you and miguel had been married for three years now, and not once has the subject of starting a family been brought up by either of you. ever since being accepted into spider-society, your husband, the founder of the society, miguel o’hara, has been sending you ever so subtle hints about wanting a baby. which were not subtle in your eyes, they were practically non-existent.

currently at your and miguels home, a lovely place in his hometown in spain, you were both babysitting mayday for a few days as peter b was on his honeymoon with his mj. miguel had grown a little more then fond of the little troublemaker, and after only taking care of mayday for a day or two, he developed an intense case of baby fever.

miguel was laid down on the sofa in the cozy living room. he was cradling mayday on his chest, quietly cooing the energetic ball of life to sleep while rubbing her small back with his large, veiny hands. the longer he held her in his muscular arms, the more he wanted one he could call his own.

the enigmatic man was itching to say something to you, and when you, his beloved, walked though with maydays baby formula, he blurted it out without another thought.

“you our baby would be cute like this one?” miguel awkwardly questioned, his deep spanish accent raspy with longing, “we don’t have to give her back, y’know..”