of-cauldrons-and-inkpens

[of-cauldrons-and-inkpens]

You Missed My Heart: PART 3

PART 1 LINK   |   PART 2 LINK  |   PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different. 

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not. 

Chapter Word Count: 15,059

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for disappearing for a bit! Chapter 4 and 5 (the last chapter) are both pretty much done! 

Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, dub-con (if you squint), piv, oral, unprotected sex; Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

Cool liquid drenched my skin, ripping me from my dream. What the hell? I gasped as I shot upward. The air of the bedroom was freezing, but that didn’t have any effect on Miguel. He was wincing in his sleep with sweat pouring off of his body. He looked upset; he was sad and scared. I could hear it in the hitches in his breathing and the way his hands had dropped from my body down to the mattress. I could hear the fabric tearing under his fingers, but I couldn’t make out the exact level of damage to the mattress in the dark. 

Miguel was muttering in his sleep. 

“Hey,” I whispered. “Miguel, wake up.”

Was this a common occurrence for him? If it was, I hadn’t noticed him talking in his sleep before. Then again, he usually didn’t sleep when I did. He was almost always awake when I would stir in the middle of the night. He would always coo to me and tell me to go back to sleep.

Did he do this a lot? I wracked my brain for some kind of answer. I knew he had bad dreams, but did he always talk in them? Did he always start to tear into the bed?

“Miguel, I think you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.” He frowned in his sleep. Something was upsetting him to his very core. His face was twitching and his words were incoherent. 

I pushed my hands against his chest. I tried to shake him, but he was planted in place. More fabric ripped in his hands as his fingers searched for something to cling on to. It was as if everything was slipping away and he was trying to anchor himself. He whispered my name, his breathing growing more frantic. He was panicking. I could hear the terror in his rushed words. He begged for me, but in the dream I knew there was no response. 

I tried to shake him again, but once again he didn't budge.

"Miguel!" I yelled. 

He jerked awake. His arms flailed outward as he shot upward. I ducked out of the way and collided with the mattress. I figured it was the best idea; I didn't want to get my ribs broken or a hole in my head. His skin glistened in the moonlight from the sweat that covered his skin. His eyes were wide and his heart was so loud that I could hear it across the bed.

He was terrified. 

He blinked hard as he came back down to reality. He softly whispered my name before he realized exactly what had happened. "Fuck." He quickly crawled forward, moving toward me. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I said. I pushed myself off of the mattress and sat upright. I quickly reached upward to brush my hair out of my face. In the dim light of the bedroom, I could see his eyes focused on me. They swirled with a mixture of concern and fear. Fear of what he had done, fear of what he could do. He reached forward, though before he touched me, he stopped. He closed his hand and then lowered it to the bed. 

"I'm sorry." He said. I leaned forward and reached for him instead. I wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. My fingers traced the coarse stubble that covered his jaw. Slowly, I started to caress his cheek. He sighed, giving in to my hand. 

"It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." I paused, looking for some sign as to what he was thinking. But he was always so hard to read. "Does this happen a lot?" I asked. He was silent for a moment. 

"I don't know.” His voice was cold. Just like that, I could feel him drifting away from me. Any chance of him opening up was fading away just like it always did. “I’m going to go sleep downstairs." He leaned away from my hand but I quickly reached down and grabbed onto his upper arm. I knew that when he stopped, it wasn't because I actually had the strength to hold him there. He was practically a god among men, yet he was willing to humor me. 

"Miguel, that's not what I meant." He let out a low sigh as glanced at me. His eyes were so dark that they were nearly black. “I knew you had bad dreams. I did, I just didn’t know that they were like this. You were talking in your sleep. You seemed upset." Scared was a better word; terrified was even better to describe how he had looked. But, I would never say that to him. That was a great way to get him to immediately clam up. 

"No. No, I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were. You were muttering in your sleep. I heard you say my name and you were sweating and tearing holes in the mattress." He looked back at the bed. Even in the darkness, I was sure that he could see them, even if I couldn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about." His voice was low. Whatever he had dreamed about, he didn’t want to talk about it.

I frowned. I was sure that he could see that, too. 

"Miguel, please." My fingers slid down the length of his arm, moving to his fingers. I tried to hold his hand, but he began to pull away. 

"Why won't you let me help you?"

"Because there's nothing to help." This was exactly what had happened with the door. He was blocking himself off from me, while also demanding that I open myself to him entirely. It wasn't fair and it didn't make sense. But hey, I guess 'rules for thee but not for me' had to apply somewhere. 

He pulled his hand away from me. I groaned and crawled forward. I pulled the blanket after me, hoping to maintain some sense of modesty as I went. I knew it was stupid, but I already felt too exposed. 

"Damn it." I muttered. I crawled to the spot in front of him, stopping only when I could feel his naked thighs against mine. "You're making this very hard on me, Miguel. I feel like I'm being yanked around so much that I don't even know what you want from me. You want affection but you don't want me to be too close. You want attention, but only certain kinds. I don't know how I'm supposed to help you." I pushed myself up onto my knees so that I was face to face with him. I could feel his warm breath against my face. 

“I don’t want or need your help.”

“But you want me to fuck you and call myself your wife? I don’t understand any of these weird mind-games you’re playing. You want me to play house with you, but how dare I actually try to get to know you. I don’t understand why you can’t just let me be kind to you.” He scoffed. There was something off in his tone.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

“Miguel…” Why won’t you just talk to me? Why does it have to be like pulling teeth? I brushed my messy curls backward as I tried to find something to say to him. 

There was something that seemed to swim in his eyes. He looked scared, either from the dream or from something that he couldn’t push out of his mind. But, there was also something else in his gaze. 

He looked lost. Like he truly didn’t know where to go from this point.

Slowly, I reached outward. I gently pressed my hand against the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into my touch. It seemed to give him comfort.

Slowly, I pushed the blankets that had been covering me down, moving them so that they pooled around us. 

“Miguel, angel, take off your blankets.” I said. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion, but still did as I had asked. The blankets were the only thing that was preserving some sense of modesty between us. Our pajamas were somewhere on the dark floor, deserted during our nightly ritual.

I inched forward, moving so that I was sitting directly in front of him. Then, I carefully moved so that one leg was straddling each side of his thighs. I curled my arms around his neck, pulling him in close to my body.

“Is this turning you on?” His voice dripped with a mixture of sarcasm and a bit of concern. Maybe he was worried that I had finally snapped. 

“Hush. Let me be nice to you.”

I curled myself around him until my bare chest was pressed against his. 

I knew it was wrong; I shouldn't comfort him. Hell, he had kidnapped me. I should be happy that he was so distraught. But he was desperate and I couldn’t bring myself to be cruel to him. 

His skin seemed to burn against mine. But every muscle seemed to give into my touch, relaxing against my small frame.

He slid his hand down the side of my body, tracing the curve of my waist with his fingertips. But, before he reached my hip, he stopped. His fingers lingered there for a moment, taking something in. Then, they traveled upward once more, moving up my side. 

He was trying to memorize me; maybe, if he could, it would chase away the nightmares.

"Miguel, what's wrong? Please tell me. Seeing you like this is scaring the hell out of me.” He shook his head. He was pulling away. I could feel him slipping away and there was nothing I could do about it. We lingered in a weird silence for a small eternity. 

Then, he gently released the hold that he had had on my body. He slipped his hands under my thighs and carefully lifted me off of him. He sat me down on the mattress beside him. 

"I'm going to go shower." He said. There was something weird in his tone.

"Are you going to come back to bed afterward?" I asked. He looked at me for a moment. 

"I don't… I don't think so."

"I can get up with you, if you want." I offered. 

"No, but thank you." I nodded to myself as he crawled out of the bed. I watched as he made his way toward the bathroom. He flipped on the light and then closed the door. 

I sat alone in the darkness for a moment. Tonight had already been too eventful for me. My brain was too awake for me to go back to sleep now.

I sighed as I climbed out of the large bed. As I moved, I was careful to avoid the hole that Miguel had made in the bed. Something was eating him alive to the point that it was causing this vivid of nightmares. 

But, whatever it was, I knew there was pretty much no chance that he would tell me. 

I stepped onto the cold floor and quickly searched in the dark for something to wear. The best that I could find was one of his t-shirts that was oversized on me. 

Guess this will have to do.

I quickly tugged it over my head, pulling it on. I grabbed a pair of underwear from the dresser and snagged them on, as well. Then, I began to make my way toward the door. 

I knew that there was no point in going back to sleep right now. I wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I tried. 

I was worried about him, even if I shouldn’t have been.

He was my kidnapper, my captor, and yet I couldn’t help but worry about him, even if it was only a small amount. 

Downstairs, it was completely silent. I started a pot of coffee and then sat down at the table as I waited for it to finish brewing. As I sat there, I heard footsteps upstairs. 

By the time that the coffee pot had beeped, Miguel was already coming down the stairs. As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he spoke. 

“You need to go back to bed.”

“I don't want to.”

“You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Oh no, however will I manage with my packed schedule?” I muttered. “I don’t leave the house. I sit around all day and wait for you to come back or we sit around and piss each other off. If I need to sleep, I’ll just sleep later.” He wasn’t going to argue with that. He sighed as he reached upward and brushed his wet hair off of his forehead. He was wearing only pajama pants, leaving his chest and shoulders completely bare. As he moved, the muscles in his body flexed.

I couldn’t tell if he was showing off or if he was just naturally like that. 

“I made coffee.” I said. He nodded to himself.

“Thank you.” 

I pushed myself out of the chair and made my way toward the counter. As I walked, Miguel was close behind. He followed me across the kitchen, meeting me at the coffee pot. 

He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and then placed them on the cold counter. Then, he walked to the fridge and pulled out the creamer.

I filled the two mugs with coffee and then put the pot back on the machine. I thanked him for the creamer and watched as he took his mug and began to walk back to the table. I guess he drinks his black. 

I quickly made up my drink and then followed him back to the table, returning the creamer to the fridge as I went.

I sat down again. I lifted my coffee mug to my lips and took a slow sip. Then, I sat the mug on the table, trying to get comfortable. 

I pulled my legs close to my body, accidentally knocking my bracelet against my shin as I did. I hated this damn thing. It was always getting caught on my clothes or on blankets. 

“You look exhausted.” I commented. He furrowed his eyebrows together. 

“Should I be insulted by that?” 

“No, you just look tired. I really do think that talking about it will make things better. And, if not better, it may make it a bit easier to sleep.” He took a long sip of his coffee. When he lowered the mug, he made a face. 

“I don’t think you really want to hear about it.”

“Miguel, I’ve cleaned blood off of you before. If I didn’t at least… care about you, then I wouldn’t have done that.” There was something weird about saying the word ‘care’ in reference to him. It felt wrong, like poison on the tongue. It didn’t fit the situation, but I also didn’t know what I was supposed to call it.

He seemed to be considering that notion. I mean, surely it meant something to him. Surely he could at least appreciate that I was worried about him. Or, maybe he would just use this as something to manipulate me with. Maybe he saw my gentleness as an adorable weakness that made me more malleable to his will. 

“You’re sweet.” He almost sounded like he pitied me for that fact.

Maybe he did see himself the way others did; maybe he pitied me for being gentle to a monster. 

I let out a low sigh in response. Steam rolled off of the top of the old coffee mug. I gently pushed on the curve of the handle, sliding it around so that I could see the front of the mug. 

He had stolen the cup from my old house. It was the exact same one that I had gotten when I was in college, complete with the chip on the side from where my Miguel had accidentally nicked it on the side of his desk. 

When I looked back up at him, his eyes were focused on my face. 

He was my monster, and I was his little ghost. 

“Miguel, I really don’t know what you want from-” I was suddenly cut off mid-sentence.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve lost you? How many times I’ve seen you die? Because that’s what I relive every single night.”

“Miguel, you can talk to me about it.” 

“You’re here and then I lose you every single night. When I wake up, I can’t even tell myself that it was just a dream, because it fucking wasn’t. I have lost you in thousands of timelines. I have lost you and our child over and over again. There isn’t a single thing that you can do to help me. I don’t know why you can’t seem to understand that.”

“Because I don’t want you to feel like this anymore.” I whispered. He shook his head. 

“Then you’re going to end up being very disappointed.” 

“Miguel, this isn’t normal. I want you to be able to actually sleep at night.”

“You’re right. That’s the part of this that isn’t normal.” He scoffed.

“Jesus, Miguel, why can’t you just let me help you?”

“Because you can’t help me.” His words were harsh, but deep down, I knew they were probably true. 

I winced, turning my attention down to my chipped cup. He must have seen my expression, because he quickly changed his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry.” Miguel said. 

I nodded, accepting the apology. 

A weird silence hung in the air. I swallowed hard, searching for something to say. 

“When you were getting my things from my house, did you see a green and gray scrapbook? It had a purple ribbon sticking out of the top.” I asked.

“Not that I know of. Why? What was in it?”

“Just family pictures and some other things.” I said. 

Outside, rain hammered against the roof. 

“I can look for it for you.”

“Thank you.” I said. He offered a soft smile. His fangs almost seemed to glisten in the dim light of the kitchen. He was beautiful. 

“Um, if its not too much of a hassle, can you also see if there’s a dark red book? It should have a little gold clasp on it and there’s probably card stock sticking out of the top of it.”

He nodded quickly. Weirdly enough, being given an act of service seemed to perk him up. He seemed to like feeling useful; he liked feeling like he was doing something that would genuinely make me happy.

“Of course. What’s in that one?”

“Just brochures and some pictures that he collected.” 

“Brochures for what?” He asked. 

“Different things. We had talked about vacations and trips and things like that. He had also looked into this renovated building that used to be a church. It had massive stained glass windows and in the morning, the sun would come in and turn everything pink from the glass.” He nodded slowly, understanding.

“So you two did talk about getting married?”

“A couple of times, but nothing was ever set in stone. He was always working on one project or another. Alchemax started needing him more and more, so we just kept pushing it back. Then, just like that he was gone.” I winced, turning my attention to the cooling coffee that sat at the bottom of the chipped mug. “He never really even proposed, he just seemed to know it would happen eventually.”

“Did you have a specific date in mind?”

“We talked about getting married around Christmas, we just never picked a year.” I said as I reached to adjust the neck of my t-shirt. His clothes were too big on me, but that’s precisely why I kept taking them. 

“Why Christmas?” He asked. 

“Because I love Christmas.”

Thunder rolled, making the table shake ever so slightly. I winced, grabbing onto the coffee cup to keep it from vibrating toward the edge of the table. It seemed to rain constantly here. Most nights were dark and dreary, peppered with bright streaks of lightning and thunder that was so loud it could shake the house. 

“Do you have to go to work in the morning?” I asked. He nodded, sending a wet curl tumbling across his forehead. 

“You should at least try and lay down. Some sleep is better than none.” 

“Maybe…” He trailed off. “But, I can deal with being tired. It won’t effect me.”

Lightning painted the room a blinding shade of white. I winced then blinked hard to readjust my eyes.

I thought for a moment about his ‘work.’ I thought about how he would come home beaten and bloody and would strip down and shower before crawling into bed. I would bury my face in his freshly scrubbed neck and shoulders, acutely aware of the bruises that were blossoming on his skin. He would use the darkness of the bedroom to hide them, but I always knew they were there. 

Miguel frowned. I guess I was making a face at the thought of him being hurt. I sighed, quickly trying to find something to say. 

“So there’s just thousands of different versions of you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the only Spiderman like me. Remember? You bullied me about my teeth.”

“I absolutely did not bully you over them. I simply asked a question. A question, mind you, that you said I could ask.” He rolled his eyes, smirking as he took a long sip of his coffee.

“Alright, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he opened his mouth to speak but I held up my hand, motioning for him to be quiet. He frowned at my hand and quickly sat the cup he was holding down on the table. “Are there really thousands of people who have spider powers?”

“Are you trying to shush me?” He asked. 

“I am, actually.” He rolled his eyes as he reached a hand outward. Four fingers curled around my wrist, moving so that his thumb was pressed against the inside of my hand. 

“Well, other than the pig. And the popsicle…” he paused, thinking for a moment. “Oh, and Earth-11580.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the palm of my hand before he let me go. 

“What is Earth-11580?” I asked. I was already intrigued. 

“He’s a man made of spiders.”

“Oh God, no.” I muttered. He chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought, too.” He said. 

“So, all of your Spidermen do little jobs for you?” I asked. He nodded. “Now, are these real jobs or are they fool’s errands?”

“Such as?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or was genuinely wanting me to continue. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you have an annoying Spiderman, so you make him go on a snipe hunt for a couple of days to get him out of your hair.”

“First of all, is Annoying Spiderman his actual title or are you just being your version of funny?”

“Actually, it's my name for you.” I taunted. 

“Ah, so you are being funny.” He smirked as he spoke. “So, why would I have them look for a bird?”

“A snipe hunt? It’s an expression because snipe aren’t real. So it means that you’re sending them to look for something that doesn’t exist.” He stared at my face hard for a moment. 

“Yes, sweetheart, they are. Snipes are absolutely real.” 

“No, they’re…” I paused. “Are they real?” He quickly nodded. I could see a smile beginning to pull at the corners of his mouth. Blood shot to my face, turning my cheeks bright red.

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not, Miguel.” 

“Okay, sweetheart, hand on my heart, I swear that they’re completely real.”

“Okay, now I just feel stupid.” He smirked as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. He quickly downed the last of the drink, frowning when he realized it had gone cold during our little conversation. 

“So, how do you know specific things about each timeline? Like, how do you know if certain birds or animals or things like that exist in that timeline?  Is there a multi-versal Google?” I asked. 

“Not that I’m aware of. The closest thing would be Lyla, but unless you would like your answer with some gentle bullying, I wouldn’t ask.” 

“Ah.” I said. 

A weird silence hung in the air. His eyes met mine. His head swam with little things that he wanted to ask but was too scared of the answer.

If things remained unsaid, then he would never have to deal with the chance of being rejected. 

Something stirred in his dark eyes. He knew that it was now or never. “Are you happy here?” He asked.

Part of me wanted to say yes; that seemed to be the answer that he wanted. But, the other part of me demanded that I tell him the truth. 

“Miguel, people weren’t meant to live like this. I feel like I’m in a cage.”

“You aren’t in a cage.” It seemed like a ridiculous accusation to him.

“What do you think this house is? I can’t leave and I’m always alone.”

“I’m here.” He said it as if it was obvious.

“Barely. You’re usually working. You leave before I get up and you come home after I’ve gone to bed most of the time.”

He ground his teeth. The worst part of what I was saying was that it was completely true and he knew it. 

After a moment, he let out a long sigh. He was wracking his brain for something to say. He wanted to change the subject, but he seemed unsure about what to talk about. 

It was too late at night to be doing this. 

I pushed myself up from the table, carrying my coffee cup as I went. I began to make my way across the room. After a moment, Miguel pushed himself up and followed me toward the kitchen counter. 

“I’m sorry that you’re lonely.” There was something to his words that I didn’t recognize. 

I nodded and then sat my coffee cup on the counter. 

“I mean it. My intention was not…” he paused. “I don't want you to feel alone.”

“But I do, Miguel.” He made a face at my words. He knew it was true.

I leaned back against the counter, listening to the roar of thunder outside.

His dark eyes peered into me with such an intensity that I couldn’t help but squirm against the cabinets. His stare seemed to be flitting between fascination and want.

A want to touch me; a want to be touched in return as I begged for more. 

Blood flooded my face, turning my cheeks dark maroon. 

“I’ll be a better husband. I’ll make sure to give you as much attention as possible.” The first part sounded sincere. The second part was lined with faux pity. He stepped closer to me, moving so that his chest was only inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. He smelled like soap, coffee, and a third thing that I could never place. 

“Miguel, I-” My words died in my throat when I saw how he was looking at several fading love bites on my neck. He seemed fascinated by the yellow tinge they had taken on. It was the last color before they would disappear completely, wiping away any proof of his handiwork. 

He would always be careful when he made them. He was always cautious not to let his teeth sink into my skin. Instead, he would suck hard on the flesh, stopping only when he knew there would be a small mark left behind. They were his little works of art that he adored creating. 

I closed my legs. There were two fresh marks on my inner thighs that I wanted to hide. He had given them to me when he had gotten home later than usual one night. I had been sitting up, waiting for him. As a reward, he had buried his face between my legs as he asked me to tell him about my day. After twenty minutes of stuttering and gasping through what I had eaten for breakfast, I had given up on trying to talk.

Slowly, he leaned downward. One of his hands moved up to graze the side of my cheek. “Miguel.” 

“Just let me kiss you.” He whispered. His voice was like honey. 

How could I tell him no?

He pressed his lips against mine. His fingers pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I leaned in, giving into the kiss. He groaned. 

Our lips slid against one another, moving in such perfect harmony that I couldn’t help but sigh. 

As our lips danced against one another, my hand slid from the counter to his shoulder. I moved forward and pressed my chest against his. I could feel his heart through his skin. Without a word, his mouth began to roam across my cheek, peppering small kisses as he went. He didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to where he was going. 

He just wanted to touch me.

His other hand planted itself in the middle of my back, holding me in place while he worked. I felt his warm lips pressed a kiss against my temple. 

“You need to go to bed. You have work in the morning. We can do this tomorrow.” I whispered. His lips drifted downward, heading for my jaw. His thumb caressed my cheek.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just keeping you company.”

“You know what you’re doing.” I whispered.

“And what is that?” The hand that held my back dipped downward. He slipped his hand under my shirt and immediately began to tug at the waist of my underwear. He gently pulled my panties down, guiding them over my thighs before letting them fall to the floor.

“Trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” He teased. 

I rolled my eyes, too ashamed to admit that it actually was. 

I dipped down, catching his lips in another kiss. Our lips glided over one another for a moment. Then, I did exactly as he had done and moved downward, sliding my lips along his rough jaw and neck. Stubble littered his skin. It scratched my mouth as I placed an open mouth kiss against the base of his throat. 

He groaned. 

I continued downward, moving from his muscular shoulders to his broad chest. Patches of dark hair adorned his skin. It formed a dark path that crept downward before disappearing below the waist of his pajama pants. 

I kissed the skin over his heart, then dipped down further. My lips pressed over the taut skin of his stomach, peppering kisses anywhere that I could reach. 

I could feel him staring at me when I pressed my knees against the tile floor. He was watching with an almost perverse fascination. 

The front of his pants was pulled tight. I could see the distinct outline of his cock through his flannel pants. He was so hard that he was straining uncomfortably against the material. 

At least I knew that I could get him as wound up as he got me. 

“What’re you doing?” Miguel asked.

I placed one hand on his upper thigh. I slowly slid my fingers upward, feeling the hard muscles of his leg as he went.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked. He quickly shook his head. 

“No! No, you’re okay.” 

Heat radiated off of his body.

My fingers traced up the side of his hip, stopping once I reached the waist of his pants. I gently pulled on the band, sliding it downward and freeing his straining erection. I pulled the material down further, moving it so that I could see the muscles in his thighs. His dick landed heavily against his thigh.

Clear fluid was beginning to bead on the tip. I reached upward and curled my hand gently around the appendage, making sure that my thumb caught some of the fluid as I went. I slid my closed palm back, dragging it across the velvety skin. He let out a desperate moan as I pumped my hand up and down a couple of times, making sure that he was hard. 

Then, I leaned forward until my face was only an inch away from his cock. 

I flicked my tongue over another clear bead that was leaking from his dark pink tip. He gasped, moving his hips closer so that I had better access. I smirked, moving myself forward. 

I curled my lips around the head of his dick. I slid my tongue along the underside, feeling a long vein that pulsed against my tongue. 

His breath hitched. His fingers brushed the back of my head, encouraging me to keep going.

Slowly, I leaned in, sliding him deeper into my mouth.

I worked him deeper and deeper until I couldn’t fit any more of him. Then, I slid backward. As I did, I worked my hand toward my lips, feeling his tight skin move under my fingers. 

After a couple of practice movements, I started to build a good rhythm. When my mouth slid backward, so did my hand. They followed suit as I moved forward toward his pubic bone. All the while, I slid my tongue along the velvety skin of his dick, making him moan with every movement. 

I glanced up at him through my dark eyelashes. As our eyes met, I worked my tongue across the head of his cock. 

His groans were getting louder by the second. Every so often, his breath would catch in his throat as he groaned out my name.

“Touch yourself.” He instructed. His voice was thick with lust and need. 

“Hm?” I hummed. His request had caught me off guard. 

He groaned at the vibration in my mouth. 

“Touch yourself. I know you can. I’ve watched you do it before, sweetheart.” My face turned dark red. But regardless, I parted my thighs. I slid one hand between my legs, moving my fingers to graze my clit.

I could feel Miguel’s burning gaze as I gently began to rub myself. My fingers traced small circles over the bundle of nerves. I rocked my hips against my hand. All the while, I never slowed the bobbing of my head.

He curled his fingers in my hair, careful not to pull too hard. I moaned around him. My tongue traced over his thick vein as I tried to rub my clit faster. I wanted more friction.

This felt good, but it wasn’t what I needed. 

I needed him. 

I wanted him so much that my body was beginning to ache.

When I bobbed my head back, I let him slip out of my mouth. I wanted to say something poetic or sexy; something that would drive him crazy. But, instead, all that came out was a desperate “Miguel, I need you.” 

Despite how on the nose it was, it seemed to break something in him.

Miguel dipped down. He gently grabbed onto me and hauled me upward. I stood upright, still dazed from being pulled off of him so suddenly. Miguel inspected me carefully. 

He searched for something in my gaze. I was sure that I looked wide eyed and pathetic.

He leaned down and pressed another kiss against my lips. This time, it was wetter. I pushed myself up onto my tippy-toes and curled my arms around his neck.

I wanted him desperately. 

It was a want that soaked into my bones, infecting every piece of my soul. 

“Miguel, please.” I whimpered. 

Oh God, I did sound pathetic. 

I felt him smirk against my lips.

That was all the encouragement that he needed.

He slipped his fingers under the hem of my shirt and quickly pulled it over my head. He tossed it onto the floor, then placed a guiding hand on the small of my back. 

“Turn for me, sweetheart.” I obeyed without question.

I turned so that my back was to Miguel. All the while, his hand remained fixed on my skin. 

He stepped forward. As he did, he nudged me, making me walk with him. He moved me toward the table that rested in the middle of the room.

My hips bumped against the edge of the table. I already knew what he wanted me to do.

My suspicions were confirmed when his hand slid upward, moving to grasp my shoulder. “Down, sweetheart.” He instructed. 

I bent at the waist, laying my upper half flat against the cold wood of the table. One of my hands grasped onto the edge of the table that rested beside my hip. The other hand slid outward. My fingers splayed open on the table top in an attempt to balance myself.

He smirked when I obeyed. 

“Good girl.”

He pushed a muscular thigh between my knees, holding them open. 

I heard Miguel mutter something under his breath. Before I could ask what he was talking about, he pressed a firm kiss against my left shoulder. Then, he pulled his hand from my shoulder. He moved it upward and covered my splayed hand.

I was dwarfed beneath him; it was entirely too easy for him to dominate me and he seemed weirdly proud of that fact. 

He slid his tip between my folds, sliding his cock back and forth in an attempt to collect some of my wetness. He groaned, tightening his grip on my hand. 

"God, you're going to be the death of me." His words were lined with a thick lust. He was desperate and I couldn't help but smile against the table.

Then, without warning, he buried himself inside of me. I gasped, overwhelmed by his size. My spasm spasmed as it tried to stretch to accommodate him.  

Miguel gently squeezed my hand. It was intended to be a reassuring gesture.

My husband, the romantic.

I felt his other hand roam across my skin, taking in every small dip and curve. I felt his fingertips drift over my waist before roaming down to my ass. He grasped the plush flesh and smirked. Then, he rocked hips, thrusting into me hard enough for me to see stars. “Miguel!” I screamed. A bright smirk painted his features. 

He pulled his hips backward and nearly slipped out of me before he came crashing back inside of me, hitting unfathomably deep. The tightening in my stomach was getting impossible to ignore. 

I leaned backward, moving into his touch. I wasn’t going to last long.

We were both driving one another to oblivion and we were getting there fast. 

Suddenly, I felt the tightening in my stomach unfurl, sending a shock wave of ecstasy through me. He finished quickly after I did, following me down the path of gasping moans and swears. Toes curled and hips desperately ground against one another, begging for more contact. My fingers dug into the table as I struggled to keep myself upright. The hand that he had placed on my ass quickly grabbed onto my waist to keep me from falling during one of the small tremors. 

I came down from the high, feeling warm tingles spread over my body. I sighed softly, feeling happiness radiate through me. It was as if I was glowing from the inside. 

Miguel leaned down. He brushed my hair off of the back of my neck and began to pepper soft kisses against my skin. 

His body covered mine, shielding me from the cold night air. 

Our bodies were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He gently squeezed my hand as his lips traced my bare skin. All the while, we were still connected at the hip. When he would move slightly, I could feel the newfound wetness between my thighs. 

My insides felt impossibly warm. 

The difference between the frigid air and his burning skin was overwhelming. Especially with my chest still pressed between him and the cold wood. Everything felt beautiful in that moment. 

He inched his hips forward one last time. He wanted to savor the moment. It was then that I felt him close his open lips against the skin on the back of my left shoulder blade. He inhaled deeply, breathing me in. Then, I felt him suck on the skin, hard. It only lasted for a second, but that was all he needed. 

He gave a low sigh. Then slowly, he slid out of me. 

As his hips moved backward, I felt my legs go weak. 

Miguel didn’t miss a beat. He dipped downward, catching me before I had the chance to fall.

He curled his arms around my body and gently pulled me upward. He pulled me off of the table, then up into his arms. He held me to his chest, making sure to cradle me so that I didn’t tumble out of his arms. 

He knew I was too weak to walk. 

I always was afterward. 

He always made it look so effortless. Hell, to him it probably was. 

The kitchen was dim. Rain beat against the roof. The sound filled every room of the house. Despite everything that had happened between us, I felt at peace like this.

He stared down at me with a look of adoration and awe. Something stirred in his dark eyes. 

As his eyes drank me in, the kitchen shook with another roll of thunder. 

Several days had passed since our night in the kitchen. We fell into our own routine where I would do something, then Miguel would decide that he simply had to be involved. When I had decided to reorganize the shelves, Miguel had eagerly carried heavy dishes and grabbed things from higher shelves. When I had decided to mess with an old paint kit that he had found at my house, he sat behind me, kissing my neck as I tried to focus. 

When I had decided to lay on the couch and watch a movie, Miguel had curled up beside me. However, he had also decided that staring at me was more interesting than watching the movie, so every couple minutes he would ask what was going on. 

I rolled my eyes as I leaned back against the pillows that Miguel had stolen from our bed. His eyes were trained on me, as if he was waiting for something to happen. 

“What?” I asked. He shook his head, but did not drop his gaze. 

My eyes danced up the ceiling. My eyes traced the small patterns in the paint, trying to act as if it didn’t bother me that he was staring. After a good five minutes, I broke “Why are you staring at me?” 

“I’m sorry, am I not allowed to look at you?”

“You’re not looking. You’re staring and it’s making me self conscious.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Oh my God.” He muttered. “This is my house.”

“I thought you said this was our house.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“Alright. That’s it.” He muttered, his tone the closest to playful that he could achieve. He closed his hand around my calf and gently pulled me down the length of the couch. He moved me as if I was completely weightless. And I’m sure that to him, I was. 

“Miguel…” I groaned. He slipped his arms around me and lifted me off of the cushions. Then, he crawled into the spot where I had just been laying. He wedged himself against the back of the cushions and then laid me down so that I was in front of him. He offset our height, making sure that my head landed against the pillows I had dragged down from the bed. He wiggled his body so that his face lined up with my ribs, then curled one arm around me to make sure that I didn’t slip off of the couch. Miguel laid his head against my ribs. He wasn’t putting his full weight down. Just enough so that his head and arms held me in place. 

“Better?” He asked. He closed his eyes against the material of my t-shirt, breathing me in. 

“It is, actually. I don’t like it when you stare at me.” He turned his face into my skin. 

“Why?” When he spoke, I could feel his warm breath soak through my shirt. His strong nose brushed against one of my right ribs. 

“I can never tell what you’re thinking. You always get this distant look in your eyes and I can’t tell if you’re thinking something good or bad about me.” 

“I would never think anything bad about you.” His voice sounded sincere, but I wasn’t sure if he was just an excellent liar or not. I knew how often I pissed him off. I knew that I argued with him and didn’t cooperate when he asked me to do things. Maybe he secretly liked those things about me; or maybe he was just willing to take the good with the bad. 

I lifted one of my hands up to rest on the back of his head. He let out a low sound. It was the same sound that he always made when I gave him some kind of gentle affection.  

I slid my fingers through his dark hair. He pushed himself deeper into my body, sighing as I worked. His fingers slid against my skin absentmindedly. 

“Your hair is always so soft.” I said. 

“Hm?” He looked up at me with tired eyes. He was beautiful like this. His eyes had taken on their warm chocolate brown color. He reminded me of a puppy when he was like this; rather than a man who was capable of murder at the drop of a hat. 

“I love your hair.” I said. I felt him smile into my skin. 

“I need a haircut. It’s hard to get the mask on with it like this.” 

“No, it’s perfect how it is.” I mumbled.

“You can be the one to cut it, if you want.”

“I would probably just butcher it.” I said. I lifted my hair upward, letting his curls slide gently through my fingers. 

He was so warm against my body. He was better than any blanket, mainly because when he wanted to be, he was capable of being loving and affectionate.

I heard something fall in the bedroom upstairs. I stopped my gentle strokes and instead pushed my elbows into the couch. I attempted to sit upright, but Miguel locked me in place. “It’s nothing important. If something broke, I’ll replace it in the morning.” He gently hooked his fingers around my wrist and pulled my hand back to his head, commanding me to continue playing with his hair. 

He was worse than a needy house cat. 

I rolled my eyes as I relaxed back against the pillow. I gently sifted my hand through his curls. I felt him smile against my ribs. 

That was Miguel; ever pleased with his little victories over me, no matter how easy they had been to win. 

“I have a surprise for you.” He said. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“I can’t tell you. That’s what makes it a surprise. But it’s something that I think you’ll like.” I was intrigued. 

“Really?”

“Oh course, sweetheart. We’ll do it tomorrow night. I should be back early tomorrow, so we can do it before sunset. If you want to, you can dress up.” 

I had taken the time to put on one of the dresses he had taken from my old house. It was a medium length pink dress that my Miguel had adored. Based on the fact that it had been laid out on the bed for me when I had woken up, I had guessed that this version shared the same affinity for it. 

When he had returned, I was sitting in the living room. Instead of wearing his usual suit, he wore a white button-up and dark pants.

“Aw, no spider suit?”

“Would you prefer the spider suit?” He asked. 

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I was just starting to get used to it. It’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than the suit or pajamas.” I said. 

If he was wearing glasses and was a little bit shorter and less muscular, he could easily pass for my Miguel. Maybe that was why he was dressed like this. Or, maybe he just wanted to wear something that hadn’t been previously covered in blood. 

“Ready for your surprise?” He asked. I nodded, watching as he stepped across the room, moving toward the front door with every step. 

What was he doing?

He opened the front door of the house and then tilted his head to the side, motioning for me to follow. 

“We’re going outside?” I asked. He nodded. Was this some kind of weird test? “Really?”

This had to be some kind of mind game. Would I fail if I left the house?

I stood frozen for a moment. 

“Sweetheart?” His voice pulled me from my thoughts. He had already stepped out onto the front stoop. He was staring at me, waiting for me to move.

“What?”

“Do I need to carry you?” He asked. He was being completely serious. I quickly shook my head. 

“No, I can walk.” 

“Good girl. Now come on.” He lifted his hand and motioned for me to follow. Internally, I groaned. But despite feeling slightly demeaned by the motion, I followed after him, closing the door as I went. I followed him down the steps, careful not to fall as I went. 

We made our way out into the street. With every step I took, I heard my heels make a low clicking sound against the pavement. 

“So I can leave when I want?” I asked. Maybe that was the surprise: a little bit more freedom. 

“Not when I’m not here. I want you to be safe. But, I didn’t think there would be any harm in having you out here when I’m around.” He said. My disappointment was clear. He offered a dry smile as he searched for something to fill the weird silence. 

After a moment, he reached down and grabbed my hand. “Alright, come here.” He said. He pulled me toward one of the buildings that rested on the left side of the street.  

My heels clicked as I stepped up onto the sidewalk.

Miguel stopped walking. He quickly adjusted his stance, leaning down slightly so that he was closer to my height. But, despite his best efforts, he still towered over me. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Hold still.” 

He dropped my hand and then quickly curled his arms around me, lifting me up bridal style. Without hesitation I curled my arms around his neck. He curled one arm around my body, cradling me close but leaving his other arm free.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” I asked. I could see the almost childlike glee on his face. There was something almost unhinged about how happy he looked. 

“I thought you might enjoy this.” He glanced up at the concrete that hung over the edge of the building. 

In that moment, I remembered how he had used a web to pull me closer to him in bed. 

He can’t be serious.

Based on the way that he was eyeing the surrounding buildings, I knew that he absolutely was.

He was going to try and swing with me in his arms.

“What if you drop me?” I asked. He rolled his eyes as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. 

“I’m not going to drop you.”

“Isn’t it a little weird that I can’t leave the house, but swinging through the air is perfectly safe?”

“The difference here is that I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, readying himself. I tightened my hold around him. 

“Ready?” He asked. I felt my stomach twist. 

“No.” 

I buried my face in his neck and closed my eyes tight. I didn’t want to see any of this; I knew that if I did, I was going to end up throwing up. 

Without hesitation, I felt him tighten his hold against my body. Then, with his other hand, he fired a web that hit the concrete overhang of one of the distant buildings. 

Every muscle in his body tensed. Then, he bolted forward. 

My body bounced slightly as he ran. Then, suddenly, I felt his feet leave the ground as he pulled on the webbing. 

Oh God, oh God, oh God!

I dug my nails into his shoulders.

My hair beat around my face as I clung to him. Cold air encircled us, making me very aware of the fact that there was nothing but open air beneath our bodies. 

Oh, God, this is how I’m going to die. I managed to survive almost getting crushed by a car, only to fall to my death. 

Thankfully, it was all over as quickly as it had begun. 

I winced as he landed on the rooftop. I could feel my stomach flip as a second wave of nausea hit me.

“See? That was fun.” He seemed proud of himself. He sat me down on the ground. Miguel slipped his fingers under my chin, lifting my face upward to meet his gaze.  

I tried to give him a soft smile, but it looked more pained than intended. I felt like I was about to throw up.

I officially never wanted to do that again. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” I quickly nodded. 

“Perfectly fine.” He didn’t seem to believe me. Then again, I didn’t believe me, either. I glanced over, seeing a set of stairs that poked over the side of the building. There was no way in hell that I was going to let him swing me down from the roof. The stairs were more than enough for me. 

As I glanced across the rooftop, I spotted something else. 

On the corner of the roof, he had set up a small table and chairs. The tabletop was adorned with the glassware and plates from our house, as well as food that he had made ahead of time. 

I smiled.

“I thought you might like to get to be in the sunshine for a little while.”

“Thank you.” Even with the chill in the air, I appreciated getting to be outside. The air smelled clean and wet, lined with rain that had fallen the previous night. 

Miguel smiled to himself as he motioned for me to follow him across the rooftop. Without question, I did. 

As we sat down at the table, I glanced out at the vast emptiness of the city. It was eerie to see the world like this. It was so quiet here that it made me acutely aware of the sound of my own footsteps when I walked through our house, or even how loud I sounded when I spoke. I wasn’t used to the lack of sound and I knew that I never would be. 

“Is there anything out there? Past city limits?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Instead, we fell into a strange silence. 

A while had passed before one of us spoke again. 

“So, tell me about what you do.” I said. 

“I’ve already told you that you wouldn’t like me anymore if I did.” 

“You don’t have to give me specifics. Just explain the basic gist of it.” He furrowed his brows together, unsure of what to say. “Please.” 

He grinned in response. 

“Well, I look for an event or person that breaks the canon, and I do my best to ensure that it is corrected.”

Corrected. I already knew what he meant by that. 

“But, how do you know if something doesn’t belong in a timeline?”

“Because it disrupts the flow. It’s usually pretty easy to spot the one thing that doesn’t belong.” I didn’t belong in my timeline anymore; but, I was easy enough for him to find based on his ongoing fixation with any version of his wife.

“So, I know that certain things have to happen-”

“Canon events.” Miguel interjected. 

“But how do you know what you’re looking for exactly? Even if it doesn’t fit in, don’t timelines change? Can’t they be made to fit eventually?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well, people have the freedom of choice. What if someone is supposed to do something, then they decide not to?”

“That’s not how it works. Everything is already set in stone.” He said. 

“But, isn’t the timeline vague?”

“No, not really. Because things have to happen in a certain order. There has to be a specific series of events, one after another. If those events don’t happen, then a timeline can collapse in on itself.” He said. 

“Yeah, but does it have to be those specific things? Like if a person is going to get hurt that day, does it matter if they break their leg versus breaking their arm? Wouldn’t either one fulfill that slot in the timeline?”

“If one is destined to happen, then it has to be that specific one. The timeline doesn’t deal well with substitutions. If I see that one thing in particular has to happen, I have to ensure that it does.” He said.

…What?

“I’m sorry… I think I must be misunderstanding something.” I said. My voice was so faint that it almost died in my throat. 

“I thought that the timelines were much more abstract than that. Like, John Doe wakes up, drinks coffee, goes to work, goes home. I thought it didn’t matter what time he wakes up or what kind of coffee he drinks. So, you can see those minute details? You know exactly what will happen and when? And those things are all set in stone? They all show up in the timeline, unchanging?”

Miguel went quiet.

“You know every single detail of someone’s life, down to the second.” It was now an accusation. And he knew exactly what he was being accused of. 

Surely I was wrong; surely there was something that was getting lost in translation between the two of us. 

All I wanted was for him to interject; to tell me that I was wrong.

He looked down at the ground as he tried to find something to say. 

“That’s not… sweetheart, there isn’t… I don’t…” He stumbled over his words before falling completely silent. He looked like a guilty child. It was as if he had been caught and was desperate to cover it all up and to make it go away.

It all hit me at once. 

“You said that you used to watch him and I. You used to look into our timeline. That’s how you knew I didn’t belong there after I was supposed to die. That’s also how you saw him and I in our more… intimate moments. That means that you saw all of the timeline.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Thousands of thoughts shot through my head, each one worse than the last. 

He knew.

He fucking knew and he did nothing.

“You knew he would die. You knew when and where and how. You knew every last detail, down to the second. You could have stopped it.” 

“It was a canon event for your timeline. It was destiny; it had to happen. You know this.” 

“No, I didn’t know this. Having a vague idea that something will happen is completely different than this. You knowing he’ll die someday is completely different than knowing every last fucking detail. You could have stopped this. You could have prevented it. But you didn’t.” 

“You’re misunderstanding the situation.”

“No, Miguel, I don’t think I am.” He turned his gaze from the ground back to my face. He bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at me. 

“What are you wanting me to say?” He asked. “I did my job. I did everything that I could to protect you and to ensure that your loved ones would have a timeline to continue to live in.” 

“If you had let him live, then you couldn’t have taken me.” I said. He had already admitted that he was jealous that my version of him got to have me.

“If I wanted to take you, then there wouldn’t have been anything that could have stopped me.” 

“No, I don’t think you would have taken me if it would have meant leaving a version of you completely alone. I think you’re too narcissistic for that. You had to let him die to excuse taking me.” 

“I saved you.” His voice was low now; it was almost a growl.

“You say you love me and yet you put me through that. You could have saved me from being devastated, yet you did nothing. Why could you let me live but not him?” 

“Because he was supposed to die!” He yelled.

“So was I!” 

“And I couldn’t watch you die again!”

“Then you didn’t have to watch! You could have just let me die!”

His mouth formed a hard line. I could see a deep line forming between his knitted eyebrows. He let out a low sound as he lifted his hand to his face. Slowly, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm himself down.

“No… no.” Was all he said. Somehow, his lack of anger scared me more than if he had started screaming at me. There was something eerie about how little he said. 

I winced, feeling another wave of nausea come over me. I pushed myself up from the table and began to make my way across the rooftop. I could see the top of a metal staircase on the edge of the building. I just wanted to get away from him. 

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked. 

“Home. Or however far I can get on foot, given that I’m trapped here.”

“I can take you home.” He said. He pushed himself up from the table

“Miguel, leave me alone.” I said. I made my way toward the stairs that wrapped around the side of the building. He began to follow after me, following me down the stairs and onto the empty street below. 

“None of those things should matter now because you love me. I can see it in how you look at me. I can tell by how you tried to comfort me when I had a nightmare and how scared you were when I came home covered in blood. You were scared because you love me.” 

“You really don’t see how you did anything wrong? Are you serious?”

“I saved you.” He repeated. 

“You kidnapped me. Besides, how do I even know I was supposed to die? How do I not know that you kidnapped me just because you wanted to?”

“Because I love you. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You love who I remind you of and that’s exactly why you would do that.”

The sidewalk was a perfect imitation of the ones in my home universe. The concrete was littered with opening in the sidewalk that contained small sets of concrete stairs. The stairs led down to small apartments that were partially hidden from view because of how low they sat. 

Miguel said something under his breath, but I didn’t hear what it was. Instead, I looked up at the sky. It was beginning to churn with heavy clouds. It was going to rain soon. I could already smell it in the air. 

There was a dip in the sidewalk in front of me. The tip led to a small set of concrete steps. 

It all happened so fast. I stepped forward, moving one heel in front of the other as I stepped down the concrete stairs. Then, all at once, the heel to my left shoe snapped, sending me down the four steps. I landed hard against the concrete at the bottom, landing directly on my wrist. 

I winced when I made contact with the ground. It hurt bad, but there was something else that was wrong. I pushed myself upward. I was sure that I had broken my wrist from the pain. But, as I lifted it upward, I saw that it wasn’t broken. The pain was coming from the broken metal that was stabbing at my skin.

The bracelet was broken.

I didn’t know much, but I knew that this was bad. This was very bad. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see Miguel dashing after me.

“Miguel, I think it-” my words were suddenly cut off 

Pain shot through me, infecting every nerve. It felt like I was being set on fire.

My body jerked hard, but it wasn’t like anything I had ever experienced. When my muscles and limbs jolted, parts of them blurred or smudged and then disappeared in brightly colored fits.

What the fuck?

“Miguel!” I screamed. He quickly reached for my arm. His hand caught my skin before I could disappear again. 

“You’re glitching. Just hold on.” His fingers slipped under the metal band of the bracelet. I whimpered, trying to hold still for him. But, as soon as I was able to keep my body from shaking, another wave of pain shot through me, followed by another hard glitch. 

I was glitching out of this reality, but I wasn’t being pulled into another one. 

I screamed. It felt like I was dying.

And maybe I was. Based on how panicked Miguel looked, I knew that that was a very strong possibility. 

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. I’m going to fix this.” I closed my eyes, trying to focus on something other than the pain. 

“No, no, no, no.” He whispered. I could hear the fear in his voice as he tried to fix the bracelet. His perfect hands worked impossibly fast, tearing at the metal and the small gears and pieces that rested below it. He was desperate. As he worked, his face was painted with a look of agonizing panic. 

For the first time in a long time, he was truly terrified.

My body spasmed again. This time, the pain was worse. I couldn’t keep myself from screaming. 

I felt him jerk hard on something in the bracelet. Then, after a moment, he pushed something back inside of the metal casing. 

I sat still, waiting for another wave of pain to overtake me. But instead, I was left sitting on the cold sidewalk. I opened my eyes, suddenly very aware that Miguel was watching me with a wild stare.

Whatever he did, it seemed to have worked.

Miguel leaned forward. I wanted to say a soft ‘thank you’, but before the words could leave my mouth, he leaned forward and pulled me into his lap. 

He pressed my body against his chest, caging my body in his arms.

“You’re okay… you’re okay, sweetheart.” The words weren’t for me. He was desperately trying to prove it to himself that I was alright.  

“Miguel, I’m okay. I think you fixed it.” I squirmed slightly, but he didn’t let me go. 

Hell, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Miguel.” I protested softly. However, he seemed to take my complaints in a very different way.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. This won’t happen again.” He whispered.

Won’t happen again. 

What the hell did he mean by that?

The inside of the house was dark, save for the faint glow from the kitchen. Miguel sat me down on the ground, allowing me to stand upright. 

“How do you feel?”

“Nauseous. Plus my wrist hurts, but I don’t think there’s anything that can be done about that.” He lifted a hand upward. He ever so lovingly brushed my hair out of my face. 

“You’re going to feel sick for a while from glitching. I’m not sure for how long, though. It’s different for everybody.” He whispered. His voice was soft and gentle. 

I wanted to tell him that I had felt nauseous before I glitched. I felt sick when he was swinging around with me, as well as when I was allowed to leave the house for the first time in what had seemed like forever. But instead, I nodded along to what he said. 

I sighed to myself as I began to step toward the stairs. My head was pounding and I felt like I was going to be sick. 

“I’m going to go upstairs and sleep for a while.” I said. 

“I can carry you up there.” He moved toward me, but I quickly shook my head. 

“Miguel, I’m fine. I don’t need you to carry me.” He immediately backed off. Any chance of me loving him was hanging by a thread right now. He knew that hovering was only going to start a fight.

As I began to make my way up the stairs, I felt Miguel staring at me. It was the same sad gaze that he would give me when I washed the dishes after dinner, or when I was stretched out on the couch reading with my legs thrown over his lap. It was also the same look he had given me the first night we had made love and the night that I had cleaned the blood off of him and given him a bath. 

“Please stop looking at me like that.”

It made me feel weird when he looked at me like that. It almost made me feel bad for being angry with him.

When he was moony eyed like this, he almost looked innocent. Maybe he was aware of that.

“I love you.” Miguel said.

A part of me wanted to tell him I loved him, too. I mean, I did. But right now, I just wanted him to leave me alone. I needed to calm down before I ended up screaming at him. 

While there was a part of me that loved him, there was also a part of me that hated him. I hated what he had done, between the fact that he had kidnapped me and that he had hid so much from me. He had hid these things because he knew what would happen. He knew how I would react. 

When I reached the top of the stairs, I half expected him to follow after me. But, when I glanced over my shoulder, there was no Miguel to be found. I sighed, shaking my head. 

I made my way down the hall, trying to keep from falling as I walked. I made my way into the bedroom and quickly crawled into the bed. I just wanted today to be over. I didn’t know how much else I could handle. 

I pressed my back against the mattress, feeling the room spin. Was glitching supposed to make me feel like this? Maybe this was all just a mixture of glitching and nerves. I had been nervous before the bracelet had broken, so surely that was to blame for my sickness.

As I laid there, I tried to remember when the last time I had gone outside before today. Then, another question hit me.

How long had I even been here? Five weeks? Maybe six? Seven?

I tried to count backward to when I had been taken. But, no matter how many times I did it, I came up with different numbers. 

And no matter how long I had been here, I hadn’t gotten my period yet. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

I pushed myself off of the mattress and scrambled to the bathroom. 

I jerked open the bathroom cabinet and immediately began to throw random things on the floor as I searched for the pink box at the back. 

He knew this would happen. He had bought a box of pregnancy tests for this exact purpose. 

He had wanted this to happen. I remembered his smug comments the first night we were together. Whatever happens, happens. 

If I was pregnant, I could already imagine how gleeful Miguel would be. I could imagine him beaming with pride as I got bigger and my stomach became more obviously round. I could also imagine him becoming infinitely more protective than he already was, if that was even possible.

I spotted the box laying against the back of the cabinet. I quickly pulled it forward and ripped the top of the box off. The bathroom was going to look like a tornado had hit it, but that could all be dealt with later. 

I flipped over the box and quickly read off the instructions. It was all standard fair.

Sounds simple enough.

I sighed as I tried counting backward again. I just wanted to know how long I had been here. Maybe Miguel would tell me if I asked. 

Or, maybe he would ignore the question altogether. 

I pulled down my underwear and then sat on the toilet. Downstairs, I heard something move across the floor. 

What the hell was he doing down there? Something fell against the floor and I heard him swear to himself.

I peed on the stick as I read off of the back of the box.

Replace the pink cap and then wait three minutes. 

Great.

I did as it had said and pushed the pink cap back onto the now-wet end of the stick. 

A part of me didn’t trust the first one. Maybe it would be wrong. Maybe it was going to be some kind of false result. Who knew how long the tests had been under the counter? Maybe they were expired. Could these things expire?

Without hesitation, I grabbed a second test out of the box and quickly repeated the process. 

I needed to know for sure. 

I sat the second one on the counter beside the first. Then, I began to pace around the bedroom, careful not to step too loudly. I didn’t want to draw his attention to my pacing. I needed time away from him to calm down.

It was then that I realized I was still wearing the pink dress. I sighed and quickly began to pull at the zipper. It came undone and I discarded it on the floor. Then, I pulled on another one of his shirts that he had folded and placed on the dresser.

Given the fact that I never saw him wearing any of his shirts, I wondered if he had placed it there for me. 

Miguel was more than capable of being sweet to me when he wanted to be. He would often bring me small gifts and always offered to help with whatever I was doing. He would follow me around like a shadow, ensuring that I was taken care of.

God, he really did see me as his little pet.

Several minutes passed before I ventured back into the bathroom. I was scared to look. 

Slowly, I peered over the side of the counter, looking for the little windows in the middle of the tests.

There they were. Each window was lit up with identical pink plus signs.

I was pregnant.

I had curled up under the blankets, burying my face in one of the pillows. The room was dark and quiet. But still, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was running at a thousand miles per hour, flooded with too many thoughts to keep up with. I was overwhelmed by it all, and the nausea didn’t seem to help. Nor did the two pink sticks that I had placed on the bedside table. 

I could deal with them later. I could throw them away and forget about them. But, even though I knew that they were just plastic and they couldn’t hurt me, I couldn’t help but glance up every so often just to stare at them.

I hadn’t had the stomach to leave the room in almost an hour. Maybe Miguel would just forget about me and I could just stay up here forever. Maybe he would get bored of me and send me home. 

But, when I heard a series of footsteps at the end of the hall, I knew that all of my hopes were in vain. 

Miguel tapped his hand against the door twice before stepping inside. Since when did he knock?

“Sweetheart?” He let out a low sigh. “I know that today was… rough. But, I…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Maybe there was nothing that could make this better. Maybe this was how things were simply supposed to be.  

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment; or maybe, this was simply him having to live with the consequences of his actions.

“I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you. All I have ever wanted was to keep you safe.” He stepped deeper in the room, moving toward the bed. As he walked, the light from the open bathroom door shone around him, casting a long shadow against the far wall. “And you’re alive and you’re okay, so I don’t consider any of my actions to be failures.”

“You kidnapped me.” I mumbled. 

“But you’re alive and you’re safe, so I would try to be a little more grateful.” As he made his way across the room, something caught his eye. He turned toward the bathroom. He saw the contents of the bathroom cabinet strewn across the floor. 

“Is there something you were looking for? Do you need me to get you something?” He asked. I rolled my eyes as I pushed my face deeper into the pillow. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sitting close enough that he could reach out and touch my legs but not so close that he would spook me.

“Go away, Miguel.”

“I know you’re upset with me, but I want you to know that I love you and that I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to talk.” 

“I feel like shit. Just go away.” I said. I grabbed onto the edge of my blanket and went to move it upward to shield my head. I didn’t want him to see me and I didn’t want to see him. 

However, as I went to haul it upward, Miguel grabbed the blanket, keeping it in place. Slowly, he reached forward and laid a hand on my leg. 

“I can make you something to eat before you go to sleep.”

“I don’t want anything to eat.” I pulled on the blanket again. Still, he held it in place. 

“Just let me look at you. I need to make sure you’re okay.” He leaned upward, moving so that he could see the back of my head. “Sweetheart, roll over and let me look at you.” 

I knew that if he wanted to, he could easily force me to roll over. The idea of that was too demeaning to bear. I groaned and slowly turned over. His eyes met mine and he offered a faint smile. 

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

“Miguel, stop patronizing me and just go away.” 

He ignored my comment as his eyes danced over my face. He gently placed the back of his hand on my forehead. “You feel clammy.”

“And you’re burning up. Stop touching my forehead before I throw up on you.” I said. I winced as I squirmed out of his touch. His skin was too warm, even in contrast to the cold house.

“You still feel that sick?” He asked. I nodded, pulling on the blanket again. Though, this time, I was able to pull it upward, hauling the blanket up until it was just under my chin. 

The only reason he had let me pull on it was because now his attention was turned to the night stand. On it, he saw the two pregnancy tests.

Without saying a word, he pushed himself up from the bed. He walked around the side of the mattress, moving so that he was standing in front of the bedside table. Miguel leaned downward and grabbed onto one of the pregnancy tests. In the dim light, he inspected it carefully. 

“Oh.”

What the hell did he mean by ‘oh’? I glanced over and watched as he looked down at the second test for confirmation about the results of the first one. He eyed it carefully, checking and then double checking multiple times before he said anything.

Sure enough, each time he looked, he saw the same pink plus sign. 

“Well, at least we know that you aren’t dying.” Really? That’s all you have to say?

He had gotten exactly what he wanted. Why wasn’t he saying something… nicer? Something sweeter?

He sat back down on the bed, sitting down on the empty space that rested between me and the table. He held the pregnancy test in one hand and reached out for me with the other. A warm hand landed against my clothed shoulder. He gently slid his fingers downward, moving over the area where the shirt ended and my bare skin began. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For letting him die or for knocking me up?” The second part made him smirk for a fleeting moment. However, the look quickly disappeared and was replaced with his standard, serious glare.

“I’m sorry for our misunderstanding.” He said. 

“That’s not an apology.” He glanced down at the floor. When his eyes looked back at me, they seemed softer somehow. 

“I’m sorry…” he tried to find a decent middle ground. He wanted his words to make me happy, while somehow absolving him of blame. “For how things turned out. And I’m sorry that we see things differently.”

I rolled my eyes. I could feel another wave of nausea beginning to wash over me. I closed my eyes and leaned back into the pillow behind my head. 

“Miguel, I really don’t feel good. I don’t want to argue about this right now.” He let out a low sigh. 

“Okay.” He sighed. “I just want you to be happy here.”

“Miguel, I can’t stay here. I can’t be alone all the time. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I know.” His voice was so soft that I almost didn’t hear him. There was a layer of pain in his voice. He knew, somewhere in his soul, that this was wrong. But, his own selfishness usually fought off that aching feeling.

Slowly, he leaned forward, moving toward my face.

He pressed a gentle kiss against my temple. Then, he quickly dipped down and pressed a second kiss against my clothed shoulder. Without missing a beat, he slid his hand under the blankets and gently pulled them down to expose my body. 

I watched as he leaned downward, moving so that his face was level with my abdomen. Then, he pressed a gentle kiss against my stomach. He lingered there for a moment, his fingers tracing soft lines over the top of the t-shirt. As he touched me, I felt my heart skip a beat. He was so gentle with me; so careful not to do anything that could hurt me.

His fingers were warm against my skin. But somehow, unlike before, the heat wasn’t making me feel worse. It actually felt nice to be touched. But I couldn’t tell him that. 

I was fighting a weird mixture of anger and a want to move into his touch.

Miguel then moved upward, moving so that his eyes met mine once more.

“I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done to you.” He actually seemed to mean it this time. “I love you. I just hope that someday you’ll understand that everything I have done has been an act of love.”

I reached up and brushed my hair out of my face. As I did, his hand moved to caress the side of my cheek, sliding back to push several stray curls behind my left ear. 

He flashed a gentle grin. As he did, he showed his white fangs. He was gorgeous… and terribly lovestruck.

“I’ll get you some ginger ale and saltines.” He whispered. With that, he pushed himself up, moving so that he was standing again. He gave me a soft smile and then began to make his way toward the door.  

My chest hurt just looking at him. I knew that if he left, I would just end up begging for him to come back later.

“Miguel…” Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Please don’t make me spend the night alone, craving your touch and your skin against mine. 

But, none of that came out. I could only say his name. But, that seemed to be enough. He stopped in the doorway, his fingers brushing the frame. He turned to face me. In the dim light of the bedroom, I could see a flicker of hope in his eyes. 

I had him wrapped around my finger, for better or worse.

“Come back.” I said. Without hesitation, he did as I asked. He slowly made his way back to the bed, careful not to startle me.

I lifted my hand upward, curling two fingers toward me. It was a motion he had made to me about a dozen times at this point. 

“Get in.” I said. He quickly nodded as he climbed over the side of the bed. His devotion was charming, if nothing else. 

He crawled across the bed, moving until he was sitting close to me. Then, he carefully maneuvered himself closer, stopping only once his body laid behind mine. His chest pressed against my back. He curled his arms around my body, moving them so that he was cradling me against him. Each touch was featherlight. 

He didn’t want to hurt me. 

Once he had settled into his spot behind me, he pressed a gentle kiss against my shoulder. 

“I can be a good husband.” His voice was low and pained. It sounded like he had thought about this a lot. 

This was what kept him up at night; what made him tremble in the early hours, forcing me to wake him from his nightmares. 

He could be good to me. He could make up for every little failure. 

He knew could fix this; he could make this all better. He just needed time. 

But, time had never been overly kind to him. 

I glanced over my shoulder, moving so that my eyes met his. His eyes were the color of warm coffee in the dim light.

Miguel offered a soft smile. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he leaned forward, moving his face closer to me. 

He pressed his lips against mine. The kiss was soft at first. He was hesitant, but as I leaned in closer, that gave him all the encouragement he needed.

I squirmed in his arms. I wanted to move; I wanted to be closer to him in a way that wasn’t going to make my back hurt in the morning. 

He groaned, releasing his hold on me long enough for me to roll over. I twisted in the blankets, moving so that my chest pressed against his. All the while, we never broke our kiss.

Our lips slid against one another, eagerly giving into another’s embrace.

“Thank you for saving me earlier.” I murmured. He nodded, sliding one hand down the curve of my hips. He gently grasped onto the back of my thigh, lifting my leg so that it wrapped around his hips. 

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you.” He ground himself against me. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

“No chance in hell.”

“Then what does this mean?”

“I thought I was your wife. I can be pissed at you while doing other things.”

“You don’t seem upset.” He dipped down, pressing an open mouth kiss against the curve of my neck. 

“I’m still extremely pissed at you, Miguel.” I said. My voice was more serious now than it had been before.

“I can tell.” He taunted. He sucked hard on a small piece of skin, careful not to let his fangs cut into the flesh. Once he was sure there would be a small bruise, he let go of the skin with a soft ‘pop’.

“Shut up.” 

“I could always make you forgive me.” He remarked. I rolled my eyes as I felt his hands roam under my shirt. 

“How so?” His lips curled into a dark smirk against my skin. I knew that he wouldn’t elaborate on his vague threat. 

I pushed my arms against his shoulders, motioning for him to lean backward. 

He did exactly as asked, moving so that his back was pressed against the mattress. 

“I thought you could make me do things.” I commented. He smirked, flashing his white teeth and glistening fangs. I pushed myself upright, then moved to straddle him. But, as I did, Miguel quickly leaned forward. Any smugness that he had melted away, suddenly replaced with a deep concern as he reached for my body.

He was making sure that I didn’t fall. 

“Careful, sweetheart.” He whispered. He slipped a hand under my back, pulling me gently on top of him. I moved one knee to either side of his waist, making it so that I was straddling him. 

A lovesick smile slid across his face. 

I hated him. Or, at least, some part of me did. But when I looked at him, it was hard to maintain that same level of rage.

He seemed okay with knowing I was pissed at him. He figured it would pass. I could practically hear him now with his ominous ‘it always does.’ 

That was another thing that I hated.

I hated how he assumed that he always knew best; how he assumed that he knew every single thing about me. Maybe he did, or maybe he was just an ass. But either way, he always seemed so smug about all of it.

I looked down at him, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, he was completely happy. 

The night drifted on, filled with sweet nothings and gentle touches. 

When our lovemaking drew to a close, Miguel clung to me, whispering soft professions of love. They were words that didn’t seem to fit someone who was so easily capable of bad things. 

As the night faded to morning, I felt him fall asleep against me. But instead of his usual nightmares, this time he didn’t stir. He slept with his face buried in my neck and his hand on my stomach.

For the first time in a long time, he was at peace.

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@manlikemilesmyguy​ @obivari @wtvidgaftbh @brooks-lin​ @miloisntme​ @aeeliy  

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #Miguel Ohara smut #Miguel ohara x you #Miguel o'hara x you #Miguel ohara imagines #Miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader

[of-cauldrons-and-inkpens]

You Missed My Heart: PART 2

PART 1 LINK      |      PART 2 LINK      |      PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different.

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not.

Word Count: 11,305 

Author’s Note: I swear I re-wrote this three different times and all of them were drastically different. I checked for typos, but I’m posting this at four in the morning so there may be a few. 

Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, dub-con (if you squint), piv, oral, unprotected sex; Miguel gets injured at one point; Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

I groaned as I opened my eyes. My face was pressed in the crook between where Miguel’s ribs and arms would normally meet. He had moved me there in the middle of the night when I had managed to drift too far away from him. I had tried to squirm and protest, but I ended up caving before he would let go. I knew he was stubborn enough to pin me there out of spite and it wasn’t worth it.

Miguel was still awake somehow. It was dark in the room, save for the faint light that drifted through the curtains. Whatever time it was, it was either too late or too early for him to be up.

“Go back to sleep.” Miguel said. His voice was stern but gentle. I slid my hands down and grabbed onto the edge of the blanket. I hauled it upward, pulling it over my head. He let out a low chuckle as he watched me try to disappear.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Just after three.” He leaned down and pressed a quick peck against the blanket that covered the top of my head. “Get some sleep.” 

I glanced up at the gap between his chest and the blanket. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting his features in soft lines and shadows. He looked angelic. He was focusing on something in front of him, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows every so often. 

What was he doing?

I gently pulled down the blanket so that I could see what he was up to. 

Miguel was propped up on a pillow that leaned against the headboard. His eyes were focused on his hands, which were held out in front of him, spaced apart by about six inches, palm facing palm. Threads glistened between his fingers in the moonlight. His fingers were twisting and weaving new threads around the ones that lay between his fingers. The thin webs had been pulled from his spinnerets in his upper wrists. It was like watching someone play cat’s cradle.

One of his arms rested on my back. It didn’t hurt; it wasn’t even uncomfortable, but it did hold me in place, only allowing me the bare minimum of space for my chest to move as I breathed.

“You should go to sleep, too.” I said. I turned my head back and buried my face in his chest. He smiled, continuing to work. 

“I’m not tired.”

I glanced up at him. His dark eyes were beautiful like this. His face looked peaceful. I was too tired to see if he was lying or not.

“Have you gotten any sleep yet? Any at all?” I asked. He shook his head. 

“I’ll be alright. Just close your eyes.” 

I nodded, too tired to argue with him. I started to say something, but the words slurred together until I fell silent. Sleep pulled me in, welcoming me warmly. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered, never faltering in his work. 

Something clattered to the floor downstairs, ripping me from my dream.

I winced, feeling the sun burn my eyes as it streamed in through the window. I tried to push myself upward, but I was overtaken with a dull ache in all of my muscles. 

Fucking hell.

It felt like I had been in a car crash. Every part of my body hurt. But, the most noticeable ache was between my legs. I swallowed hard as I pushed myself upward. I needed aspirin. 

As I moved, I couldn’t help but notice a divot in the bed on Miguel’s side. It was lined with sheets that had been ripped through. The hole was a decent size; roughly the size of a fist and a couple of inches deep. 

It hadn’t been there last night. At least, I hadn’t seen it there.

I slid my right hand over to touch the edges of the divot. It was the perfect size to accommodate Miguel’s hand. But why was it there?

I winced, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my body. If he was in a decent mood, I could ask him about it. If not, it didn’t really matter.   

I leaned over and grabbed the bottle of aspirin. As I moved, a faint twinkle caught my eye. I flipped my hand over. In the middle of the night, Miguel had slipped something around my ring finger. It was a thin band that had been braided from webbing and then tied off on the front of my finger with a small knot. 

Huh.

I tapped my thumb against the material, expecting it to stick to my finger in the same way that the web had stuck to my ankle last night. But this one didn’t. It had been worn smooth by his fingertips. The material looked almost silver in the early morning light. When I pulled my hand into the shadows, it looked almost like braided moonstone. 

I wasn’t sure whether to feel violated by the fact that he had placed a wedding ring on me in the middle of the night, or impressed by the precision it had taken to make it. 

I turned my hand back and forth, inspecting the thing from all angles. If I had known him for any meaningful amount of time, it would have been a sweet and loving gesture. 

I groaned. It was a gift from the man who had basically kidnapped me from my home, but still, I needed to take whatever nice gestures I could get, no matter how presumptuous. 

I unscrewed the cap and dropped several pills into the palm of my hand. I pushed the first pill into my mouth. As I went to swallow, I couldn’t help but notice the faint numbness that lingered on my bottom lip. It was in the exact spot that his fangs had nipped, either on purpose or mistake.

That’s… weird.

I swallowed the pill and then leaned down to touch my thighs. Bright red marks covered my legs, showing off his handy-work. I quickly slid my fingers along the skin… only to meet the same result. 

The skin was numb. It was almost impossible to move the half centimeters of flesh that had been ever so gently nicked. He hadn’t bit me; not really. Just a graze was enough to do that. 

Jesus.

I winced as I downed the second pill. Then I pushed myself up from the bed and made my way to the dresser. I needed something to wear. But, I wasn’t wearing more lingerie. It already hurt to walk; I needed time to heal before I wore anything close to that again. I sighed as I stepped across the room, looking for something to wear. Miguel had laid his sweatshirt from last night on the dresser. I was sure that he had left it for me after my complaint last night. 

Maybe it was a peace offering. Or maybe the sex had been the peace offering and this was just him being nice.  

I quickly pulled it on. It was long enough to cover my hips and a good part of my thighs. I quickly snagged a pair of underwear from the dresser and pulled them on, as well.

Downstairs, something else clattered to the floor. What the hell was he doing?

As I stepped into the hallway, I noticed the boxes that had been piled up outside of the yellow door. I flipped open one of the cardboard tabs. Inside lay my things. At the bottom of the box, I noticed the sleeve of one of my sweaters. He had brought me my things, just as he had said he would. Did he ever go to sleep last night?

I padded down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen with every step. I figured that that was where he was. He didn’t seem like the kind to just linger around the house, looking for some kind of mindless activity to fill his time. He seemed too serious for that. 

I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately greeted by an unexpected sight. He was standing in front of the stove, pushing around eggs in a skillet. The downstairs was cold from the winter air but he was still wearing only a thin t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

He was a portrait of domesticity. 

I watched him closely as I stepped into the room.

“I made breakfast.” He said. 

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked. I couldn’t help but notice that the shattered plate had been picked out of the sink and had been thrown into the trash. He turned to meet my gaze. The dark circles under his eyes told me everything that I needed to know. 

“Miguel, you need to go back to bed.”

“I’ll be fine.” He frowned as he pushed the spatula around in the skillet. “I made coffee.”

“Thank you.” I made my way toward the coffee pot that rested on the counter beside him. As I did, his eyes never left the stove. I reached for one of the coffee cups that had been laid out for me. As I did, I glanced back at Miguel. God, he looked tired. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” I asked. 

He scoffed. “I sleep perfectly fine.” 

“Okay then.” I muttered. Guess that was a touchy subject for him. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed the coffee pot. I filled the mug with the dark liquid. As I leaned forward to slide it back into its original spot, Miguel stepped to the side and pulled open the door to the fridge. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a container of creamer and handed it to me, then slinked back to the stove before the eggs had the chance to begin to brown. 

“Thank you.” I said. Warm light from the kitchen caught the ring, making it twinkle again. I considered asking him about it, but I decided not to. Surely he would bring it up if it was something that he wanted to talk about. 

A dark strand of hair fell across his forehead as he focused on the skillet. “Do you need any help?” I asked. 

He quickly shook his head. “What’s on your mind?” I wanted to get even a scrap of conversation from him; I needed some idea as to what he was thinking about. Maybe I should just leave him alone. Maybe he liked to exist in silence. I mean, if nothing else, he seemed used to it. 

“Work. How did you sleep?” He asked. 

“Okay, I guess.”  I added the creamer to my coffee and then returned the container to the spot where he had pulled it from. I carried my mug back to the counter, watching as he lifted the skillet off of the stovetop. I lifted the mug to my lips but then suddenly jerked it back. The glass was hot; it burned the skin of my lower lip everywhere except for the small spot in the center of my mouth. 

“Fuck!” I touched the skin and was met with a familiar numbness. 

Miguel dropped the skillet onto the stove and rushed forward. Within seconds he had cleared the area between the stove and the counter, moving so that he was standing directly in front of me. He towered over me, wasting no time to invade my personal space. “Sorry, I’m fine.” I said. I brushed my fingers along my lip, grazing the burned flesh and then the numbed skin. It felt weird and I didn’t like it. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Let me see.”

“It’s fine. I just burned myself.” He shook his head before reaching down and gently grabbing onto my chin. He pulled my head upward. My eyes met his for a moment before he turned his attention down to the mark on my mouth. 

“Move your hand.” He instructed. I did as I was told and dropped my hand down to the cold stone of the counter. 

“Miguel, I’m fine. I promise.” He didn’t believe me; I could tell from the deep line that had formed between his eyebrows.

“Open wide.” He instructed. His thumb slid across my lower lip. The touch was feather-light; almost too gentle, too caring. 

“Your face is red.” He remarked.

“This is demeaning.” The words slurred together as he inspected my mouth. 

“Is your lip numb?” His perfected vision could see the minute scrapes against my skin; tiny cuts that had been collateral damage in the excitement of the previous night. 

“A little bit.” He winced, but quickly fixed his expression before I could comment on it.

“It should wear off in a couple of hours. You weren’t actually bit so the effects shouldn’t be too bad. Just be careful not to hurt yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

“What if you had bitten me?” I asked. He released my jaw from his hold. 

“That’s not something you need to worry about.” 

“But if it had… let’s say I’m someone else and you bit me, what would happen.” His face twitched. Something flickered behind his eyes as if he was considering it. His eyes didn’t leave my face.

“That’s not… no.” 

“Miguel, it’s a basic question. I barely know anything about you. If you’re planning on keeping me here, then I want to know-” he cut me off.

“And I said no. Damn it, why isn’t that enough for you? What are you wanting from me?” His voice was sharp and cold, like metal. Suddenly, the device on his wrist let out a low chirp. He glanced downward. 

He gave a low sigh. “I’ll get you a plate. You didn’t eat anything last night.” He turned and quickly began to mess with the thing on his wrist. 

I glanced down at the counter. A chorus of beeps came from his wrist as he worked. I gently slid my teeth against my bottom lip; the numbness was strangely fascinating. 

Without a word, Miguel sat the plate down in front of me. Steam drifted off the fresh eggs that covered the plate.

“Thank you.” He didn’t answer me. His eyes lingered on my face for a long moment before he leaned back against the countertop.

He rolled his hand around his wrist, moving his eyes between me and the device. “I have work to do today. But I restocked the fridge so there’s plenty for you to eat. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. The TV in the living room works, as does the stereo. Most of your books should be upstairs, so you should have plenty to occupy your time.”

“Thank you.” I said. I stabbed a bright yellow piece of egg with my fork. “How long are you going to be gone?” I asked. 

“Are you going to miss me?” He paused, waiting for a response. I nodded, partly because I knew it was the right answer and partly because I thought I would, even if just a little bit. He smiled, proud of my answer. “It shouldn’t be too long. Just a couple of things to correct, then I’ll be right back.” There was something about the way that he said the word ‘correct’ that made me wince. He meant kill; I thought of the blood on his face and knew what he meant when he said he fixed things. 

“Is there anything you think you’re going to do today?” Miguel asked. He wanted to know my plans for the day. Well, gee, Miguel, I’ll probably stay trapped here. 

Then something occurred to me. I was the only person here and I knew more of what was going on now. There was no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to explore.

“Can I leave the house?” I asked.

“And where would you go?” It seemed ridiculous to him to even ask. Why would I ever want to leave when I could sit in an empty house all by myself and pretend I wasn’t his prisoner?

“Out.” I said. “Maybe walk around the block. Is there another block or does it stop after what I can see from the front stoop?” 

“There’s other blocks. But I don’t understand why you would want to leave the house.” 

“Fucking hell, Miguel.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I turned my attention to the plate. He ground his teeth together for a moment. He was choosing to ignore what I had said. 

“If you need something to occupy your time when I’m gone, I’ll get you a pet.” That doesn’t replace the fact that I wanted to leave the house. I wanted to pretend that my life was normal, even if there was nobody in Nueva York anymore. I could still act as if things hadn’t changed. 

“Ah, a pet for your pet. Doesn’t that seem a bit redundant?” I muttered. That jab had been entirely intentional. 

It was true, though. I was a pet to him; maybe I received different forms of affection than the standard house cat, but the same rules seemed to apply. He would come and go as he needed; I was to stay where I had been placed, always ready and willing to entertain when he came back. 

He rolled his eyes as he leaned against the counter. He continued to poke at the device on his wrist. “I’m ignoring you.” I rolled my eyes as I continued to eat. 

“It isn’t fair to lock me inside of a house and never let me leave. You ever heard of cabin fever? I’m going to end up going insane in here.”

“I highly doubt that.” His hair bounced as he spoke. He was shaking his head at me while he messed with his device. 

“Miguel.”

“You’ll be fine.” He said it like it was the end of the discussion. Hell, it wasn’t even a discussion; he just kept saying no. 

“Come on!”

“Is there something you’re wanting to say to me?” His tone was harsh. 

“Yeah, you’re really pissing me off.”

“You’ll get over it. You always do.” 

“Just tell me why. If you think I’m going to run away then where would I even go? There’s nothing out there. So why?” 

“It’s for your own good. Just stay in the damn house.” I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the cooled coffee. 

“You never fucking tell me anything and then you get pissy when I ask questions.”

“I am not being pissy.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. There was a long moment of silence between us. 

“Don’t call me pissy.” He muttered. He sounded more annoyed than actually angry. He almost sounded like an annoyed child. I had to fight back a laugh at how petulant he sounded.

A weird silence hung in the air. I began to eat, ignoring how he fixed his eyes on me. Though, any time I would look up to catch his stare, he would glance back down and fiddle with his wrist. 

"I really do believe that you could start to like it here. I think you just need time. Then, you'll start to warm up to me."

He brushed his hair off of his forehead and let out a low sigh. "You do love me. You just need time." He said the first part for me. He repeated the second part for himself.

I did love him, at least a little bit. Even if just for the fact that he looked so much like another version of himself; a sweeter version… a softer one. 

Maybe he was capable of being that way. Or, maybe he was too far gone. 

His eyes moved upward to meet mine and I felt a sudden wave of shame wash over me. 

"You look beautiful this morning." He said. 

“Miguel,” I asked. His features softened at the sound of his name. “Is there any chance that I’ll ever get to go home?” 

He winced. “If you go back to your timeline, one of two things could happen. Either time will find a way to correct itself and you will die or everything will collapse in on itself. If that happened, it would kill every single person you’ve ever known and billions more.” A bright light shone from his wrist. 

It was time for him to go. 

He let out a low sigh. “I don’t…” His voice trailed off. He looked down at the ground for a moment. “I can’t send you back to die. I won’t.” 

I guess that was my answer.

He stepped toward me. His face had softened. “I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I didn’t reply. He moved closer, stopping only once our bodies were almost touching. 

I looked at him, unsure of what he wanted. He leaned down, placing a finger under my chin. It was the gentlest touch he could manage, yet it was backed with unfathomable strength. He lifted my chin up to meet his gaze.

“I love you. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Be a good girl for me. Okay?” I nodded. He pushed a quick peck against my lips before he walked off, heading toward the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room. Once he vanished from sight, I heard him begin to speak into his device.

A pink and orange light enveloped the living room; it was so bright that I winced. The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

Then, just like that, he was gone. 

I sighed to myself. Well, no time like the present. 

I pushed myself up, grabbed my coffee mug, and headed upstairs.

He would be gone for hours. There was no harm in exploring, especially since he wasn’t here to stop me. If he didn’t want to tell me anything, then I would have to find it out for myself. After all, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. 

I stared at the yellow door upstairs. Not knowing what was inside was going to eat me alive. I knew it wasn’t an office; Miguel didn’t stay here long enough to do anything but drag me around and then try his idea of a romantic gesture. Maybe it was a storage room, but even then he was entirely too cagey about the whole thing. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person to have some kind of mindless hobby. 

Maybe he was living out the story of Bluebeard and there was something macabre inside. Maybe there was something perverse inside. 

It didn’t matter; I had to know. 

I pushed several of the boxes out of the way. I slid them several feet to the left. I could just move them back when I was done and he would never know. Stepping forward, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Then, I gave a firm twist. 

It was locked.

Damn it. 

Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He’s the one who locked me up. He’s the one who said I couldn’t leave the house. He’s the one that did all of this in the first place. 

I couldn’t help but notice that the locks on my door and this door were different. This door was aimed at keeping other people out of the space; mine was aimed at locking me inside, like a princess in a tower. 

I needed some way to get the door open. I was sure that I would understand this all a little better if I could just figure out why he was so determined to keep this a secret from me. 

Then, I remembered my Miguel fighting with the floorboard in our bedroom. Before he embarked on his noble mission to defeat the squeaking sound, he had bought a case of beer and a new set of screwdrivers. If this version of him was so determined to make a perfect copy of my house, then he would have added the set.

I dashed to the hall closet and quickly pulled out the black plastic case that rested on the bottom shelf. Bingo! I plucked the screwdriver from the box and then walked over to the yellow door. I knew that with the old style of lock, I just needed to get the metal inside of the keyhole to move. If it moved, then the door would pop open with no issue. 

I slotted the screwdriver into place and then twisted hard. At first, it didn’t even flinch. Then, after a moment,  the lock groaned and then popped open. I quickly twisted the brass door handle and smiled as the door opened. I pushed the door open wide and then flipped the lightswitch. 

What the fuck?

The room was small. Every wall had been painted a soft yellow; it was a step up from the stark white that the original room had been. A small stuffed elephant lay in the middle of a crib that was pushed against the far wall. A framed ultrasound sat on the bookshelf. Little pieces of a life; of hopes and memories, all packed away to be forgotten.

None of this was from my timeline. In my universe, this was just his office. It was where Miguel would disappear to for most of the night after returning from work. After he died, I locked the door and pretended the room didn’t exist. When the men from Alchemax showed up to take the cardboard boxes filled with his work, I didn’t even have the courage to peek inside of the room. The room was the black hole in the house, eating away at any chance of sleep or happiness that I had. 

At least that was something this Miguel and I seemed to share.

I stepped into the small room, moving toward the bookshelf that rested against the far wall. The shelf was the only thing that looked familiar. 

A box rested on the bottom shelf. I quickly dipped down and pulled it free. I flipped the lid and discarded it onto the floor in front of me. The box was filled with small photos. Some were older than others, each faded and weathered to different degrees. I sunk down to the floor. I moved so that I was sitting criss cross. 

I reached inside of the box and pulled out one of the photos. The picture was weathered, but I could still make out a version of me staring up at him with an adoring gaze. She wore a wedding dress and he wore a suit. 

Jesus.

I sat the photo on the floor beside me and then reached into the box and fished out a small handful. I started to sift through them, viewing little pieces of Miguel’s life as I went. When I reached the last three photos, I stopped. They were pictures of Miguel holding a little girl. She was small and perfect, with his eyes and his smile. 

His child. 

I winced as I looked at the pictures. The last photo was of Miguel and I standing behind her. She was sitting in a small plastic highchair with a cake in front of her. On it, there was a glowing candle in the shape of a ‘1’. Miguel’s mouth was open in the process of saying something as I laughed. It was a moment that was frozen, giving him a small slice of time to keep when it all disappeared.

Fucking hell. I leaned forward and put the pictures back in the box. I didn’t want to look at this anymore. I felt my stomach flip as a wave of nausea overtook me.

However, as I leaned over, I spotted several more photos in the bottom of the box. But, I did know these pictures. I just hadn’t known that they had been taken. In two of the pictures, I was inside of the bookstore that I had worked at. They were pictures of me, taken in my universe. But, when did he take them? After my version of him died, I didn’t go back to work. I was lucky if I left bed most days. So these pictures were older than that. 

Suddenly, I became aware of the footfalls that came from the stairs. 

Miguel was home entirely too early. 

And I was still in the nursery. My head was still spinning from the pictures. I tried to make myself get up and frantically put the pictures back, but I couldn’t make my body move.

I heard him begin to make his way toward the bedroom. But, when he saw that the yellow door had been opened, he picked up his pace. 

I didn’t look back at him when he stepped into the doorway.

I didn’t want to meet his gaze.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” His voice was lined with rage. I stared at the wall. I could hear him swearing under his breath, his tone flickering between pissed to sad and then back again. I glanced back to look at him for a moment. His face was tight and his eyes burned red. 

“This was your office… I’m sorry, his office.” I lifted my hand upward to point at the wall with the small window. The window had been decorated with pink curtains. “His desk was against that wall.” I glanced to the side of the room and then pointed at the left wall. “He kept all of his boxes against the wall. I only ever went inside of the office once and that was when I heard him and my dad arguing about something. But I never… I never found out what it was.” The screaming had happened two days before Miguel died and I couldn’t help but wonder if the two things had been connected. 

“I just wanted to know what was in here. That’s all.” I said. "Are you planning on locking me in my room again?" I asked. 

"No."

The man stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost. His features softened as he watched me. He walked deeper into the room, moving so that he was standing over me. He sat down on the floor beside me. His large frame was only a foot away from me; close enough to touch, but not so close as to scare me. As he sat there, I was once again reminded of how his body had always dwarfed mine. His body was large enough to provide me with either the utmost care or utmost cruelty, depending on which Miguel I got. 

“You had a child?” I asked. 

He winced. “I did.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” My voice was little more than a whisper.

“No.” It was a sore spot for him. It was then that I noticed that he was focusing on the far wall, unable to meet my eyes. 

I was also a sore spot for him. 

I looked down at the floor as he began to speak again. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said. His face twitched. His eyes began to fade from red to brown. He was reliving all of his failures, past and present. 

“I understand.” I said. He let out a dry laugh. 

“But you don’t. You really fucking don’t. Do you know what it’s like to watch you die in every timeline? Every universe? Either before or after me, there you go. Either you burn to death or are crushed or get killed in a car crash or die in some freak fucking accident… and I’ve had to sit and watch.” 

He shook his head. Several dark strands of hair fell across his face. “I’m not a good man. I’ve done… horrible things.” I flinched at his words. I couldn’t tell if it was self awareness or just simple self hatred. “I just wanted a part of you that was entirely mine. A piece of you that I can love and… keep.”

He said the last part so casually. It was as if it was all just a part of the daily dysfunction of a man with a savior complex and the full power to act upon it. He had everything a man or god could ever want, except for the power of self control. 

What he had done was unfathomably wrong, but the smallest part of me could understand it. The only real difference between us was that he actually could do something about it; when I lost everything, I could only lay in bed and cry. 

However, there wasn’t enough money in any timeline to make me admit that to him. Telling him I understood his actions would only feed into the delusion that this was right… that this was inherently good. 

I nodded slowly as I took in his words. He leaned back against his arms. He pushed his hands against the hardwood as he looked around the room, as if reliving a memory. His face was crestfallen. 

My fingers brushed his. He flinched, but then gave into the touch. I slid my fingers on top of his, pinning his hand between my skin and the cold hardwood. He sat still for a moment, taking in the small crumb of affection. Then, he lifted his pinky, moving it so that it slipped on top of my ring finger. 

He glanced down at our hands. His eyes became fixed on the small ring; he was entranced at the fact that I hadn’t taken it off yet. 

Miguel opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly changed his mind. He closed his mouth, allowing for the silence to overwhelm us. 

We were both kind of pathetic. But, I felt especially so at how I still wanted some kind of closeness with him. 

I didn't want to be alone, even if the only option was with the crazy man. 

I glanced up. My eyes met his.

I leaned forward, moving so that my face was only inches away from his. The room was cold and I was sure that he could see the hard goosebumps that had formed on my skin. His eyes danced over my face before drifting down to my lips. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, but it was as if it was stuck. Whatever words he wanted to say wouldn't come out. 

I filled the last inches of space between us. Slowly, I pressed my lips against his. Our lips moulded together, fitting like puzzle pieces. He let out a low groan.

He pulled his lips away from me, giving me a chance to catch my breath.

He lay his forehead against mine. Then he whispered something that was so faint, I couldn’t hear most of it. But, I could have sworn that the last words were a soft "I’m sorry."

The next few weeks, we existed as ghosts. He barely spoke to me. On the rare occasion that he was home during the daytime, I would often catch him staring at me with a weird mixture of adoration and sadness. He was gone until late most nights. I had taken to crawling onto the couch and falling asleep there most nights. The house was too empty; too quiet. He wouldn’t come back until late and would then, without fail, haul me back to the bedroom. I would awaken every morning to a cup of coffee on the bedside table. He would squeeze my shoulder gently, though he was always gone by the time I opened my eyes. 

My head lay against one of the pillows that I had dragged downstairs from the bed. I sighed as I turned over. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just weird to try and sleep when there was no noise coming from outside. I had gotten so used to the sounds of the city lulling me to sleep. Now, I would toss and turn for hours until I would turn on the TV for some noise. 

I pulled one of the blankets higher up on my body. The house was freezing. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. 

Just after two.

Where was he? He usually came back around one or so. He was late. Time was ticking on and he was nowhere to be found. 

Damn it. I winced, realizing that I was actually worried about him. 

Suddenly, a bright light filled the first floor. I jerked upright, turning toward the kitchen. “Miguel?” I asked. I quickly pushed myself up from the couch and made my way to the kitchen.

"Miguel?" I repeated. I flipped on the light to the kitchen and saw him standing there. He was doubled over with one hand grasping the back of a chair. Blood dripped from his nose onto the faded tile below. 

"You need to go to bed." His voice was rough. I stepped deeper into the room, ignoring him. He let out a groan as he tried to pull on the back of his suit. He reached for something, but he couldn't grasp it. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath. I stopped several feet in front of him.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Blood covered his bottom lip. His face was bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone. It was a gash that was slowly oozing dark blood. 

"Oh my God. Miguel!" I rushed forward, filling the distance. 

"It's not as bad as it looks. They’ll heal, they just need a bit of time.” He said. Blood ran down his jaw as he spoke. He looked bad; bad enough that, if he had been the other version of himself, we would have immediately been on the way to the hospital. 

There were several gashes that had managed to cut through his suit, exposing the skin beneath. 

Dear God, what the hell happened to him?

"Go away." He said. He waved his hand, motioning for me to do as I had been told. He leaned over the side of the counter. Bruises were blossoming on his tan skin, painting him in shades of blue and black. 

"Just let me help you. Are there any bandages in the house?" I asked.

"I don't need help."

"Miguel." 

"What?" His voice was harsh; his words lined with actual pain. 

"Stop being so damn stubborn and just let me help you." I said. I walked over the lower cabinet and pulled out a hand towel. I stepped back toward him, hoping that he would soften.

Instead, he scowled at me. "Go to bed. You're just working yourself up over nothing."  

"This isn't nothing." 

He rolled his eyes as he stepped forward. "I'm completely fine." His leg went out from under him. I tried to catch and steady him, but instead, we both tumbled to the ground below. 

I watched as several of the more superficial cuts on his body began to close. 

"Jesus, Miguel. What happened?" He shook his head as he pushed himself off of the floor. 

"It's nothing. That's why I didn't want you to see any of this." He paused. "What the hell are you even doing down here?" He grabbed onto the counter to steady himself. Part of me expected to see him break the counter under his fingers. 

I pushed myself off of the floor and rushed to his side. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked. He shook his head. 

"I'm going to clean up. Go to bed." He winced as he stepped away from the counter. Based on the way he winced as he touched his side, he probably had a cracked rib.

I couldn't imagine anything that was strong enough to do this to him. Unless it had been something, or several somethings, that were all exactly like him. 

"I'm going to help you." I said. I eyed one of the deeper bruises that covered the side of his jaw. He caught me staring at the dark mark. 

"They'll heal, I swear. I can heal relatively fast." He said. Fear tore through me. What if he was wrong? What if he was lying? He hadn't meant for me to see him coming home. He had fully intended on keeping this hidden from me, regardless of how badly he was hurt. "The worst ones are the cuts but even those will be fine in an hour or two."

I had already lost him once…

He glanced over at me. Fear swirled in my eyes as I watched him. Based on the way that his face twitched, I knew he could see it. 

He glanced down at the floor. Then, he leaned to the side and caught my arm in his gloved hand. His touch was gentle, but commanding.

"Come here." He instructed. I shifted toward him, moving until his chest was almost touching mine. I could hear his steady heartbeat and feel the warmth that was pouring off his skin. 

"I love you. I promise I'm okay." His voice was no more than a whisper. 

"Just let me help you." I said. He sighed to himself, giving in to my attempt at kindness.

The downstairs bathroom was quiet. Miguel was perched on the edge of the tub, watching as I leaned over the edge of the basin.

I turned the metal handles to the tub. Warm water spurted into the bottom of the tub. I watched as it began to pool at the bottom. Outside, I could hear the thunder boom. Rain beat against the roof of the house, filling it with the soft sound of water hitting 

"This isn't necessary. You should go back to sleep." He said. He pressed the towel to his face. Most of the blood had stopped flowing. 

"I wasn't asleep." 

"Why not?"

"The house is creepy at night. It's too quiet. I'm used to actual sounds from the city and there just aren't any here."

"I'm sorry." 

"It's fine." 

Soon, the tub was filled three quarters of the way. I leaned over and quickly turned off the flow of water. I straightened my stance and then looked back at Miguel. He offered a soft smile. A bruise blossomed just below his eye, though it immediately began to fade away. 

"I was really worried about you." I admitted.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?" I didn't believe him. He looked rough. It was as if he had been dragged through hell. It hurt to look at him too long. 

"This is all… purely superficial. I'll be better soon." I crossed my arms. Worry and fear covered my face; it was impossible to hide. 

"Sweetheart, there's nothing to worry about." His voice was like warm honey. He lifted his hand upward and motioned for me to come to him. Without question, I did. 

One arm gently curled around my waist. The other drifted upward to ghost the side of my face.

"I'm okay. This all just…" he sighed. He leaned his face forward and gently touched his forehead to my stomach. Warm skin pressed into my shirt. I could feel him slowly inhale as he breathed me in. Then, he lifted his face, peering up at me in the dim room. "This is just how it is." His voice was no more than a whisper. 

"You look tired." He said. He noticed the dark circles under my eyes.

"You're one to talk." He let out a humorless laugh.

His fingers slid across my cheek, wiping away a dark droplet that had landed on my skin. The material on his fingers was smoother than I had imagined. 

"You don't have to take care of me."

"Well, you don't seem to have any sense of self preservation. So if I don't, I don't figure you'll take care of yourself." I said. He looked at my face for a long moment. A soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

"No, that's not it. I think you care about me." Pride bubbled in his voice. I rolled my eyes. 

"Strip and get in the tub."

"Yes, Ma'am." He taunted. He winced as he reached backward again, tugging at the neck of the suit. His usual gracefulness was gone. He groaned, pulling at the back of the suit to no avail. 

"Are you okay?" I asked. He winced again as he tried to grab onto something that wasn't there. 

"I got hit earlier and I think the thing broke. I can't get it to move." His fingers worked over the material but it was no use.

"Here. Let me get it." I said. He stooped downward, moving so that I could actually grab onto the back of the material. He awkwardly leaned over as I pulled at the metal on the back of the suit. It looked like there had once been a zipper, but the tiny handle had been busted. Below it were several small clasps that had been bent down to cover the path of the zipper. 

"They really did a number on you." I murmured. I pushed my thumb under one of the clasps. I bent it forward, moving it so that I could see the path of the zipper. I did the same for the other pieces of metal that had become deformed. Then, I pinched what remained of the head of the zipper. I pulled the zipper downward, hearing him sigh softly when I unzipped the material between his shoulder blades. His skin spread out between my fingers, warm and slightly wet from sweat.

"There you go." I said. I released him and stepped backward. He should be good to go now. 

I watched as he effortlessly peeled the suit off of his bruised body. The bruises were changing in color, some getting darker as others began to fade before my eyes. 

He pulled the suit off of his arms, then down his muscular torso. As he reached his hips, I looked away, suddenly very aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing anything beneath the skin tight material. 

My face turned bright red. I looked at the door behind us, waiting for him to climb into the water. "You're blushing." 

"No, I'm… just get in the water." I heard him chuckle as he stepped out of the material. He crudely folded the material and then tossed it across the floor. It landed in a pile beside my left foot. I rolled my eyes. 

"Sweetheart, you don't have to look away from me." He said. I heard the water move as he stepped into the tub. I turned around, watching as he sank into the bath. 

I watched a dark bruise on his bare collarbone fade into his skin before disappearing. It was as if it had never been there to begin with. 

He was always full of surprises.

Miguel leaned back against the cold metal of the tub. Outside, lightning shot across the sky. It filled the room with a sudden white light. 

“I’ll clean up the floor in a little bit.” He said. The tiles in the kitchen and bathroom were stained and slick. In the dim light, the droplets on the floor looked almost black.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to go to bed after this.” I said. “And you’re actually going to sleep.” 

"That's what you think." He muttered. 

"Are you always this stubborn?” I asked. 

"Only for you, sweetheart." 

I grabbed a towel off of the counter and gently dabbed it against his cheek. His eyes focused hard on my face as I tried to tend to his fading wounds. He was attempting to read my features. I sat down beside the bathtub.

“Do I want to know what happened?” I asked. It wasn’t a playful or light question. He could hear the weight in my voice as I cleaned his face. 

“You wouldn’t like me anymore if I told you.” It was such an honest comment that I could tell it pained him. If I knew what he did when he was away, then any chance of me loving him would vanish.

Maybe it was best that I didn’t know. 

"Are you in any pain?" I asked. He shook his head. 

Steam from the tub drifted upward, clinging to his strong chest in thick beads.  

"Why have you been ignoring me for the last week?" I asked. His face tensed.

"I haven't been."

I scoffed lightly as I gently wiped his face with a towel. "And you said I was bad at acting." 

"I've had a lot on my mind." He said. I nodded slowly. 

"You can talk to me." I said. He offered a faint smile. He couldn't, because it was most likely about me. 

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. He shook his head. 

"No, I promise." I looked down at the tile floor. I didn't know what to say to him. Something weird hung in the space between us.

Suddenly, his voice cut through the cold air. 

"Get in with me." He said. 

"What? No." I said. He furrowed his brow. He hadn't expected me to refuse. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Because you're wounded and I don't want to hurt you."

He let out a low laugh, almost as if he was mocking me. "Believe me, it's impossible for you to hurt me. Now be a good girl and get in the tub."

"You know I'm not your pet, right?" He smirked at my words. A pet was exactly what he considered me to be; maybe a darling pet that he seemed to have a steadfast devotion to, but a pet nonetheless. I rolled my eyes and began to stand up from where I had been perched. 

"Come on, sweetheart. Just get in with me. Please?" His voice was warm, much like his eyes. I sighed as I watched him. 

A nagging voice told me to just walk off. Just go to bed and ignore him. He was clearly fine. Everything that he said would happen, had actually happened. He was healing up perfectly fine. He didn't need to be babied; he was a kidnapper, not a stray cat that needed to be brought in from the rain. But still, I couldn't make myself leave the small bathroom. 

"Please?" He repeated. I groaned before I stepped back from the tub. I grabbed onto the bottom of my shirt and pulled it upward. I hauled it over my head and then discarded it onto the floor. My pajama bottoms and underwear followed close behind.

Stepping forward, I felt the cold air bite into my skin. I winced before casting a leg over the edge of the tub. I had picked the opposite side of the tub to where he was sitting, though something told me he had wanted me to climb on top of him. 

I sank into the water across from him. I lifted my hands to my chest and quickly crossed my arms in an attempt at maintaining some sense of modesty. Miguel's eyes traced over me, drinking me in. His gaze was so intense that it made me squirm. 

"Stop staring at me." I said. 

"You're beautiful." His voice was low and warm. I readjusted my arms to make sure I was covered. I wracked my brain, searching for something to say.

"So, what's the thing about this timeline?" I said.

"What do you mean 'thing'?" He asked. 

"What makes it different from my timeline? I mean, there's absolutely no way that everything is the same. And, even with all of the people gone, there's got to be something weird here."

"Firstly, ouch. Bold of you to assume that my work isn't perfect." He lifted his index finger as he playfully chided me. 

"What's the second thing?" I asked. 

"Secondly, aren't we enough of a 'thing'?" We were both here. That was weird, as far as timelines went. We were both alive and okay, regardless of how we had ended up here.

"Come on. Surely there's something weird here. Maybe they call tuna by some other weird name or maybe the movie Titanic doesn't exist here."

"Well, you're the only person here, so you can call tuna whatever you want. I may mock you if you choose something ridiculous, but that's entirely your choice. Also, I don't think that any movies have ever come out here." 

I watched his face as he spoke.

Goosebumps danced across my skin as I sat in the water. "I think I'm about to get out. The house is too cold to be in here." I said. 

He leaned forward and reached out his arms. In one smooth movement, he hauled me upward and he pulled me into his lap, making sure that my back was pressing into his chest. He leaned backwards, lifted his right thigh upward, and promptly placed me there. His other leg spread outward. His warm skin pressed into my back. I could feel the hard outline of muscles as I sat there. I squirmed.

"This isn't fair." I murmured. 

"Sure it is." 

"How do you figure?"

"I dragged you over here, fair and square." He smirked. He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder. I rolled my eyes as I turned to look at the window. Rain beat down against the empty city. Clouds drifted across the sky, leaving several patches visible. 

"The stars are different here." I said. 

"Hmm?"

"The stars." I lifted my hand upward. I pointed toward the window to show him what I meant. "Pegasus is supposed to be right there. It's gone. The only one there is Andromeda."

Andromeda. The chained woman. 

The irony was not lost upon me. 

My ring was my chain; Miguel my warden. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to take the ring off or to truly push him away.

He pressed another kiss against my back. This time, I could feel the stubble of his jaw scrape against my skin. 

"You're warm." I murmured. He smiled against my skin. 

"I'm glad." He gently sucked on the soft piece of skin. I gasped, feeling his fangs graze for a moment. Though, by the time the sound had left my lips, he had already pulled back. 

"Sorry." He said. He inspected his handiwork on my flesh, making sure that he had not broken the skin.

I glanced over my shoulder, watching him as he slid his fingers along the skin of my back. He was enjoying getting to touch me. He could still see the novelty in how new it was.

When he shifted under me, I felt the hard shape of his erection brush the back of my thigh.

Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder again. I leaned backward, moving until my back touched his chest. I looked up at him. His eyes were warm and soft. 

"What?" He asked. Without a word, I kissed him. He sighed against my mouth, moving slowly and carefully. As he did, I felt a familiar want beginning to stir inside of me. Slowly, I pulled away from him. I then tried to move off of his leg and was mildly surprised when he didn't try to hold me down. Instead, I lifted my hips upward and began to rearrange myself in the water, moving so that one leg sat on either side of his hips. 

I slid my legs around his waist and then pushed myself closer to him. The bottom of the cast iron tub was slick beneath us. It was hard to arrange myself in the water, but somehow I managed. Miguel leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips. As he did, I lifted my hands upward and grabbed his shoulders for leverage.

“Careful, careful.” Miguel said. He placed a hand on the curve of my back to make sure that I didn’t slip in the water. 

“Aww, so you can be nice.” 

I smiled as I slid my hands across his strong shoulders. I could feel all of the muscles flex under my fingertips. A soft smirk painted his lips. God, he was gorgeous. It wasn't fair for one person to look this perfect.

But, looking at him, he looked like he was bone tired.

He leaned in for another kiss, but I bobbed backward. He already looked clean enough; I wanted to tell him to get out of the water and go to bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked. He looked hard at my face, searching for something in my features. But, before I could speak, he followed it up with another question. "Are you scared of me?" He asked. 

"What?" It caught me off guard.

"You heard me. Are you?" 

A little bit. 

"I don't think you would hurt me." I said. It wasn’t a lie.

“I would never hurt you.” His hands drifted to my face. Gently, his traced his fingers along the curve of my jaw, taking in every feature. “But, are you scared of me?” 

I knew exactly what he was referring to. The eyes, the fangs, even the sheer size of him was intimidating. But, under all of that, he was still just Miguel. Even if he wasn’t my version of him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. 

“No.” I said. He offered a faint smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t believe me, but he seemed grateful that I would be willing to tell him what he wanted. 

“I love you.” He said. 

“I love you, too.” He smiled at my words. I knew that it would make him happy to hear them. They were only three little words, yet they seemed to mean everything to him. 

As I watched his face, I couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked.

"You look tired. You didn’t sleep last night. You haven’t slept any of the other nights, either. I woke up to go to the bathroom around four and you were still awake. " I said. 

“Yes, I did sleep.”

“I saw you… Please just be honest with me.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“No, you never are.” He rolled his eyes at the accusation. “Why don’t you ever sleep?” I asked. Rain continued its assault on the roof, growing louder as the storm reached its peak.

“I usually can’t.” Thunder rolled so loud that I looked toward the window. 

“Bad dreams.” A dark tendril of hair fell across his forehead. I reached forward and gently brushed it out of the way. 

“About what?”

He shook his head before he pressed another kiss against my lips. That was his way of changing the conversation. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. His hand snaked between our naked bodies. Without hesitation, he grazed my clit with the pad of one of his fingers.

I gasped at the sudden touch. But, I didn’t move away. His index finger swirled over the bundle of nerves, forcing my toes to curl. I inched my body closer to him, begging for him not to stop. 

He rubbed faster and faster. I could feel myself getting closer to finishing. Miguel watched me with a burning intensity; his eyes were dark lust as he worked. I ground my hips against his fingers, feeling the pleasure beginning to grow in my lower stomach.

Suddenly, it overtook me. I gasped and almost fell forward from how suddenly a blinding warmth shot through me. Each touch was too much; it felt like I was on fire. Miguel caught me before I could tumble off of his body. He held me as I twitched on top of him, spasming from his gentle touches.

As I began to drift back down from the orgasm, I could feel his cock as it lay against his stomach. He was painfully hard. Every time I would bob a little too far forward in the water, I would brush into it, feeling just how desperate he was. 

“I think it’s time to call it a night.” I whispered.

“You don’t want to stay in here with me, sweetheart?” His voice was velvety and sweet; his little nickname for me was lined with lust.

“No, because I’m not on birth control. You’re going to end up knocking me up.” I said it partially as a joke. 

He didn’t laugh.

Oh.

“Miguel.”

“We have children in every universe.” He said it so softly and calmly that it was as if he was saying the sun was yellow and the sky was blue. It simply was the way of the universe; it was how things were and always would be. 

“We didn’t in mine.” I said.

“Because he died. Besides, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.” My face turned bright red. There was something in the way that he said the last part that raised a suspicion I hadn't had before.

“Were you ever watching?” I asked. 

“Not from outside of the window or anything like that, but I did catch… glimpses in your timeline.”

“Miguel!”

“I was working!” He defended himself. “I never watched went out of my way to watch you two when you were… intimate. The only times that I ever spied on you were when you were alone.”

“What do you mean when I was alone?” I remembered the photos of me that I had found in the box. 

“When he was at work and I thought something would happen to you; when I was worried about you.”

He was telling the truth, at least as far as I could tell. 

“Why didn’t you ever spy on him and I?” I asked. I expected him to say that he respected me too much to do that. Then again, he treated me like a pet, so it was rather questionable how much he respected me.

“Jealousy, mostly.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time, sweetheart. He had you and he was always working; he was always gone.” He said.

“You’re always gone, too.” He frowned at the statement. 

Maybe all of the versions of him truly were the same. Based on how he winced, he seemed to be considering that fact.

“He couldn’t protect you because he was never there.” He said.

“Nothing happened to me. There was nothing to protect me from.” 

“But there could have been.” He was obsessed with the idea that I was fragile. Which, I mean, compared to him, I was. But he still didn’t have to be this worried. 

He was haunted by the idea of me dying and obsessed with the idea of saving me. Maybe it was to make up for his past failures.

“I’ve lost you in countless timelines. I could never risk it.” He winced. “But, you’re here now and you’re safe. You’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours.” He said. We belonged to each other, whenever or wherever we were. The notion both charmed and chilled me. But, one of those feelings quickly won over the other. Or maybe it was just the lingering effects of the previous orgasm.

“Do you want me?” I asked. I was hoping to sound sexy; I just sounded pathetic. 

“More than anything.” 

I leaned forward and gently grabbed his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips  upward so that I could have better access. I slid my hand up and down several times before I moved my body closer to him. As I moved, he held onto me, making sure that I didn’t slip in the tub. I carefully lined him up with my entrance, feeling another wave of want wash through me. I curled one arm around his shoulder. 

“Ready?” He asked. I nodded quickly as I clung to him.

I whimpered when he slid inside. My fingers dug into his shoulders. He groaned as he sunk all the way in. I felt my body stretch, trying to accommodate him. 

After a moment, I pushed my legs into the tub and lifted myself upward. He curled one arm around my waist, watching me in wonder and awe as I slid down again, making us both groan. 

I lifted one hand off of his shoulder. His body had been through enough tonight. I didn't want to risk the one-in-a-million chance that I grabbed onto a sore spot. I gripped the cold edge of the tub to balance myself. But, just as suddenly as I had placed it there, it was pulled off. Miguel pulled my hand into his, lacing our fingers together. 

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. I smiled, giving into his mouth. The kiss was brief; it was broken when I gasped against him mouth, feeling a warm pleasure begin to grow inside of me.

I bounced my hips, feeling him hit deep with every movement. I moaned. My stomach was beginning to tighten. 

He tightened his hold on my hand. One of his fingers brushed over the ring that I was still wearing.

I was his. I belonged to him. 

As if he could read my mind, he pressed his lips against mine again. 

When he pulled away, he said "Open your eyes."

I did as told. My eyes met his as I slid downward on his cock. Then, before my body could meet his, he thrusted upward, making me gasp.

"Keep looking at me." He said. I nodded as I lifted my hips upward. He groaned, quickly burying himself deep inside of me. He wanted to watch the way my face twitched with pleasure when he fucked me. He wanted to see what he did to me; what power he had over me.

I tightened my hold on his hand. If he was a normal man, I was sure I would have accidentally broken one of his fingers from how hard I was gripping him. 

I lifted my hips, then brought them down on him just as he slammed inside of me. We did it over and over again, forcing out gasps and moans from each other. 

“Miguel, I’m close! Don’t stop!” I moaned. I was so damn close. I could feel the tightening in my lower stomach every time he sheathed himself inside of me.

Then, all at once, I felt a wave of heat wash over me.

I gasped, clenching around him as I came undone. Pleasure coursed through my body, making my toes curl and my head fall back. Miguel pressed a kiss to the base of my throat as he hammered inside of me, not stopping his pace.

After a moment, he let out a low groan. He moaned my name and I was suddenly very aware of the warm fluid that filled me. It was leaking down my upper thighs and into the water around us.

The pleasure began to fade away. I gasped, trying to catch the breath that I had been holding. Miguel smiled and leaned back against the tub, his body tired and spent. A mixture of sweat and water glistened against his skin. 

It was around three in the morning. I could feel the exhaustion beginning to sink into my bones.

I moved to climb off of him, but just as he had last time, he held me in place. One hand held my hips in place, pinning me on top of him. I sighed, giving up any notion of fighting. It was useless; his grip was ironclad.

"Let me hold you... just for a little while." His voice was soft. His other hand drifted to the curve of my back. He pulled me forward, moving me until my chest lay against his. 

"I'm tired." I murmured. 

"I know, sweetheart."

I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear his heart in my ear. Its strumming was low and steady. His skin was warm. "I missed you." he said. 

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me directly, or some distant memory of me. But I would take what I could get. 

"I missed you, too." 

He pressed a gentle kiss against my damp hair. Outside, lightning cut across the sky. 

@levisbebe @amplsblog​ @spider-biter​ @taleiak​ @ladyfairenvale​ (I tried to tag everyone who asked! I’m sorry if I missed you!)

#miguel o'hara #Miguel Ohara smut #Miguel o'hara smut #Miguel O'Hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #Miguel ohara x you #Miguel o'hara x you #Miguel ohara imagines #Miguel ohara fan-fiction #Miguel ohara fanfiction #spiderman99 smut

[of-cauldrons-and-inkpens]

You Missed My Heart: PART 1

PART 1 LINK      |      PART 2 LINK      |   PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different. 

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not. 

Word Count: 11,107  Author’s Note: I wrote this instead of doing my college work, but I also didn’t proofread. Hopefully there aren’t too many typos! I’ll probably add more chapters in the following days/weeks Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

          Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

The dream was hazy. Miguel sighed as he began to inch toward the edge of the mattress, drifting out of the shared embrace that we had slept in. Arms and legs untangled from one another as he drifted away from me.

I reached my hand outward, catching onto his hand before he could slip away for good. “I need to go to work.” He whispered, his voice husky and warm from sleep. But, despite his protest, he lay back down beside me. “Don’t go.” I said. My hands worked their way through the darkness, moving to curl around his broad shoulders. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to feel his strong heartbeat against my chest and listen to him breathe one more time. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t real. I didn’t care that this was now a soft and distorted memory; this was all I had left of him. I had convinced myself weeks ago that if I dreamed of him enough, it would almost be like he wasn’t gone. “I have to. Alchemax is unveiling a new project today and I have to be there.” He leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. His breath was warm, working as a perfect antagonist for the frigid air of our bedroom. “Please Miguel.” I begged. He cut me off by pressing his lips against mine. The kiss was languid and wet. Our bodies were still naked from the previous night’s activities as he rolled on top of me. “Miguel…” I whispered. “Please don’t leave me.” “I’m not going anywhere.” He said. His lips slipped off of mine as he lowered his face, moving so that his mouth could graze the shell of my ear. There, he whispered the one thing I thought I would never hear again. “I love you…”

Something brushed the side of my face, pulling me from my dream. I jerked upward, searching for what had caused it. But I couldn’t see through the pitch black of the bedroom. In the darkness, I was so sure that I could smell him. He had been dead for months, but his scent still lingered in the walls and all of the soft places in the house. It was to the point that I was terrified of moving or washing anything; if I did, that last piece of him would vanish forever.

Hot tears slid down my face.

I had been crying again. But that had become such a common occurrence that I couldn’t even be surprised. Tears slid down my neck, soaking into the collar of Miguel’s Alchemax t-shirt that had been worn thin. Crying had become an every night thing since the funeral. Maybe if I could understand what the hell even happened to him, then I could be okay. But there had been no information about any of it. I had been told there was an accident at work and that there was nothing that could have been done to save him. But the term accident meant so many different things.

I lifted my hand to my cheek to wipe away the next batch of tears. But, as my fingers brushed my skin, I couldn’t help but notice the distinct warmth on that side of my face.

Had someone been here?

Had the gentle brush been entirely in my head?

I swallowed hard as my eyes searched the darkness. “Miguel?” I asked. But there was no answer. The delusional part of me wanted to hear him stir inside of the bathroom that attached to the bedroom. I slid my hand outward, searching through the sheets that would always remain cold.

The black out curtains that covered my window blocked out any light from the city. The only light in the room was from the small machine that Miguel had set up in the corner. I was never sure what exactly it did, but it always gave off a pale blue glow.

I glanced around the room, seeing that the pictures were all still lying face down on the dresser and bookshelves.

Nothing was different. He was still dead, and I was still alone.

I swallowed hard as I reached for the bottle of sleeping pills that sat on the bedside table. I had gotten them after stepping off one of the curbs in Nueva York without looking. But, before anything could happen, a man had grabbed me, jerking me out of the way seconds before my body had the chance to collide with the car that was racing down the street. Maybe if I hadn’t been so exhausted, then I would have thought before I walked.

The pills were my only chance at getting any rest these days. I unscrewed the top of the bottle, dropped one of the white pills into my hand, and then replaced the white plastic lid. I discarded the bottle onto the nightstand and then popped the pill in my mouth.

I just needed to go to sleep. If I could sleep, then I could see him again.

I leaned back against the sheets, watching the walls of the hallway through the open door of our bedroom. If I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn to God that I saw a faint orange and pink glow dance against the walls before being consumed by darkness.

No dreams came. My vision was dark, trapping me in a dreamless darkness. The pills always made my body heavy with sleep; it was almost impossible to open my eyes when I was like this. I didn’t see him in my dreams, but I could hear him. His voice was faint, speaking in delicate murmurs.

Fingers brushed against the skin of my face as he pushed several of my curls behind my ears. It was something he had always done, especially when I was sitting on the couch beside him. I had always wondered if he did it so that he could see my face or if it was just his way of getting my attention. But I guess that didn’t matter now.

I flinched at the reminder.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m here.” Miguel whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. I felt the bed move under me, sinking on the edge as he sat down. “I’m gonna keep you safe.”

“You need to drop this.” A soft female voice said. Her voice was no more than a whisper.

“I can’t do that.” Miguel’s voice was firm; he had already made up his mind.

“Miguel, you’re torturing her. Just leave her alone.” The delicate voice pleaded. Behind my eyelids, I saw pink and honey color light flash. “Give her time. Let her mourn then let her move on. Maybe she could be happy. She could get married and have a good life.”

“Lyla, I’m not sure if you know this, but telling me that my wife is going to fuck someone else and that that’s why I should let her go has the exact opposite effect.”

“Let her be happy.” The girl pleaded.

“She should have died. I’m saving her.”

“Miguel, please let her go. Please, I really-” I heard him click something, making the second voice fall silent.

Warm arms slipped under my legs as I was overwhelmed by the smell of Miguel.

My Miguel.

He smelled faintly of cologne, sweat, and something else. He pulled me into his arms, laying my body against his strong chest. I felt him grab a heavy arm and place it on his shoulder. Beneath my fingers, I felt a weird material cover his skin.

What the hell?

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t force myself out of the dream. The medication weighed me down, anchoring me into this strange haze.

Miguel bounced me in his arms a couple of times. I groaned, feeling him stand up. One of the blankets caught on my foot, tugging on my tired body. Miguel gently tossed the blanket onto the bed, offering a few more gentle bounces to my body as he started to walk.

“You’re going to be so happy.” He whispered. Miguel pressed a second kiss against my skin.

Blinding light came streaming through the window. I winced, lifting my hand to shield my eyes. I lay there for a moment before a thought occurred to me.

When was the last time I had been awakened by sunlight?

Miguel had always worked such random hours that we had hung thick blackout curtains over the window so that we had a chance at getting some sleep.

“What?” I pushed myself up in the bed, feeling my t-shirt drop down to cover the soft skin of my stomach. But the left side was caught on something, keeping that side of my abdomen exposed. I glanced down to see a thick bracelet that had been attached to my wrist. I pulled the shirt off of the bracelet, allowing it to fall and give me some sense of modesty as I glared at the contraption.

What the hell was this thing?

I glanced around, searching for some idea as to what was going on.

The only clue was a bright orange post-it note that had been pressed onto the bedside table. It was sitting between a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Plucking the note off of the table, I quickly began to read it.

‘Please don’t be scared. I’ll be back soon. Take this for your head. It will take a bit to get used to all of this.’ It had been signed with a name that immediately made me shutter.

Miguel.

No. No. No.

Did I die?

Or did I finally go insane?

I pushed myself out of the bed, searching for some clue as to what the hell was going on. This was my bedroom. At least, it looked like it was. The closet was the same, the bookshelves were the same, even the weird off-blue shade that Miguel had picked for the walls was the exact same.

It was then that something caught my eye. All of the pictures were sitting upright. I could see our mutual smiles behind the glass. They were photos of us on dates, photos of us at the weird events that Alchemax held, and even some of the more intimate photos we had taken of us in bed with our bodies barely covered by the thin ocean of sheets.

I stepped forward, moving toward the closet. I jerked one of Miguel’s button-ups off of the hanger and inspected it. The spot where he had spilled wine on the cuff was missing. Instead, the material was bleach white.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

Everything was familiar, but still foreign somehow. There were sheets that were the same color but didn’t have soft faded patches that had been acquired from stains during love making. There were clothes that I remembered wearing, but they didn’t have the small tears or stains in them. Everything was put together from memory, but it wasn’t my memory.

If I didn’t look too closely at it, it could almost be perfect.

Slowly, I stepped forward. As I moved toward the dresser, I stopped. In my home, my real home, there was a creak in the floorboard. Miguel had spent an entire weekend trying to fix it after we had moved in, but it was all in vain.

Maybe I was just paranoid. That was the only solution.

I leaned backward, then forward again in an attempt to get the floor to creak.

A deafening silence filled the room.

I reached down and pulled at the bracelet. It was heavy on my arm. I slipped my fingers under the band, attempting to pry it off of me. But it was no use. It had been secured at the base, making it impossible to remove.

Then, I did the only thing I could think of.

I ran.

I bolted from the bedroom, moving down the hallway. When I reached the stairs, I took them two by two. Frankly, I was amazed that I didn’t slip and break my neck. But fear is a hell of a motivator. I sprinted through the living room, searching for the front door of our house. I threw open the front door and rushed outside, ignoring the fact that I wore only a thin t-shirt and underwear.

I needed to get the hell out of there; I didn’t care about being modest at this point.

It was Nueva York; the buildings were the same, so was the noise. Sounds of construction, traffic, children playing, and music blasting filled the air. But, I couldn’t help but notice the main thing that was missing: no people or vehicles.

“Hello?” I called.

But I was all alone.

“Hello?” I screamed.

Something grabbed my hand, jerking me backwards. I stumbled but was caught before I could collide with the pavement. Strong arms curled around my waist and hauled me upward. I flailed my arms and kicked out my legs in an attempt to get free, but it was no use. The figure turned around and began to carry me back to the house as if I was nothing more than a doll. “You weren’t supposed to leave the house.”

I knew that voice. It was the one that haunted my dreams and filled my every ‘what-if.’

Miguel.

“What the fuck?” I screamed.

“Stop trying to fight me.” His voice was flat. I glanced behind me to look at him. He wasn’t my Miguel. His eyes flickered somewhere between chocolate brown and blood red. The muscles on his shoulders were more defined and the line between his eyebrows was deeper. But maybe that was because of the dark scowl that he wore as he carried me up the small steps of the brownstone.

When he stepped inside of the house, he threw me onto the hardwood floor. As my head hit the floor, he reached behind him and flipped the deadbolt.

That was to make sure that I didn’t try and escape again.

Miguel wasn’t dressed how I was used to. My Miguel always wore some kind of standard, normal clothes. Nicer clothes for work, soft pants, and sweatshirts at home. But this man, the imposter, wore a red and blue costume that stretched over his hard muscles and accentuated his domineering frame.

“You were supposed to wait. I said I would be back soon.”

“Who the hell are you?” I twisted my body so that I was sitting up on the hardwood floor. I pulled my legs close to my body, attempting to hide my thin underwear from him.

“You’re joking right?” He asked. He stood over me, inspecting me with a look of both confusion and disappointment.

“No, I’m not. And what the hell did you put on my arm?” I shook my wrist, trying to loosen the device.

“Stop trying to take it off. If you do, you’ll die. Unless that’s what you’re hoping for.” He said as he studied me. I froze.

“What?”

“It keeps you alive in this universe. You’re not from here; you don’t belong here, so if you take that off, you’ll glitch until you die.”

I glanced around the room, taking in all of the little imperfections. The room was wrong, reminding me that I was in some kind of strange prison.

“What is all of this?” I asked. Miguel stared at me at if the answer was so obvious.

“It’s our home.”

“No… no, it isn’t.” I said. “What did you do to me?” I pushed myself off of the floor. As I did, I pulled at the bottom of the t-shirt. The man stared at me, his eyes dancing between the terrified look on my face at the pale skin of my naked legs. As his eyes drank me in, I could see them turning to a deeper shade of red.

“Who are you?” I asked. He let out a dark chuckle. As he did, I couldn’t help but notice that sharp white fangs that protruded from his mouth.

“Sweetheart…”

“Don’t call me that.” I said. He rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’ve been very sweet to you. But now you’re starting to piss me off.” His voice was sharper this time. He moved toward me and I stepped back.

“Why do you look like him?” I asked. He knew exactly what I meant.

“Because I am him… in a way.”

“I don’t understand.” I said. He once again tried to fill the distance between the two of us. I stepped backward, feeling my back hit the side of the couch. “You died… he died.”

“In your universe, yes. Please call me Miguel. I know this may be new to you, but I am your husband, just a different version of him. I mean you no harm.” The dull ache from being thrown on the floor said differently. “I did all of this because I love you.”

“You don’t know me.” I said. I slid my hands against the side of the couch in an attempt to find something to cling to. He let out a dry laugh.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know you in every single universe. I’ve known more versions of you than you can imagine. Versions where you live, versions where you die. So, in a way, I know you better than you even know yourself.”

“If you knew me so well, then you would know Miguel and I never married.”

“Purely semantics. Besides, that’s something that I fully intend on correcting.”

“You’re insane.” I said.

“Don’t fucking call me that. You have no idea how hard I worked to fix everything for you; how hard I worked to make sure that everything would be perfect.”

“Miguel, where the fuck am I?” I demanded. “And I don’t want you to keep saying I’m home. This isn’t my home. Where am I?”

“You could be a little bit more grateful. You should have died.” He said. “You weren’t supposed to be pulled out of the way of a car and you were.”

Anger flashed through me. Just looking at him filled me with a mixture of rage and sadness that mixed together in a sludge that did nothing but make me want scream at him. “I’m supposed to be dead? You’re dead! I went to your funeral! There’s a goddamn sign in the Alchemax lobby for you.” My throat burned and my eyes stung with tears. “Was that all some kind of sick lie?”

“No, your Miguel did die.” His voice was matter of fact- almost cold. It was as if he had said this all a million times before. Hell, for all I knew, he had. Maybe this was some kind of sick game he liked to play. “But, that’s no matter. I’m here now. I made a little pocket universe for you; where you can live and where you being here won’t affect anything. You can stay here with me, and things will be exactly as they should be.” I glanced at the locked door behind him. “You being here won’t affect any other universe and it keeps you out of your own, making sure that all of the canon events happen exactly as they should. The canon is safe and you get to live. Two birds, one stone.” He was so proud of himself.

“Do I have a choice in staying with you?”

His face twitched at my question. “I’ve watched you cry for him at night. I’ve heard you scream and beg for him to come back. You wear his clothes and listen to his music and talk to yourself like he’s still there. For God’s sake, I’ve watched you touch yourself to pictures of him. I just assumed you would have had a warmer reception to me.”

“You had no right to spy on me.” I winced, remembering the feeling of my face being touched in my sleep. He had been there, watching me as I mourned. Besides, there was something in the way he emphases a warmer reception. He was hoping I would immediately adore him and drag him into the bedroom to screw until I couldn’t walk straight. He wanted us to immediately slip into some weird little habit where I pretended to be his loving wife. He said I died in other universes. Was I his replacement, just as he hoped to be mine?

Miguel sucked on his teeth before he stepped forward.

Without thinking, I twisted my body around and bolted toward the kitchen. I had no idea where I was even going; I just wanted to be away from him.

I got about five steps away before he reached outward and grabbed me. This time, his hold was harder. His arms crushed themselves against my body as he lifted me upward and began to carry me toward the stairs. This time, he was holding me so tight that I was sure he was going to break my ribs.

“You’re hurting me.” I gasped.

“Then stop trying to leave me.” He said. “You’re not going to get far and you’re just going to end up hurting yourself.”

He carried me up the stairs, his eyes dark red in the dim light. He carried me to the bedroom at the end of the hall. When he reached the room, he looked down at me.

“Say you love me.” It was a second chance. I paused for a moment, trying to find a way to fake sincerity.

He wasn’t my Miguel. He wasn’t my angel who I curled up with on the couch or who insisted on making me listen to old music that nobody but him would ever like. This man didn’t have that gentleness about him; he wasn’t sweet or loving.

“I love you.” I tried. I knew I sounded like I was faking it.

“At least I know you’re a shitty actress.” He muttered. He dropped me on the floor of the bedroom and then stepped outside before I had a chance to make another getaway. He slammed the door shut.

“Miguel, please let me out.”

“Ah, now you want to be nice to me.” He mocked.

“You kidnapped me. I’m sorry if I’m not the person you were hoping for. If you want someone better, just get a different me from some other place. I’m sure the universe is just littered with them.”

“I saved you. Your universe would have collapsed if it weren’t for me. I offered you the chance to live in a different place, where none of that can ever hurt you and you hate me for it. You want to be pissed? Be my guest. But in time, you’ll love me. I know you will. You always do.”

“Yeah, Miguel, it doesn’t feel like you’re giving me a choice in the matter.” I said. “Why can’t you just find another girl? Anyone else?”

“It has to be you. Because it always is, no matter what. Every time, we end up together so I can’t just grab some random person. Besides, there aren’t too many of you who aren’t already with some version of me. Stealing wives from other versions of me just sounds wrong.”

Yeah, that would be the wrong part. Not the whole kidnapping thing. He keeps flipping between lunatic and romantic who is waxing poetic about our deep love. Maybe I would have been charmed if I had actually known this man. Plus, there was something weird about the way he said it. Had he considered it? How did he find widows versus wives?

“Miguel, sweetheart, how about you let me out of here and then we can find some kind of arrangement that we both like?”

He rolled his eyes as he locked the door from the outside. “When you decide to be the version of you that I know and love, then we can talk.”

Bastard.

I kicked the door, but I knew it was useless. He was already walking away from the door. In the distance, I heard his voice as he began to speak to someone else.

“Lyla, I’m a little busy right now.”

“It’s urgent.” She said.

It was hours before he came back. I didn’t hear him when he was stepping toward the door. I only heard him when he unlocked the door and let out a low sigh.

“I brought you dinner. It’s in the kitchen. I expect you to eat dinner with me tonight.” He said.

“Thank you.” I squeaked out. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. I was starving. Besides, if this was his idea at a peace offering, who was I to reject. He obviously didn’t want to return me to my real home. Maybe I should just get used to this. “I’ll be down in a minute. I want to clean up a little bit.” I said.

“I’ll get everything ready.” He said. With that, I heard him step away from the door of the bedroom. At least he was receptive to me needing a moment, rather than dragging me downstairs to eat right now.

I sighed to myself as I pushed myself off of the bed. I couldn’t just wear a t-shirt and underwear. I already looked like an absolute mess. My face was swollen from crying and my curls had turned into a frizzy mess from being manhandled so many times in the last twenty-four hours.

My best bet was a shower to calm me down and hopefully take away some of the puffy redness around my eyes and nose. I didn’t want him to see that I had sobbed when I was alone; he may have carted me around in my underwear, but I still had my dignity.

There was a small bathroom attached to the room. It was one that I was familiar with. It was exactly like the one at my house; there weren’t any superficial tweaks that he had made. At least, none that I could see upon first inspection.

I quickly showered, scrubbing my body gently as I went. As I slid a loofah along the sides of my body, I winced. Dark bruises were starting to blossom across my ribs from where he had squeezed as he carried me.

Damn it, that hurt!

I winced as I washed my body, careful not to aggravate any new sore spots that I had gotten. I then washed my hair, making sure that it was nice and clean.

Stepping out of the tub, I realized that I hadn’t grabbed a towel. I was sure that he would put them where I always did. After all, that was really the only place for them in the bathroom. I quickly ducked down and pulled open the door to the bathroom cabinet. The towels had been stacked on one side, random trinkets and things he had brought for me rested on the other. I snatched a towel from the pile as I eyed the objects.

They were the usual fair, mixed in with a few oddballs. Tampons, deodorant, razors, women’s shaving cream, a perfume that I wore pretty often, a couple of bottles of hand and body lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, an eyelash curler, a new tube of mascara, hair gel, and a dozen or so other hair things. I sighed and quickly added several of the things to the counter. I needed to brush my teeth and do my hair. As I stacked those things on the counter, I couldn’t help but notice that there were more things resting against the very back of the shelf. Against the wall sat two small pink boxes that were still in their clear wrapping from the drugstore. I frowned as I pulled them forward, moving them closer so that I could see them. The first was a new box of pregnancy tests. I shook the box; sure enough, it actually contained what it said it did. Part of me expected the box to be a decoy and to either be empty or filled with something outwardly sinister, like a camera. Why did he buy me pregnancy tests? I flipped the second box over and was greeted by a bulk box of ovulation test strips, meant to check for when I was ovulating. I winced equally at both of the packages. I quickly shoved them back into the cabinet and closed the door.

Part of me wanted to know why those were what he chose to buy me; the other part was scared to know the answer.

I quickly stood up and began to dry off. It was a short time between when I finished showering and when I stepped out into the bedroom, my hair styled with my curls down, my teeth brushed, and my skin dried of any excess water.

Stepping to the closet, I noticed that all of the dresses in the closet were too formal. Most of the clothes that I typically wore were missing. No t-shirts, jeans, or even standard pajamas. Damn it, Miguel. I quickly walked over to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer.

Based on what was there, my best bet was the baby pink nightie that lay on the top of the pile of clothes. It was obviously new; a tag was still attached to the spaghetti strap and frankly, I had never seen it before, so I figured that it was something he had picked out himself.

I pulled the dress on, wincing when it stopped several inches above my knees. I pulled on a pair of underwear and then snagged a grey cardigan from the closet in an attempt to have a chance at being warm.

What I was wearing was closer to lingerie than actual clothing, but that didn’t seem to matter at this point. He had dragged me around twice in my underwear, on top of the fact that he said he had watched me touch myself to him. My face burned at that thought.

Besides, if he was right and we were always together, then none of this would be new to him. But maybe it would make him be nicer to me if he thought I was being nicer to him.

I stepped through the hallway, careful not to lose my footing in the dim light. As I went, I couldn’t help but notice one of the more glaring differences between my universe and this was. The door to the room that rested next to the bedroom wasn’t stained with its dark russet shade. He had painted this door yellow. That was clearly a recent change; the air still smelled heavily of paint. But why the hell had he painted it in the first place? Maybe he was used to it being a different color and was perfecting it to fit his little fantasy.

I made my way downstairs. He was sitting in the small breakfast nook that rested in the kitchen. He had set out the white plates and arranged the food so that I had easy access to everything. As I rounded the corner, he glanced upward. Something stirred in his dark eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Miguel was sitting at the table, pushing around an eggroll with a plastic fork. He had changed out of his standard red and blue spider suit into an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants.

Lucky bastard.

He looked tired. He had a dark stain of blood on his left cheek and I was sure that it wasn’t his. I didn’t want to think about whether or not the owner of that blood was still alive, because I knew there was a good chance they weren’t. I watched him for a moment before I stepped away from the table. He frowned, watching me closely. I was sure he was watching to verify that I didn’t make another run for it. I quickly pulled a washcloth out of one of the lower cabinets by the sink and then turned on the faucet. Once the water ran warm, I wet the rag, wrung it out so that it wasn’t dripping, and then I turned off the water.

I stepped back into the small dining area. “Miguel.” I said in an attempt to get his attention. His tired eyes drifted up to meet mine. The eyes that were once a burning red were now a warm brown. They were almost the shade of coffee. He watched me with such an intensity that it made my face turn a dark maroon. I was sure that he noticed, but he didn’t remark on it.

I leaned down slightly, moving so that my standing height could line up with his sitting size. God, he was so damn tall. “Miguel, here. You have blood on your face.” He reached up to take the cloth but was surprised when I gently pressed the warm material to his face. “Just hold still for a second.” I whispered. For a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had changed out of his suit for comfort or if it was just as coated in blood as his face was. The idea made me shudder internally.

I gently wiped away the dried blood, folding the cloth as I went so that I didn’t rub old blood against his face. When I reached the hollow of his cheek, I slipped one hand under his strong jaw and had him tilt his face to the side in an attempt to give me a better angle. He closed his eyes, giving in to the gentle touch.

He was touch starved. I could tell by the way his breathing slowed and the hairs on his arm stood on end. He wasn’t used to being touched; not anymore. Not in any way that offered any kind of tenderness.

“There you go. All clean.” I said. He opened his eyes and he nodded. His eyes then dipped downward toward my dress.

“Nice outfit.”

“It would appear that most of my actual clothing is gone. So, I have plenty of clothing for the bustling city life outside and I have plenty of lingerie, but everything else is a bit sparse.”

A smile pulled at his lips with my comment. Then, he nodded. “I’ll bring you your clothes from your home universe.”

“Thank you.” I said. Miguel leaned forward and grabbed a container of orange chicken.

He had ordered us Chinese food. It was something that I couldn’t help but note was the same as we had had on our first date. I glanced at the label and confirmed that it was the same restaurant and everything. We had eaten there the night we had first met. We had dipped out of a party at Alchemax early. I hadn’t wanted to be there, but my father had worked there for so many years that it almost felt like an obligation. When I had turned to leave too fast, I knocked wine all over Miguel, but he hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Are you okay?” This Miguel asked. I quickly nodded as I was pulled from the distant memory.

“I am. Thank you for dinner.” I pushed a small amount of food onto my plate and then returned the container to the center of the table.

“You need to eat; really eat.” He said. His brown eyes danced over my face as he searched for something in my gaze. He was hoping to find some kind of love there; a familiarity or affection that I could offer him.

“I feel sick.”

“That’s just because you aren’t used to being in a different universe. Consider it like jet lag. You’ll get used to it in a few days.” He noticed when I didn’t move to eat. I stared into space, feeling my previous convictions about being sweet to him begin to slip away. “I could always make you eat.” He said.

“You wouldn’t do that.” I muttered. He let out a low sigh and then returned to his food. He wasn’t going to argue with me. Or maybe I was right; maybe there were some things he wouldn’t be willing to do to me. But he had walked in sporting horror-movie levels of blood on his skin. So, who knows?

“Is there anything that’s bothering you?” He asked. “You can always ask me.”

“Are you going to lock me up in my room again if you don’t like the question?” I asked. He didn’t respond.

Tread lightly, I guess.

“Why do you look different than my Miguel?”

“I’m Spiderman. Your Miguel wasn’t. He was close, but he didn’t quite get there before…” His voice faded off. He was trying to be sensitive to me, in his own fucked up way. Or maybe his own narcissism wouldn’t allow him to talk about his failures, even in a different universe.

“Do all Spidermen look like you?” I asked.

“Are they all so devastatingly handsome? Afraid not, sweetheart. They don’t usually look the same. Hell, they can look like anything. I found one that’s literally a cartoon pig. But appearances aside, they can mostly do the same things: climb walls, shoot webs, the whole lot.”

“Ah.” I said. “Do they all have the…” I tapped my finger to my teeth, motioning for the fangs that protruded anytime he spoke. He shrugged.

“That seems to be a thing entirely unique to me.”

Did I sense a bit of insecurity there?

He furrowed his brow as he turned his attention to the dinner plate. Damn it, now I felt bad.

Why the hell did I feel bad for hurting his feelings? He kidnapped me and had dragged me around like a rag doll. But I couldn’t ignore the guilt that started to brew inside of me.

I sighed as I moved closer to him. Even if he was my captor, I couldn’t help but see him as the man who I still loved. Even if that ended at the physical resemblance. I slid to the edge of my chair and reached my arm out for his face. My fingers slid against the rough stubble of his jaw, tracing the side of his face for a moment. He leaned his head to the side, moving into my touch.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. He nodded, lifting a hand upward. He laid his fingers on top of mine, holding my hand there against his skin. God, he was burning up. Did he always feel like this? Maybe he was actually sick. My Miguel never ran this warm. Or maybe it was just a side-effect of the spider bite. I didn’t understand any of that well enough to question it and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask about it.

Suddenly, something clattered to the ground in the kitchen, making me jump. I pulled my hand back from his face, feeling the reality of the situation settle in. I slid my hand back into my lap, watching as his eyes lingered on for entirely too long. His brown eyes swam with a deep want. He wanted me to keep touching him.

Maybe sleeping with him would knock him out of this lovesick spell. Or maybe it would only make it worse. He stared at me, moony eyed and desperate. He was Miguel, even if he wasn’t my version of him. Maybe he could genuinely love me, even if only in his own fucked up way.

“If you loved him so deeply, do you think you could ever love me the same way?” He asked.

“Miguel…” I said. His face twitched slightly. I couldn’t say no; maybe I could, eventually. Or maybe he would become crueler, and I would hate him every second of my life. I didn’t know what to tell him. He leaned back in his chair, his face twisting in an attempt to conceal a deep pain.

Change the conversation quick. Change it before the night could descend in chaos with either us screaming at one another or him locking me in the room again. Or maybe he would just send me back to my own universe to die. After all, if he couldn’t get what he wanted from me, then there was no use in keeping me here.

He made a low noise and then returned to eating, never saying anything about how I had dismissed him.

“Why did you paint the door in the hallway?” I asked. He paused, trying to think up an answer. Then, he swallowed his dinner and shook his head.

“Just decided that it looked better that way.”

“But why? What was wrong with the original color?”

“Does it really bother you that much that I changed one thing?” He asked. His voice had an edge to it now. I clearly was not supposed to ask about the door. But why? It was just a damn door.

“No, but it’s weird that that is the one thing you decided to change. I figured that there was probably a reason.” He rolled his eyes as he took another big bite of food.

“Can’t you just be happy? Most people would overjoyed if they had the opportunity that you do.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure that most people would just love to be stolen from their bed by their boyfriend’s psycho twin. Frankly, that’s every woman’s dream.” My voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that he rolled his eyes. “How long are you planning on keeping this up? This isn’t the Truman Show. You can’t just keep me locked up here for the rest of my life so that you can get your kicks spying on me. And I’m not going to act out some fifties sitcom for you.”

“You don’t have to. I just want you to be… you. Or, as close to it as possible.” He said. As close to me as possible… the words rattled around in my head for a moment.

“You want me to be her.” His face twitched. “I lost him and you lost someone who looks exactly like me.”

Dear God, that was exactly it. All of my suspicions were correct. I was supposed to play house with him, while pretending to be a very specific version of myself that he had once loved. I had to be the perfect version of his wife; the one who doted on and loved him, or else this was all for nothing.

“Have you ever read The Great Gatsby?” I asked. He stared at me, his gaze littered with something.

“Tread lightly, sweetheart.”

“The book is about a man who tries to relive his past. He is so sure that repeating everything and making little adjustments will fix his world.” I swallowed hard, trying to make sure he understood what I was saying. I wasn’t his toy; I wasn’t meant to be wound up to perform for him. “Miguel, you can’t fix things by redoing them. People die. You have to let them go. If your wife died, you need to let her go.”

“I don’t hear you saying that about him.” He sneered.

“That’s because I didn’t kidnap you. I was willing to let you… to let him go.” All of the terms were confusing. This man looked like my Miguel, but he wasn’t. He was a different version of him, which I guess could also make him him, just a different kind. God, I was confusing myself.

“That’s bullshit. I know you want him back. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way you look at me.”

“I think what you’re seeing is a mixture of fear and your own reflection.”

“You love me.” He said.

“I don’t know you, Miguel. I don’t know who you are. I know who you look like, but that doesn’t really help your situation.” I paused for a long moment. “How did she die?” I asked. He shook his head.

“That’s none of your fucking business.” He snapped. I flinched at his words.

“I have the right to know how she died.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t even know how your own husband died and you think you have the right to pry into my life.” With that, he pushed himself up from the table.

He tossed the plate into the sink and it shattered against the metal of the basin. I heard him swear in Spanish under his breath. He was pissed but he hadn’t meant to do that. Maybe that was just an every day occurrence with spider strength.

He began to head to the archway that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. As he stepped, I heard him swearing under his breath. I also heard my name several times.

“Miguel, where are you going?” I asked.

“You hate me so much, maybe it would be better if I wasn’t around.”

“Miguel, where are you going?” I repeated. He muttered more words under his breath. I watched as he pushed several buttons on the sides of his wrist device. He flipped a top piece on the metal bracelet.

“Lyla-“ he started.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I pushed myself up from the table, following him as he left the kitchen. He didn’t reply. I rounded the corner, following as he stepped into the living room. Upon entering, I was nearly blinded by a massive orange and pink hole that swirled and twisted in the center of the room. With every step he took, he drifted closer to it.

So, that was how he managed to leave and then come back. If what he wore on his wrist was capable of doing it, I wondered if mine was, too. No, surely not. The intent was to keep me here; giving me an opportunity to escape would defeat the entire purpose. He said that if I took it off, I would die. I had no choice but to believe him on that front.

“Miguel.” Still no answer. “Where are you going?” He stepped toward the portal without a sound.

“Miguel, where the hell are you going?” I repeated.

He rolled his eyes as he glanced down at the device on his wrist.

“If you leave, what the hell am I supposed to do? There aren’t any people outside. I’m going to have to guess that all of the buildings are empty. Are you coming back? Am I going to starve to death? What if I get hurt? What if I fall down the stairs and die? When the hell are you coming back? How am I supposed to contact you?” The words fell out of my mouth so fast that I didn’t have the chance to consider if these were stupid questions.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He scoffed. But he didn’t offer me any kind of actual answer.  

“Miguel, you said you were my husband. You can’t just abandon me.” He flinched, but he still did not turn around. “Please…” I begged. If he left, I was stranded. At least with him here, I was guaranteed human contact and sustenance.

“Miguel, I need you.” I said. As the words left my mouth, I did the only thing I could think of to get his attention. I slid my hand up to the cardigan and quickly slipped it off of my shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice or care when it dropped to the ground below me. I then reached upward and grabbed onto the thin spaghetti straps of the pink nightgown. Without hesitation, I pulled them over either shoulder, allowing the gown to slide entirely off my body and pool onto the floor at my feet.

“Miguel.” I repeated. This time, my voice was no louder than a whisper. That was enough to get his attention. Or maybe he had heard the dress gather on the floor at my feet. I swallowed hard, feeling the cold bite at my bare skin. I was standing almost naked in the middle of the living room, wearing only a thin pair of underwear that offered very little coverage.

Miguel glanced backward. His eyes caught expanse of my bare skin and I swore I saw him smile.

“Don’t leave.” I said. I lifted my hands and crossed my arms. It was a force of habit. I felt so exposed like this. Though, I quickly lowered my hands, knowing that getting his attention was my best chance at him staying.

He turned around to face me. “Please say something, Miguel.” I whispered. The longer I went without a reaction, the more I started to feel like an idiot for this. Maybe I had just made myself look stupid in front of him. Or, better yet, maybe this was something his wife wouldn’t have done; maybe this would make him send me back home to die.

He slunk forward, a predator approaching prey. I saw the portal swirl into a smaller and smaller hole in the universe. Then, it closed, leaving us alone in the dim light of the living room.

Miguel moved so that he was only a few inches in front of me. The material of his shirt grazed my naked skin, making me wince. The shirt was too rough against my goosebump littered flesh. He stared down at me. As he did, his eyes turned from warm brown to a deep red again.

His palm drifted up to cup my cheek. His skin burned to the touch. I swallowed hard, feeling his fingers stroke the side of my face. It was almost as if he was petting me; like I was a toy for him to play with. He leaned down. His lips grazed the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Huh?” He pressed his mouth against mine, hard. His lips were warm as he began to work them, moving them so that they forced my mouth open. I moaned, overwhelmed by it all. As his lips slid against mine, I was sure that I would be bruised tomorrow.

A fang brushed my bottom lip, making me gasp. “Gentle, Miguel.” I whispered.

“Sorry.” His warm breath covered my face. He smelled intoxicating. He straightened his stance, moving away from me. When he pulled away, I let out an audible whimper.

God, please tell me I didn’t genuinely want him. I swallowed hard, feeling myself getting slick between my thighs. I was sure that if he looked, he would see a spot forming in my underwear.

I wanted to hold him. I tried to grab his shoulders, but our heights were too off. He was too tall for me to grab hold of. I pushed myself onto my tippy toes, but even that wasn’t enough. I was still too short for him. Miguel noticed this and leaned downward, allowing me to curl my arms around his strong shoulders.

“That’s my girl.” He slipped his hands down and curled his fingers around my bare thighs. He jerked my body upward. I curled my legs around his hips. He was already getting hard, causing his pajama bottoms to strain.

Miguel stepped forward, carrying me up the stairs. I knew where we were going: the bedroom. I pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek. Even in the dark, I could tell he smiled.

He was getting exactly what he had wanted. But I couldn’t bring myself to make it all stop. I wanted him. I had craved him for so long and here he was. He wasn’t my Miguel, but maybe he wouldn’t die. He was stronger than my Miguel. Maybe that would allow him to stick around.

He twisted the door handle, leaving deep dents in the shape of his fingers in the cold metal. He was trying his hardest to be gentle with me, but I knew it was a battle he would most likely lose.

He tossed me on the bed, throwing me just a tad too hard. I landed on the opposite side of the mattress, groaning as my head almost collided with the wooden headboard. “Miguel.”

“I know, I know.” He teased. He flipped his hand over, shooting a fine web that caught my ankle. “Come here, sweetheart.” He rolled the webbing around his fingers, pulling it tight. I gasped, feeling my body sliding across the sheets. He dragged me down to the edge of the bed.

“Miguel!” I squealed. He smirked as he pressed his knees into the bed, pulling me so that I was only a few inches away from him. He pulled the web off my skin, making sure that it didn’t hurt me.

“Do you do that a lot?” I asked.

“As often as you, sweetheart. Next time, I can web you to the headboard.” My face flashed bright red. He chuckled.

Miguel reached down and grabbed the bottom of his sweatshirt. He hauled it upward, pulling it over his head before discarding it on the floor. Taut muscles danced under his skin. Every inch of him was bound in hard muscle, covered in perfect skin.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my knee. His fingers wandered up my thighs, feeling my bare skin. He pushed his other hand into the mattress.

“Miguel, please.”

“Please what?” He asked. I took his free hand in mine and guided it up to my chest. He moaned, offering a soft squeeze.

Miquel scrambled up to my chest. He caught my nipple in his mouth and moaned, licking the sensitive skin as he sucked. His fingers kneaded my other breast, stopping every once in a while to offer the hard peak a gentle pinch.

I brushed my fingers through his dark hair. He smiled against my skin, releasing my nipple from his mouth. “What?” I asked.

“Let me know if I’m too rough with you.” With that he slinked down to the warm skin of my thighs. He traced his lips across the bare skin. As he went, he opened his lips to gently suck and kiss the bare flesh. Every so often I would feel a burst of pain that lasted no longer than a second. He mumbled something against my skin. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, moving so that I could see what he was doing.

Another sharp pain shot through my left thigh as he buried his face in my skin. Miguel glanced upward, feeling my eyes on him. His fangs had nipped my bare skin, making me yelp. “I’ll be more gentle.” His voice was warm and weighted with lust.

He slipped upward and slid his fingers under the waist of my panties. He bit the material with his teeth. I heard him snip the material and rolled my eyes.

“You can’t do that to all of my clothes. I barely have any to begin with.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want.” He pressed a warm kiss against my bare hip. Then, he moved to the other side. He repeated the same action, slicing through the material using his fangs. He placed a kiss on that side, as well.

“You’re such a showoff.”

“Am not.”

“You could have just pulled them off of me the normal way.” I fought back a laugh.

“I can bench press a city bus. I don’t need to showoff to you. Besides, learn to have some sense of romance.” He threw the remains of the panties onto the floor. He immediately pressed a soft kiss against the mound that had been covered by my underwear.  

He was extremely careful when he shifted downward. But the dull ache on the skin of my thighs where he had bit made me want to make my only request. “Hey, no teeth.”

“Funny, that’s what I always tell you.” He muttered. I rolled my eyes. “Lay back and hush up.”

“You’re so damn bossy.” I shifted on the mattress, spreading my legs wider for him. He placed his hand across my folds and gently spread them to expose my clit. He flicked his tongue across my clit. “Fuck, Miguel.” I lifted my hips off the bed, moving closer to his face.

He started to work, flicking his tongue over my clit as the index finger on his free hand traced my opened. He collected my wetness on his finger, sliding it around to make sure that I was good to go. Then, he slipped in his middle and index finger, sinking in until his knuckles touched my pussy.

I moaned, feeling his tongue work its magic.

Fuck, he was good at this.

He curled his fingers inside of me, brushing my sweet spot. I grabbed the back of his head, feeling his head bob under my palm as he licked.

Then, something occurred to me. He knew every inch of my body because he had fucked me thousands of times in the past. Even if it wasn’t me, it was a girl who was exactly like me. Maybe I was just that predicable. Or maybe he was just that good.

He picked up his speed, lapping between my folds as I curled my fingers in his hair. I was close and he could feel it. He could feel the twitches and miniatures spasms on his tongue as he worked. “Miguel, I’m close!” I whimpered.

He licked faster. Suddenly, pleasure shot through me, filling me with a white-hot heat. I moaned, spasming around his fingers as I came undone.

Miguel whispered something into my thigh as he pushed himself off the bed. Then, he pulled down his pajama bottoms, allowing for his cock to spring upward. It smacked against his lower stomach, heavy and decorated with a dark vein that ran along the underside. He kicked his pants off into the floor and then crawled on top of me.

He pressed a soft kiss on my lips. I could taste myself on his lips.

“This may hurt at first. I won’t move until you’re ready.” He said. He reached down between us. I watched as he grabbed his dick, stroked himself twice, and then lined himself up with my entrance. Without another word, he slid inside, making me gasp. I curled my legs around his hips, pulling him in deep as possible. “That’s my girl.”

I was overwhelmed with a stretching sensation. Arms rested on either side of my head as he stayed in place, waiting for me. After a moment, I leaned forward and kissed him, giving him the go ahead. One hand drifted up to my face. He caressed my cheek and his lips glided against mine.

He drew his hips back, sliding nearly all the way out. Then, thrusted upward, hitting deep inside of me. I gasped into his mouth. “I forgot how tight you are.” He murmured, his words slurring together.

My hands slid down his muscled back as he started to fuck himself into me. All the while, he kept his mouth on mine. I could feel his heart beating against my chest as he worked.

“Miguel…” I moaned, rocking my hips against him. I could feel my lower stomach tightening.

Suddenly, he whispered my name. It was so gentle that it was almost unsettling, considering the circumstances. I glanced up to meet his gaze. But as my eyes met his, he dipped downward. He buried his face in the curve of my neck so that I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Miguel, what’s wrong?”

He rutted his hips upward, burying himself as deep as possible. I gasped, digging my nails into his back. Despite how hard I had sunk them in, they didn’t break the skin. He was indestructible… at least, physically. I slid one hand across the skin of his back, moving to his dark hair. I could have sworn I heard him murmuring something into my neck. I could feel his lips moving against my skin, offering some kind of low prayer. But to who?

“Miguel…” He pulled his hips back again and then quickly slid inside of me again, grinding his hips against me to get a reaction. I gasped, tightening my hold on his hair.

“Say you love me.” His voice was dreamy, and his words slurred from pleasure.

“What?” I asked. It caught me off guard.

“Say it.”

“I love you.” I felt his hips still their movements. He was weighing the authenticity of my words. After a moment, he lifted his head from my neck.

“Say it again.” His eyes peered into mine. He was searching for something in my stare.

“I love you.”

“Good girl.” With that, he continued to beat into me, groaning when I would tense around him.

We were both close. I could tell by the chorus of whimpers and moans that were filling the room. That familiar tightening in my stomach was close to coming entirely undone.

He pivoted his hips, hitting the perfect spot inside of me. Miguel stared down at my features. He wanted something very specific from me before he finished. He ground his hips, making me gasp.

Fucking hell, Miguel.

With that, I felt myself come undone. Pleasure shot through me, making me clamp down on his dick. He grunted, never stopping his movements. “Miguel, I love you!” He groaned at my words. He kept hitting deep inside of me, making sure to grind himself against me every couple of thrusts.

His orgasm overtook him. He groaned my name as he gave one final thrust, hitting deep. I felt his body tense under my hands.

Slowly, we both came down from our highs. We were dragged back to the reality of the bedroom. The day had faded into night, leaving us in darkness.

He had finished inside of me. I could feel a deep warmth inside of my stomach. I also felt a distinct wetness that was hard to ignore. I sighed, relaxing into the mattress. I unhooked my legs, waiting for him to slide out of me. But, instead, he reached behind him and closed my legs again.

“No…” He murmured. Then, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against my lips. In this position, I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. It was so intimate; so loving. Maybe he really did see me as his wife. He pressed another gentle kiss against my mouth. I closed my eyes, giving into the softness of the moment.

“You have to do something for me.” He said. I opened my eyes to look at him.

“Okay.”

“I want you to love me like you loved him. I want you to look at me like I’m your hero and that I’m special.” He inhaled sharply before he reached forward to brush one of my curls off of my forehead. “I want you to care if I die.”

I nodded. What other option was there? I was trapped in his little universe; it’s not like I could ever leave or be with anyone else. Besides, we were still literally connected at the hip.

After what felt like an eternity, he slid out of me. He leaned back on the balls of his feet to inspect me. I immediately closed my legs, though that did little good. He reached forward and grabbed my knees, prying my thighs apart. Warm cum dribbled out of me, coating the naked skin of my upper thighs.

He smirked at his handy work before pushing himself off of the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, turning on the faucet and grabbing a towel from the cabinet.

It was then that something occurred to me. “Miguel, I’m not on birth control.” I said. He nodded, acting as if I had just told him about the weather. He stepped out of the bathroom holding a damp washcloth. “Miguel.”

“What, sweetheart?” I stared at him, feeling my mind begin to race. He climbed onto the bed, moving to where I was laying. He sat down between my thighs and gently began to clean the remains of him off of my skin.

“You didn’t… you didn’t use a condom and I’m not on birth control.” I said. I could feel my heart beginning to race. Why wasn’t this bothering him in the same way?

“You’re my wife.” He said as he wiped my skin.

“Miguel.” I repeated. I wanted him to react.

“What are you wanting me to say?”

“Anything.” I said. I wanted some kind of actual reaction.

“Things are exactly as they need to be. Whatever happens, happens.”

“That’s not an answer.” I said.

“Maybe you need to learn to be happy with what you’re already working with.” He finished cleaning me up and then walked to the bathroom. He had made sure to only clean the skin outside of my body. He didn’t try to remove any of the fluid inside of me, despite how much there was.

He came back to the bed and quickly climbed in. “You should get some sleep.” He said. I stared at him, searching for some idea about what he was thinking. He offered a soft smile in return.

Was he fucking with me?

Did he really love me or was he just using me as a quick screw?

Did he actually want me to be his wife… or was this some fucked up mind game of his?

He leaned back against the pillows and then lifted his hand. He curled a finger toward him, motioning for me to come. “I’m not a dog.” I muttered.

“Then be a good girl and do as I ask.” He reached forward and gently grabbed my body. He slid me closer to him, moving me so that my head lay against his bare chest.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Afraid so.” He said. He placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on my side. He slid his fingers up and down either side of my body, taking in every soft dip and curve. Every so often he would lean down and kiss the top of my head.

I couldn’t help but notice the way that his fingers traced over my lower stomach. He looked wistful as he traced the soft skin. I squirmed, feeling insecure.

“Stop wiggling and get some sleep.”

“Then stop feeling me up.”

“I’m not feeling you up. I’m trying to be nice to you.” He murmured against the top of my head. He pressed another kiss against my hair.

“You’re an ass.” I muttered. I rolled his eyes as he continued to pet my bare skin. His heartbeat played in my ear.

As I began to drift off to sleep, I felt him begin to play with my frizzed curls. He would coil a stand of hair around his finger and then let it go, satisfied with the soft curl that had formed.

It was something that my Miguel liked to do, as well.

Maybe they weren’t all that different.

I heard his strong heartbeat against my ear as I faded away from the room.

Before I fell asleep, Miguel pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. “Please don’t leave me.” He whispered.

I love you...

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