[⚠︎] ▼ 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝙱𝚒𝚝𝚎 ▲ Miguel O'Hara x Reader▼ 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝟷/ 𝟸

▸ THIRTEEN ◂

Miguel let out a deep, frustrated sigh as he loaded the last of your luggage into the car. His shoulders slumped under the weight of unspoken disappointment.
"I'm really sorry, mi amor," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I didn't think our honeymoon would be cut so short."

You chuckled softly, trying to lighten his mood. "Miguel, don't worry about it. Even if it was only three days, it was perfect because it was with you."

His brow furrowed, but he climbed into the car with you and knocked on the divider, signaling the driver to start. He sank into the seat beside you, burying his face in his hands.

"I planned everything to make sure we'd have an entire week, uninterrupted," he muttered, frustration evident in his tone.

You gently ran your fingers through his thick hair, soothing him with your touch. "It's alright. I enjoyed every moment. Besides," you teased, "I was starting to miss work."

He peeks at you through his hand, "You did?"

You nodded with a playful hum and placed a kiss on his shoulder. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, you gazed out the window, reflecting on how much your life had changed.

The days that followed returned to the familiar rhythm of capturing anomalies and traversing dimensions. Throughout the months, you found that married life, though new, felt natural. Miguel had insisted on combining your apartments, and the transition had been surprisingly seamless. The spiders showered you with congratulations for weeks, gifts piling up in your shared space.

Marriage brought its challenges, of course. There were disagreements—some heated—but both of you were quick to admit faults and apologize. You found solace in the friendships you'd built with Jess and Mary, your confidants who felt like sisters. Each trial you and Miguel faced only served to deepen your bond, reinforcing the love that tethered you to one another.

Still, the demands of your lives often kept you apart. Missions pulled you in different directions, and on the busiest days, Miguel could only spare a quick kiss or whispered assurance before vanishing through a portal. Despite the chaos, he made every effort to show you how much he cared, fearing you might mistake his absence for disinterest.

Even so, you longed for uninterrupted moments with him—a romantic evening or a quiet conversation. Especially as your semiannual anniversary was coming up. But you cherished the little things: the stolen kisses, the way he'd rush to see you after a mission, or how he'd hold you just a little longer when time allowed.

"Hijo de puta . . ." Miguel curses under his breath.

One afternoon, after a grueling mission, you found yourselves sharing lunch. Miguel rubbed his temples, muttering a curse under his breath as his watch buzzed insistently.

You frowned. "Another anomaly already?"

He sighed, regret flashing in his crimson eyes. "They're calling me again. They said it's urgent."

You turned back to your food, trying to mask your disappointment. "Be safe. I'll see you later."

The silence between you grew heavy. Just as you thought he'd left, he gently tilted your chin toward him. His expression was earnest, his voice low.

"Are you mad at me?" He pouts.

Your heart flutters at his concern. Especially since he's clarifying with you, you can tell your communication lessons actually got to him.

Your heart softened at his concern. "Of course not, Miguel. Just tired." You offered him a small smile, resting your hand on his.

Relieved, he pulled you into a kiss—deep and lingering, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't say aloud. When he pulled back, his gaze darted to his watch. Without a word, he jumped into a portal, leaving you flustered in the middle of the bustling cafeteria. Many other spiders witnessed and started to whisper, but Miguel couldn't care less, the entire city watched your wedding after all.