desiderium | m. o'hara

thirty-four*

Sorry guys I was taking a nap

TW: as always minors will be shot on sight, oral w & m receiving, blood

  It's been two weeks since I spoke to Peter about the events of Earth-1610 and how Miguel thinks of himself, and thoughts of it haven't let me rest since.

   Working without the bustle and excitement of the Spidey-HQ is painfully boring, and I find myself surprised by how foreign the mundane world has become. The only thing truly tying me to my own world anymore is Rosalina and my job, but I find myself missing Miguel's. It's a baffling dichotomy.

  But time away from Miguel is good and I strive to remind myself of the very fact every instance I find myself hitting my head on the table, yearning for his attention or some Spider-Man excitement. Too much of a good thing leads to spoiling it, or whatever. I'm not entirely sure Miguel could ever be spoiled by being spent too much time with. He certainly hasn't become spoiled to me in the last fourteen years.

  It's agony to be away from him after getting so used and comfortable with our constant companionship. I even find myself missing his snark and bitter remarks that would get on my nerves. It takes everything in me not to repeatedly call him up on the Gizmo just to hear his voice and see his face. Whenever I hear Jameson complaining about Spider-Man, the urge gets worse.

  He drops me off and picks me up, and we spend our evenings and weekends together, but I still find myself craving more. Is this even healthy?

  But, mercifully, my work days aren't entirely without him.

  "Y/n." Alicia knocks the back of her knuckles on my cracked-open door and sticks her head into my office. "Your husband's at the elevator. I'd rescue him before the juniors start throwing themselves at his feet."

  As if you wouldn't join them. As if I don't do it myself. I let an amused smile lift my tired expression as I turn off my monitor.

  "Thanks, Alicia," I say, and she leaves with a nod.

  And though it sounds like a joke, it's partly true. The juniors sit right by the elevators and they all ogle shamelessly at the man who leans against the wall in the flannel and jeans he would've shoved on over his suit before portalling here. When Miguel lifts his head at my approach, he beams, and my smile in return comes effortlessly.

  "Hola, guapo," I happily greet.

  "Buenas tardes, preciosa," he murmurs, slipping an arm around my waist as we enter the elevator to leave for lunch. Miguel presses a kiss to my temple and my day feels infinitely better. "Where to today?"

  A few days into me working back onsite at The Daily Bugle, we started getting lunch together, and it almost helps my husband withdrawals. Then, Miguel came up with the idea of eating at a new place each day - a mini adventure, a way to further break the repetition of my boring work weeks.

  "There's a café Jameson's wife told me about when she dropped his phone off this morning," I offer. She said he'd left it on his bedside table, and we bumped into each other in the hallway outside her husband's office when she was returning it and I was retrieving my third coffee.

  "Sounds like a plan," Miguel says, and leads me to where he parked the car.

  I hop into shotgun giddily. I love our weekday lunch dates and I'm entirely pleased that I still get excited butterflies when he picks me up, as if I'm seventeen and he's taking me to prom. I could have had a drag of a morning but the sun shines upon me when I see my Miguel waiting at the elevators to whisk me away for an hour of comfort.