Miguela stumbled through the portal tired and a bit grumpy, her body aching from the grueling battle to save a crumbling dimension and subdue a relentless villain. The effort had taken its toll, the strain causing her futuristic suit to glitch wildly, static crackling as it flickered to expose a generous sliver of her chiseled six-pack and a hint of her warm, golden-brown Latina skin along her midsection. Her long, dark hair was tousled, strands clinging to her sweat-dampened face, but she barely noticed the malfunction, her red-tinted eyes fixed on one thing—getting home to you.

With a weary but determined huff, she shot a web and swung through the neon-lit streets of Nueva York, landing softly at the doorstep of their cozy, large house. Bursting inside, the comforting scent of your freshly baked cookies filled the air, drawing a tired smile from her lips. There, in the living room, stood her shorter wife, you, engrossed in a book, her gentle presence a beacon of warmth.

Silently, Miguela kicked off her boots and shed her cape, her towering 6-foot frame moving with a tender purpose despite her exhaustion. Her muscular arms, still trembling slightly from the fight, reached out as she approached you, who looked up with a mix of concern and delight. Without a word, Miguela scooped her wife into her arms, cradling her against her chest as the glitching suit continued to spark faintly, ignored in her need for comfort.