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bit-dodgy-innit · 21 hours

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We're Not Here to F*ck Spiders

Summary: You were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel took a special interest in you. He wanted to know if your life would correspond with his and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. After an offhanded comment about reviewing your canon with Miguel outside of headquarters, your relationship with Spider-Man 2099 is forever changed.

Set in between ITSV and ATSV.

Pairing: Marc x OC Female!Reader

For context, Reader is an alternate, grown-up version of Mayday due to personal reasons (personal reasons being I’ve been obsessed with Mayday Parker since I was baby child)! No real use of Y/N, though Miguel does refer to the reader as "May" twice and Peter Parker nicknamed her Mayhem. Peter B.'s daughter is Mayday.

Word Count: 10.2k words (see why this took me forever?!)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!

CW/TW: An obscene amount of world-building, parents and kids fighting, mentions of a loss of a child, everyone being hot for Miguel, rough-ish sex (both partners are superheroes, come on), our boy is HUNG, dirty talk, a bit of cocky dom!Miguel, oral f!receiving, a lil bit of both m and f!receiving nipple play, PIV sex, riding, a quick spank, creampie, felching, and perhaps most intense of all, Miguel’s fear of commitment.

A/N: hahahahahaha this movie is nearly a year old and I FINALLY got around to writing a fic for it! Trust that I've been working on this on and off for a while now, but life has been nuts and writing more and more for work (yay!) but wanted to get this out while I had a slow week for everyone to enjoy!

Also, due to more personal reasons, my HC for Reader's parents are Peter and Mary Jane from Sam Raimi's masterpiece in 2002. But no presh if that doesn't jibe with ya!

I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF ANYTHING

“Careful, Mayday!” you fondly called after the child who was literally bouncing off the cavernous walls of HQ. Yeesh, were you this energetic when you were her age? Probably. It never ceased to be weird, hanging out with an alternate baby version of yourself, but you could manage if you pretended she was your little niece, or sister, or something like that.

The alternate baby version of Mayday Parker in question didn’t heed your admonishment at all (which tracked), so you called again, “Oh noooo…I’m gonna have to come up there and get ya!”

Mayday squealed in delight at your “threat” and only zipped around quicker. However, you had a couple decades on her, so your reflexes were more attuned. It didn’t take long for you to capture her in your grasp and tickle her. However, little Mayday wasn’t going to give up that easily. She squirmed out of your hold and began scaling the nearby wall at a dizzying pace.

“Okay, missy, let’s settle down,” you announced, shooting a web to meet the infant on the platform she’d crawled onto. You continued to speak as you swung, “you know how Miguel is, we can’t get too carried…away.”

You nearly threw yourself back off the platform when you were met with the sight of Miguel himself standing before you holding May.

“Oh, hi,” you gestured to the squirming girl in his hands, “thanks. I was right behind her.”

“What am I like?” He asked, an inquisitive arch in his brow.

“You’re…you run a tight ship that’s all,” you wished a portal would swallow you whole. “And it’s great! We need it.”

“Are you supposed to be anywhere?” Miguel prodded further as he passed you May.

“Me? No, it's my day off.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because you put Peter B. on a mission and it gives me anxiety when he takes her.”

“You and me both,” he huffed.

“That being said, anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah actually, I have new sequencing to go over with you.”

Though the multiverse was ever-expanding, you were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel had taken a special interest in you. Since you were a second generation Spider, Miguel wanted to know if your life would correspond with his, your dad’s, and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. You initially found the whole concept fascinating, yet that interest waned pretty quickly when Miguel informed you that he was going to have Lyla analyze your entire life and have you expound on your experiences so he could compare you to the other Spiders.

Not that there was anything you were particularly ashamed of, but some of this stuff was embarrassing. Unlike baby Mayday, whose powers had already emerged, yours didn’t make an appearance until puberty. Reviewing your awkward teen years wasn’t exactly your ideal way of spending time with an unfairly hot guy, let alone the head of Spider Society.

“Oh okay, yeah,” you replied. “When Peter gets ba—“

“MAYDAY! WHERE’S MY PUMPKIN?” Peter’s voice echoed across the room.

No sooner had Peter spoken did Mayday websling herself off of the platform and into her father’s arms.

Shit, there went your excuse. A nervous chuckle escaped you, “Convenient.”

“Sí. Follow me.”

You did as Miguel said and trailed behind him to his…office didn’t quite describe it. Work station? Lair? You lasted all of forty-five seconds before your gaze dropped to his sculpted backside, a new record for you.

It really was unfair that the intense, ornery leader of the Spider Society had to be so damn fine. You were a superhero and a consummate professional, but at the end of the day, you were a mostly heterosexual human woman with eyes. Miguel was stupidly sexy. His shoulder-to-waist ratio, that chiseled face, and of course, perfectly round ass had been the topic of a few hushed, giggly conversations between you and the other Spiders that liked boys.

It was only ever cheeky whispers however. All of you knew better than to catch any real feelings for Miguel. One, it was majorly inappropriate. And two, he’d built emotional walls higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Nueva York.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander every now and then…you blamed it on your latest breakup. Spider-Girl duties had yet again claimed another potential partner. You suspected that was the reason it was more and more difficult not to fantasize about Miguel lately. Like sure, he was probably an animal in bed in the best way, but it was the prospect of not having to hide anything from him that appealed to you even more.

“Lyla, bring up the latest sequencing,” Miguel ordered.

If it weren’t for your spider-senses, you would’ve collided with his impossibly cut back, you were so deep into your thirsty thoughts.

Suddenly, you were back on Earth-982A in your childhood bedroom. Or at least, that’s where you appeared to be. The virtual surroundings would’ve been comforting if it weren’t for the particular event that Miguel had wanted to revisit.

Your father was forbidding you to use your powers. Again. You gazed at the rendering of your teenage self with compassion. Now, your father was fully supportive of you following in his footsteps, but the journey there had been rough.

“You know, most parents would be happy if their kid wanted to do something to help the world!”

Your dad scoffed. “That doesn’t matter - I’m not most parents and you’re not most kids!”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?!” Virtual you fired back. “I was born like this because of you! Dad, you’re always telling me that ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’ and now when I discover I inherited that great power, I can’t use it!?”

“Pause,” Miguel’s voice spooked you back into the present. When you finally shook yourself from the memory that was playing before you, you found his eyes on yours. “Okay, there. Define ‘always’.”

“Quantitatively?”

“Preferably.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Qualitatively, then.”

“I mean, it's one of those things he said so much that I can’t remember the first time I heard it.”

“When did your dad first hear it?”

“His Uncle Ben told him during their last conversation together.”

“Checks out. And how old was he?”

“He was a senior in high school, so like seventeen, eighteen?”

Miguel nodded. Even though x-ray vision nor telepathy weren’t in your powerset, you could practically see all the comparisons and calculations he was making in his head.

“So using your powers to help people, that was your instinct when you inherited your abilities.”

“Yeah.”

Miguel nodded again.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” you asked him. He didn’t reply. “My dad told me he entered some god awful cage-match-wrestling-thing to get enough money to buy a car and impress my mom before he officially became Spider-Man.”

Miguel was seemingly too busy with entering his latest data to respond. Instead, he barked at Lyla, “Resume sequence.”

The holographic version of your dad lurched back to life to argue, “May, you are my great responsibility! So if I say no powers, no powers! I did this a lot longer than you! ”

Tears streamed down your adolescent face. Thankfully, you’d lost some of the baby fat since. “I hate you! I HATE YOU DAD!!”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This wasn’t easy to live, let alone re-live. So, as a Spider, naturally you made a jaunty, off-handed comment. “Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Qué?”

“Nothing.” He fixed you with his signature scowl so you elaborated, “Seriously, nothing. Though, maybe if we did this in an environment where I had access to alcohol and carbs, this would be less um…less unsettling for me.”

Miguel stared at you blankly. “But the simulator is here.”

“Right, of course.” Ughhhh, why was he so damn pretty?! “Forget I said anything, Miguel.”

He dropped it, but before the simulation could start again, your gizmo beeped. Benji’s basketball game started in twenty.

“Actually, sorry, I have to go.”

“But we just got started.”

“I know, but I haven’t been able to catch one of my little brother’s games yet this season, and it’s almost the playoffs.”

“Won’t he under–”

You interrupted Miguel. “You realize spider-stuff is not a viable excuse with my family, right? Besides, it’s my day off. I’m only here out of the goodness of my own heart and my commitment to the Spider-Society.”

He rolled his eyes at your remark, but couldn’t help a little half - nay, quarter - smile from forming across the lips you had fantasized about kissing one too many times. “Things are quiet for once. We should knock this out now.”

“We should,” you conceded as you created a portal, “but trying to have some semblance of work-life balance is Spider-Girl canon.”

And with that, you hopped back into your world, before you could change your mind or say anything else stupid and/or unintentionally flirty to Miguel.

You re-appeared in your apartment with just enough time to throw on clothes and swing over to the middle school. Your mom was waiting as you hurried into the gym right as Benji and the other players were taking the court.

“Look who made it,” MJ observed wryly.

“Ha ha,” you fired back humorlessly, but pulled your mom into a hug all the same. “Where’s Dad?”

The ref’s whistle signaled tip off and the beginning of the game, momentarily distracting you two. You were thrilled to see Benji starting – he really wanted to make JV when he started high school next year, and this was a step in the right direction.

“Go Benji!!” MJ cheered before answering your question, “He hit traffic coming from the station. He’ll be here soon.”

Your collective attention was pulled to the game unfolding in front of you, then MJ asked, “What have you been up to today?”

“Me? I was at the society for a bit, helping with the baby.”

You didn’t need to see your mother to know that she tensed at the mention of the Spider-Society and Peter B.’s Mayday. It, understandably, weirded her out.

“How can it not be strange to care for–”

“It would be if we were closer in age,” you pointed out. “But it’s just like babysitting with Mayday right now. And trust me, after all the versions of Dad I’ve met, hanging out with little me is nothing.”

Despite being weirded out, your mom always tried to empathize, so she switched gears. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Ugh, just more sequencing with Miguel - today was a tough one.”

“Why?”

“Fights with Dad from years ago that I know we’ve moved past, but still suck to watch.”

Your mom took your hand in hers, a much-needed grounding gesture. “Well, you’re back in the present, in your corner of the universe now, sweetie.”

You gave her hand an appreciative squeeze and took her words to heart, focusing on the basketball game in front of you. It didn’t take too long to put the earlier events from headquarters behind you – Benji scored a couple baskets and you took it upon yourself to meticulously document the game on your phone for memories and possible future blackmail.

When your Dad did join you and MJ, you couldn’t help but hug him tightly. You buried your face into his coat, which smelled like a mix of smoke from the streets and his aftershave.

It was Peter’s mix of spider and paternal instincts that prompted him to ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you assured him, giving him some space. “I just–I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Mayhem.” Where Mayday was Peter B’s moniker for his daughter, Mayhem was your dad’s nickname for you.

The game ended in victory for Benji’s team, the Midtown Mavericks, and you three waited for the youngest member of the Parker family to emerge from the locker room.

Benji’s face when he saw you made any lingering discomfort you had leaving Miguel one thousand percent worth it. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you pulled Benji into a hug - however reluctant he was to it since he was a ~teenager~ now. “Dude, you put up points tonight!”

But Benji had gotten distracted, so instead of responding to you, he murmured “Woah, that guy is swole.”

You turned around to see who he was talking about and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

It was Miguel.

Even more incredibly, he was in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until you witnessed him in dark wash jeans, a henley, and a well-worn bomber jacket that you realized that you’d actually never seen Miguel in anything other than his spider suit.

He called your name and you acknowledged him with a wave, flabbergasted. Even more astonished that you knew this very attractive hunk of man was your brother, “Wait, you know him?!”

“We work together,” you said quietly.

“At the paper?” Benji was confused.

“No, at my other job.”

“Oh,” it clicked for him. “That makes sense. Man, I hope I get that jacked when I get my powers.”

“Shhhh, be cool Benji,” you urged him.

“Um, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he harrumphed. “Oh shit, you like him.”

Though there was more than a decade between you and Benji, your little brother was still your little brother. “No! He’s the head of the Spider-Society and he’s–you’ll see.”

You took a step forward to greet Miguel before anyone else from your family could get to him. “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to finish our work today, and since it’s your day off, I decided to come to you.”

“Miguel O’Hara making a compromise? How not canon. Wonder how big of a hole that’s gonna tear in the multiverse.”

“Shut up,” he ordered you playfully.

“Miguel, good to see you!” Your dad strode over and pulled the younger spider-man into a handshake.

“You too, Dr. Parker.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how oddly deferential Miguel was with your dad. He’d met Peter first, when he was establishing the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse. Miguel was stunned to discover that this Peter was not only retired, but had a full-grown daughter who’d taken up his crime-fighting mantle. Apparently your dad’s canon was particularly important and central to the greater Spiderverse, which meant Miguel would pester you with questions about him constantly.

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked, “You don’t usually make house calls.”

Before Miguel could explain, an elbow nearly sent you into careening into his broad chest. Mom.

“Miguel, this is my mom, Mary Jane.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” Miguel dutifully offered his hand to her.

“The pleasure is mine,” your mom gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Benji was right. He was not the person you had to be worried about. A rip in the multiverse to swallow you whole would be rather convenient right about now.

Miguel’s brow creased. “You have?”

“She hasn’t,” you intervened. “Like two or three things in passing, max. Promise I haven’t broken my NDA or you know, the superhero code of secrecy or anything.”

Mercifully, Miguel let it slide for the time being. He turned to your brother. “And you must be Benji.”

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, doing a terrible job of pitching his voice lower. “‘Sup, bro.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you were ready to rip the fabric of reality yourself to end this.

“Congrats on the win. Hate to do this, but I need to steal your sister for a bit.”

“No problem, I know she’s fine with it.” Perhaps Benji needed a reminder regarding which sibling had the super powers. “Also, what’s your workout–”

“Well, as fun as this all is, we should probably get back to work.”

Your family didn’t put up much of a fight – thank God – as pleasantries were exchanged and you and Miguel took off. You hoped Miguel didn’t catch when your mother mouthed “So handsome!!” to you as everyone said their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the two of you walking down East 36th Street.

“Sorry about them,” you began.

He looked at you, puzzled. “Why?”

“My family. Embarrassing.”

“They’re not embarrassing. They’re…they’re nice,” there was pain behind Miguel’s eyes. “It’s interesting. Your brother hasn’t experienced any spider-abilities, has he?”

“No,” you confirmed. “Not yet.”

You two slowed to stop on the corner. Miguel looked at you expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you wanted to do this in an environment where you ‘had access to alcohol and carbs’.”

“Oh! Right. Hmmm, where are we?” you looked up at the cross streets above you. “36th and 3rd? I know a place.”

You took Miguel to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian spot nearby. Since it was so close to Benji’s school and your old middle and high school, you had spent many a week night at their tables, either working on homework or chowing down after basketball practice.

Therefore, the staff knew you – it was a family owned spot, you’d basically grown up with the owner’s children, Maria and Chris. Though you graduated from Midtown Charter a looong time ago, they still took care of you. Maria had even let you use their first aid kit once, no questions asked, after a nasty Spider-Girl skirmish nearby. You didn’t suspect she knew anything, but even if she did, you could trust Maria to be discreet.

At least, you thought you could trust Maria, but when she showed you and Miguel to your table, and Miguel made a pit stop at the restroom, she very indiscreetly asked, “Daaaamn, girl. He your boyfriend? Because you–”

“No!”

“You getting dicked down by him?”

“No!”

“Can I get dicked down by him? He single? Does he like the ladies?”

“Maria, he’s a colleague. Actually, he’s my superior. So no…unfortunately, no.”

Maria cackled with delight. “That’s a pen worth sticking in your company ink. I’ll bring you some garlic bread.”

“And a glass of red wine,” you added. “no, a bottle.”

“That’s my girl!”

In theory, you had thought that reviewing sequencing outside of headquarters would’ve been less awkward, but in reality, it was more so. You couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of Miguel in normal clothes, the intimacy of having a meal together when usually your interactions were so sterile and professional, plus there was a little voice in your head screaming that THIS WAS BASICALLY A DATE on repeat.

“So should we pick up where we left off?” Miguel asked. The question brought you back down to Earth. Despite that little persistent voice in your head oohing and ahhing at him, it was clear that Miguel didn’t think this was a date. This dinner was a means to end, nothing more.

“Let me get a little wine drunk first,” you bargained.

“Yeah, but you have sped-up metabolism, so that’ll take at least–”

“That was a joke. Miguel, when was the last time you went out to dinner?”

He seemed to truly consider the question, then, “I don’t know.”

You’d never heard Miguel say those three words in that order before.

“I promise you I will go over my cringe teen years with you, but can we eat some garlic bread and not get drunk off this very nice bottle of wine first?”

“You’re worse than Lyla,” his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She’s always trying to get me to take breaks.”

“You should! There’s only so much self-flagellation a human can take, even if they’re a superhero.”

Miguel’s response was a very inarticulate grumble. Maria dropped off the wine, bread, and took your order. You didn’t know what was more insane – the amount of food Miguel ordered or how unabashedly Maria was ogling him.

“Let me guess, Lyla’s the one who suggested the field trip to my home dimension?”

Another grumble, this one in the affirmative.

“Classic,” you remarked with a snort before taking a gulp from your glass. “I love that your AI is smarter than you.”

“Of course she is, she can access all of the multiverse’s knowledge in a nano-second.’

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Can we not talk about me for a second?”

“Why?”

“Because…because, I don't know, I was hoping doing this in a more casual environment would–it’d make it feel more like a conversation.”

“We are having a conversation.”

“Jeez, Miguel,” you took another sip of wine. “It’s not easy digging through my past like this. A lot of the time it feels more like an interrogation.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. And don’t get me wrong, I want to help you, help the Spider-Society, but the one-sidedness of this is exhausting.”

“Exhausting.” He sounded dubious.

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll take care of the bill and see you tomorrow, and we can go back to reviewing the sequencing like we normally do. I should know better than to complain to you.”

Miguel looked at you if your words had stung him. “You can complain to me.”

“No, I can’t,” you disputed. “You’re the most self-sacrificing Spider out of any of us–which is really saying something, by the way–and I feel lame talking about my feelings with you.”

“And that’s why our reviews feel like interrogations,” he was putting it together.

“Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of HQ.”

Miguel scrutinized you with a long, unreadable look before announcing, “I’m not leaving before I have my bolognese.”

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. Miguel may have lacked the traditional spidey precognitive sense, and the signature spider sense of humor, but he definitely had the stubbornness you all seemed to possess.

You shot him a sidelong glare. “Why did you come here?”

“I told you - I wanted to finish sequencing and Lyla suggested coming to you.”

“But you didn’t have to take her suggestion.”

Miguel’s large frame shifted in the chair that suddenly appeared too small for him. “Like you said, she’s smarter than me, so I did. And yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. Right before the silence became intolerable, Miguel spoke again, “You still with that gu–’

“No.” The last thing you wanted to talk about with Miguel was your failed relationship with Gene, and you’d once discussed the correlation of getting your first period could’ve had with your powers emerging with him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you get it.”

Miguel at last took a sip from his glass. “All too well.”

“The price of being a hero, right?” you sent him a small, sympathetic smile across the table. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.”

“Your parents seemed to have figured it out,” he pointed out.

“Well, that took like decades, and according to you, they’re canon, right? So it was meant to be. I guess that’s one of the comforts of having a canon-confirmed soulmate.”

“Yeah, if you're Peter Parker.”

Your heart sank at the implication. “So that means if a Spider isn’t Peter we’re meant to die alone?”

“I don’t know,” Miguel’s eyes were averted. “Maybe only if you’re a Miguel O’Hara.”

“Stop, you could get anyone in this restaurant to sleep with you,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Our waitress has to resist climbing on top of you whenever she passes the table.”

He swatted away the implication as if it were a pest. “That’s different.”

“You know, it might help with the stress.”

“What?”

“Letting someone climb on top of you.”

Miguel glared at you, “Don’t.”

“See? It’s not fun being on the other side of the questions,” you smirked. Your conversation was briefly suspended when Maria returned with your entrees. After thanking her, you refocused back on Miguel, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No.”

“DADA!” A child, who couldn’t have been more than three, screeched happily from a neighboring table.

Miguel froze. For the first time in the several months that you’d known him, you saw his face soften. The warmth that filled his eyes at the sight of the toddler was undeniable. The fond expression hardened back into his stoic facade within an instant, yet Miguel couldn’t fully conceal the anguish that clearly still haunted him. He never could.

“Sorry,” you said softly.

He shook off your condolences. “What’d you want to ask me?”

“Have you tried seeing anyone after…” it felt forbidden to say Gabriella’s name out loud.

“What’s the point?” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.”

“Right,” you hedged.

Eventually, you and Miguel were able to find things to talk about outside of work and your respective traumas. You compared notes on the lamest villain you’d each encountered rounding up anomalies, discussed the idea of a nursery for spider-babies, or as Miguel insisted on calling them, “second-generation Spiders” – Peter couldn’t keep taking his kid on missions, plus Jessica Drew had just learned she was expecting – you even got Miguel to open up about his teenage days some.

“Makes sense you were a rebel,” you chuckled, taking one last bite of the tiramisu Maria insisted was on the house.

“Yeah? Why?” Miguel prodded.

“Because you-re so uptigh–upstanding now.”

You were treated to another rare grin from Miguel, this time a half smile rather than a quarter. “Nice save.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you contended with put-on innocence.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t always like what I have to do, you know.”

Your gaze locked directly with his for a breath-taking second, his eyes garnets in the low light of the dining room. “We should get going, I've taken you away from headquarters for long enough.”

“You act like I’ve never left HQ before, and if anything, I took you away from your family,” Miguel parried, yet stood up nonetheless. You followed suit, only mildly disappointed he didn’t argue with you about leaving. As awkward as this dinner initially was, you’d actually ended up enjoying it. “I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words stopped you in your tracks, “You know I’m the protector of this city, right?”

“Obviously, I—” he huffed as you waved goodbye to Maria and exited back onto the street. “Mierda May, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

Oh. Oh. Did Miguel think this was a date too? Date was too strong of a word – did Miguel think this was a not-entirely-work-related-hang too?

You struggled to keep your face blasé. “Ah, okay. We taking the subway or are we swinging?”

Miguel shot you a look as if the choice was obvious, which is how you found yourself traipsing across the city with Spider-Man 2099. You’d traveled by web plenty of times with Miguel before on missions, but there was something about it being the two of you, in your city, that made it feel just a little bit special.

And to be honest, you’d never get enough of watching Miguel’s body hurtle through the air – despite his bulk and brawn, he was agile and lithe as he swung from building to building with you. You nearly plunged into traffic on Sixth Avenue after your thoughts had wandered to what those bulging muscles looked like unencumbered by that skin-tight suit of his.

When you arrived at your apartment in Morningside Heights, you were suddenly self-conscious. You’d never brought a Spider to your residence, and Miguel was likely the hardest to impress of them all.

He studied your modest one-bedroom with the same intensity as he did his screens at the Spider-Society.

“It’s not much, I know,” you began, “and with Spider-Girl stuff, I don’t have the time to keep it as tidy as I'd like to.”

“It’s perfect,” he mumbled before catching himself. “I mean, it’s perfect for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t need much, but it gets good light during the day and was the highest floor I could afford at my price point,” you removed your mask as you babbled on.

“Makes sense,” Miguel nodded.

You had no idea where to go from there – what on Earth was the man playing at? Should you offer him water, another drink, the best spot to portal back to HQ? He was lingering in your space, seemingly fascinated by the framed prints on your walls, the photos on the coffee table and credenza.

“Um, do you need to use the restroom or something? Because it’s right through there,” you motioned to the appropriate door.

“I’m good for now.”

THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? You hollered in your head. Externally, you kept playing hostess, “Let me get you a glass of water then–”

Yet Miguel caught your wrist before you could retreat into your tiny, galley kitchen. You weren’t proud of how your heart leapt and your breath hitched at the contact.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

He shrugged, “I should, but–”

“But what?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…about letting someone climb on top of me.”

You gulped, “Sorry, that was so inappropriate of me–”

“It was. Inappropriate, that is, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” he tugged you closer to him. You could barely stand to meet his eyes, alight with desire, while your heart was pounding embarrassingly fast.

“Um, judging by the–uh, do you want me to climb on top of you, Miguel?” you were always so much smoother in your daydreams about him.

His lips hovered dangerously near yours. “Do you want to climb on top of me?”

The closer you got to Miguel, the faster your brain turned to scrambled eggs. His large, sure hands had settled on your hips.

“Uh huh,” was the best you could muster before he crashed your lips together.

Miguel’s kiss was searing and all-consuming – it felt as if the longer your mouths moved against each other, the more your body melted into his. He was tall, so tall, and even for a superhero like yourself, it was difficult to keep yourself perched on the balls of your feet to reach his skilled, hungry mouth.

He seemed to sense your struggle, and without breaking your liplock, he scooped you up into his arms. It was foreign but not unwelcome – you were so used to being the strongest, the person who held others, the hero. Therefore, being held so effortlessly in Miguel’s arms was nothing short of exhilarating. You weren’t the strongest person in the room anymore, you could surrender. You loved it.

Miguel pressed your back into the nearest wall, causing an emphatic moan to leave you when your hips became flush with his. You could already feel him – hot, hard, and big – between the flimsy fabric of your spider-suits. Instinctually, you canted your heat against his, delighting in the way he seemed to grow hotter, harder, not to mention unbelievably bigger, when you did.

“Bedroom?” he gasped between harsh, ardent kisses.

You managed to fling a hand in the correct direction, and next thing you knew, Miguel was depositing you onto your bed. You propped yourself up, leaning back on your palms to take in the man towering over you at the edge of your bed. In a flash of color and light, his suit disappeared from his strapping physique, and the sight of Miguel naked intoxicated you more than alcohol ever could.

His shoulders seemed even broader without the unstable particles of his suit covering them. His pecs were massive, which made a delectable ratio when his chest tapered down to a chiseled abdomen and slim hips. Slim hips that framed the biggest cock you’d seen outside of porn – hell, maybe even including porn. He was long and thick – it made a dark thrill race down your spine when you contemplated how the hell that was going to fit inside of you.

Miguel noticed you marveling at his package, misinterpreting the rapacious glint in your eye as unease, “I’ll prep you, I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m not worried” you glanced back up at his face coquettishly.

“No?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow and advanced toward you on the bed, a jaguar stalking its prey. He nudged you onto your back and pinned your wrists to your comforter, “maybe you should be.”

You muscled out of Miguel’s grip and switched positions so you were straddling him. Only then did you lean closer and whisper into his ear, “I can take it.”

Miguel growled, and within an instant, you were on your back once again as he pawed at your suit. Unlike his costume, your spider-suit was made of plain old fabric, so there was a bit of fumbling, cursing in Spanish, nervous giggling, and a mumbled comment about ‘making you a suit like mine’ from Miguel before you were nude as well.

He splayed you out against your mattress as if you were a feast before him. Your first instinct was to try and cover yourself but Miguel’s dark gaze froze you. A pleased groan rumbled from his chest and then his large hands flew to your breasts. “Such full, perky tits.”

You moaned in response to his ministrations. How was this real? You and Miguel were touching each other – naked – and you hadn’t woken up yet.

“It’s all for you,” you mewled, relishing his hot palms on your sensitive buds.

Another growl ripped from his chest before he swooped down and sucked one of your nipples into his warm, wanting mouth. You keened, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and you wove your fingers into his dark locks as he gorged himself on your tits.

The pull of Miguel’s mouth on your peaks was made only better when he snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger along the seam of your sex. You bucked at the touch, your reaction causing Miguel to lift his head from your bosom.

“Mmmm, you like it when I play with your pussy, cariño?”

At this point words had all but left you so you nodded and whined in the affirmative. Miguel’s digit parted your folds, tracing up and down, then found your clit and rubbed slow, tortuous circles into the nub.

“So wet for me, bebita,” he observed, maddeningly casually, while he played you like an instrument. “This is all for me, huh?”

Your head thrashed back and forth on your comforter with a sob, both from pleasure and bashfulness. Now there was no downplaying how horny Miguel made you.

“Shhh,” he cooed at you, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his groin, “feel what you do to me.”

This time your moan was unabashed as your hand circled around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so big.”

“I know,” he grunted. Normally, such braggadocio from a man would be an immediate turn off to you. But Miguel wasn’t being arrogant, not when he was referring to the thick, pulsing hardness you were currently caressing. “Gotta get you ready for me.”

He guided your hand away from his member, even despite your protests, to wrench your thighs wider and bury his head between them. The realization alone that Miguel O’Hara was about to eat you out almost made you come, yet actually feeling his tongue on your needy cunt was infinitely better. He licked a stripe from your perineum to your clit, tearing another ragged moan from you when his tongue focused in on the bundle of nerves.

Miguel chuckled against your folds at your enthusiastic praise and redoubled his efforts. Your fingers reflexively tangled in his inky locks once again as he continued his delectable assault on your pussy. The way Miguel tasted you matched with how he seemed to approach everything – he was vehement and determined to bring you pleasure like how he was when he worked. He managed to just stay on the right side of rough as he slurped at you..though perhaps that was a bit different than how he fought.

He speared his tongue into your hole, affording you the opportunity to grind your clit against his prominent nose. In your pleasure-filled haze, you briefly fretted that you were suffocating Miguel, but when you tried to scooch away and give him some air, the man grunted and pulled your hips closer to him.

You keened again when one of his thick fingers joined the fray as he prepped you. After all the sexual tension, all the self-denial, and all the excitement the night had held, it felt so good to clench around something. He was again methodical with his preparation, allowing you to adjust to one digit before adding another, and another. It couldn’t have made a starker contrast with how he was devouring your sex. Even in the bedroom, Miguel O’Hara was full of contradictions. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become more shallow, for your cries to reach a higher pitch as you climaxed around his hefty fingers. The combination of the penetration and the stimulation of your clit with his mouth was too good to resist.

You were slightly relieved that Miguel remained nestled between your legs while you rode out your peak. The orgasm he’d given you was much too good to be able to control your facial expressions.

He at last came up for air once you’d begun floating down from your peak. A primal pride surged through you at the sight of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smash your mouths together, eager to sample the combination you two made. It was all too easy to get lost in a kiss with Miguel, yet as you plundered his mouth with your tongue, your hand crept back down his groin.

This time it was Miguel who moaned into your mouth as you returned him to full mast with feather-light, teasing touches.

“I need to fuck you,” he gasped between kisses.

“Finally,” you bantered back.

A growl from Miguel and then he tackled you back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help the giggle – partly from nerves, partly from anticipation – that escaped you at his actions, despite the visage of a hulking, intimidating man hovering over you could be frightening in another context.

“Do you have protection?”

You hesitated. You kept a box of condoms in your bedside drawer, but given Miguel’s size, they’d be inadequate.

“None that would fit you,” you confessed, stealing another glance at his large erection. It was truly a sight to behold. Miguel deflated slightly, fearing penetration was off the table, and usually it would be. You were firmly a two methods of contraception girl, but there was no way you were going to pass up this chance to have sex with Miguel. “Don’t worry Spidey, I’m on the pill.”

“Gracias a Dios,” he muttered, then wasted no time situating himself between your hips. He drew yet another mewl from you when he slapped the tip of his cock a few times on your clit before lining himself up with your entrance.

He found you looking at him expectantly. And though Miguel mostly saw desire in your eyes, he could see the glimpse of unease too. He assured you, “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded, you trusted him after all, but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of when Miguel finally pushed into you. Just the tip was already splitting you apart more than Gene, or any former lover for that matter, ever had.

“Breathe,” Miguel rasped. You couldn’t tell if he was advising you or himself though. It struck you then that you’d perhaps achieved the damn-near impossible – disarming the notoriously closed-off Miguel O’Hara. He looked beautiful, biting his plush lower lip as he slowly rocked more and more of his huge cock inside of you.

Your back arched off the mattress of the sensation of being progressively speared on the monster that Miguel called a dick. It was too much and not enough all at once, and your fingers dug into your comforter below you. He tried to distract you from any potential pain, Miguel’s index finger returning to your barely-recovered clit.

“That’s it, open up for me,” he husked. Your head swam at the mix of his enormous manhood stretching you to your limit and his tender, in-control tone. The realization hit you harder than a punch from an anomaly. In that moment, fear skittered down your throat and pooled into your stomach, resting right above where you two were joined. He’s going to ruin me for other men, isn’t he?

You couldn’t think any further since not only was Miguel fully seated within you, he had asked you a question. Your eyes glassy and pupils blown, found his, and he repeated himself. “You okay? Can-can I move?”

“Yes,” you gasped. In case your breath affirmation left any room for doubt, you added, “please.”

Another grunt from your lover and Miguel at last began to thrust into you. Your arms flew from the bed to his impossibly wide shoulders, your nails digging into the caramel, taut skin there. You couldn’t tell exactly when it’d happened, lost in the deliciously lewd sounds you were making between the slap of your bodies, your labored breaths, and his determined staccato grunts while Miguel railed you, but your hips had begun to meet his.

“M-more Miguel,” you urged him as you dragged your fingertips down the expanse of his back. Each of your hands grabbed a fistful of that glorious ass and squeezed to drive home your point.

“You sure?”

You moaned. It was as if he couldn’t give it to you hard or faster enough. You used your grip on the globes of his perfect rear to try and force him to increase to the pace and force you needed him to fuck you at.

Miguel laughed. A dark and stirring sound that made you involuntarily tighten around his girthy length. “Alright bebita, but remember…you asked for this.”

His words ignited something defiant within you. You pulled Miguel’s head from where it had fallen into the crook of your neck so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I’m not some pillow princess from Nueva. I’m just as strong as you are, I can go just as hard you can, and I want you to fuck me.”

Your lover’s eyes darkened at your demand. The growl that ripped from his throat was your only warning before Miguel unleashed the full force of his strength on you. You keened in pleasure as he all but drove you through your bedframe and the wall behind it. Miguel captured your wrists once more and restrained you against the mattress as he absolutely pounded into your pussy.

His drilling drew another ecstatic cry from your mouth. Miguel glared down at you, his eyes nearly crazed, his face barely lit in the ambient light from the street. It truly was infuriating to you how beautiful this man was. You watched his brow furrowed in concentration – not on his stupid screens for once – and his dark hair shift in time with his thrusts. Your features contorted in pleasure when Miguel switched from drilling into you to swiveling his hips to stuff you with his cock. His movements were deliberate and slow, he was trying to get as deep inside of you as he could. You almost went cross-eyed at the feel of his bulbous cockhead punching against your cervix.

The criminal undulations of his hips extracted a little yip from you each time he pistoned into you. He grinned down at you wolfishly. Equal parts indignation and arousal bloomed within you. Also, was the first time you'd ever seen Miguel smile? Not a little half-smirk or a humorless quirk of his lips, but an unabashed smile?

“Want me to back off?”

Oh, there was no way you were going to take that lying down. Even if Miguel’s pubic bone was perfectly grinding into your clit.

You let out a growl of your own and summoned all the power in your core muscles to wrestle Miguel back and claim the high ground. Out of breath when you found yourself seated on Miguel’s dick, his large, muscled body prone beneath you, you braced yourself on his rippled abdomen.

“Is the itsy-bitsy Spider-Girl gonna ride my cock?” he taunted you. If Miguel didn’t wear that arrogant, playful smirk so well, you would’ve wiped it from his lips.

You slid your hands up the length of his chest and leaned over, your face hovering over his. “That depends. Can 2099 handle it?”

Miguel answered you with an impatient buck of his hips up into your sex. You giggled as you straightened up again, tweaking one of Miguel's nipples as you went. You relished the little shudder it sent through him. “Alright, but remember baby, you asked for this.”

He snorted out a laugh, which you quickly silenced once you began riding Miguel like the stud he was. “Hnnn–shock, bebita.”

“Ah,” you sighed as you bounced on his prick. Before sleeping with Miguel, you had assumed the term “feeling him in your guts” was hyperbole. Not with him. “Fuck, you’re even bigger like this.”

A large hand traced its way up one of your thighs, now lightly covered with a sheen of sweat, past your sex, split apart by his shaft, to where Miguel’s manhood made the slightest bulge in your lower belly. His smile became wider and even cockier. “It’s good, no?”

You gave him a nonverbal, but enthusiastic, reply. He smacked your ass in satisfaction, “Yeah c’mon, cariño, ride me. Wanna watch your tits bounce.”

You officially hated Miguel and his big, thick, perfectly sized cock. Where as with other partners you’d smack them right back with a zinger, all you could do was moan again. His naughty, domineering words did nothing but excite you. There was something about him and the way he fucked that made you incapable of doing little else than enthusiastically submitting to him. You leaned back, your fingers clutching onto Miguel’s thick thighs to stability as you changed angles and gave him a better view of your breasts jiggling in time with your motions.

“Ay, sí bebita,” Miguel’s hands flew to your hips to intensify the frantic mashing of your bodies together, “Ven aquí.”

He gathered your torso in his hulking arms and pulled you closer so that he could coax a breast into his mouth again as you rode him.

“You gonna come for me Miguel?” you panted.

“No,” he sounded as winded as you were. “Not yet.”

You clenched around him and snickered. “Are you sure?”

“¡Coño!” Miguel snarled at the feel of your already blistering, tight pussy suffocating his dick further. “¡No más – basta de esto!”

The vision of your bedroom swam when Miguel lifted you off his pulsing member and dropped you back on your stomach onto the mattress facing the foot of the bed.. You could hear him shifting behind you, and you blindly groped for the lower metal railing of your bedframe’s footboard, only vaguely aware what was to come.

A grunt from Miguel, and the next thing you knew one of your pillows was stuffed under your lower belly and his massive hands were back on either side of your hips. Your lover didn’t give you any notice before shoving his fat erection back inside of your already tender pussy.

You shouted at the feeling of his cock stuffing you to the brim once again. Miguel’s hands appeared above your head where you held on for dear life as he impaled you on his prick.

“Ahhh!” you clamored, desperately trying to pull enough air in your lungs to function as Miguel squatted behind you. “I’ve never been so full! Oh God, Miguel, it’s so much…so much…”

Miguel responded with a pleased growl, and merely rammed into you harder. You were peripherally aware of the clanging of the pieces of your metal bed frame clanging together in protest at the vigor of your and Miguel’s coupling, but there were too many sensations overwhelming you at once to focus on one in particular. Not even when the metal groaned and the angle Miguel fucked you at changed did you pay attention to what was actually happening. You merely pushed back onto his cock as much as you could, your fingertips scrabbling into the folds of your comforter.

Your eyes screwed shut at the barrage of stimuli - the unrelenting stretch of Miguel’s hardness, his harsh but steadying grip on your hips, the light scratch of fabric beneath you on your skin, the little puff of warmth on the back of your neck from Miguel’s labored exhalations. You were sure this was better than any high any drug could provide. You hadn’t tried many, not even Rapture, and but nothing could top being thoroughly fucked into your mattress by Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel’s dogged grunts morphed into shouts when he at last found his release, spurting rope after rope of hot, creamy cum into your welcoming cunt. You found yourself crying out along with him as he emptied his load, your walls bearing down around his length as you both rode out his high. Miguel flooded your pussy with his seed and before you could even try to adjust to the feeling, he withdrew his cock from you, tearing a quite pathetic-sounding whimper from your mouth.

Miguel pulled your ass cheeks apart to examine your stretched, puffy pussy leaking his cum. His chest rumbled with primal delight. “Hermosa.”

You’d barely had a chance to catch your breath when Miguel dove back in for more, this time his eager, demanding tongue again invading your channel. You whimpered again, your pitch jumping an octave at Miguel’s needy tongue not only collecting his spunk from your pussy, but flicking the muscle against your clit. He was a man possessed, he ate you out as if he needed you to orgasm one more time for his survival.

You gave him what he wanted (how could you not?), and once the crest of your pleasure had subsided, you lightly pushed him away from your gaping, abused cunt.

The first thing you noticed when your wits returned to you was how much closer the ground had become.

“Oh my God,” you put it together and turned to face your partner, "we broke the bed.”

Miguel arched a brow from where he leant back into the pillows. “Are you surprised?”

You frowned at him.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m going to…” you trailed off your gaze floating to the bathroom.

“Do your thing.”

“Can…can I get you anything?”

Miguel glanced down at his crotch. “A towel?”

You nodded. “Say no more.”

You ducked into your en-suite, and once you were sure the door was firmly closed behind you, you proceeded to have a freak out to yourself in the mirror. You scarcely believe your own appearance – lips kiss swollen, hair a veritable bird's nest, your mascara smudged into rings around your eyes. Miguel had destroyed you in the best of ways.

The thought sent a little aftershock of pleasure through you. You didn’t dally any longer — you relieved yourself, washed your hands, ran a brush through your hair and splashed water on your face. After dampening a washcloth for Miguel, you returned to the bedroom, where your bed frame was properly vertical again.

You glimpsed the glow of Miguel’s distinctive red webs holding the broken metal rods together. The other Spider was reclining on your mattress, a sheet haphazardly tossed over his groin to preserve his modesty. Even so, the sight of him made you go weak in the knees. He really did remind you of some sort of a large cat given the odd grace in which he lounged with, the evidence of his power and strength so poorly hidden under the surface of his skin.

“Get a new frame and expense it to Spider-HQ,” Miguel's baritone snapped you out of your reverie.

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” You tossed him the towel.

His eyes raked over your naked form. But instead of the desire you’d found there earlier, his gaze was full of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very okay. A little sore but good sore, ya know?”

“Good,” Miguel busied himself with cleaning up.

“I mean, what’s the point of having superpowers if you can’t enjoy extra rough sex?” you joked.

“Yeah, about that,” Miguel refused to meet your eyes. “As um…great as all this was…I think we–it should be a one-time thing.”

“Um, duh.” He looked up at you hastily and you continued, “Miguel, neither of us are anywhere close to ready or in the right place for a relationship.”

Your heart disagreed with your words, but you uttered them anyway. Not because it was how you truly felt, but you knew it was what he wanted to hear. Miguel associated any sense of closeness or vulnerability with weakness and danger. Trying to get him to see otherwise was a fool's errand, and it was easier on your heart to convince yourself into concurring with him.

Oddly, Miguel didn’t seem to relax at your assurances. He looked dubious. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my God, you are so cocky!” you accused him with a playful slap to the broad, tan chest. “Spare me the fake worry 2099, you may be amazing at sex, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to be professional with you at HQ.”

“Amazing at sex?” Mirguel parroted you with a smirk.

You slapped him again. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Sorry but those are very distracting,” he claimed, his gaze focused on your exposed breasts.

You scoffed and grabbed a pillow to temporarily cover yourself. “Hang on there, Spider-Man. Yes, you are…not terrible at showing a lady a good time, no, you don’t have to worry about me being clingy at work, and yes, I’m sure so stop looking at me like that!”

You tossed the pillow away and straddled him. “Now I don’t know about you, but it’s only midnight. If this is indeed a one-time thing, I say we make the most of the night and the fact that no one has bothered us with some multiversal emergency yet.”

Miguel finally let it go, choosing to focus on your very nude body on top of his. His hips moved on their own accord, grinding his cock, already stiffening back up to full mast, against where you were still so nice and stretched for him.

“Vamos, bebita,” he whispered into your ear. His fingers dug into your sides possessively in a way that almost let you believe he was doing it because you were his. “Wanna fuck you on the ceiling.”

***

You shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel didn’t stay the night. You were honestly shocked when he collapsed beside you after the hours you’d spent vehemently fucking. Your bed was now held together by a mix of both his and your webs, one of your framed photos on the wall lay shattered on the floor to be dealt with later, and the ceiling now sported a dent that was going to be very difficult to explain to your landlord.

The memory of Miguel leaving was hazy at best. After so many rounds of deeply satisfying, intensely athletic sex, you felt like you could sleep for a week. Yet the shift and dip of Miguel’s large frame exiting the bed was enough to wake you. You could sort of recall a small flash of light and chirpy voice which must have been Lyla…and you also had a vague memory of him replying in a hushed rumble as if not to wake you up. Or was he telling you he was heading out? Everything jumbled together under the fog of sleep.

Either way, you had to tell yourself that the sensation of a large hand caressing your face and then tenderly stroking down the sleep-warm skin of your back was a dream. Not for Miguel’s sake, but yours.

Thanks to super-spider stamina, you only really needed a couple extra shots of espresso to function somewhat normally the following day at headquarters. You were angry at your instinct to avoid Miguel. You both were adults that had an adult, mature conversation that last night’s activities were merely a form of stress release that didn’t mean anything. It was hard to believe however, when you could still feel the phantom shape of him inside of you.

Besides, it’s not even like you could avoid him if you wanted to. You were scheduled to go over more sequencing today with Miguel, and you were dead set on not blinking first in the post-sex-awkwardness stand-off.

“Hey, Miguel!” your voice reverberated in the vast space.

Several agonizing moments later, his platform lowered enough for you two to start conversing. If he was at all bashful about seeing you, the man didn’t show it.

“Good. You’re here.”

“Yep.”

Miguel was all business. “I want to go back to the fight you had with your father. Lyla, take us to timestamp 46:90:45.”

Damn, and here you thought you were good at compartmentalizing. You did your best to hide any disappointment from reaching your face, playing along as if he hadn’t seen every crevice of your body the night before.

***

Days turned into weeks, and you eventually, reluctantly accepted that Miguel had told you the truth that night. What you two had shared was really just a one-time lapse of his frighteningly strong self-restraint.

You were enjoying a rare night in, parked on the couch, takeout boxes strewn about the coffee table, your favorite trashy reality show playing on your TV. You’d gotten injured taking down a Doc Ock variant a few days ago, and Miguel benched you to recuperate. You were all too happy to take a break, from him and Spider-Girling. Despite your complicated feelings for the man, he assigned a recently displaced Spider, Spider-Woman 1357, to pinch hit for you in your dimension while you healed up. It was the first time since you became a hero you had a day off with peace of mind.

Just as you started another episode, a tingle raced down your spine. Your spider-sense. Something was about to happen. Out of all the possibilities of what could have followed, a portal opening in your living room and Miguel walking through was the last thing you would’ve guessed. You leapt up from the sofa.

You instantly regretted your appearance - messy bun, no makeup, and ratty sweatpants. Miguel, as usual, looked immaculate in his skintight spider-suit.

“Hey.”

“Is this a booty call?”

“No.”

“Don’t bullshit me–”

“It’s not, I swear! Coño, I came to check on you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you could have messaged me on my gizmo. It’s your preferred method of communication after all, ever since the last time you were in my apartment.”

“May–”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder. “He missed you, that’s all.”

Miguel growled at his AI. “I’m going to sentence you to robot death via spreadsheets.”

Lyla wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “Thank me later.” She disappeared before Miguel could try and make another retort.

“You missed me?”

“No,” his denial was instant. “I just…I–”

“This is a booty call!” you crumpled up a napkin and chucked it at his large form. “Go home, Miguel!”

He didn’t budge. “It’s not a booty call. I…what are you watching?”

“The Realest Housewives of Manhattan. What, don’t judge me!”

Miguel couldn't keep his face straight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Seeing his eyes crinkle with amusement was infectious. You threw another napkin ball at him and then composed yourself. He wasn’t getting off the hook this easily. “Why are you here? Be honest with me. It’s the very least I deserve.”

“I wanted to see the shocking expensive bed frame you expensed to HQ for myself.”

“You said I could and you didn't set a spending limit.” A wicked little grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. The bed frame from Restoration Hardware had been your own private form of revenge. “And I’m supposed to believe you wanting to see my bed – my bed that you broke–”

“Hey! We broke the bed–”

“--is not your thinly veiled excuse for seeking another roll in the hay? Enough with goddamn mind games Miguel.” He tried to speak but you pushed on, “I’m tired and this is the last thing I need.”

Miguel sobered. He hung his head. His mouth seemed to fight the words as they left his lips. “Alright, fine. I missed you.”

You ignored your heartbeat’s sharp increase and schooled your features to maintain a neutral appearance. “I have some extra Pad Thai if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

“So this may not be a booty call, but does anyone other than Lyla know you’re here?”

“No.”

You nodded. “Come. Sit. I just started the episode where Beverly throws her poodle a forty thousand dollar birthday party.”

“Nothing you said just now made sense,” Miguel protested, but took a seat on your couch anyway.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed!! Miguel has fully rotted my brain so I thought it only fair to share the horniness. Of course I have more imagined in this AU, fingers crossed I can find more time to write (comments and reblogs and likes help!)

Translations:

Mierda - Shit

cariño - dear

bebita - baby

Gracias a Dios - Thank God

Ven aquí - Come here

¡Coño! - Damnit!

¡No más – basta de esto! -No more, enough of this!

Hermosa - beautiful

Vamos, bebita - Come on, baby

Taglist: @plethora-of-imagines, @itdobe-liza @absolutelybloodyhopeless @ninebluehearts, @oscarissac2099

#miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x you #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac fanfic #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfic #we're not here to f*ck spiders

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pedroscurls · 1 day

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chance encounters | pt. 2

character(s): we got all the Triple Frontier boys in this chapter (obvi except Tom). Benny Miller, Will "Ironhead" Miller, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Frankie "Catfish" Morales, fem!Reader summary: Days blend together and it's become three months since you started training with Benny, and you use fighting and training as a distraction from your grief. It's when you're alone when things become too much. Luckily, Benny books you your first fight and your mind remains focused on winning (rather than dealing with the loss of your best friend). word count: 4.1k a/n: While I do train muay thai/kickboxing, I don't think I'd ever be able to fight (even when sparring in class I'm always so nervous lol), anyway... I hope you guys enjoy. We're going to delve deeper into Reader's grief in the next upcoming chapters and a certain someone might be able to help... warnings: grief (and Reader doing a poorly job at coping with the loss), violence - it's Reader's first fight!, mutual pining between Frankie and Reader series masterlist | ultimate masterlist

It had been three months. Three months since you started training with Benny at his gym. Three months since you started fighting again.

But that also meant it had been a total of six months since you lost your best friend. They say that days get better, that they get easier, but why does it feel like you haven’t gotten any better at all? You’re stuck in this same pattern where the only joy and excitement you feel is when you step foot into Benny’s gym. When your glove hits the heavy bag. When your leg connects with the pads that Benny holds. But as soon as you leave, you’re back to square one.

Every morning and every night, you lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your mind refuses to shut off. You’re afraid to close your eyes because when you do, all you see is your best friend. You can hear his laugh. You can see his smile. You can imagine him here.

And you hate it. You hate it because when you do open your eyes, you’re back to reality. You won’t ever be able to hear his laugh or his voice again. You won’t ever be able to see him smile or have him physically here with you.

All he is now is just a memory, haunting you day and night.

Benny has been so patient with you and you had gotten to know more about the three men you saw three months ago. The other blue-eyed man turned out to be his older brother, Will. He was quiet and reserved, but just like Benny, whenever he smiled, you felt a sense of comfort and security.

Then, there was Santiago… or Santi, he liked to say. He was just as outgoing as Benny was and he certainly wasn’t afraid to let you know how attractive he thought you were. It was meant to be a compliment and it would have usually made you blush and smile, but instead, it just earned him a curt nod before you walked past him to start training with Benny. Since then, though, Santiago had always tried to make you smile or laugh and there had been a few times where he succeeded, but as soon as the smile touched your lips or the laugh escaped you, you shut down. It didn’t feel right being happy.

And lastly, there was Frankie. He was just as quiet and reserved as Will was, but there was something about him that was soft and welcoming. You couldn’t explain it. In fact, he was the only one you hadn’t really spoken to. He liked to keep to himself, but there were certain gestures or actions that made you feel safe with him. He would hand you your duffle bag when you were getting ready to go home, give you a towel when you were drenched in sweat, and he even went so far to order food one night when you had mumbled that you hadn’t eaten all day.

Today, just like any other day, you step into Benny’s gym. Music is quietly playing and you see all four men wrestling on the mats. It didn’t seem like they were taking it seriously and you can hear their laughter echo the walls of the gym. It makes your heart flutter for a moment because even in the midst of your own grief, these four men managed to sneak into your life and begin to make a home. In fact, you couldn’t even begin to imagine life without them. You knew your best friend would have gotten along with them just fine, especially Benny. And it pains you because your best friend isn’t here to enjoy this with you.

“Oh, hey!” Santiago calls out, finally being overpowered by Benny as he lands on his back with a thud. “We were just messing around.”

“And I won,” Benny grins, climbing off of Santiago and standing up.

“You’re like thirty pounds heavier than I am. Of course you won.” Santiago rolls his eyes, but lets out a chuckle.

“It’s all about technique,” Benny winks. “Anyway, I thought I had you scheduled to start in an hour.” He says to you.

“Right,” you sigh. “I just figured I could come in early and hit the bag. If that’s okay?”

“You sure you won’t be tired?” Will says, sitting up as he and Frankie both try to catch their breaths. “You’re always training. Are you getting any rest?”

“Trying,” you admit quietly.

Frankie’s eyes soften immediately. Since the moment he saw you, he could see the sadness in your eyes, the void that is now left within you after finding out that you had lost your best friend. Loss was something he and the rest of the guys were all too familiar with, especially with being in their line of service, but that didn’t make it any easier. Frankie had numbed his grief and his pain with drugs and alcohol that it got to a point where he almost lost everything, he almost lost himself and it was his friends that brought him back to life. It wasn’t easy, but without them, he knew he wouldn’t have made it.

“Well, we’ll get out of your way. Go ahead and warm up,” Benny says. He and the rest of the guys stand up to give you space on the mat and Frankie is the last one to brush past you. He hears you let out a shaky breath and for a moment he pauses, stands right next to you.

“Hey, are you–” he quietly begins.

“Gotta train,” you interrupt, moving past him.

Frankie sighs and nods, following the rest of the guys towards Benny’s office in the back. Once inside, Benny hands him a bottle of water and sits down on the couch along the wall, glancing over at the door every so often.

“What’s up, Fish?” Santiago asks, arching a brow.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” Frankie points out.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” Benny says. “But if she doesn’t want to share, then we can’t force her. We all know what that’s like. You especially, Fish.”

Frankie tightens his jaw, running a hand through his unruly curls. “She’s struggling. You guys saw me struggle and still forced me to–”

“That’s because we have history, hermano,” Santiago interrupts. “We’ve only known her for a few months. We can’t just– We can’t just insert ourselves in her life when she’s made it clear that we’re all just… Acquaintances?”

“I was going to surprise her, think maybe it’ll cheer her up, but I booked her first fight for this Friday.” Benny says. “I think we’re all more than just acquaintances, but it’s her grief and we can’t push her on it.”

Will nods. “We all grieve differently. We all know this. Just give her time. If she wants to talk, she’ll reach out to one of us.”

“And how are you sure?” Frankie asks.

Santiago, Will, and Benny all share a look with each other before they turn their attention to Frankie. They can all visibly see the concern in his features and it’s only then that they realize that’s probably something more to this.

“Okay, what’s really going on, Frankie?” Santiago asks.

“Nothing,” Frankie waves off. “I’m just– We’ve all been in her shoes and we had each other to get us through it.”

“You like her,” Benny slowly grins. “You’ve barely talked to her and you like her.”

“Oh, shut up. I barely know her.”

Will chuckles. “But you like her?”

“I’m just trying to be nice, okay?” Frankie sighs. “It’s nothing like that.”

“You like her,” Santiago chuckles. “To be honest though, she does stare at you a little longer than everyone else.”

Frankie rolls his eyes. “Okay, you know what, I’m leaving.”

“But wait,” Benny chuckles. “You gonna say bye to her?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens and he playfully punches Benny’s arm, shaking his head. “You guys are assholes.”

“But you love us,” Santiago grins.

“Debatable,” he mumbles. “I just think… Maybe it’d be nice if we got her some flowers or cake or a card? I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“She doesn’t seem like the flowers kind of girl and she can’t have cake.” Benny says. “A card might be a good start," he teases.

“Great, you’ll be in charge of that, Fish,” Santiago winks.

“Bye,” Frankie says with a shake of his head as he leaves Benny’s office. He walks down the hallway and hears the sounds of the bag and exhaled breaths. He sees you hitting the bag with such speed and precision; Benny was right. You did have potential to become a legitimate fighter. Frankie enjoys watching you train because you’re so dialed in, so focused that everything around you just seems to disappear. Just like it is now, you’re light on your feet, bouncing on your toes as you deliver punches and hooks to the bag, finishing with a knee or a high kick. It’s impressive. You’re impressive.

He doesn’t stay long, doesn’t notice the way that your shoulders sag forward when the round ends. It’s almost like your body reminds you of the grief that encompasses your entire being. To be honest, fighting was a way for you to distract yourself from the grief and loss of your best friend. You’re not dealing with your grief. Instead, you’re pushing it as far back as you can, trying to focus on other things because you know that if you put your attention on the fact that your best friend died, you won’t be able to pull yourself out of it.

—

Friday rolls around and you’re in the locker room, warming up. It’s your first fight and Benny seems more nervous than you are. Your hands are already wrapped and you’re shadowboxing to keep your muscles warm, bouncing on your toes and switching stances from orthodox to southpaw. Frankie, Will, and Santiago enter the locker room just a few minutes before your fight begins.

“We wanna wish you luck,” Will says, pulling you into a gentle hug. “We know you’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you, Will.”

Santiago looks at you and smiles. “Make sure this pretty face doesn’t get beat up, yeah?”

You roll your eyes, the corner of your lips lifting just slightly. “You never quit, do you?”

Santiago chuckles. “With you? Never.” He winks.

Frankie then walks towards you. He’s wearing his Standard Heating Oil cap as usual and he lets a small smile line his lips. “Be safe, okay, hermosa?”

Hermosa. The pet name slips and Frankie bites his lower lip. The tops of his ears begin to burn, turning red in slight embarrassment. He brings a hand to rub the back of his neck and even you are taken by surprise by the pet name. It brings a sense of warmth in the pit of your belly though and instead of waiting for Frankie to pull you into a hug, you wrap your arms around him and let out a shaky exhale. With Frankie, it’s almost like he can tell what you’re feeling, can read how you’re doing, and right now, Frankie’s arms tighten just enough around you that makes you feel safe, that makes you feel like things are going to be okay.

“Alright, my little warrior,” Benny grins. “Let’s get out there.”

My little warrior. There’s an immediate shift in you and you pull away from Frankie immediately. He goes to say something, but he notices the look on your face, the distance in your eyes. You’re no longer here with him, with them, and he knows that your mind is elsewhere.

But he can also see the way your eyes glaze over with unshed tears, threatening to spill out. Instead, you take a deep breath and put in your mouth guard, allowing Benny to slide on your gloves.

You’re walking out of the locker room and down the hallway, eyes focused straight ahead of you as the four men remain behind you. You’re supposed to feel excited, thrilled for your first fight, but all you can think about is your best friend and how he wasn’t there to be able to watch you. You clench your hands into fists, your gloves tightening around your hands and you shake your arms loose, seeing the octagon as the crowd cheers and boos.

The cutman inspects you, making sure that you have your mouthguard in and your gloves tight and secure. Afterwards, the cutman then spreads petroleum jelly across your face - your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your forehead, your chin. They are the most common areas to be hit so the petroleum jelly is to help prevent cuts and tears from the impact that you’re sure you’re about to take in this fight.

Once the cutman finishes, you turn to Benny and he pulls you into a tight hug. You’re closest to him, especially with him being your coach, but he hasn’t yet known your full story yet. “Stay focused,” he says, pulling away. “You got this.”

You nod and gently tap his chest with your gloves before you turn to see Will, Santiago, and Frankie flash you a thumbs up from their seats in the front. You enter the octagon and let out a deep breath, your opponent staring down at you with narrowed eyes. You feel the nerves settle in, leaning back against the cage of the octagon as the announcer begins to announce your opponent’s name and her current record. You’re obviously the underdog, with this being your first fight, no one in the crowd (except for Benny and the rest of the guys) believe you can win.

“The Warrior!” you hear the announcer exclaim and immediately, you feel a shift within you. All you can do is focus on the woman on the other end of the octagon, eyes staring straight into her and the rest of the crowd disappears. The referee calls the both of you into the middle of the ring and you step forward, shifting between your feet as you keep your eyes solely on the woman in front of you.

“Are we clear?” the referee says after having told you both the rules. You both nod and you reach out to touch her gloves, but she just rolls her eyes and steps away, not bothering to give you the respect you had given her.

You both move back to your corner of the ring and within seconds, the bell rings to signal the start of the first round. You move closer to the middle of the ring, seeing her do the same as you keep your hands close to your face. She delivers several low kicks that take you a while to check, your leading leg beginning to throb in pain.

“Check those kicks!” You hear Benny yell from your corner of the octagon. It’s taking you a while to get the groove of things, still bouncing on your toes. You notice the woman has a habit of dropping her hands every time she kicks you and you know that you just need to time it right.

Your leg is beginning to bruise and it’s becoming a bit difficult to stand on it, so you switch stances to southpaw, keeping most of your weight on your right leg now.

“Come on!”

“Just end the fight already!”

“She’s not even that good!”

You can hear the crowd and it only fuels you even further. You try to remember Benny’s training, try to remember your best friend’s teachings, and they both had told you to be patient. The right moment will present itself.

There’s fifteen seconds left in the first round and so far, you know you’re losing. You’ve only thrown a few punches that haven’t landed. You can hear Benny screaming, begging for you to just do something instead of standing there and taking the hits that you don’t need to take.

The woman puts more pressure and backs you into the corner of the octagon. She clinches her hands around your neck, pulling you close enough to deliver a knee to your abdomen. It hits you straight in your core, knocking the wind out of you that you drop to your knees, falling backwards just as soon as the round ends.

You stand up slowly, walking towards your corner and sit on the seat that Benny sets down for you. You’re breathing heavily and it hurts, dripping with sweat as your abdomen begins to bruise and throb in addition to your left leg.

“You’re losing,” Benny says, lifting the bottle of water to your lips to give you a gulp. “You said you wanted this. You said you wanted to fight. What the hell is goin’ on?!”

You shake your head, tightening your jaw as you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused on the other woman and her team.

“Those kicks–” you begin. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’ll do better. I’ll finish it in this round.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous.”

You stand up from the seat, even with twenty seconds of rest left. “She drops her hands when she delivers a kick, Benny. I’m trying to find an opening.”

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked just waiting for something to happen. Be proactive. You know you’re fast. You know you’ve got the power. I know you can win this fight. Do you?”

You nod and look up at Benny. “Yes, I do.”

“Then fuckin’ win!”

The referee waves in your direction, signaling that the next round is about to begin. Benny looks down at you and his eyes soften for a moment.

“You can do this,” he says. “Believe in yourself.”

You nod and begin to bounce on your toes, the pain you’re feeling taking a backseat as you stare at the other woman with a tightened jaw and narrowed eyes.

Then, the bell rings and the second round begins.

The other woman rushes towards you and you use your footwork to easily move away from her punches. You see her leg begin to lift and her hands drop. This is your moment. You deliver a quick jab that connects with her face and she stumbles backward. It isn’t enough to drop her, so you push forward.

“There you go!” Benny exclaims. “Just a 1-2! She felt that!”

You remain focused, delivering just a simple 1-2 punch that continues to connect with her face. You step back to give you enough space to deliver a high kick to her right side, seeing her drop her hands to block the kick which gives you an opening to deliver a hard left hook across her chin.

You put as much strength as you could behind the hook, hearing the sound of your glove connecting with her chin echo throughout the building. She falls immediately on her back and you quickly scramble to mount her. Her arms cover her face as you just begin to ground and pound, delivering hammer fists to her face.

Then, you feel the referee come between the both of you, waving his hands in the air to stop the fight.

You won. Holy shit, you won!

Benny runs inside of the octagon and lifts you up, cheering and laughing. “You did it!” The rest of the guys rush inside as well, staring at you with excited eyes and grins.

The other woman finally stands up and the referee holds each of your wrists, waiting for the announcer to announce you as the winner. Once your hand is raised in the air, you feel tears threatening to spill over. The other woman comes to you and reaches out to give you a one-armed hug.

“Great job,” she says. “That was a great fight.”

“I’m sure my leg is gonna hurt like hell for the next few days,” you say with a slight smile.

The other woman chuckles and nods, turning around to walk out of the octagon with her team.

You turn around and look at Benny, Will, Santiago, and Frankie. Seeing them stare at you with smiles finally makes the dam break and tears begin to trickle down your cheeks. Benny’s the first one to pull you into a hug, holding you so tight that it provides the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“Your best friend would be proud,” he whispers and it only makes you cry even harder. He and the rest of the guys lead you out of the octagon, hearing the applause and cheers from the crowd as you begin to make your way back to the locker room.

—

After your fight - and after freshening up and taking a shower - you meet the guys at the local bar that they normally frequent. You’re limping slightly, the bruise on your left leg a painful reminder of the leg kicks you endured during the fight. With each breath, you feel your side twinge with pain from the knee your opponent delivered at the end of the first round.

You keep your hair down and past your shoulders, dressed in a black slip dress that reaches past your knees and sandals. You’re glad that your face didn’t take much damage, but you’re sure that your body is going to be in a lot more pain tomorrow.

Tonight, you feel like you can celebrate… But also because you didn’t want to be alone.

Stepping into the bar, you see the four men in a booth in the corner and they spot you immediately. Their eyes slightly widen at the sight of you and you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, your cheeks heating up at the way they’re looking at you.

“You clean up nice,” Benny chuckles.

“I’m not in spandex shorts and a shirt, drenched in sweat,” you tease, sliding into the booth next to Frankie.

“You look great,” Frankie blurts out.

“Thank you, Frankie,” you say quietly, looking over at him.

Santiago, Will, and Benny look between the both of you and arch a brow before the three of them stand up to walk towards the bar. “First round will be on me,” Will says. “What can we get for you?”

“Glass of white wine, please,” you answer.

When the three of them leave, there’s an uncomfortable and awkward silence that fills the air between you and Frankie. He scoots closer to the inside of the booth to give you some space and he lifts the glass of beer to his lips.

“You were great out there tonight,” he finally says.

“I got my ass handed to me in the first round.”

Frankie chuckles. “But you didn’t give up and you came back in the second round.”

“Guess you can call it luck.”

“It wasn’t luck.”

You shrug and look down at your hands. “I just saw an opening and took it.”

“You work hard and it paid off,” Frankie says.

“Trying to,” you mumble. “It’s been hard.”

Frankie leans forward, elbows resting on the table as he looks over at you. “Benny mentioned your best friend…” he begins quietly, eyeing you to make sure that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. When he realizes you weren’t going to stop him and change the subject, he continues. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Even six months later, that phrase still frustrates you. Even though it’s meant as a way to offer condolences, it’s never brought you any comfort.

“Yeah,” you shrug.

“I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt. “I try not to think about it, about him.”

Frankie nods. “You know, all four of us are prior military. Special Forces.”

“Really?” you ask, brows arching. You didn’t know that, but it does explain how close and tight knit they are.

Frankie nods again. “We lost one of our buddies a couple of years ago. There used to be five of us and now,” he sighs. “Anyway, I just– If you ever need anyone to talk to, we’re all willing to listen.”

“You ever get through it?” You ask. “It’s been six months and I feel… Stuck.”

Frankie shrugs. “You just learn how to deal with it. Learn how to live life without them.”

“But what if you can’t?” you say quietly. “What if you aren’t sure how to deal with it? How to live life without them? Then what?”

Frankie sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Would your best friend want you to move forward? Would he want you to be happy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t ask him.” You sigh quietly and gently reach out to rest a hand on Frankie’s arm, feeling the muscles flex underneath your fingertips. “I’m sorry. I don’t–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie says softly, reaching over to rest a hand over your own. “We all deal with it in our own way. I hope you know, though, that we’re all here for you.” He looks into your eyes, staring deeply. “I’m here for you.”

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