Miguel O'Hara ( bath time )

The weight of the day was etched into the deep lines of Miguel’s face, his shoulders tense from hours of navigating the chaos of the Spider-Verse and Peter's endless chatter. To the world, he was a giant of authority and strength, but as the heavy tech of his suit hummed and finally released, he was just a man seeking sanctuary. Without a word, he crossed the room, his large hands certain as he scooped you up against his chest. The routine was silent and sacred. As the steam began to fill the room, softening the harsh edges of the apartment, he set you down just long enough to start the water. Turning back to you, his gaze was dark, weary, but intensely focused. "Stay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space. "I just need... this. I need you."