It was well past midnight as you sat up in bed, the sheets pooled around your thighs. Miguel was still tucked away in his office, working on god only knows what. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you finally decided to get out of bed, making your way out of the room and into the hallway.
His office door was closed but you could see a faint orange light peeking from under the door. You silently padded toward the door, turning the handle as you peeked your head in.
Miguel was hunched over his desk, the glow of LYLA’s holographic arrays washing over his face. He was in a black tank top and sweatpants. He clearly had planned at some point to go to bed and something kept him from doing so. He looked completely buried in his work, a large, calloused hand coming up roughly rub down his face as his jaw flexed.
You didn't say a word as you quietly stepped inside. His eyes flicked up to where you stood, the irritation in his gaze melting away when he saw you. "Cariño," his voice was a low and gravelly. He stopped typing, his eyes roaming over your frame, over the robe that was tied around your waist, the hem brushing against your thighs. "What are you doing awake? It's past midnight."
You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you closed the remaining distance, stepping right between his parted knees, reaching out to rest your hands against his tense and impossibly broad shoulders. "I was lonely." You admitted quietly as you looked down at him. "The bed is too big without you. I just... I want your attention, Miguel. I need you."
Miguel completely froze under your touch. The commanding man who carried the weight of the multiverse on his shoulders looked up at you, his brown turning dark and intense. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he took a slow, deep breath, trying to hold onto his remaining restraint.
"Cariño," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave into a rough, warning growl. "You shouldn't tell me things like that when I'm this tired. I have a mountain of data to clear and you are making it very hard for me to be good right now."
"What if I don't want you to be good?" You whispered softly, a hand coming up to run through his hair. That was the exact moment his system completely overrode, his restraint snapping in half.
"Mierda." He muttered the Spanish curse under his breath as he stood. With a aggressive flick of his wrist, Miguel swiped his hand through the air, completely dismissing LYLA. Before you could even say a word, his massive hands wrapped around your waist. His grip was firm and possessive as he hoisted you onto his desk, scattering a few stray papers aside without a second thought. He stepped in immediately, crowding his massive frame right between your thighs, pinning you to the edge of the wood.
His hand shot up to your jaw, his calloused fingers gripping your jaw with a firm, unyielding possession. When his mouth crashed down onto yours, the kiss was rough and full of hunger and lust. He let out an animalistic growl, nipping roughly at your bottom lip in a way that made you gasp. It was the kiss of a man starved. You whimpered, your hands instinctively flying up to tangle into his dark hair.
When he finally tore his mouth away, his lips dragged down your jawline, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His fangs scrapped against your flesh before he sucked roughly against the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.
His voice was completely wrecked when he spoke against your neck. "You have no idea what you do to me. Walking in here looking like that. Telling me you need me."
His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he parted your knees wider, crowding his hips flush against yours. You could feel his clothed erection pressing against your clothed pussy. You whimpered, clenching around nothing. "This is what you fucking do to me." He growled as he tore open your robe, pushing it down your shoulders so you were left in just a bralette and your tiny sleep shorts.
"You want my attention?" He rasped, his hands sliding up your thighs, to your hips, fingers curling around the waistband of your shorts. "You have all of it, cariño. Every fucking bit of it."
He yanked your shorts down your legs along with your panties, discarding them to the floor with a dark, impatient growl. "Look at you," He rasped. His dark eyes roamed over the exposed expanse of your skin. "So beautiful. So needy for me."
You shivered as the cool air hit your bare skin, but the chill vanished a second later when Miguel crowded right back into your space, his large hands gripping your waist. He didn’t give you a chance to think. His hands slid up from your waist, his fingers hooked into the edge of your bralette, pushing the fabric up to expose your tits.
He nuzzled his face into the valley between your breasts, his ho breath fanning over your skin before he kissed along your tits, moving to your nipple as he tugged it into his mouth, lightly biting down, the feeling drawing a breathless, needy cry from your lips.
"Miguel." You whimpered, your hips grinding against his erection, wetness pooling between your thighs.
"I know, cariño. I know," he growled against your skin as he pressed another heated kiss to your neck.
He reached down, his hand hooking under your thigh to lift your leg high, pinning it firmly against his hip to open you up completely to him. With his other hand, he freed cock from his sweatpants. He guided himself against your soaking cunt, running the head of his cock through your slick folds. You moaned softly, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.
"Tell me what you need," he demanded softly. He leaned in close, his fangs brushing against your jawline. "Say it. Who do you need?"
"You." You gasped out, your voice completely broken as your hips tilted up, practically begging for him. "I need you, Miguel. Please."
Miguel let out a low, guttural growl as he drove forward. He buried himself inside you in one deep thrust. His thick length filled you entirely, stretching your pussy around him. The desk groaned beneath your combined weight, but he didn’t care. He didn't give you any time to adjust. His hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he began a brutal, unrelenting pace.
"I want this off." You whimpered, tugging at his tank top. He didn't have to be asked twice. He didn't stop thrusting into you as he tore his tank top off over his head, tossing it to the side with your discarded clothing.
"God you're so tight, baby." Miguel groaned, his voice completely ruined. His head buried into the crook of your neck as he pounded into you, his thrusts powerful and rough. "So tight for me. Mierda, you're ruining me."
Since your leg still hooked high over his hip, it gave him full access to you, thrusting into you deeper, hitting your sweet spot with every brutal thrust. You tossed your head back, crying out his name as the pleasure began to tighten into something overwhelming.
He groaned when he felt you clench around him. His rhythm became faster, more frantic, his thrusts becoming sporadic as he ruthlessly chased his own release. He reached down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, his thumb working in rough circles against you as he continued to slam inside you.
"Come for me, cariño," he growled against your skin, his voice a ragged, feral rasp as his thumb applied a merciless pressure to your clit. "Let me feel it. Give it to me, baby!"
The combination of his thick length slamming into you and his thumb ruthlessly toying with your clit pushed you over the edge. You shattered, your vision going white as a desperate, needy sob. Your pussy clamped down around him, milking him.
He let out a loud, animalistic groan, his body locking up as he climaxed. His hips slammed into yours with one more brutal thrust, holding you tightly against himself as he came. His hips bucked against you as he spilled his seed inside of you, filling you up as he groaned a string of breathless Spanish curses against your flesh.
The only sound filling the room was the sound of your mingled breathing as you both came down from your highs. Miguel’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his chest heaving as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. "Fuck, you're so perfect." He whispered.
Your thighs trembled as his palms gently ran up and down them, softly cooing in your ear, "you're such a good girl for me. Taking my cock so well like that. I love you so much." He kissed along your shoulder as he slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping out of your now wrecked hole. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gently combing through his damp curls.
He gathered you up into his arms, not bothering to get your discarded clothing. He just lifted you effortlessly against his bare chest, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you out of the his office.
Padding down the quiet hallway, he finally brought you back to the bedroom. He gently set you down onto the mattress, crawling in right after you, instantly pulling you back against his chest, tucking your head securely under his chin. Wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you finally closed your eyes, completely safe and loved in his hold.
❀ end note: i definitely don't regret chosing miguel as my first person to make a fic for in the marvel universe, i love him so much.
❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."
As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.
As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.
May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.
HAAAANK! NO HANK!! THAT'S NOT A BACTERIOPHAGE! THOSE WOULD BE WAY SMALLER THAN A TARDIGRADE! THAT'S A RADIOLARIAN, A TYPE OF UNICELLULAR EUKARYOTIC ORGANISM KNOWN FOR ITS ELABORATE MINERAL SKELETONS! HAAAANK! THAT'S THE WRONG MICROBE!!!
Vignettes of your time as Miguel O'Hara's neighbor
Pt. 1 here!
“Guys shut up! I’m way too old to have a noise complaint filed on me!” You yelled at your friends.
You were hosting a dinner party, and your apartment was packed.
You had spent days preparing food, creating tasteful place cards, and picking out ice breakers.
Dinner had been a success. Now, your friends were floating around your apartment with their drinks, chatting it up and making each other laugh hard enough to double over.
“Then settle our debate!” One of your friends from college said as she slung an arm around you.
“What debate?” You asked.
“Do you think the ocean is more dangerous to explore than outer space?”
You shrugged. “I have no idea. I will not be exploring either one.”
Your friends threw their opinions out. Half advocated for outer space, and half advocated for the deep sea. It was a stalemate that you refused to partake in.
“Hey, isn’t your neighbor a scientist? We should ask him!” One of your old coworkers called out.
Before you could stop him, he was out the door.
“Wait, no!”
You dragged a hand down your face. A few minutes later, your friend returned with a very confused looking Miguel behind him.
“I have procured a man of reason to settle this once and for all!” Your friend announced audaciously.
“I’m so sorry that they dragged you into this. You can go back to whatever it is that you were doing.” You said as you walked over to him.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t busy. Your friend said you guys are debating something ‘extremely important.’” He used air quotes.
You cast a nasty look over your shoulder at your friend who had dragged him into this mess.
“That’s an overstatement. They’re just debating whether the ocean is more dangerous to explore than space.”
Miguel tilted his head at the question. “Dangerous to humans? Space, by a mile.”
You were surprised at the almost arrogant answer. Your friends who advocated for the ocean started booing. He furrowed his brow at the notion.
“Explain!” Someone yelled.
“If something goes wrong when you’re in the ocean, it’s much more likely that you can be rescued. Assuming that you’re in a submarine or a submersible, of course. If you’re in a spaceship and things go wrong, you’re going to have a much worse day.”
The booing continued. Suddenly they all had counterarguments.
“What about giant squids? What if the megalodon isn’t actually extinct?”
“Number one, giant squids are very low on the list of why the ocean is dangerous. Number two, the megalodon is definitely extinct. We would have some kind of indicator if a prehistoric apex predator was still lurking the depths.”
“What if you got stranded in space?” You couldn’t even keep track of who was asking what now. You just sipped your cocktail and enjoyed the entertainment.
“That was literally my point.”
“What about the Mariana Trench? You don’t think there’s stuff down there?”
“There’s definitely stuff down there. But there’s stuff in space, too.”
You smiled as someone shoved a drink in Miguel’s hand.
“Not giant squids.”
“Technically, there could be.”
Sounds of exasperation echoed from several people across the room. “You just proved our point!”
“What point? If you’re saying that I proved that the ocean is more-.”
“Space squids!” Someone yelled. Laughter reverberated throughout the room. The debate seemed to end as soon as it began.
You walked over to Miguel and held up your glass. “Cheers to handling a debate with my stubborn guests.”
He clinked his drink against yours and you both took a sip and observed the room.
“What were you doing before being rudely interrupted?”
“Editing my research paper.”
“You’re published?”
“Since I was 22.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, humble brag. Well, thanks for coming. I thought about inviting you, but I think we both know why I didn’t,” you gestured vaguely to the room of people.
“You assumed I don’t like people.”
You considered the question. “Kind of, honestly. Would you have come if I invited you?”
“Probably not. But I would’ve appreciated the gesture.”
“Damn, I feel very un-neighborly now. You have to let me feed you to make up for it.”
Before you knew it, the holidays had arrived. Your friends and colleagues travelled back to their parents’ houses for Thanksgiving, and you hunkered down in your apartment.
Over the years, you created a tradition of putting together a feast of your favorites. You ate them to your heart's content all weekend long. You would binge movies and rot on the couch in sweatpants until Monday when it was time to return to work.
All of the dishes you made were spread on the island, and you realized you had a massive problem. You made enough food to feed a small army. You placed a hand on your hip and pondered. You had no idea how it had gotten so out of hand.
Your mind wandered to Miguel, but surely he was out of town like most other people in the building. However, he hadn’t asked you to water his plants.
You decided to walk across the hallway. To your surprise, it sounded like someone was inside. You knocked on the door, and smiled as it opened.
“Hey, do you have any plans?”
He shook his head. “No. Family drama so they got cancelled.”
“Bad for you but good for me. I have enough food in my kitchen to feed a family of 5. Want to come over?”
“What did you make?”
“Oh my gosh, just come over before the cats eat it all.”
You found yourself sitting next to him on your couch with plates that were nearly overflowing. You were trying to find something to watch.
“Do you like Christmas movies?” You asked.
“I hate them.”
“Thank god, I do too. What do you usually watch?”
“It depends on my moods. Documentaries mostly.”
“That was such a Miguel answer.”
He feigned offense. “What does that mean?”
“'Oh, I’m Miguel. I’m a scientist, and I keep rigid notes about my 46 houseplants, and I come to parties to settle philosophical debates.'”
He glared at you, but you could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Rude. What do you normally watch?”
“On Thanksgiving? Usually Disney movies or cheesy romcoms.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t send me into an existential crisis like some documentaries do.”
He laughed. “The good ones usually do.”
“See? That’s not the vibe I’m going for on a holiday. I just want to turn my brain off and eat more food than a human being should ever consume.”
“Okay, I suppose that’s a fair point.”
The movie ended. Your coffee table had two empty plates.
“Do you want pie?”
“You made pie?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. I think it’s illegal not to have pie. Pumpkin or apple?” You stood from your seat and grabbed the dirty plates.
“You made two pies?”
“Yes. Haven’t we already established that I don’t know how to make a normal quantity of food? Pumpkin or apple?”
“Apple.”
“Ugh, you would be an apple pie person.”
You returned to your seat a few minutes later and handed him a slice of pie with ice cream. The cats surrounded you, begging for a dollop of whip cream or a small morsel of crust.
“Don’t let them manipulate you.” You pointedly ignored the meows and took a bite of your pumpkin pie.
Miguel didn’t listen. Instead, he dipped a finger into the ice cream and let them take turns licking it.
“Miguel!”
“Isn’t it Thanksgiving for them too?”
“You’re encouraging them!”
“They’re being so polite.”
“They’re begging, and I hate that.”
He reached over and dipped a pinky in the whipped cream on your plate.
A few months into the new year, you had decided to order some new barstools.
You’d read the instructions through at least 30 times. One barstool was partially assembled, and you had two more to go.
You threw the instructions on the ground and marched over to Miguel’s door.
“Hey, sorry to bother you-“ you tilted your head. “Are you wearing sunglasses?”
He reached up to touch the frames. “Yes.”
“Inside? Are you hungover?”
“No.”
You studied him carefully. There was something different about him. His posture was straighter. He seemed extremely tense.
“Did you go blind?”
“No.”
“I…don’t know what to say. I came over because I bought these barstools, and I learned that furniture assembly is not a strength of mine.”
“How many barstools?”
“Three. One is halfway complete.”
He sighed dramatically and stepped out. You could’ve sworn that he was suddenly taller, but you decided not to pay that detail any mind.
You let him in your apartment and walked over to the mess of pieces on the ground.
“I read the instructions but-” you abruptly stopped talking after hearing a distinct, low growl coming from your living room.
You turned your head to see both of your cats in defensive positions on the ground. They each had puffed out tails and raised hackles. The black cat continued to growl.
Confusion clouded your mind. “Sorry, I don’t know why they’re being like that?”
You walked over and picked up your grey cat. She was tense, and she kept her gaze trained on Miguel.
“What’s wrong, honey?” You asked the cat. “It’s just Miguel. He gave you whipped cream, remember?”
You walked closer to Miguel with her in your arms in hopes that a closer look would soothe her.
Instead, she hissed at him aggressively and tore out of your embrace, leaving a long bloody catscratch on your forearm.
You yelped at the pain. You looked up, and Miguel had gone completely still. Your black cat was still crouched beneath the coffee table looking as if she was cornered by a wild animal.
The pained expression on his face broke your heart a little.
Over the next several months, your once semi-reclusive, always helpful neighbor became a stranger.
He was in and out at all hours of the night. Every time you saw him, he had what seemed like a bone-deep fatigue weighing on him.
When he popped over once to ask for a roll of paper towels, your cats refused to be in the same room as him.
He must have been working out more than ever before, because his muscle mass seemed to have tripled.
You saw him carrying a 50 pound bag of potting soil under his arm like it weighed nothing. You chose to keep your mouth shut.
Every time you surreptitiously invited him to your apartment, he declined. If he answered the door at all, he said he was busy. You ultimately stopped asking him altogether.
Something was wrong, and you didn’t know what to do. You wished you’d gone to the trouble of defining your relationship with Miguel. You were neighbors, but weren’t you more than that? If he was just your neighbor, then his troubles weren’t your problem. But if you were his friend, then you felt as if you were failing him. And if you were something more?
You couldn't think about that.
“Hey,” You waved at him as you passed each other in the hallway one afternoon. You turned around to meet him. “I just want you to know that if you need something, I’m always free to talk.”
“Thanks,” he said before shutting the door behind him.
You sighed and carried on with your day.
He asked you once more to watch his plants for a few days. You didn’t know it would be the last time you’d see him for three months.
In all the times that you had ever been in Miguel’s apartment alone, you had never snooped. Your routine was to pop in, set down the mail, water the plants, and do your due diligence in completing his charts earnestly.
Today was different. Today was the day after you had filed a missing persons report on someone whom you had grown accustomed to seeing on a regular basis.
Today was the day that you quietly crept into his dark bedroom. You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find. Evidence of where he was, maybe. A note, or the remnants of a quickly packed suitcase. Something that assured you that every off-kilter thing you had observed over the last several months wasn't all in your head.
Instead, the room looked perfectly normal. The decor was minimal. The clothes in the drawers were neatly folded, and there were no skeletons in the closet. The bed was made, and his nightstand had a stack of books just like the tables in the living room did.
You picked up a book on quantum physics and sat on the corner of the bed. You flipped through it, unsure of what you were hoping to find.
“Miguel…” You whispered as you held it to your chest. “Where are you?”
Another week passed. You checked your phone relentlessly, hoping someone from the police department would call you with answers.
It was the dead of night when you heard a door slam across the hallway. You sat upright in your bed, sure that your mind was playing tricks on you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you jumped out of bed.
You darted out of your apartment and across the hallway. You were absolutely fuming. How dare Miguel leave you hanging like that? You lost sleep over his absence, and now he had the audacity to show up in the middle of the night and not even assure you that he was alive?
You pounded your fist on the door. “Miguel! You better let me in!”
You waited impatiently, and no one answered. Instead of waking up the whole building, you zipped back across the hall to retrieve the spare key.
You opened the door to find the apartment in pitch blackness.
You huffed in frustration. It looked the same as it had when you left it several hours earlier. You must have been dreaming.
You turned to leave, but you heard a rustling from the bedroom. Anxiety flared in your gut. What if someone had broken in, and you wandered right into the scene of the crime?
You took a cautious step towards the bedroom, and then another. You could make out the outline of a familiar figure laying on the bed.
Your heart dropped in your chest. You felt that something was deeply wrong with this situation. A noise caught your attention.
You stopped in your tracks, trying to make out the sound coming from the bedroom. You put a hand over your mouth as you realized that it was the sound of someone sobbing.
You saw his shoulders shuddering in the darkness, and the guttural sound made your stomach clench.
A tear slid down your cheek. You slowly walked into the room, unsure how to proceed.
The sorrow came off of him in waves. He didn’t even look up when you sat on the edge of the bed.
“Miguel,” you whispered.
He continued to shake and sob. You placed a hand on his back and rubbed gently for a long time before he finally wore himself out.
You crept back into the kitchen and got a glass of water. You placed it on his nightstand and returned to your apartment just before sunrise.
In the early afternoon, you knocked again. Unsurprisingly, no one answered. You unlocked the door and walked inside.
You poked your head inside the bedroom to find Miguel lying on the under a heap of covers. The water cup on the nightstand was still full.
“Miguel?” You asked gently. You took a few more steps to get closer to him. “Can we talk?”
You were met with silence. You took a deep breath and tried to tamp down the irritation.
“I’m going to my apartment to make you some food, and I would like to talk when I get back.”
You returned 20 minutes later with some eggs and toast. You set the food on the nightstand and stood over him expectantly. He hadn’t moved since you left.
You tapped him on the shoulder gently.
“I’m not hungry.” A hoarse voice said from beneath the covers.
“Well, at least I know you’re alive.” You were trying to make a joke, but it didn't come out right.
Silence again.
A few more days passed that way. You would go into his apartment with food or coffee or a new book that you thought might drag him out of bed. You spent 15 minutes talking to yourself because he said nothing, and then you’d take home the plate from the day before.
On the 5th day, you'd had enough. You walked in and ripped the covers off of him. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were corpse-like. His hair was greasy, and his facial hair had grown in, which you had never seen before. The look he gave you could kill.
“You need to knock this off. You need to go take a shower because I’m pretty sure they can smell you in Brooklyn, and you need to eat something!” You yelled.
He continued to glare at you, but you didn’t back down. You crossed your arms, ready to stand your ground. Instead, he turned onto his back and dragged a hand down his face.
“Leave me alone.”
You scoffed. “Oh, so you can talk.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to tell me where you’ve been for the last three months, or maybe you’d like to say thanks for keeping your plants alive?”
“You should stop coming over.”
“No. You don’t get the right to call the shots after dipping out on me like that.”
“I didn’t ask you to do this for me.”
“You actually did ask me to plant sit. What you didn’t ask me to do was file a missing persons report, but I still did.”
He finally looked up at you with an incredulous expression. “You what?”
“You heard me.”
“Why did you file a missing persons report?”
“Because you fell off the face of the Earth, and I was WORRIED, Miguel! You can’t just do that to people!”
“I came back.”
“It’s been three. Fucking. Months.” The anger in your voice was raw.
He groaned. “I didn’t think-”
“Yeah, clearly. Because that was unbelievably stupid. What were you thinking?! You couldn’t call? Couldn’t send a postcard from whatever corner of hell you were in!?”
You waited for him to answer. A long beat of silence passed. “Well?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“I couldn’t call.”
You furrowed your brow. “Why not?”
You saw him try to come up with an explanation, but he fell short. “I just couldn’t.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what? Fine. Starve to death. Rot in your bed for the rest of your life. I don’t care. Clearly the last three months of worrying were a waste of time.”
You turned to leave.
You kept your word and left Miguel to his own devices. You came home one afternoon to find a note taped to your door.
“Thank you for taking care of things while I was gone. I am sorry for worrying you. I wasn’t in a position to contact anyone.”
You crumpled up the note and threw it at his door. You went inside and dug around for a sticky note and a pen.
“You will need to find another moron to water your plants because I am moving next month.”
You stuck it on his door and retreated back to your apartment.
A knock had disrupted your peaceful afternoon. You peered through the peephole and saw Miguel. He looked remarkably better than he had.
“Go away.” You snipped.
“Can we talk? I said I’m sorry.”
“Go. Away.”
To your irritation, you heard a key jingle in the door. It unlocked, and you stepped out of the way in time to not get trampled. You sighed in frustration as you realized that you forgot to get your spare key from Miguel when you blew up on him.
He stood in your doorway. It was hard to put your finger on his expression. He seemed downtrodden, but still better than you had seen him previously.
You searched his gaze, and you took a step back when you realized that his once chocolate brown eyes now had a tinge of red to them. You leaned in to get a closer look.
“You’re not imagining it. It’s a long story.”
You swallowed, unsure what to make of the observation. “I’m listening.”
“It’s hard to believe.”
“As hard to believe as you disappearing for three months and then suddenly dropping back into your life?”
“…Even harder to believe than that.”
A beat passed between you. You gestured to your couch.
Miguel was right, it was unbelievable. An accident at Alchemax that gave him things like claws and superhearing and red tinged eyes. Hours dedicated to exploring the multiverse, which you still didn’t quite understand. Then, a road to hell paved with good intentions.
“I thought it was harmless.” Miguel’s words stung.
None of it had been harmless at all. A collapsed universe. A daughter vanishing from existence in his very grasp.
It horrified you. It was more unsettling than anything you had ever experienced.
“Miguel…” you whispered in shock. “You watched an entire universe die. Billions of people.”
The room felt like it was 10 times smaller. He nodded slowly with a pained look in his eye.
In the coming months, Miguel became more distant than he had ever been before. Instead of asking you to look after his plants, he gifted several of them to you and said he was going to take the rest to “headquarters,” whatever that meant.
One evening, you were doing a puzzle at your kitchen table when you heard a familiar knock.
You let him in. “Everything okay?”
“I had a breakthrough.”
You listened to him talk excitedly about things you could barely wrap your head around. Canon, spider people. He hypothesized and waxed poetic about all the information he had strung together.
“I’ve been tracking collapses. I’m working backwards to try to explain why some universes destabilize and others don’t. It’s because of anomalies.”
“Anomalies?”
He launched into another animated explanation.
You always listened. Every few days, he’d pop in. You would make him eat something, but he seldom finished his food. He would go on about the Spider Society and anomalies and LYLA. He alluded to people he worked with.
“Peter was telling me-“
“Who’s Peter?”
“He’s a Spiderman from a different dimension.”
He said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
He descended further and further into his belief that his hypothesis was irrefutable.
You weren’t in a position to argue, though you had your doubts.
One night, he knocked on your door later than he ever had.
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but I just finalized a simulation, and I wanted to know if you wanted to see it for yourself?”
That’s how you found yourself in the Spider Society HQ. It was incomprehensible. Spiraling hallways, people walking on the ceiling, and they all looked to Miguel as their leader.
Your heart pounded in your chest after Miguel finished the simulation. It was one thing to hear the stories, it was another to see them re-enacted with artificial intelligence. The look on Miguel’s face after losing Gabriella would haunt you for years.
“All of these people…” you whispered. “Their fate is already decided?”
“Yes.” He said matter of factly.
Horror filled your veins. You wanted to push back, but you couldn’t find the words. And who were you to argue with a genius scientist such as Miguel?
You hadn’t realized that tears were streaming down your cheeks. The faces of those people were etched into your memory forever.
Suddenly, flashbacks played in your mind. A younger version of your friend and neighbor asking you to water his plants. Helping you get your cats to safety in the middle of the night. Sitting next to you on the couch with a slice of pie.
You met Miguel’s gaze. He looked so much older now. He looked exhausted, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. You barely recognized him.
“Oh, Miguel…” your voice was barely audible. “Where are you?”
He cocked his head at the question, but understanding seemed to dawn on him. And for the first time in months, he had no explanation.
Five years later, you found yourself on the rooftop of the penthouse your distant but loving husband had just bought. He was out of town again, and you were talking in the view with a glass of wine.
A thud drew your attention. You looked over your shoulder to see Spiderman walking towards you. You turned your eyes back to the skyline, refusing to acknowledge his existence.
He leaned against the ledge a few feet away. You two sat in tense silence for a long time before he finally broke it.
“I was wrong, you know.”
You looked over. You hadn’t realized that he was no longer wearing his mask.
Although it had only been five years, Miguel wore the fine lines and tired eyes of someone 20 years his senior.
Your heart still yearned for him in a way you couldn’t put into words.
“Wrong about what?” You asked.
“The canon. The anomalies. I was so far gone that I couldn’t even see my own bias.”
You nodded and took a sip of your wine. The silence stretched out between you.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
He winced at the apology, and another long moment of silence passed.
There was a time when you would’ve hyperanalyzed what this meant. Today, you accepted that it all belonged to a world that you wanted no part of.
“I was in love with you, you know. That’s why I invited you over all the time. I was always hoping one of us would be brave enough to do...something."
You watched him digest your words. He looked at you with a pained expression.
“I think we missed our moment.” Your voice was small.
He stared at the ground. When he finally looked back up at you, he had tears in his eyes.
“You were her mom.”
You felt like someone had sucker punched you straight in the gut. The wine glass slipped from your hand and shattered.
“What?”
Suddenly, the last few months before you disengaged from Miguel came flooding back.
The late night visits. The look in his eye that you could never quite place. The simulations you struggled to comprehend. You never understood why he was so adamant about involving you until now.
The little girl with long black hair and a love for frozen yogurt flashed in your mind.
Gabriella.
Somehow, someway, you felt connected to her across time and space. Fantasies played of you and Miguel cheering at a soccer game. Sunday morning pancakes. Summer break. Parent teacher conferences. You could see it vividly.
“Every Saturday, she woke us up at the crack of dawn so we could spend as much time together as possible.”
An incredulous laugh left your mouth, and tears pricked in your eyes.
“You hated getting up, but you always did it for her.”
You gripped the ledge, and the tears began to fall.
“She loved your cookies. You would never let her off the hook about eating her vegetables.”
“Miguel-“
“Hang on.” He put up a hand, and you realized that he was crying too. “I’m almost done.”
“She was extremely stubborn, and a little impatient. She loved cats. She had a cat backpack, and she begged for a kitten all the time. We were going to get her one, but-“ the words died on his lips.
A sob escaped from somewhere inside you.
“You loved her. More than anything.”
Tears blurred your vision. You clutched your chest in pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You choked out.
“I didn’t want to break your heart. I didn't realize until recently that I broke it a long time ago.”
You wiped the tears from your face. “Yeah. You did.”
You sat on the ground with your back against the ledge. Miguel sat next to you.
It was still incomprehensible to you. A world had existed where this man was your husband and father to your child.
You took a deep breath. “I would’ve loved her.”
Miguel closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “You did.”
“I would’ve taken her to book fairs and museums and Broadway shows. I would’ve asked her to help me bake.”
His eyes were still closed, but he nodded, as if he had seen these things with his own eyes.
“I would’ve been very strict about bedtime.” You chuckled, and more tears descended.
He turned to look at you. He held out his hand, and you intertwined your fingers with his.
He inspected the wedding ring on your finger. His eyes were damp, and he had a distant look on his face.
“Like I said…we missed our moment.” You whispered.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Juneteenth is about Black people who were officially technically supposed to be freed from enslavement. Nobody else. Nothing else. It's not a POC day. It's not a "freedom for all" day. It's Black folk, Black culture, Black emancipation, SPECIFICALLY. Any other observation for Juneteenth is gentrification.
Your Juneteenth reminder that just because they made it a "national holiday," it's still not. It's for the celebration of Black Americans being freed from slavery, finally.
It's from Texas. We been welcoming other descendants of the enslaved. But we close the gate and draw the line with "everybody."
Bringing this back on Juneteenth because making Black observations a national holiday didn't and doesn't end racism and the nonblacks are more insufferable than they have been in my lifetime about Black American people and our things.
Happy Juneteenth to those whose lives would not be actively free without the day happening. See the rest of you tomorrow.
Every time you go in a public place and something ISN’T disgusting it’s because somebody cleaned it. Every time you feel comfortable using a public bathroom or sitting at a restaurant table or setting something on a gas station counter or playing on a playground it’s because somebody cleaned it.
Thank you to everyone who cleans the world, especially those who are underpaid and under appreciated.
IT’S JUNE 19TH WHERE I LIVE WHICH MEANS THAT WE OFFICIALLY HAVE LESS THAN A YEAR UNTIL BTSV RELEASES!!! I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED!!! HUGS AND KISSES TO EVERYBODY!!! >o< MAY IT QUICKLY BECOME JUNE 19TH WHEREVER YOU ARE IF IT ISNT THAT DAY FOR YOU YET
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Being a trans man feels so isolating. I have people who love me, but my family doesn’t accept it. I feel like I’ll never be seen as a real man. It’s just like wow. So frustrating. If I was born cis literally none of this would be a problem. But I have to be this way and now my life is just fucked. I’m turning 25 in august and have not yet gotten my degree, or really done anything noteworthy except disappoint then people around me. Whatever. It’s the same stupid cycle.
