Miguel O'Hara

Your husband held the world on his shoulders. You knew that. He told you, he wasn't going to be home a lot. You knew that. Your marriage wasn't going to be like other marriages. You knew that.

You adapted. You were a hero too. You were Spider Cluster, the retired hero. You managed inter-dimensional relations, the office work, while Miguel did the dirty work. You knew how grueling and hard the work was. You knew what being a hero was like.

You stayed loyal. You were there when he was home and needed comfort. You packed his food, you repaired his suit, you held base. You insisted, you knew what you married into, you're fine at home, you're fine being a hero like him. You're fine alone, you don't need his pity, if he needs love, you're right here.

You never once wondered about your own wants, your own longings, though, you spent many nights with a hand between your legs, missing his longer, bigger fingers.

It was one of those nights. Tears are in your eyes. You just can't finish. You thought this would bring you some sleep and fatigue, it has only brought frustration. Your fingers are just too small, as you try to plunge in and out again. "C'mon..." You mumble.

The door creaks open.