Tw: vomit, sickness, also smut lol what a surprise no minors!! spanking 👀

you really think Miguel would let you keep testing his limits? (the answer is no but also yes)

  I glance at Rosalina's reflection in the rearview mirror. "My poor papita. We'll be home soon, baby."

  Rosalina - clammy, pale - nods pitifully small. She stares out the car window with teary eyes and holds her upset belly. I make sure to drive as smoothly as I can.

  A stomach bug has been going around at Rosita's school and she's its latest victim. I'd never inputted a portal's coordinates so fast when I received the call that she'd thrown up in one of the bathrooms at school and was crying to go home. Miguel's on a mission, but I asked Lyla to relay to him what's going on - and to ask him to return as soon as he's able.

  It's a relief when we arrive home without incident. I take her bag and hold her hand as she shuffles up the stairs to the entrance. I watch her worriedly.

  I hate it when Rosalina gets sick. I hate having to just wait it out while her little body struggles against illness. No matter what I do - cold flannels, warm baths, chicken soup, vitamins - I always feel so useless. I always get so panicky that I'm doing it wrong.

  Mig had always been the one to calm the both of us down. But he's not here anymore, and the man that's taken up his spot is inexperienced at caring for a kid with this level of sickness and making sure I don't stress my head off. The worst Rosalina got during winter was the sniffles, and all Miguel had to do was make sure her Spider-Man shaped tissue box was stocked, keep her company by doing a jigsaw or reading books, and retrieve painkillers for her headaches. I wasn't even that worried.

  But this is far worse than the sniffles.

  Rosalina curls up on the couch and stares into space as I tuck a blanket around her. I turn on the TV to her favourite channel and wipe her hair out of her sweaty forehead as I place a tin bowl - the resident throw-up bowl - on the floor beside her.

  "Are you hungry?" I pet her too-warm face with gentle brushes of the backs of my fingers. "Do you want me to make you something?"

  Rosalina shakes her head. She leans into my touch and wearily closes her eyes. My despair grows. I kiss her forehead.

  "Mi pequeña princesa," I murmur against her hairline, and kiss her again. "You'll feel better soon."

  I make her a glass of lukewarm water and electrolytes to slowly sip on and do exactly what I detest - wait it out. She throws up a few more times and cries, and I hold her hair and murmur gentle words. Then, while she sleeps, I sit on the other end of the couch and work on my laptop. I quietly ask Lyla for updates about Miguel's ETA, but she keeps saying that he's still tied up.

  Rosalina's feeling a little better after a long nap, and by the time it's dinner she's able to hold down food. She has a bowl of plain rice and a banana and eats it dolefully. Miguel still hasn't returned.

  "Where's dad?" Rosalina sadly mumbles.

  "He's just held up at work." I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "He's trying hard to get back as soon as he can."

  That doesn't seem to make her feel any better. She stirs her rice with an upset frown. "I miss him."

  I smile sadly. "Me too, baby."

  Miguel, where are you? I managed to handle myself well, but Rosita still wants her dad. I want him home, too.

  "Hey, how about we open that bracelet-making kit you got a few weeks ago?" I ask. "Does that sound fun?"

  Rosalina nods tiredly. She places her spoon down and pushes her half-eaten rice away. My worry heightens.

  We sit on her bed and braid coloured threads together while Rosalina tells me the plot about the current book she's reading. She picks out beads to decorate her bracelets. Her's is a mash-up of all the colours. The one I make is a simple purple and blue.

  "This one's for dad," she says quietly, and shows me a pink bracelet with daisy-shaped beads and letters spelling 'dad.' I smile in amusement at the mental image of the allegedly terrifying leader of the Spider-HQ wearing a very pretty, very girly bracelet. I have no doubt he'll love it.

  "It looks great, papita," I say. "Muy bien."

  She makes me a matching bracelet, too. I slip it on and admire it.

  "You can't take it off," she sniffles. "Ever. You have to wear it always." She holds out a pinkie. "Promise me."

  I look her in her weepy eyes and link my pinky around hers. "I promise to never take off my bracelet."

  Rosalina smiles weakly.

  The front door opens when Rosalina's having a shower and I'm clearing our very basic dinner away. I quickly place the plates into the sink and head to the entrance. Miguel's already frantically shucking his coat and kicking his shoes off.

  "Sorry, I'm sorry," he quickly apologises before I can say anything. "Dios mío, the guy just didn't want to quit."

  He turns and I gasp at the gash down his face and the black eye he's sporting. I cross the space between us and hold his chin to check the damage.

  "Jesus, Miguel," I whisper worriedly. "What'd you do to yourself?"

  He looks past me. "Is Papita okay?"

  "You're bleeding." I turn his face down to me and examine the long wound that crosses down from his temple to his jawline. "What happened?"

  "I rushed, I got sloppy," he says, and steps past me to ascend the stairs. "I'm fine."

  I grab his arm before he can leave. "You're not fine."

  He sends me an impatient look. "Y/n-"

  "Miguel," I insist. "She's okay. She's just in the shower."

  Miguel sighs. "She's really okay?"

  "She's not great, but she's stopped throwing up," I answer. My concerned eyes trace his cut, and I carefully touch the stubble just beside it. "But you look terrible. Come on, I'll patch you up."

  Apparently it's nurse day for me.

  "I swear, between you and Rosita." I sigh and push Miguel down onto a chair in the kitchen. I plant my hands on my hips and glare down at him. "You two run me ragged."

  A small, guilty smile plays on his lips. "Lo siento, amor."

  "You're lucky I adore you," I mutter, and kiss the side of his nose. I quickly step away from him to retrieve the first aid kit before his hands can get the chance to hold me prisoner against him. 

  Miguel doesn't even wince when I wipe the stinging cleaning solution down the side of his face. He holds a pack of frozen peas against his black eye and watches my face as I work. His other hand rests on my thigh.

  I'll occasionally catch his gaze and flush, before forcing myself to focus back on my task. He doesn't need to stare at me so much. Then again, wouldn't I do the same if we were swapped?

  "Does it hurt?" I ask quietly. His answer is a shrug. "It looks like it hurts."

  "I've been through worse."

  "That's not exactly reassuring, Miguito," I mumble dryly. "It's actually the opposite."

  "Sorry," he chuckles, and he squeezes my thigh an inch higher up than it was before. I slap his hand with a pointed look.

  It takes a few minutes to plaster his cut and to make sure there's nothing else that needs my attention. By the time I clear him, Rosalina's changed into her pyjamas and mopingly enters the kitchen. She's still a little pale and green, but the shower seems to have done her some good.

  She spots Miguel and brightens immediately. "Papa!" She practically throws herself at him. Miguel, ready for the affection attack, swiftly tosses aside the peas and catches her with an 'oof.' He hugs her close.

  "Hey, baby girl." He kisses her temple and smooths back her shower-wet hair. "Sorry I took so long. How are you feeling?"

  "So bad," she weepingly complains into his neck. "I hate being sick."

  "I know, it's the worst," Miguel says sympathetically. "Did mom take good care of you?"

  Rosalina nods. I smile softly at the two of them and gather the medical supplies to put them away. She notices and looks at Miguel's face properly. She gasps.

  "Why are you hurt?" Rosalina worriedly asks. Her small hand carefully holds his good cheek.

  "I tripped over myself, can you believe it?" Miguel chuckles, which is obviously not the truth, but Rosalina doesn't know any better. He holds his large palm over her hand. "But I'm feeling better now that mom patched me up."

  Rosalina's concerned expression softens. "You're so clumsy, dad." 

  Miguel shakes his head in disbelief. "I know, papita. You must get your great sporting skills from your mother."

  I snort as I'm placing the bandages away. Sure. When I turn, I catch the glint of amusement in Miguel's gaze. I approach the two of them and run my hand through Rosalina's hair.

  "Alright, chiquita," I say. "You should head to bed. You look tired."

  Rosalina snuggles deeper into Miguel's chest and ignores me. I sigh wearily. It's been a long day. I don't need her disobeying me, too.

  "I'll take her up," Miguel says. He stands easily with her still in his arms, and leans over to peck my cheek. "Thanks for taking care of us, mi vida."

  My irritation eases just a touch. "You're welcome."

  When Miguel leaves to tuck Rosa into bed, I put the damp bag of peas back into the freezer and ascend the stairs to have a shower myself. When I'm changed and have grown ten times more tired, I head to Rosalina's room to kiss her goodnight.

  But I hesitate outside the door when my ears pick up on the low, quiet hum of Miguel singing.

  It's a song that I don't recognise from my world. A low, lovely tune that's totally blindsided me. I didn't expect to ever hear this Miguel sing, but he is, and his voice is smooth and lulling and pleasurable to listen to. 

  "... es en la luz de tus ojos, que llego a encontrar mi paz, sólo a tu lado."

  I peek my head through the door. He's sprawled over Rosalina's bed with her asleep in his arms. He's too big for the mattress - even leaning his shoulders against the soccer-stickered headboard, his feet hang off the end. Rosalina looks so tiny curled into his side.

  "No existe ni tiempo ni espacio, por donde quiera que estés, contigo estaré..."

  My shoulder leans against the doorframe. I cross my arms, watching as Miguel softly sings while twirling Rosalina's hair. I've never seen her fall asleep so fast, and especially not after blatantly refusing to.

  "Te he buscado por cada rincón."

  He glances up at me in the doorway. His singing trails off.

  "She was refusing to sleep," Miguel murmurs. "Look at her now." He gently pokes her nose, before leaning down and pecking her cheek. "You lose, pequeña chica."

  I close my eyes as my heart sweetly aches. He's too good. He's too perfect.

  "What's that song?" I ask.

  Miguel shrugs. "Just something my mom used to sing when Gabe and I were little. She wasn't a great parent, but she knew some good music."

  I smile softly. "You're a great parent, Mig."

  The look he sends me is warm, and with Rosalina asleep in his arms, I melt entirely. "Gracias, amor."

  He carefully slips himself from Rosalina's grip and joins me. I flick off her bedroom light and quietly shut the door. We cross the hall to our bedroom.

  Miguel smiles giddily and holds up his wrist. "Did you see what she made me? It says dad."

  I grin at his happy expression in amusement. I knew he'd love it. When I show him my matching 'mom' bracelet, his smile grows twice the size.

  I can't help myself. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight.'"You're so cute, Miguito."

  He admires his pink daisy-beaded bracelet and stops outside the bathroom to get ready for bed. It's almost the same colour as his swollen eye. "No. I'm very scary."

  "So scary," I agree. I step back from him. "Right. I'm all sick-and-injured out. I'd say I'll see you in bed, but I'm going to pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow."

  Miguel snickers quietly. He turns and kisses me softly, and would do much more if I didn't (carefully) push his face away and shove him into the bathroom. With an exhausted sigh, I crawl into bed and do exactly as I said I would - I pass out.

  The next morning, Miguel holds my hair and rubs my back as I throw up into the toilet. When my stomach runs empty, I rest against him miserably. It's my turn to be the patient.

••🕷️••

  There's only one part of the Spider-HQ Miguel told me not to visit; the anomaly room. It's where the misplaced and caught villains are stored before being taken to their respective realities, and is also prone to breakouts by the more savvy-minded. According to Miguel it's dangerous, and I should do well to stay far away from it.

  So when Patrick O'Hara finds me in the cafeteria and asks if I want to see his latest catch, I answer responsibly;

  "Do you wanna see 'em?" Patrick asks.

  I shut my laptop lid fast. "Absolutely." 

  Widow the Spider-Horse clip-clops beside us as Patrick shows me to the anomaly room. It's a few levels down and secured by two force fields, and takes up an entire floor. Apparently, they're in the middle of building a proper machine to make sending them home easier rather than having a Spidey escort.

  "Wow." I have to tilt my head back to see the ceiling. Hundreds of interesting-looking bad guys sit in red cages made of the same force fields we just entered through. My head spins at the variety of villains, and the variety of mediums that they come in - flesh, cartoon, paper, plastic. It goes on and on.

  "Here's the fella I picked up today," Patrick says, and leans his arm against a cage holding a man cloaked in the skin of a bear and looking like he just waltzed right out of a 16-Bit game. "He's a Kraven."

  "A Kraven," the villain spits, and sneers his pixelated face at Patrick. "I am Kraven! The Kraven!"

  "They all go through a crisis o' the like," Patrick adds.

  I move to the cage beside Kraven and find a massive brute of a disfigured man. His cage's tag read Banjo: Earth-156. He bangs his large fists against the force field between us and roars. I quickly move on.

  I don't know how long I wander the halls of caged villains. A number of Spideys work, lugging cages behind them through portals and listing off reality codes. They nod as I pass. I try to look like I know what I'm doing.

  I come to a stop at the end of the row and blink, taken aback by how long I'd spent observing the different types of people that come from different types of realities. Miguel should be done with his mission soon and if he finds me in here, I'm in trouble.

  I'm standing before a Mysterio - a slightly too real looking version of him - and I don't realise I'm lost in thought and staring until he presses his forearm against the force field between us. The movement brings me out of my stupor and I focus on him. The brown-haired man looks me up and down with obvious interest.

  "Hey," he greets.

  I take a step away from him. "Hi." And abruptly my back hits into a solid object.

  A dark voice behind me speaks. "Hey."

  I startle, spinning around with a gasp. Miguel stares down at me, and even with his mask on I can tell he's fuming. It's all in the tension of his shoulders, the clench of his fists. It's in the way his chest is puffed and his head is positioned - not facing me. He's staring down at me.

  "Mig," I greet breathlessly. 

  "What do you think you're doing down here, cariño?" His pet name lacks its usual warmth.

  Oh, yeah. I'm in trouble. "... I got lost?" 

  Miguel's head tilts, but only slightly. Not amused. Not inquisitive. Even the red crescents of his eyes don't twitch. I'm seeing the scary Spider Society leader everyone tells me about, instead - the terrifying side of him. A shiver rolls down my spine.

  "Is that so."

  His voice is monotonous, unfeeling. My throat grows dry. I nod quickly.

  I know that he knows I'm lying. I also know that he knows I'm covering for someone - but I wouldn't be surprised if he's already aware that it's Patrick and is just testing my loyalty. He seems to know everything that happens in this place.

  "Little miss in trouble?" the Mysterio behind us chuckles.

  "She is," Miguel says, before unceremoniously plucking me up and dumping me onto his shoulder. I yelp loud enough to draw stares.

  "Hey!" I shriek, face burning with embarrassment. "Miguel! Put me down!"

  He marches down the rows of cages, stony and silent. Spideys step out of the way for him. I struggle in his hold but his grip is like rock - just a single arm around the backs of my thighs is enough to overpower me. I'm locked in place.

  I give up. I let my arms swing.

  "This is my life now," I say ruefully, before swiftly changing tactics. I draw my voice up high and sweet. "Miguito, amor, please put me down."

  He stalks out silently through the force fields and into the halls. More Spideys stop and stare. I feel any and all respect I'd gotten from the de facto leader rumour swiftly slipping through my fingers, and I sigh with defeat. It was nice while it lasted.

  "Miguel," I complain. "I'm gonna be sick." Nothing. "I'll make you sleep on the damn couch again." Nothing. I whine in annoyance and bring my fists down on the small of his back. "Put me dowwwn."

  He does not put me down.

  I slump in defeat. At least I have a great view of his ass from dangling over his shoulder like a potato sack. It rocks with each stride, large and sculpted and muscly. And at least we're walking through the long hallway to his station, now, and there's no one around to pay witness to my humiliation. Jess and Peter's voices float from the darkness we're walking towards. I grimace at the empending teasing I'm sure is coming. 

  With nothing else to do other than hang here and stare at his ass, I let my mind wander. I recall it naked, and I recall the feeling of my ankles hooked around it, and I recall the tautness of it, the power of his haunches with each thrust. And then I get a great idea.

  I grab his hip and, using every scrap of upper body strength I have, push myself up. I look over my shoulder at Miguel, unperturbed by all my movement, and smile wickedly.

  "Did I misbehave, amor? Did I break a rule?" I whisper, my voice so quiet that only he can hear, so sly and smooth. I imagine my words caressing him, feathering down his neck. "Are you gonna call me your bad girl and punish me, Miguito?"

  It has the desired effect. His strides abruptly stop. My smile grows.

  "I'm sorry, Miguito," I continue in my hushed purr. I drag my fingertips down his spine slowly, tantalisingly, and he rolls with a shiver. "You need to set me straight, don't you?" My fingers make their way around his waist and splay across his hip bone, slip down his V-line. "Fuck some sense into me."

  "Coño," he spits.

  Miguel hastily inputs coordinates into his Gizmo. I'm smug as we slip through space, though I don't feel as sexy when the portal leaves me dizzy and woozy. When my eyes open I find us in the pristinely white, ultra-futuristic bedroom of his pad.

  I open my mouth to speak, but then Miguel slaps my ass sharp, and a surprised cry escapes me instead.

  "You need to learn to be quiet," he snarls.

  "Oh, my god," I moan. I squeal when his hand comes down on my ass again.

  "What did I just say?"

  I bite my lip and don't make a sound. So terrifying, my Miguel can be. So attractive. I should break his rules more often.

  My stomach is left behind as I'm thrown ungracefully onto the bed. I hit the mattress on my shoulder before hastily scrambling upright. I stare unblinkingly at Miguel as he slowly approaches the side of the bed, his heavy, muscly body swaying with each slow step. His suit slips from his head and down his figure, fizzling away with white static, revealing more of his tawny skin with each oppressive step he takes.

  I shuffle back into the headboard and watch, high-alert and entirely pleased with myself for getting into this mess. Thanks, Patrick.

  "I told you not to go to one place," Miguel says with a quiet growl.

    My eyes follow the static that slips down his sculpted silhouette. Past his abdomen, past his sharp hips, and then gone completely. My ravenous gaze follows the dark curls of his happy trail to where his dick is half-mast already. Clearly, the thought of punishing me ignited something within him.

  I have to swallow before speaking. "Are you always naked under your suit?"

  My head is yanked back by my hair and a gasp tears from my throat. Miguel's not amused by my attempts to be funny. His face is one of fury.

  "I thought I told you to be quiet?" he venomously whispers. He releases my hair roughly. "Take off your clothes."

  I have never obeyed so quickly.

  Miguel crawls onto the bed before me, gaze locked like a lion's. He's massive in his rage, almost predatory, a wolf to a rabbit. His eyes trace my almost-naked form like a piece of art, or like I'm something to eat. I'm sweating in just in my underwear.

  "You've gotten rowdy." He hooks his hands behind my knees and drags me towards him with a yank. "Defiant. I've been too complacent with you, letting you treat me how you want. That stops now."

  He leans over me until he's everything I can see. I'm locked in, caged, a willing prisoner before him. I shift, equal parts impatient and aroused. 

  Miguel tilts my chin back and brushes his fangs along the sensitive skin of my jugular. "I'm going to fuck you until you're obedient, ¿entiendes?"

  "Oh, Jesus," I breathe. Miguel shoves my knees apart and I yelp.

  "¿Entiendes?" he snarls, and tears my underwear in two with his talon and a clean rip of satin. He throws the useless fabric away before doing the same with my bra. 

  "Sì, sì." My breath stutters with anticipation. "Entiendo."

  "Good." He kneels back, spits into his hand and grips his cock. I whine in yearning when he begins pumping it in fast, sharp strokes. It's quick to rise to its full height. "When I tell you to not do something, I expect to be obeyed," he seethes. "Turn around. Get your ass up."

  I roll onto my stomach and plant my knees into the mattress. I arch primly for him. Miguel's groan is low and agonised, and I jump with a hitched breath when his hand rubs the area where he hit.

  "You drive me fucking crazy," he mutters, and hits my ass with a sharp crack of skin. The sound that I make is entirely undignified. "You disrespect me." Another smack. "You're rude." Smack. "Immature." Smack. "And you lie to me when I ask you a question." Smack.

  My flesh stings, burning with pain. I dig my face into the mattress with a whimper, my string of apologies slurred and muffled. My body shakes. Miguel's hand rubs my raw skin soothingly, softly, as I catch my breath.

  "Look at you," he says quietly. He slides his finger up the inside of my thigh and gathers my slickness. I sob when he pushes it past my entrance. "You're soaked, mi bonita. Do you like being disciplined?"

  What a redundant question to ask. But still I nod, weepy with overstimulation and the need to be stuffed full. I push myself towards him, begging.

  "Please," I pant, "please, Mig."

  "Only obedient girls get what they ask for," he mutters, and I have to grit my teeth agaisnt the way his fingers ghost over my clit. "Are you gonna be obedient for me, cariño? Are you gonna be a good girl?"

  I nod my head with a desperate whine. He hums, caressing my rump, before lining his dick up with my pussy and shoving himself inside in a single, mind-shattering thrust. My shrill cry is swallowed by the duvet.

  He doesn't wait for me to welcome back his size. He doesn't give me a moment to adjust. He starts a brutal, rough pace that shatters me irrevocably, pushing himself past resistence through sheer force. And I'm so full and god it hurts and it feels so good that I lose the ability to think.

  This was a great idea. Well done, me.

  Miguel anchors his hands on my hips and pulls me back with each wild buck, with each sharp grunt from between his clenched teeth. The depth he spears evokes such an achy, wonderful sensation that it has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. The only thing I can say is his name.

  He smacks my ass again. And then again. My brain eviscerates.

  I quickly grow delirious beneath the rocking, world-breaking waves of pleasure that ricochet through me. My hands clench around the sheets, claws into the pillows. I'm fucked deeper and deeper into the mattress, and I writhe and cry; and Miguel's right. I'd do anything he asks. He has me wrecked right into obedience.

  Miguel wraps his arm around my ribs and hauls me upright. I fall against his chest, limp like a rag doll, and suddenly he's ramming up into me, and the only thing stopping me from crumbling to the mattress in a ball of drooling, blissed-out ecstasy are his hands firmly palming my breasts. 

  My fingers reach up and grip into his hair. My head leans against his neck. My gasps are breathy and thin. Pressure builds a wonderful knot in my core.

  "Are you gonna behave for me?" Miguel snarls. I nod feverishly. He nips the rim of my ear and gives an extra-hard thrust. "¿Vas a tomar mi verga como la buena chica que eres?"

  I dig my face deeper into his neck. "Yes," I gasp.

  He grabs my hair and pulls my head back. My spine curves with it, arching away from his chest. The change in angle and the burn of my scalp has me seeing stars. And still he pounds; deep, hard, rough, until the knot snaps with a toe-curling burst of white-hot nirvana and a breathy, wrecked whimper that stutters from my lips. My atomic being scatters.

  Miguel groans at the feel of my walls fluttering around him. He gives another three strong rocks into my warmth before his hot ropes spill, and then another few weak thrusts to chase the bliss, before slowly coming to a stop and resting his sweaty forehead on my shoulder with a sigh.

  The fingers locked in my hair loosens. They massage my scalp instead, slowly, gentle with apology, and my eyes close contently at the sensation. Miguel softly kisses my neck while I work on scooping my atoms back into the vague shape of my body.

  He slides out of me and falls to his knees in the crumpled sheets. I slump back into him and gasp for breath when my sore haunches take my weight. His hands rub the length of my trembling thighs.

  "You alright?" he murmurs into the spot behind my ear. I have to take a moment to regain my senses and my stamina.

  "All according to my plan," I pant. I turn my head to send him a pleased look. "I'm a genius."

  His glare is unimpressed. "You're a headache."

  "That, too," I agree. My hand lifts and I caress his cheek with a smug, lidded-eye smile. "You should get angry at me more. The sex is amazing."

  Miguel rolls his eyes and halfheartedly shoves me off his lap and onto the mattress. I sprawl out on my stomach, content and revelling in post-sex bliss. "You're insane."

  I kick my feet into the air and close my eyes with a smile. "Yeah."

  "Hey." Miguel grabs my jaw and pulls my head around to look at him. My eyes squint open. My cheeks squish in his hold. "I'm serious when I say not to go down to the anomaly room. Don't let me catch you there again."

  I frown and escape his hold. "I'm more likely to get hurt driving than by an anomaly breaking out. The place is literally crawling with superheroes."  

  Miguel isn't convinced. His expression firms. "I don't want to take that risk. Not with you."

  I turn my head away and exhale. Just as I can change his mood with a few simple sentences and a suggestive touch, he can change mine with three emotionally-charged words. I give in.

  "Fine," I sigh. "Okay. I'm sorry. I won't go down there again."

  "Thank you." Miguel's voice has softened now that I'm agreeable. Then it turns snippy. "And tell Patrick that if he puts you at risk again, I'll strangle him and his precious horse."

  My eyes shoot back to him in amused shock. "Mig, not the horse."

  "Yeah, the goddamn horse," Miguel huffs and leans against the headboard with his arms crossed. "She's sneezed on me one too many times." He looks at me in astonishment. "Do you know how much snot comes out of that thing?"

  "Oh, my god." I cackle so hard that I snort. "I'd pay so much to see that."

  "Yeah, I'm sure you would," Miguel says dryly, but he's smiling. He flicks my cheek and I yelp. "Menace."

  I drag myself onto his chest and press my nose to his. "You love me," I coo teasingly, and press a chaste, adoring kiss to his lips. "You love me so much that you can't even stay mad at me."

  Miguel rolls his eyes and rests his hands around my back. "Don't let it go to your head," he grumbles, but he doesn't deny it, either.

  My amusement skyrockets. I hold his cheek and kiss him again. "Too late." 

  Miguel changes the subject about his fickle grudges. "Do you want to shower or sleep?"

  Sleep after sex sounds great, actually. Sleep sounds fantastic, even if I'm not all that tired - I just don't want to leave his embrace, yet. I tuck my head neatly below his chin and close my eyes, and that's answer enough. Miguel exhales softly and kisses my hair. He drags the covers over us and settles down below me.

  It's still so bright. It's the middle of the day. This wasn't on the agenda at all, but I can't complain.

  Man. I really make Spider-Man 928 slack at his job.

  I smile to myself. What a power trip.

  Miguel must've been exhausted after his mission and fucking me senseless, because he quickly slips into a deep slumber. My eyes grow heavy with contentment as I lay across his warm chest, held in his gentle grip. I trace patterns on his deltoid and listen to his heartbeat, to his slow breaths. I admire my bracelet that our daughter made us, the one that matches Miguel's

  A low, loud buzz draws me out of my peaceful reverie. I blink and glance up at Miguel to see if he rouses, but for such an alert man, he could sleep through the end of the world.

  The buzz drones again and I purse my lips. It sounds kind of like a doorbell. I don't know what else it could be. Probably a neighbour that overheard and got pissed off. 

  I growl with irritation as I carefully pull myself out of the warmth of the covers without jostling him too much. I can hardly put my shirt back on without my jeans, and I'm definitely not putting my jeans back on when my underwear are useless and there's still a mess between my legs.

  I grimace as I stand. I should've taken Miguel up on that shower.

  My eyes catch a door that most likely leads to his closet. I'll have to steal a shirt. Oh nooo, what a shame. I poke my head inside, grab the most normal looking white shirt there is, and giddily slip into it.

  I'm so caught up thinking about the snoozing, dreamy man above and being pleased at wearing his shirt that I don't stop to think. I limp downstairs and approach the front door. The bell buzzes again, and I grumble at their impatience.

  I open the door with a polite smile.

  I slam it shut. 

  My mouth is agape in shock as I process who exactly is waiting on the other side and who exactly just saw me. Particularly me, alive. My post-sex bliss has completely escaped me. Now I'm just full of panic.

  I open the door again and peek out. Utterly horrified, Gabriel O'Hara stares at me like he's just seen a ghost. I quickly shut it once more.

  "Fuck." I bang my head against the doorframe. "Fuck."