#spidervores

Bonus ;3

The man just stares at you for a moment, dropping off his bag and crawling in from the bathroom window he opened from the outside. definitely the real thing. He sighs and trudges over with an exhausted glare. oh, he looks pissed. super pissed.

you tryto escape, you really do, diving off the side of the coffee table with a split second thought. unfortunately, your home invasion victim also seems incredibly fast and a massive palm curls around your body before you hit the hard ground. it knocks the breath out of you entirely and you open your mouth soundlessly, too shocked and terrified out your mind to plead for mercy, to beg, to cry, to do anything.

it all happens so quickly. one moment you're being held in a warm palm, the next second you're confronted by a fang filled maw, sharp canines on full display as you're unceremoniously stuffed inside.

this time you find it in you to actually scream, fat load of good it does you. the massive tongue (oh gods, oh gods, you're in a mouth) curls around your body, soaking you in saliva, turning you over, squishing you in the fleshy side of a cheek. You're getting kinda dizzy and any protests to this confusingly gentle treatment are silenced pretty efficiently. While you're glad you're not being crushed to a broken mess by those horrifying teeth, you're still so, so scared.

Then everything pauses and you breathe, laying on the warm ground. you know ifs not actually ground, but if you dwell on this any more you're gonna give yourself a panic attack. then everything shifts and you're sliding downwards to your horror. please, you find yourself praying, don't let me die like this. Oh, whatever up there, whatever exists. don't let me die like this.

and on par with your usual luck, whatever up there just cackles in your face and you manage a small, hiccuping cry as you're squeezed down a tight, undulating tube. it's awfully warm and slick and with a loud gllk, you're sealed away. you squeeze your eyes shut and pretend that the warmth sliding down your face is just saliva and not tears.

It might take forever. It might take a second. You retreat into the foggy recession of your mind for a little bit until you register sliding somewhere more spacious. This is when it really sets in. You’re stuck. You’re going to die. In this soft, cushy place thrumming with warmth and gentle tightening squeezes, all you can think about is the fact that you are somewhere inside another person, you’re stuck, and there’s no getting out.

Hopelessness swamps over you immediately and you tuck yourself into whatever corner you can find in this ever shifting, curling, living space. You don’t want to think about the fact that you’re in a stomach. Or anywhere really. You can’t do anything. Maybe, if you close your eyes, it’ll be over soon. Faintly, you register the fact that you’re shaking like a leaf. Trembling.

but all you can feel is utter despair. Is it too much to ask for a home? Are you simply not born for happiness? It seems your luck has run out. Too bad there won’t be a next time to try again.

—

Okay. Maybe Lady Luck hasn’t forsaken you entirely, yet. You wake up (miraculously!) and though you find yourself still inside your captor’s stomach, you’re in one piece. It’s a slow, screeching, clawing way to full wakefulness because you feel so sleepy — something that’s immediately shattered to pieces once you hear a low, grumbly voice of the giant that’s sentenced you to a slow, painful death.

“You awake?” The walls around you contract a little as he seemingly pats his stomach lightly. You’re too petrified (and furious) to respond. Awake? What is this human playing at? Oh gods. You desperately pray that this one isn’t hoping to play around with you before killing you. “Come on, I can feel you moving in there.”

moving? More like shaking. But you don’t see a point to keeping silent much longer since he already knows you’re not asleep.

“What more do you want from me?!” You yell, and your words crack in the middle, splintering into stifled sobs. Maybe you lied, before. Warm wetness spills down your cheeks and you wipe away your tears with a soaked sleeve, sniffling pathetically. You think it’s warranted, at this point. There’s no one to make fun of you now (except the giant.) “Isn’t it bad enough that you’re gonna kill me slowly? Painfully?”

the reminder of it all just creates more fresh tears. This isn’t fair. All you wanted was a home. Somewhere that was safe. You suck in a breath through your teeth, burying your face in your knees. It does no good. You can still feel the muscles of the stomach beneath your feet.

There’s a thick silence for a moment, broken only by your stuttering cries.

“Shocking hell. I’m not — I’m not gonna kill you. I’m not gonna hurt you.” This time, the human sounds distinctly guilty. “God. No, no no. Shit.” He groans, and you sniffle. He should feel bad, you think viciously. Then your brain catches up with the rest of what he actually said, and then blue screens.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna kill me? You ate me!” You shriek, almost hysterical. The human sucks in a breath through his teeth, just barely audible from the gurgling ambiance and beat of his heart, somewhere inside the body.

“I… did do that, yeah,” he agrees slowly. “But you’re safe. I swear it. Look, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, you’re not gonna be hurt in any way, shape or form. My body is uh, weird like that.” The walls around you squeeze comfortingly, almost like a hug. To your immense dislike and surprise, it makes you feel just the slightest bit better. Gods.

“Then — why did you eat me in the first place?” You hiccup and the man sighs.

“I was. Tired.” He admits bitterly like he’s disappointed in himself for that. “I can fully own up on this — I really wasn’t thinking. I’ve got these instincts and — shock, these sound like excuses. What I’m trying to say is, it was a mistake on my part and I’m sorry. You’re safe. I’m just wondering what you were doing in my house..”

You don’t know what to make of his explanation so you just decide to keep it going. If he’s telling the truth, then you will personally make a shrine to Spider-Man like a full on Spiderite. Maybe.

“I was — I needed a place to live. My old one was demolished by some flyboys. I’m — im sorry. I didn’t know this place wasn’t abandoned. I just — I just wanted a place to call home.” You’re crying now, for real. You’re not ashamed to admit it.

The man sighs again.

“Shh. S’okay. You’re fine. You’re going to be okay. I’m gonna let you out in a bit, alright? I was wondering why Lyla kept tripping the sensor for mice… guess I got my answer.” He mutters that last part to himself and you blink at his rueful tone. This human is achingly gentle, or at least, from what you can tell. You’re hoping against hope he’s telling the truth… but he tried to comfort you. And to your disdain and slowed tears, it actually works. Damn him and his dumb deep grumbly voice. It vibrates through his body lightly, but you can feel it. “Don’t cry, I got you. We can talk more once you’re out, okay? My name’s Miguel. You’re okay.”

Your arms tremble and your palms are tacky with blood – but you manage to shift the massive slab of concrete off of your body, and roll out from under. The second you let go, the thing crashes into the ground with a massive plume of dust. 

For a moment, you have no idea where you are and how you got here before your memory revives itself with a sickening flash. The mission. The explosion. The shadow falling over you as debris rained down from above, the sickening jolt of pain – then darkness. 

Your ribs have to be at least fractured judging by the ache nestled in your chest, you definitely have a bad sprain in your left ankle, and overall, you feel like all of your body is just one massive bruise. Everything hurts like hell, and you take a second to catch your breath and prepare yourself. 

“Okay – okay, come on,” You mutter, taking a fortifying breath, “You’ve got this – you totally got this.”

You delicately push yourself upwards, ignoring the concerning tightness in your chest accompanied by aching agony, struggling to your feet with difficulty. Your ribs practically sear with pain at the movement and you pray that they're not broken. 

You check your wrist, wincing at the cracked watch strapped over it — when you try to turn it on, it fizzles pathetically before the screen goes dark with only occasional glitches of light. Still, you should at least try to get a message out. 

“Hello? Uh. Can anyone hear me?” You ask, fiddling with the dial on the side of the watch as you try to get out a signal. The dial promptly pops off the damn watch and clicks as it bounces on concrete, disappearing into the debris coating the ground. You gape in disbelief. Miguel is totally going to give you shit for that. 

Miguel. 

He was closer to the explosion — there’s no way he didn’t get buried under the rubble too or at least somewhat injured. Something cold and frigid burns into your organs and you look around, searching for a glimmer of neon red or dark blue. It’s too dark in the partially crumbled parking lot to see much. It’s massive, compared to you and you silently curse this dimension’s — well, dimensions. It just had to be one of those giant ones, didn’t it? 

Either way, you decide to look at the bright side: You’re not dead (yet). Hooray! And Miguel is too stubborn to die too, you reassure yourself. There’s no way he’d kick the bucket from a measly bomb. 

You limp along, carefully stepping around bits of debris and rubble littering the floor, waving away the thick dust permeating the air. You’re thankful that this area is abandoned — you don’t need civvies to make things harder. 

“Miguel? Boss? You there?” You call out, cupping a hand to your mouth. No answer. You frown. He has to be here somewhere. You duck around humongous support pillars holding up what’s left of the second, third, and other floors up above. There isn’t much, but there’s still some. 

You scout out the bottom floor, finding nothing but more cracked infrastructure. It takes you a while with your injured ankle and throbbing abdomen, but you manage it, coming up disappointingly fruitless. How does one lose a 6’9 man with shoulders the length of a football field? Easily, you find out with annoyance. 

He’s wearing a neon suit brighter than Las Vegas. It really shouldn’t be this hard but it is.

However, you do find traces of bright crimson webbing, strung up messily. Erratically. Normally, Miguel is knife-precise with his webbing but you’re more focused on the fact that you found traces of him to really think about that. You also find deep claw marks from where he had probably dug himself out of. Awesome. That means he’s not collapsed in a pool of his own blood somewhere. All good signs. 

Unfortunately, as you follow the trail of webbing up, he’s climbed up to the second floor and is somewhere up there in the ruins. Is he looking for you? You had been on the second floor when the explosion went off initially, only to be knocked all the way down. That’s a little weird — you thought he would’ve taken a more methodical approach of searching all of floor one before moving on, but you dismiss it. 

Half the time, you have no idea what he’s doing anyways. It’s probably not that important, and you now have a cookie crumb trail leading you straight to the big boss himself. You plaster your palms to one of the support beams, hissing in pain as the scraped skin meets cool concrete, but you force yourself to climb anyways. Your hands ache, and you’re going at the pace of a snail, but at long last you manage to make it up there with some help from your webs. 

From there, you just follow the geometrical lines of Miguel’s webs, rounding corners and avoiding chunks of concrete and various pieces of rubble. It’s darker here, and the only sources of light are the neon webs glowing dimly from where they’re splattered randomly upon surfaces. 

Your healing factor must’ve kicked in by now, since the pain in your ankle is lessening — if not incredibly slowly. You’re able to put a tiny bit more pressure on it as you walk on, periodically calling out for Miguel. 

There’s no answer. 

You don’t let it get to you. And you do find Miguel, once you slip under a fallen pillar and see — a massive figure hunched over in a corner, suspended in a nest of crimson webbing. You mutter a curse, squinting up at him. He’s not moving and other than the occasional rattling hiss of breath, it’s utterly silent. You find your heart starting to constrict on itself. A fear response. Why? Miguel isn’t a threat. He’s fine. 

Why do you feel like this? There’s an impending sense of danger shrieking in your head but maybe your senses are just .. off. You swallow a bit nervously before clearing your throat loudly. 

“Miguel! I’ve been looking for you — you okay?” You ask, forcing your irrational fear down. He moves then, his huge frame tensing as he turns around, his eyes eerily blank. Jeez, his pupils are massive and his hair is all messy, errant strands flicking in front of his face as he stares down at you. “Hey, big guy.” You try for a smile, ignoring the way your voice goes high at the end. 

He clambers down from the web slowly on all fours, his eyes completely fixed on you and nothing else. He’s moving pretty gingerly and you spot a couple of lacerations and possibly some broken bones as he moves. Not the best, but you’re mainly just glad he’s fine. Miguel’s nostrils flare, and he opens his mouth slightly, inhaling slowly. He’s acting weird. Really freaking weird. 

“Miguel? What’s up with you?” You retreat a step. He advances a step, and you can see him bare fangs, the sharp points glimmering in the dark. 

That’s your only warning before he lunges, his huge body moving scarily quick as you throw yourself to the side, narrowly missing the outstretched talons. Your pulse is thrumming in your ears as you gasp, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Miguel — its me! Miguel —!” You shout, only to be cut off as he lowers himself to the ground again, reminiscent of a hunter’s crouch. You can’t see anything but Miguel’s eyes and you can’t quite strangle the scream of fear as one gigantic hand reaches out lightning quick and wraps around you. His talons retreat back into the pads of his fingers, and while his hold is surprisingly gentle, you’re still completely unnerved by the way he’s acting. You stay completely still as he raises you up to his face — and he inhales.

His brows twitch into a frown and he sits back on his haunches, using his other hand to carefully examine your hands, his eyes tracking over all the various bruises and scrapes spread over your body. The frown only deepens when he glances at your ankle. He’s still being oddly silent, and while you’re grateful he’s not being hostile, you still have no idea what’s going on. He tilts his head. Examining you with laser sharp focus. 

Then he opens his mouth — and you freeze up as you stare down the dimly illuminated maw, the plush flesh shifting and dimly, you realize you’re being lowered down toward the abyss. Saliva pools inside Miguel’s mouth in preparation and the warmth of his breath washes over you. For a second, you can imagine it. The sensation of slime soaked into your body, the visceral click of teeth sealing you away, the suffocating vice of being squeezed down that powerful throat, never to be seen again — no. 

You refuse. This isn’t how it ends. It can’t be. 

You snap out of your daze and throw out a massive amount of web, hitting him square in the eyes with a panicked flurry. Miguel jolts back with a loud snarl immediately, dropping you to tear at the thick coating over his vision, talons sinking into the web viciously. 

You can’t help but scream as you land on your ankle with a sickening crack— holy fucking goddamn shiiit, if it wasn’t broken before, it definitely is now. You glance up at Miguel — still trying to take off the thick webbing — and hobble away, dragging yourself with heaving breaths. Farther, faster. 

You have to breathe through the stars burning across your vision as you search for something to help. Anything. You used the last of the webbing in your canisters on blinding Miguel so now, it’s just you. Everything is hurting and you can barely see straight as you get as far as you can and crawl into a tiny hole barely big enough for your body, a shelter made from rubble and concrete. It’s tight and cramped and you can’t stop your chest from heaving. Tears of pain squeeze out of your eyes and you press a hand over your mouth to muffle any pained sounds that could escape. 

There’s a loud ripping sound as Miguel finally tears off the makeshift blindfold with a roar, and you press yourself back against the walls bracketing you in. He’s gone insane. He’s actually crazy. You stifle a hysterical sort of giggle.  How the hell is this your fucking life? 

There’s a quiet snuffling sound and your blood runs cold as you realize he’s following your scent trail. Plus there’s no way you didn’t leave an incriminating trail of crimson with how you’re injured — he’ll find you. There’s no doubt about it. 

Footsteps, nearly silent, pace closer and you hold your breath, willing your heart to stop beating so loud. This is utterly terrifying. Everything is quiet for a moment. You don’t dare make a single sound, and you can’t tell what Miguel is doing at all. 

For a moment, you hope that he’s lost interest and moved on. Maybe he’s looking somewhere else. Maybe he’s decided you aren’t worth it as a meal. You pray and you hope against hope. It’s quickly dashed as one bright crimson eye fills your vision as Miguel peers in through the hole, his pupils completely dilated, leaving only a faint ring of red. 

You scream as talons pry off the top part of your shelter with apparent ease, stabbing through concrete like butter. You’re too scared to move as his hand shoots out and captures you again. This time he looks distinctly grumpy with you, brows furrowed and mouth set into a down turned line. 

He sniffs at you again, somehow looking even more disapproving when he gets to your ankle again, glaring at you like it’s your fault. You can’t help but take mild offense to that. 

Miguel delicately plucks off your web shooters and discards them which — hey! Those aren’t cheap to make — before wasting no time and opening his mouth. You barely have time to blink before you’re eased inside his maw carefully, spit immediately covering you in a thick sheen. You splutter, wiping the thick fluid off of your face as warmth soaks you to the bone. His tongue shifts under you only a small amount, only flicking to drench more parts of you in saliva. Miguel makes a satisfied hum, the sound vibrating through your body as he takes you completely into his maw.

Oddly enough, he keeps you far away from any of his pearly incisors, only deciding to make sure you’re covered in slick spit. Once he’s determined you’re ready, he swallows once, dragging your feet toward the yawning abyss of his hungry, twitching throat. 

You shriek, trying to cling onto anything as another loud swallow gets you down his throat from your chest down. Your hands grab at his uvula, holding on as tight as you can as you desperately try not to disappear down his ravenous gullet. 

Miguel makes an annoyed sound, then you feel everything tighten around your body as he swallows forcefully and your grip on his dangling uvula is lost. You squeeze your eyes shut as he swallows one more time, sending you down his throat — not nearly as crushing as you had imagined, and letting you pool into a more spacious area. 

The inside of here is soft and extremely squishy. When you try to brace a hand against the ground, it just sinks into the flesh, plush and malleable. You’re in a shallow puddle of fluid — saliva? Acid? — and while it doesn’t burn, it coats everything. Including you, and you swear, this is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. There’s still fear burning through your veins, and you can’t stop yourself from trembling. 

But fuck, you’re so exhausted and it’s so warm here. While the fluid is uncomfortable, it’s nothing against your acute tiredness and you can’t stop yourself from just sinking into the cushy, gurgling walls. 

Miguel purrs quietly from outside, retreating back to the web-nest he had created earlier, seemingly satisfied with the little weight inside his gut. He curls up, ignoring the lancing pain from his wounds. He’ll have to explain a whole lot of shit once he returns from this instinctual state but for now, he’s content to curl up, secure and safe. 

In the back of his mind, he can register something vaguely sounding like the completely freaked out human side of his brain shrieking it’s head off, but it’s so inconsequential that he finds himself blocking it out lazily. Something about not eating his subordinates…? 

Eh. He’ll figure it out when the rest of the spiders come to pick them up. He places a hand over his stomach, massaging it idly. 

—

”I’m busy. I can’t sleep.” He responds with a little shrug, as if it isn’t that big of a deal. As if his skin isn’t worryingly pale and the shadows under his eyes stretch deep. If it weren’t for the fact that you had forced him to eat on a fixed schedule, you assume he would’ve also skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner regularly. While his determination is admirable, it’s seriously worrying to see him in this disheveled state. 

His hair is all mussed up and his eyes are blank, staring uncomprehendingly at the bright monitors covering the entirety of his desk. You scowl, crossing your arms as he steadily ignores you.

”Miguel! Come on, big guy, look at me,” You tap one of his hands and he tears his eyes away from the holographic report to stare at you. “This can’t be healthy. You gotta take a break, man.”

His brows furrow. 

“I can’t. I have to — I have to make sure everything’s fine. Everyone.” He shakes his head stubbornly and you can’t help but huff. He’s pausing, blinking slowly and dragging his eyes back open laboriously as he struggles to function normally, much less hold up a conversation. He’s probably only staying awake through sheer will and spite.

“You can do that after you’ve gotten a good rest, Miguel. You’re gonna end up collapsing or something.” If you could, you’d grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Maybe that’d get some sense into him. Unfortunately, since you’re about the size of his pinky, you settle for pushing at his hand. 

He barely pays you any mind, though he seems pretty out of it in general. He’s not listening. He’ll run himself to the ground, and while it’s not your job to care for him, you’re going to anyway since that’s what a good friend does. Plus it would kinda suck if the leader of the Spider Society died from sleep deprivation. 

“Lyla. Turn the computer screens off, but leave the lights dimmed at 20%,” You call and the glowing hologram flickers to life next to you. 

“Aye aye, Captain,” She salutes cheerfully and the bright orange interfaces go dark. Lyla promptly glances at Miguel and grimaces. “Oh. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, boss?”

Miguel musters up a vague frown, bracing himself heavily against the metal of his desk.

“Hey! I needed those. Turn them back on.” He bristles but the words are lukewarm. He has to be completely exhausted because he barely even fights back. Lyla clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

”Nuh uh, I don’t think so.” She wags a finger at him. He bares fangs, though he looks resigned. That’s a pretty good sign. Means he’s pretty close to giving up.

”I made you.”

”Actually, Xina did.” 

“Lyla — “

You clear your throat as loudly as you can and Miguel turns to look at you, irritated. 

“This is your fault,” He mutters sullenly, perfectly audible to your ears. Unrepentant, you grab at one of his fingers again and tug until he grudgingly flips his hand, showing his palm. You hop in easily, keeping steady as he carefully brings you up to his face so you can feel the full extent of his watery scowl. ”Are you happy with yourself?”

“I’ll be happy when you decide to go to sleep.” You bite back and he sighs loudly. 

“If I sleep for a couple of hours, will you get off my case?” He asks exhaustively and you nod your head grudgingly after a moment of contemplation. A couple of hours isn’t the best but you’ll negotiate with him later. 

Lyla claps her hands together happily. 

“Yay! This is great,” She turns to you and glitches up to you, holding her hand out. You take it and the two of you shake in mutual respect. Miguel just watches with a defeated sort of air. For a man who’s usually so stiff and stern, it’s only at the dead of night that he lets himself crumble. You find it somewhat touching that he trusts you enough to show his flaws, even though he pushes against your care most of the time. 

“You’ll both be the death of me,” He groans and Lyla sticks her tongue out at him. 

“I’m actually trying to keep you alive, thanks,” She snarks back before vanishing in a dizzying whirl of golden sparks. Her disembodied voice echoes from the ceiling. “Also, you’re locked out of the computer system for the rest of the night — unless it’s an emergency that needs your assistance. Have a good night, boss!”

Miguel’s head snaps up at her last words before he just sits down heavily in his creaky swivel chair. His head comes down with a loud thunk, the hand with you in it still held aloft. You wince. That couldn’t have felt good. 

You hop off easily, absorbing the impact with a roll as you poke at his cheek. 

“This is no place to take a nap,” You scold.  “Think of the back pain you’ll feel when you wake up tomorrow.” 

He makes a muffled noise of annoyance, but pulls himself up regardless. Miguel sets his hand down in front of you again, which you clamber into quickly. He raises it up to his shoulder, and you take residence there as he begins walking over to the cushy couch shoved in the corner of his rather massive office. The kids had smuggled it in somehow and it just never left. Now, it’s main purpose is for movie nights and the occasional nap or two. 

He slowly lugs his body onto the cushions with a quiet grunt, making sure that you don’t get knocked off with the motion. Even when he’s half asleep and tired out of his mind, he’s still unimaginably careful while handling you. While it’s appreciated now, it can be a bit stifling when out on the field. You just happen to come from a universe smaller than his, you’re not made of glass.

”Two hours. Then I’m going back to work.” He says, phasing away his suit to reveal rumpled but soft looking clothes underneath. It’s some sort of futuristic fashion with a high open collar and unimaginably soft fabric. 

“A whole night.”

”Three hours.”

”A whole entire night.” You insist stubbornly and he blinks.

”… Five hours.” 

“Miguel.”

He huffs, aiming a glare at you with little to no heat. 

“I can’t take that long of a break. I have things to fix and repair. And missions to coordinate.”

You raise an unamused eyebrow. 

“The other spiders can take care of that, Miguel. You have hundreds of incredibly smart people who are willing and eager to help. And Lyla can do that last one. She’s connected to everything.” Miguel still looks hesitant so you decide to sweeten the deal and play your trump card. “Look. I’m tired too, y’know? If you agree to sleep until morning, I’ll let you eat me.”

He’s silent for the count of five before he shifts slightly. 

“Right now?” He raises a brow at you and you nod. 

“Yup. I don’t really mind it, y’know. I think it’s comfy.” Miguel looks faintly confused but seems to be considering his choices. 

“… Fine. A whole night’s sleep.” He finally settles on, and you slip down from his shoulder to his chest, squinting through the darkness you know he can see clearly through. Miguel hesitates for a moment before gently grabbing you from between his thumb and forefinger, lifting you up to his head. 

You dangle from his hold, blinking as he apparently works things out in his head, sharp eyes examining you carefully despite the fact that he has gulped you down before with relative ease. 

“Alright. The watch will make sure you’re fine. Just call me or send me an alert through it and I’ll get you out. Got it?” He asks and you nod eagerly. 

He opens his maw wide and though you can’t really see in the dim light, you can see the yawning abyss of darkness in front of you, highlighted by sharp white teeth and fangs. His breath whooshes over you, making shivers wrack through your body despite the relative warmth of it. You reach up and tap one of the fingers holding you up, signaling that you’re ready and he makes a quiet hum of acknowledgement. 

Miguel inhales slowly and slowly lowers you into his mouth. The first sensation you get is wet. Saliva soaks into your suit and you slip a little, bracing a hand against the slippery soft flesh of his tongue. The second is temperature. Everything is moving around you, so wonderfully alive and warm. His tongue curves underneath you, the powerful muscle shifting so it can wrap around you loosely like an oversized blanket.

His mouth shuts with a quiet click of teeth and all of the faint light from outside is cut off, leaving you within the darkness of Miguel’s body. You go slack and still, letting him absentmindedly taste you, push you from one cheek to the other subconsciously. 

You feel him soak you in spit, not protesting or fighting back as he readies you for the journey below. Miguel is still gentle, careful. Nothing is too rough or hurts at all, even when his tongue tentatively presses you up against the hard palate of the roof of his mouth. After a long moment, he tilts his head back, just barely.

You slide toward his throat, squeezing down the tight fleshy tube accompanied by a couple of large gulps to help get you down entirely. The sound of his swallows is loud and for a moment it’s all you hear as you’re moved down. It’s not a bad pressure and you’re mostly used to it as you slip down from his esophagus and into his belly. 

And man, it’s so much warmer here and also so much more comfortable. The soft flesh here contracts slightly around your body as you find a comfortable position to lie in, tucking yourself against a wall with a yawn. You press a hand against the mass of warmth and squishiness under your fingers, blinking when it ripples across the entire expanse of his stomach. 

It’s quiet for a moment before Miguel clears his throat, his voice oddly loud and muffled at the same time.

”You okay? Need me to get you out?” He asks, and you make a lazy hum in response.

“No, I’m fine, man,” You sink deeper into the comforting warmth and you hear something like a quiet chuckle from above. It’s good to hear him sound relaxed for once. God knows he needs some relaxation anyway. 

“Okay,” he sounds tired and everything is still before your surroundings shift and you tumble somewhat quickly into the side wall of his stomach. He must’ve turned over on his side. ”… Thank you. You care too much about me.”

You frown, picking up on his meaning quickly.

”Well yeah, you’re my friend. Besides, if I was working myself to death, you would’ve done the same, right?” You say and he huffs, laying a palm over his stomach. You can feel it in the way the slimy-squishy walls indent around you. 

“It’s not the same.”

”How so?”

”It just isn’t.” Miguel says firmly and you roll your eyes.

”Agree to disagree. Also, go to sleep! I have no idea how you’ve stayed awake this long. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” You promise, pressing your hand against the closest “wall”. He makes a quiet noise, but it’s quickly drowned out by the familiar sound of rumbling vibrating through his entire body. The volume of his contented purrs are quiet enough that a person outside would have to strain their ears to hear it.

From where you are right now, the comforting noise is steady and somewhat loud. It’s not overwhelming though — it just blends into the other sounds of his stomach growling and his other organs working somewhere else in his body. You stretch and settle down with a quiet yawn. 

Then everything shifts around you, contracting and moving to cradle you securely in complete warmth and comfort. 

“Goodnight.” Miguel’s low voice echoes from above and you close your eyes. 

“G’night.”