres hermoso.” You mouthed back.

The shared fondness ran deep. You wanted to stroke his face, so you squeezed his hands tighter. Miguel didn't want to wear his sunglasses because he wanted you to see every emotion. You didn't want him to strain himself, but he was insistent. With that, you checked the weather almost every day for a partly cloudy day to wed on. 

You gazed up to a perfect blend of the sky blue and the white fluff lazily covering the sky from time to time. 

You zoned back in when the officiant began the declaration. 

“I would say take each other's hands, but you both already have that filled.” The officiant cheesed. “Now, do you promise to choose each other every day, to love each other in word and need?”

“We do.” You and Miguel nod.

“Do you promise to recognize one another as equals and support one another in your goals and wishes for the future?”

“We do.”

“Do you promise to always share your thoughts, feelings, and concerns with the other and be open and honest at all times?”

“That means no ‘thinking’ you're okay or insisting. You have that habit.” Ronnie sputtered out before pressing her lips into a thin line when all eyes were on her. “Uh, sorry. Pretend I didn't say anything.”

You huffed out a strong gust of wind and shook your head at your friend. Miguel chuckled and stole a quick kiss on your temple. “I'm here for you.”

“I know, thank you.” You grinned, and you both proudly said, “We do.”

“Miguel, you may now share your vow.”

“Mi Luna, where do I begin?” He shook your hands. “When you came into my life, it was something I never was expecting; it was a path that I thought I couldn't cross, and yet you proved it otherwise. When you allowed me to open up and gave me that space to be myself, it was all so unfamiliar. But whenever the sun and moon drifted into the horizon and the skies, or were hidden by the weeping clouds, you were there with your compassion and understanding.

You made each day feel simplistic; each minute I am around you is an eternity of peace and love that I never want to end. Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance to want to learn and grow; thank you for showing that there are people who want to be by my side,” he paused to acknowledge Peter, Ronnie, and the direction of the HQ. “That there have always been others who have been there.”

You brushed the corner of your eye, trying not to smear your makeup.

“Mi Luna, mi corazón, mi vida. Thank you for letting the marigolds and lavender pop up. Thank you for showing me these connections and values that lie beneath, waiting to grow. Te amo y nada cambiará eso jamás.”

The officiant gave you the say to recite your vow.

“You big, loveable oaf.” You laughed and sniffled. “That night we crossed paths; I wouldn't have known what was going to happen. I had days of questioning and wondering, asking myself, ‘Is all this real? Is this amazing man before me actually real?’ And yet, the more and more we got to know each other, the more I felt like I've known you for most of my life. I thought of the future with you. I want one with you. You bring in this tenderness and sentiments that always bring these connections whenever you're around. 

“The day you asked me to be your wife was a dream that fell from the light. I had to stop myself from pinching myself because if it were a dream, I wouldn't want to wake from it.”

The night he proposed is something that'll forever have a fond place in your memories.

He brought you to the park after cooking up some cinnamon waffles and playing one of the early albums you got for him. He insisted it was only for nostalgic purposes and that he only wanted to do it on the fly. You held your suspicion, and it didn't ease it when he took you out to the botanical garden and the restaurant you first ate at for dinner. You probed him with question after question until Miguel had you relax. Giving in, you leisurely went along and enjoyed the rest of the evening.

The last stop was the park. The moon was out, and a few stars were stagnant in the sky. You sat on a bench and snuggled up next to one another, loving each other's presence when Miguel made you close your eyes. He stopped you from interrogating and had you comply. You listened out for any sounds when Miguel's voice sounded far away. 

He sat across the other bench and stared right at you with those hypnotic eyes. You laughed and pointed to your own and uttered, “Crimson?”

He smiled and placed his hands in his pockets before making his way to you. He stood there for a few seconds, the orange from the streetlights and the ivory moon competing to be his spotlight. And that's when he got on one knee, and you immediately started to sob. You couldn't recall the speech (he had to retell it when you had to sedate your mind), but you remember saying ‘yes’ repeatedly.

“I love you, mi Estrella. I want to walk on that path with you. Even if it gives us twists and turns, I want to remain by your side through it all.” Your hands were getting wet, but neither of you cared. 

“You have shared your vows, the promises and love that will still flourish and blossom onwards. We witness and bless your vows for the lifetime of your marriage. May I have the rings?” The officiant turned to Peter, who handed them to her. “Thank you.”

She gave you and Miguel the rings and eyed the etched crescent moon on the inside. And on his was a star. The officiant gave the ring exchange speech to be repeated. You noticed his hand trembled when you looked up to see tears rolling down from his cheeks. Even if it was tiny, the smile was radiating, and you couldn't help but return your own beaming one, drops streaming down to your chin. 

“I, Miguel, give you, Y/n, this ring as a symbol of my love, my faith, in our strength together, and my covenant to learn and grow with you.” He placed the ring on your finger, fighting the urge to kiss your hand. 

The officiant looked at you and had you recite.

"I, Y/n, give you, Miguel, this ring as a symbol of my love, my faith, in our strength together, and my covenant to learn and grow with you.” You slipped it on and gave a quick peck to his ring finger. “I'm sorry. I, uh, I couldn't control myself.” You tittered.

“That's okay.” The officiant winked. “Before these witnesses, you both have sealed your pledge with these rings. By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife; you may now kiss the- oh.”

Miguel swept you off your feet into a kiss that he put his all into. The sun warmed your skin, and so did Miguel. Your hands grazed his cheekbones, his nose, whatever your thumbs could touch. 

You were officially married, and the butterflies fluttered inside.

Going to sign your name on the certificate, you caught Miguel staring keenly at the paper. 

“Mi Estrella? ¿Estás bien?”

“Yeah, I'm just... in disbelief I get to have someone as you as my wife. That I get to have this chance at a better life.”

“Of course you deserve it, Mi Estrella. And I will never stress that enough.” You scratch his back when Ronnie yells for you to come over.

“You have other people to blab to.” She hoisted the phone to your face, to your mother gleaming in the camera and your father having a fixed glare.

“We are so proud of you!” Your mom clapped before shoving the phone in your dad's face. “Stop looking like that! You'll add more damn ridiculousness than what you need. Say something to our daughter.”

“I'm glad that you are my son. Visit. Soon.” You knew that was more of a demand than a request. 

Miguel draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you in closer. “Thank you. And we will, we promise.”

“Come on, you lovebirds. Let's get some pictures!” Peter waved his camera around, and Ronnie clapped her hands.

Peter had you two posing around the garden. He was really good at it, having you both feel relaxed and natural surrounded by nature's landscape. The officiant even took group photos of you four, and Ronnie had taken many bad selfies or gorgeous off-guard ones; there was never an in-between with her. You were given the opportunity to freely roam the garden and reminisce about the beauty when you first came here.

You didn't think it was possible for your heart to swell more, but it was proven.

“I'm proud of you, you know?” Peter patted Miguel's back. “Still ways to go, but you'll get there. Especially with her on your side.” 

They glanced over at you and Ronnie chattering away with the officiant, and Miguel was in awe at you. You always managed to hold a presence that made others feel warm, even if you weren't trying. 

“Thank you, Peter. Thank you.”

The three flocked to Peter and Miguel, and you immediately shuffled over to Miguel's side and held his hand. 

“So, we're getting food, right?” Ronnie patted her stomach loudly. “Because I can go for something right about now.”

“We did book a small section for the Asian street food restaurant.” You chimed in. “Would you like to join us? It'll be on us.” You asked the officiant.

“I would love to join, but I have another wedding to head to tonight. And I'm going to need all the rest for that one. But thank you for the offer. I wish you two nothing but these best.”

You all said your farewells to her, thanking her one final time, and watched her leave.

“Alrighty. Any more pictures you guys want to take?” Peter held up his camera.

You shook your heads in unison, your own stomach growling, indicating you're ready to chow down. You all made your way to the cars and down to the restaurant. Being greeted and checking in, you four were seated in a private booth area with barely any noise from the rest of the establishment.

Ordering an array of foods to share, Ronnie recommended for everyone to order a drink to make a toast for you and Miguel. You agreed and got a nice fruit cocktail, and Miguel stuck to a simple glass of red wine.

“This is the part where Peter and I give our thoughts and stuff.” Ronnie raised one of her rounds of shots filled with sake. “I'm going first, so Peter, you have to try and find a way to follow mine up.” She downed the drink and wiped her lips.

“I admire you both. The dedication you give to each other is insane. The way you two interact makes it seem like you have already been together for so damn long. I will never forget the day you walked into my little shop; you were so uncomfortable as hell.”

“You ogled at me for almost a minute.” Miguel piped up. 

“She did what?” You almost gave yourself a crick in your neck to look at Ronnie.

“But the moment my great employee, my amazing friend, came up to the front, I could immediately tell how smitten you were for her.” Ronnie grabs another shot. “Even though you were wearing your sunglasses, you didn't need to see to know. Then, as the days went by, the further love between you was wild. You two made each other comfortable and wanted. An absolute.” She downs the drink.

“Basically, what I'm trying to say is, you two are in love, and no matter what you'll face, no matter how big or little, or how the outcomes may come out, you will see the light within each other.” Another glass. 

Your heart fluttered, and Miguel reached for your hand. “Ronnie, thank you; that was beautiful. You're going to make me cry.” You had to get a napkin to dab at the corners of your eyes.

“Thanks. Cause I certainly know there will be lights being seen on your honeymo-”

“And now it's my turn. Certainly don't know how I could top that, Ronnie.” Peter shakenly laughed. “I'll try to make it short and sweet, because I'm starving.” He bought his wine glass close to his face.

“Miguel, I could talk about the first time you let it slip about missy over here or how you were freaking out on what date to take her on.”

You giggled at that and nudged the abashed man.

“But I'm going to say what I haven't said before: you are making your future with a person you love; continue to write your story and look back whenever you need that pick me up.” He tilted the glass toward you. “And I know you're going to let him tell his story, one page at a time. I'm so proud of you, and I will never stress that enough.”

“Gracias, Peter. Gracias Ronnie.” Miguel said. 

“Thank you two for being here for us.” You added in and beamed. 

Clinking your drinks together, the first round of food was brought out, and you guys began to chow down. You and Ronnie watched in astonishment with how much Peter and Miguel tore into the meals; even a couple of staff members were wide-eyed. Peter stayed until dessert, heading back home to not keep his sick wife and child abandoned too long. Bringing you both in a bear hug, you said your goodbyes when you had to excuse yourself to answer a phone call from your parents.

Miguel kept his eyes on your figure when something jostled him out of it.

“Heya, business partner.” Ronnie plopped right by Miguel, checking to make sure you were out of earshot. “How is he doing?”

Miguel gave a side glance and leaned back with his arms crossed. “I'm not even going to entertain what you're about to say.”

Ronnie gave a hardy laugh and pretended to wipe some tears away. “Miggy, Miggy, Miggy, always the ones with the great jokes.” She sighed out and patted his back. 

The man creased his brows at your friend. He still doesn't understand how you two get along, but he tries not to question it. He decided to wait and see what she had up her sleeve for her to be acting this way. 

“Yes, Ronnie?”

The woman cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Right, no need to butter you up; you're happy and married to the love of your life, my girl. You know, Y/n.”

Now Miguel was severely lost. He had no idea where she was heading, and frankly, it frightened him some. Anything was possible when it came to Ronnie, but he was going to give that ear.

“Ronnie?”

“Okay, for real, jumping to the chase.” She sipped her cocktail and smacked her lips. “I saw the way your eye twitched when the officiant said her name. Like, sort of, how should I say? Realization?”

Miguel had to keep his composure. He swore he played it off well. “I was trying not to get too teary-eyed from the start.” To Miguel, that sounded like a reasonable explanation; no need to go further into details. And yet, he knew this was Ronnie he was dealing with.

“Okay. Fair.” 

He was shocked; it actually worked for her.

“So why the hell were you looking at the certificate with a thousand-yard stare? And don't tell me it was because you were in awe and got to marry her.”

He blinked.

“Yeah. I overheard that. So tell me… why?”

Miguel was begging you to come back any minute. He was in a frenzy, needing to find some sort of new response. No matter what he pulled out, they all were ridiculous. A voice being cleared jolted him back into reality.

There he was met with a very smug Ronnie.

“You never knew her name.”

Miguel didn't say a word. The silence screamed out, and that's when she slapped the table. 

“I knew it! It made sense why you would never say her name. I thought it was this endearing thing with the nickname, but no! That was never the case.” Ronnie glanced back and went right back to Miguel.

He was embarrassed. His face hidden behind his face in full fledged shame. “Do not tell her. I'll never be able to live it down if she finds it.”

“Oh my God, holy hell. You went through hell and back; you're living with her; you put a ring on it, and you never once bothered to try and learn her fucking name?” 

“Ronnie, por favor! I beg of you, please don't bring it up.” His voice was at the lowest it could go; his cheeks flushed.

“Oh, I won't.” Ronnie said.

Miguel exhaled greatly and leaned back in the booth. “Gracias, Ronnie. I feel like an idiot for never bothering to learn. No puedo creer que realmente hi-”

“Unless you do something for me.” She folded her hands on the table.

“I should've known. I should've known better.” Miguel mumbled and dragged his hands down his face and sighed loudly. “Are you seriously about to blackmail me? You know that's illegal.”

“You call it blackmailing; I call it investing in a long-term business.” She swept her hand in the air, stars in her eyes. 

Miguel wondered if it wouldn't be too bad if you knew he didn't exactly learn your name. He started to weigh the pros and cons when Ronnie tapped the table.

“I will give details on what I would like in return soon enough. I do want you to enjoy your day with your lovely wife.” She gestured to you strolling back in with a giant grin and sparks when you saw Miguel.

“So what were you two chatting about?” You slid next to Miguel and snuggled your body on his.

“How good the meal was and how you two are very much made for each other.”

You were slightly lost, but chalked it up to Ronnie being Ronnie. After leaving the restaurant and Ronnie stealing one more photo of you two on her phone, she drove you two back to your apartment, where you and Miguel slumped on the couch. 

“So, Mr. O'Hara?” You scooted over to him. 

“Yes, Mrs. O'Hara?” He wrapped his arm around you.

“How about we get out of these clothes?”

“Mhm.”

“Take a nice, long, steamy shower.” You rubbed his chest. 

“Mhm?” He took your hands and kissed them. 

“And get some rest?” 

“Yes, please. Having to endure Peter and Ronnie's nonsense was a lot,” he smiled and put his lips to your ring. “But I would do it over and over, knowing I would get to marry my moon and relive this day.”

“Wouldn't you rather do it once so we can make new memories for the future?”

He chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you wouldn't want to be stuck in that loop?”

“... Maybe.” You gave a cheesy smile and leaned in to kiss him. “I love you dearly, mi Estrella.”

“Y te amaré por siempre, mi Luna.”

Chapter Text

The honeymoon. The most intimate time after the wedding. The time where you and your new partner can enjoy each other's company even more, but in a different location.

You honestly didn't care if you and Miguel went on a honeymoon, but he insisted on a getaway to some fancy beach house. You were a bit surprised when he offered the beach of all places as he struck you as a person who seems to hate sand getting into places where it shouldn't be. But he really wanted to take you to this beautiful island with a private spot.

You agreed to go, and your only offer was for him to allow you to help pay for it. He tried to fight back, telling you that he had it all under control, but you told him that was his honeymoon as well, and you seriously didn't mind chipping in. He knew he wasn't going to win this argument and allowed you to give a couple of hundred dollars.

He wanted to transfer back the money the moment he received it but refrained. Asking for time off work and getting scolded by your boss for even bothering to ask because the answer was always going to be yes (you stated that you didn't want to just up and leave), you and Miguel booked everything and flew out for the trip.

The island was gorgeous. White sand with bits of red, luscious green landscapes, and the vast blue water in front that glowed at night. 

The house was stunning. It was two stories high, and there were windows seemingly all over. It was white with hints of gray, white, and seafoam green. It screamed luxurious on the outside, yet the interior held more of a comfy heart inside. With white wood flooring, open flooring, and a high ceiling, it appeared more like a cabin, but with beach-style furniture. And you both loved it.

Your favorite part of the whole place was the bedroom that led out to the balcony.

You two had an amazing vantage point of the ocean, watching the sun come up and absorb the night with its beautiful oranges and kissing golden rays. To it retiring for the night turning the purples and pinks into dark blues, embellishing the sky with the twinkling stars and milky way dancing around the moon. There was something about the illuminating glows from both the sun and moon when they beamed through the curtains that made you feel warm and calm.

Maybe it was the breezes that would stream through, whistling a soft tune in your ears. Or possibly the ambience of the sounds of crashing waves or the tides ascending from the shore and back. 

Or maybe it was being near him.

Waking up to being entangled in each other's grasp made those emotions swirl deep. Seeing the beams hug his tan skin whether you were on the beach or in the house made you question how you were so lucky to end up with a man like him. And Miguel made sure to return the same sentiment. When you two weren't exploring the island or relaxing and enjoying each other's company, you two were all over one another. 

On the sands of the beach (Miguel made sure to lay out a huge blanket), in the kitchen, the dining room, the laundry room, even on the roof (though you were ready to get down after the first thrust). You found your bodies nearly all over the beach house and beach. 

Needless to say, hands couldn't be kept to yourselves for the first four out of the eight days.

It was all magical, and you were relishing every millisecond, but it got you thinking. You wanted to surprise Miguel. He would always catch you swooning over him if he was swimming or simply swinging in the hammock with a book that he would abandon a few pages in. He would instigate and lead you to any part of the house or wherever you were standing, and you both end up being sweaty, sticky messes.

But you wanted to throw him off track; you wanted him to sit back and enjoy himself while you savored every inch of your Renaissance marble sculpture on the runway, lover. You were going to find that way.

You and Miguel were snuggled up on the couch after coming back from a hibachi dinner that resided on the island, watching some movie, but you were barely paying attention to it. 

“Vale, has estado distraído toda la noche. Tell me what's on your mind, mi Luna.” He peppered kisses your shoulder and neck.

You bit your bottom lip and pushed your body more into his. “It's nothing. Just some prime time thinking.”

“Prime time thinking?” 

“Mhm.” You purse your lips and continue eyeballing the film.

“Mi Luna,” he said, tightening his grip and leaned in close to your ear. “Tell me what's on your mind. Now, mi corazón.”

A shiver spilled down your spine. You could restrain the temptation of wanting to give in, but you were always putty in his hands.

“Okay, fine. I'm only going to say this because you asked; it's actually been on my mind for the last day or so, and it's all I could ever—”

“Mi Luna, you're stalling.” His fingers brushed your hair. 

You figured you outwardly saying it wasn't going to help you in the slightest. Expressing your desires didn't come easy, and it amped up around him, but tonight you were going to do this. You decided to not tell but show instead.

“Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes.” You patted his chest and darted off to the stairs. “And don't come until I say, mi Estrella!”

Stunned, he listened to the bedroom door close and shut his eyes and opened them bewildered. “Uh, okay.”

He debated if he should settle more into the couch or not get more comfortable. Every second, he would wander his attention over to a nearby clock then divert it elsewhere as time purposely slowed down whenever he took a peek. He listened out and heard you moving. He took note of every step and tiptoe you made across the floorboards. When six minutes passed, Miguel had to fight with himself from jumping up and darting in the room when you finally called for him.

Not craving to prolong the wait, he sped up the stairs and into the room where you lay propped up on the pillows, your arms sprawled on the cushions and legs stretched out with one over the other. You were in a silk robe but left no room for imagination. You were only in your underwear, and a smile was gracing you.

Miguel didn't know how to react, so he allowed his body to do the talking for him. He took off his shirt and slipped his pants right off. You suspected he would try to go for it; it even confirmed your suspicion even more when he dipped onto the bed and crawled towards you with those starving eyes. 

“Mi Luna, you know I will give you anything to fill your urges.”

You shushed him and put your finger to mouth, winking innocently. “I know, Miggy. But tonight, we're going to switch that around.”

He tipped his head to the side, trying to piece together what you meant by that, and that's when it dawned on him. “Mi corazón, are you wanting to take-”

“On the bed, and place your back on the headboard.” You rolled off the bed and stood by it and pointed at the spot where you were.

He was enticed and made his way over to get himself comfortable. Pleased, you discarded the robe, having it sink to the floor and straddled Miguel's hips. You were anticipating how far you could go. Wetting your lips, you began to roam your hands over his chest. You needed to see him squirm.

“Hands over your head.”

“And if I were to say no, mi Luna?” He gave a playful smirk and grinned harder when you rolled your eyes.

Taking his wrists, you shuffled up and pinned them above for him. “Now,” you locked eyes with him and followed his gaze whenever it went. “Webs. Let's go.”

When he didn't move a muscle, you knew you had to take matters into your own hands. Releasing him from your hold, Miguel went to lower his arms when you snatched one and planted it back on the wall. Quickly taking the free one, you angled it until it aligned with the other, firmly pressing his wrist so his web could bound it up.

“Mi Luna.”

“If you want to do things the hard way, then I can play that game too.” You repeat the process, moving his hand and shooting more to capture the other. “Much better.” You made sure to give him wiggle room on the first constrained arm, just in case.

Miguel balled his claw into a fist. He was curious to see what you had planned up. “You have me trapped. Now what?”

You kept quiet and pulled down his briefs to reveal his penis red and leaking the transparent liquid already.

“Mi Luna—ah! Oh, fuck.” 

Miguel arched his back when your tongue found the tip, lazily swirling it around. He wasn't expecting you to jump right in. You were concentrating on flicking your tongue and placing feathery kisses from the body to the base. You fondled his balls, taking a quarter of him and slobbering on it as much as possible.

He exhaled and rolled his hips along with your movements when you pulled away with a pop and pressed your hands harder to his thighs.

“No. Moving.” You went back, licking the shaft before putting it back in your mouth.

Miguel froze at the command when a low growl escaped from his throat. He went back to bucking his hips, wondering how you'd punish him. That, and he was desperate to have you take more of him. His breathing grew when he found himself successful, until he heard an irritated grunt.

You removed yourself from him and glared. The dangerous look sent a shiver down Miguel's spine, but he held it in, returning his own surly gaze. He watched you sit up and move back from him to reach the edge of the bed. His eyebrows knit, examining what your next move could possibly be.

“That warning wasn't for nothing.” You stood and turned your back to him. “For that, you get a punishment.”

You make your way towards the door, and Miguel begins to slightly panic. “Mi Luna, wait!” But you were already out of the room. 

Were you going to leave him there like this? And for how long? He groaned out from the desire, his body burning with need. His eyes were locked on the door, growing more and more heated with every second that passed. He heard you shuffling around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the fridge. 

After a minute, he was ready to call out for you when you strutted back in, with a wine glass and four ice cubes in it. You sat it on the bedside stand and plucked one out. He eyed you intensely, wondering what your next move was going to be. You smirked at his expression, removed your dampened underwear, and sat across from him, making sure to keep your legs spread enough for him to see all of you.

Putting the cube to your lips, you lap at it seductively, letting the cool droplets drip on your chest down to your stomach. Miguel was fixated on the way your lips curled around the solid. He tried to control his breathing as his cock throbbed relentlessly. 

“Mi Luna...” he was already out of breath.

“Your punishment.” You moved the ice over his tip and let some drip on it. He groaned and threw his head. “Is to watch me please myself.”

You roamed it over yourself. Down your neck to your nipples. He followed your hands, ready to rip the bindings from his wrists, but kept himself at bay. He wanted nothing more than to replace that ice cube with his tongue. He was seriously jealous over frozen water; only you could get him to that point. 

You made direct eye contact; your sharp hisses and soft moans as you trailed the ice down to your needy cunt had Miguel moaning out. You rubbed the nearly melted cube over your folds and clit, making your back arch. Your free hand reached down, and you stuck two fingers in yourself. 

You made sure to scissor so he could adore every part.

“Por favor, mi corazón, por favor no hagas esto. Lo siento, pero por favor.” He begged as your pussy became wetter and wetter. 

“Miguel,” you gasped out. You kept going until it completely melted. You were glistening from your chest to your thighs, your vagina very puffy as the clit poked out.

“Mi Luna.” His voice was filled with nothing but lust and needs. “Please…”

“Now, Miguel, when I tell you to not move, do not move. Yes ma'am?” You crawled your way over to him.

“Yes.” He replied, nothing but a shaky arousal in his tone. 

You grabbed the back of his head and reeled him close to your face. “I said, yes, ma'am.”

Miguel almost came on the spot. “Ye-yes ma'am.”

“Good boy.” You placed your lips to his and went for another ice cube. You licked at it some, sucking it before moving it to him. “Lick.”

He did as he was told. You shivered when his tongue came into contact with your fingers, trying to stifle any sounds wanting to escape. You took it away when you were pleased with the size and began to pump his slick, veiny cock. It was hot and leaking out like crazy. You were a bit pleased with how well this was going. 

You went in and nipped at his neck, leaving a couple of nice hickeys for anyone to see. 

“All for me.” You purred right in his ear and placed the half-melted cube on the tip, sliding it down his length and then back up. 

You moved back to get a nice view of your treatment. Miguel thrashed at the frigid sensation, his cock twitching as you rubbed it on the swollen tip. The more pre-cum that welled out, made you prouder.

“You're doing so good.” You wickedly grinned and plopped the rest of the ice in your mouth, taking him back in your mouth all the way. 

Miguel moaned out, a string of swears in Spanish falling out. He looked down at your head, bobbing crazily, the sensations overwhelming his senses. His claws pricked his own palms, leaving indents in them.

Your whirling tongue and the slobbering made him want to cry. He desperately needed to release and wanted to buck his hips, but didn't want to endure another punishment, so he could stay still and watch your face and the copious amount of liquid spilling out from your mouth.

He glanced down when he saw you looking up at him through your lashes. The lewd sounds and the stare you were giving were enough to make him snap. 

“Ay, mierda- mi Luna- fuck . I'm going to- fuck—I'm cumming.” He groaned out, and you dug your nails into his sides, taking every drop of him.

You released yourself from him and lifted your head, mouth wide open. Miguel almost fainted from the sight, watching some of his seed drizzle down your chin before you gulped down the mouthful.

“So delicious.” You licked your lips and cleaned up the rest of your face. “You always taste so good.”

“Vas a ser mi muerte.” Miguel rested back on the headboard. You took pride in his sweaty, disheveled state, and your smile wasn't washing away.

“You doing okay, mi Estrella?” You brushed away a bit of sweat from his forehead and kissed it.

“Sí, mi Luna.” His eyes seemingly got brighter when he looked at you. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Any chance you get.” You went in for a kiss, letting him taste himself and taking the third cube. “Now for being such a good boy, let me reward you by helping you cool down and giving you something special.”

Miguel smirked and licked his lips. “What could be more special than what just happened?”

“You'll see.”

Lapping at the ice, you ran it over his pecs, abs, and nipples, circling around them before biting one of the hardened nubs. Miguel sighed out, eyes fluttering in the back of his head. It did feel nice to let you take the lead, and it really put it in perspective how kinky you could exactly get. He was certainly going to have you take charge more often. 

Nodding your head at the shine of his chest and stomach, you decided he was ready for the main course. You stood up on the bed, holding your arms out to balance, and moved your vagina a couple of inches in front of Miguel's face. You placed one hand on the wall near his arms and propped a knee on his shoulder.

“Now that you're cooled down, here's your reward.” You ran the ice over your folds. “Go ahead, Miggy. Eat me out.”

Miguel didn't hesitate on that instruction and took you in his mouth. His tongue darts in and out to taste you. He sucked and eagerly ran the wet muscle eagerly, not wanting to miss a single spot. 

You called out his name and immediately dropped the ice cube, not sure where it landed. Miguel growled out and made out with your honeyed pussy, wagging his head like a madman. You inclined more into him and the wall. Your hand gripped on his hair as you tried to maintain that balance.

Delving deeper into your core, he was letting not one drop escape from him. He worshiped every part of you; he loved the taste of you. The overflow of your moans sent him in a spiral. You bucked your hips whenever he plunged farther in.

You hissed and licked his arms, grazing the veins popping out, and felt yourself get closer and closer. You moved away and peered down at the trail of spit that was connected from Miguel's lips to your pussy. You whined and plopped back down on his wet lap from the ice you dropped before colliding your mouth into his, needing to taste every part. You sucked on his tongue, rubbing your wet folds along the tip of his cock, teasing him for your amusement, but even you couldn't take it.

“Mi Luna.” Miguel snarled, but you pretended to not hear and went to nip his neck.

The immense amount of foreplay made his dick very warm and firm. Feeling it pulsate against you had you shuddering. You brushed on him some more, receiving a jerk and bucking from the unceasing taunting. 

“Eag-eager, huh, Miggy?” You giggled when you faced him, but you weren't expecting the parlous glint in those eyes. 

You gulped. Goosebumps pricked all over your skin when Miguel freed himself from his webs, the residue floating in the air. You should've figured that him getting out of the bindings wouldn't take much of an effort. Placing his hands tightly on your bottom made you squeak. 

“H-hey! I'm supposed to be taking the lead.”

“You are, but this teasing is stopping now.” 

He forced you to take the head and stiffened his body. You bit your bottom lip and didn't move for a few seconds, and that evoked a strangled whine from Miguel. 

“Por favor, no hagas esto, mi corazón. I can't take the punishm- shit!”

You sank down on him all the way, your walls enveloping the burning cock. Squeezing his shoulders, you began bouncing in a rhythmic motion. Wet sloshes sprung from the puddle and your juices. Your voices were loud, calling out each other's names. You sharply inhaled, adoring how red Miguel had gotten. You rocked more into him, gyrating your hips to the point where he swore you were spelling his name.

An electrifying shock coursed down your back as a breathy moan left your lips. You trembled as an orgasm shook you.

“I love you, mi Estrella.” You whispered near his lips. “You okay? I wasn't too rough, was I?” 

“I love you too, mi Luna. And no, you were amazing.” He wiped away your tears and hoisted you up.

You were a bit dazed when he pinned you against the wall, placing your arms by the sides of your head and prying your legs as far as they could go. His webs flung over your body to keep you held up and sturdy. He dug his talons in and glared deep into your eyes. You were hypnotized by his lascivious red iris and whimpered his name. 

“Mine.” Miguel bit down on your neck and shoved himself in one motion.

“Yours.” You cried out as your body was going numb, the personal novacane rushing through your bloodstream, but you still squeezed every inch of him. 

“Feels amazing. Te sientes tan bien.” Miguel moaned and thrusted into your tight heat, loving every squelch and slurred speech emitting from you. 

The speed he was going was so insane that you swore you were going to fall through. He gropes your breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple; his grunts and soft groans sounded pleasant in your ears. The moonlight shined through, bathing him and complimenting his skin.

His hip bones smack into yours. The messy pool leaking whenever his balls slapped against your delectable, creamy pussy. He stroked your every inch, admiring your intoxicating face. Even though you were numb, every breech was wonderful. You were being split open, the engorged tip rubbing on your cervix, when another climax spilled out of you.

He didn't let up, dropping his head on the crown of your hair, taking in your scent. “Mi esposa, mía. Mi vida, mi galaxia, mi luna.”

Your heart was beating in your eardrums. Miguel's dick pulsed madly in you, his panting becoming irregular. 

“I love you. I love you. Te amo. Te amo.” Miguel convulsed and bit your neck once more. Shot after shot of his cum seeped deep in you, along with more of his venom. Kissing your sweaty forehead and lips, he smiled at your tousled state. “Thank you for taking charge, mi corazón.”

You struggled to give half a smirk, but the twitch was enough for him. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Want me to open the balcony door?”

Your eyes tried their best to narrow at it, and thankfully, he understood.

“Alright. I love you, mi Luna. You go ahead and relax. You deserve it.” He tore off the netting and carried you to the bathroom before letting the salty sea and sounds croon in the room. 

You loved this man with all your heart.

• • •

Miguel scratched his head and scanned the bathroom to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind.

The day before, you both ordered in some food, chatted, and slept all day after that intense round, deciding to use that day to merely relax and regain energy before heading back home today. 

Peeking in the shower to grab your body wash, his ears perked up to your voice.

“Miggy? We have a slight problem.” You called out. 

He strolled out to where you were facing a wall. Your hands were at your sides with a look of mild concern. “The wall.”

He furrowed his brows and followed your line of vision. “What happened to the wall?” And that's when he noticed the claw marks and cracks going from big to small decorating the light blue paint. “Ah.”

“I think we're going to lose that deposit.” You sighed and gazed up at him, as he smirked at his work. 

“I'm fine with losing it. And I'll do it again and again, mi Luna.” He kissed your temple then went back to packing, leaving you feeling extremely flustered and your face in your hands. 

This was undoubtedly the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with, and you weren't going to complain, not one bit.