TW: smut, yeah you know how it is no minors so god help me
I haven't slept this well in months.
It's a nice change to awaken blissfully, stretched out in the mid-morning sun spot of my bed. My slumber was rich and satisfying, fulfilling in all the ways it should be. When my eyes eventually glide open, they're not sore or crusty from a fitful sleep. They're well-rested, alert and bright.
It's the after-morning glow. It's the peaceful tranquility at the end of getting your brain fucked out.
Beneath the rumpled sheets my bare legs are tangled around Miguel's, and my back is held to his chest with a grip of steel. His face is hidden in my hair and the warmth between our naked bodies is the right amount of bliss. I was correct last night - I am sore - and it's worse than it would've been because we finally broke down the last of my walls, and Miguel is voracious.
I have no idea how he recovered so quickly. After our romp on the couch and helping me to the shower, he pinned me against the wall beneath its hot spray and fucked me, and then woke me up in the middle of the night to bend me over the mattress and fuck me again. He's like a goddamn rabbit. I'm struggling to keep up.
Not that I'm complaining. I'm not complaining at all.
I close my eyes and stretch within the confines of Miguel's arms and happily sigh. I'm all stiff and painful, like I've just done a too-extensive workout and I'm paying the price for it. My body yells its displeasure at being treated so roughly, so terribly wonderfully, and I smile at the deep-seated ache. It's such a nice ache.
Behind me, Miguel's awake. He picks up a lock of my hair and twirls it around his finger. He tugs it gently, and my head turns to him. His kiss is long, soft and sweet. My heart flutters.
"Morning, hermosa," he whispers. His hands roam my stomach and hips, squeeze the bulge of my breasts, like he can't feel me enough.
"Morning," I contently hum. My smile drops in disbelief when I feel the poke of his dick on the backs of my thighs. "Again?"
Miguel's smile is sheepish. "Please?"
When he asks so sweetly, how can I say no? I lift my leg and slip it over his thigh. I grimace at the pain in my muscles. "You're relentless."
"Gracias," he whispers behind my ear and slides himself between my legs.
I groan at the ache of overuse as he seats himself inside me. "Ow."
"Sorry, mi vida," Miguel murmurs, and kisses along my sore neck. God, every part of me hurts. He slides his fingers down to my oversensitive clit and forces me still when I gasp and give a full-body flinch. "I'll be gentle."
"You're a sex-crazed maniac," I grumble. My irritation fades when he begins to carefully pump his cock inside me, slow and soft, and pain is suddenly the last thing on my mind. I arch back into him. My sigh is one of bliss.
"Love you, too," Miguel says, already breathless.
With the hand that's not rolling perfect circles over my clit, he grasps tight onto my hip bone, keeping me deep in his lap. He spears me utterly and whispers dirty, sinful words into my ear, ones that make my already warm cheeks burn hotter. What a way to wake.
His palm pushes over my lower belly to feel the bulge of his dick moving inside me. But then he holds down hard, and I whimper with drawling pleasure. I feel every ridge, the accurate curve of him, perfectly fitting inside me like we were made for each other. My pussy gives a despairing ache. I ignore it.
He's seriously gonna kill me if he keeps this up.
Miguel finishes first with a stutter of his hips and a heavenly, whispery moan of my name. He keeps pumping despite the overstimulated hiss he gives through his teeth. His fingers keep moving against me, and between that and the horrid squelching of his cum being pushed deeper and deeper, I'm quick to orgasm.
It's slow; drawn out and blissful. It's a lazy-morning orgasm that leaves me shaking and seeing white. Miguel exhales lowly at the feeling of me gripping him through it and pins himself deep inside me.
He presses his forehead to my back as we catch our breath. He doesn't pull out. He likes the feeling of me around him too much to leave my warmth just yet. Again, I don't complain - I like the feeling of being full.
We stay like this for a few minutes. His hand pats soothingly down my side. I almost fall asleep again.
"We need to pick up Rosita." His mumble pulls me back to the waking world. "... we also need a new couch."
I turn my face into the mattress and groan. I don't want to get up. I'm too comfy like this. And Miguel's not making it any easier with him mouthing the spot behind my ear and caressing my bruised hips.
But I am sticky. And sweaty. And I smell like sex, which is nice in the moment, but now I'm craving the clean scent of my vanilla and cinnamon body wash. I sit up with gritted teeth and wince as Miguel's dick slides out.
"Shit," I sigh. I hang my head and try to settle the waves of pain that swiftly emerged upon moving. "I'm so sore."
Miguel turns onto his back with a satisfied smile. "Sorry."
"Don't lie to my face." He snickers at my halfhearted bitterness and watches as I edge my way out of bed like an old lady. "I'm taking a shower."
Miguel sits up fast.
"I'll join you," he says eagerly, only to stop when I hold my hand up.
"No, no, god, please," I say with a whine. "I haven't had this much sex since my honeymoon and I was a lot younger then. I need a break."
Miguel drops back onto his pillow with a disappointed pout. I shake my head at him and limp towards the bathroom. It's all well and good that he's a sex god-slash-machine, but I'm not. His poor hand? More like poor me.
I do a double take when I spot my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are bright, I look like me again - until my gaze drops to the bruised mess that is my neck. We're going through bandages like they're water.
I pull one down to check the wound and grimace at the dark, angry punctures. It'd be nice if Miguel was like one of those fictional vampire boyfriends whose saliva heals the bites they give their lovers. That'd be so easy, so discreet. I'm not that lucky.
I sigh and cover the wound back up. Another scarf day it is.
••🕷️••
"How are you doing?" Miguel asks as we wander down a furniture department's aisle of couches. His hand's entwined in mine. There's a slight limp to my walk that he's mercifully not made fun of yet. "Still sore?"
I check the price of a two-seater. "Still sore."
"Painkillers not working yet?"
"No. They kicked in ages ago." I send him a glare. "I'm just that sore."
He doesn't look guilty. If anything, it only swells his ego. His broad chest puffs with pride. "Guilty as charged."
I roll my eyes. He's such a man. I'd be pissed at him if the sex didn't rock my world. I'd be pissed at him if he wasn't Miguel and I wasn't so head over heels.
"This one's nice," Miguel says, pointing at a white leather sofa. It looks like something more inclined to the design of his pad back in his Neuva York. I raise my brows at him.
"With an eleven-year-old?" I remind. "It'll stay that clean for five minutes."
Miguel comically blinks. "Ah. Didn't think of that."
I smile encouragingly and pull him to the next option.
For a family home we need something practical, cozy and easy to clean. Miguel hasn't quite grasped the concept that new furniture gets destroyed in seconds when there's kids involved - especially if said kid has friends over - and keeps pointing out furniture that veers on the more expensive side. I've resolved to do the classic 'that's nice, honey' and move on.
He's still new to being a dad. I'll give him a pass.
I finally stumble upon a couch that's similar to the one that's now in the dump. Miguel pretends to struggle carrying it with one of the shop hands into the trailer we'd hired to get rid of the old one, and then when we get home, he hauls it inside by himself. He doesn't even break a sweat.
I have to stop myself from giving Miguel the opportunity to destroy our new couch.
When Miguel and I are both happy with its positioning, it's time to pick up Rosalina. I'm less irritated by Mirilla now that I've had my sex-induced stress relief, so I only grumble half as much as I walk up to her front door.
She must've been waiting for us (or, more likely, waiting for Miguel) as she opens the door before I get a chance to knock. We exchange strained-smile greetings while waiting for Rosalina to gather her belongings.
It's cold. A bitter wind passes and I shift on my feet, only to grimace when my thighs give a sudden, deep ache. Mirilla's eagle eyes notice.
"Honey, are you injured?" she asks with overbearing concern. "What did you do to yourself?"
I go to make an excuse, and then remember how she put her hand on Miguel's arm in a clear attempt to seduce him. I see an opportunity arise before me.
But no, I can't. That'd be so crass of me.
Just kidding.
"What did my husband do to me," I correct with a crooked grin, giddy with amusement at the way Mirilla's face drops in shock. "Thanks for having Rosalina over. We really needed the house to ourselves."
Mirilla goes silent and beet-red. I glance over my shoulder to where Miguel waits in the car and wonder if his super-hearing picked up on what I said. I hope it did.
Rosalina arrives and jumps into me for a hug before Mirilla can respond. We wave goodbye, and she lifts her hand in flaccid response. Miguel's lidded-eye, humoured glare at me as I slide into shotgun tells me that he absolutely heard me. I smirk to myself the whole way home.
"How was your sleepover, papita?" I ask.
"It was so fun!" she exclaims, and launches into a minute-by-minute retelling of her and her team watching a live soccer world cup game, eating cookies decorated to look like soccer balls, and then staying up and telling ghost stories. She speaks the whole way home.
"Why did we get a new couch?" Rosalina asks when she passes the living room and spots the change. Miguel and I share a look.
"Dad spilt coffee all over it," I say, much to his shock at being thrown under the bus. Rosalina's eyes widen. "And then when he was trying to clean it, he spilt bleach over it, too."
"¡Ay-!" Miguel complains.
"He's really embarrassed about it," I add.
Rosalina glances at Miguel with a confused smile. "That's silly."
"I know, right?" I agree, and follow her gaze to him. He glares at me in disbelief. "So silly."
When Rosalina pads upstairs to unpack her overnight bag, Miguel drags me into his chest with an unhappy growl. I hold his arms and cheekily giggle.
"You're unbelievable," he grumbles.
"Technically, you did ruin the couch," I point out. "I just bent the truth about how you did it."
Miguel tsk's sulkily into my cheek. I raise my hand to hold the side of his face. "I can never win with you," he mutters.
"No, you can not," I say, quite pleased.
••🕷️••
With the Daily Bugle still under repairs, I'm still working daily from the Spider-HQ. I'm becoming quite comfortable with the absurd-architecture and strange-suited folk, and I think they're getting used to having a normie walking around, too. I even find myself sharing passing smiles with a handful of them.
It's been a quiet day. Miguel's been gone on a mission that's taking him longer than he expected. I'd hoped we'd have lunch together like we do most of the time, but it seems to be turning into another day without him sharing his break with me. Not that his breaks are ever really that long in the first place.
The station is silent and empty, but I'm keeping myself engaged with my journalism work and with the music blaring from my headphones. Sometimes it's nice to be able to focus. I don't get to focus a lot while I'm here.
My laptop's screen is pushed down. I barely have time to move my hands before they're snapped upon. I look up in shock and find Jess staring at me, and then I push my headphones off one ear.
"Hello?"
"What are you doing for lunch?" she asks.
I lift up a half-eaten muffin I snagged from the cafeteria. Jess's face drops into a look of disbelief.
"Girl, you are so sad," she says. I frown. "Peter and I are going out to eat. You're coming with."
I guess I don't have a choice. I mean, I'd say yes, anyway. It's Jess and Peter. They're my favourite people here aside from Miguel.
I pull my headphones off and place them onto my desk. "Out? Where are we going?"
Jess falters when I stand to join her, and looks me up and down. Don't be obvious. Don't be obvious. Don't be obvious. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to realise why I'm moving more gingerly than usual.
"It's this place Peter found during one of his rounds of the city," she says as we walk through the long, dark hall of the station. "He's such a tourist."
I shrug. "Win for us. The cafeteria food gets old after a while."
"I suppose."
Jess nods at a few passing Spideys. They nod back to her, and to me, too. My taken-aback smile in response is late and awkward. De facto leader. It's not even true.
We're joined shortly after by Peter himself, who swings down from a floor above and lands in an easy walk beside us. I'm only slightly envious of his grace.
Peter doesn't even bother saying hello. He's keyed up about something, and after pulling off his mask and slinging his arm around my shoulders, he turns to Jess with wide eyes.
"Did you see Miguel before he left?" Peter asks, voice pitched with disbelief. "I can't believe it - he's in a good mood. You know, in the six months I've known the guy, he's never smiled at me. He laughed at my joke today! Laughed!"
Jess raises her brows. "Really?"
"Really!" Peter exclaims. He shakes his head in utter bewilderment. "It's a goddamn Christmas miracle, Jess, it truly is."
"Huh." Jess continues staring ahead.
Peter turns his attention to me. "Did something happen, recently? Rosalina win a game? I thought her soccer season was over?"
I know exactly why Miguel's in a good mood, and it has everything to do with his insatiable need to make love to me last night once we were sure Rosalina was no longer awake. At least he gave me the rest of the day to recover before splitting me apart again.
I can still hear his snarls to be quiet. I can still feel his hand muffling my cries when I came. My cheeks burn horrendously.
"Ah..." I look at the ground and shrug. "No... not that I know of."
"Why are you blushing?" Peter asks.
"Oh, come on!" Jess exclaims, making the both of us jump and turn to her. "Dude, you seriously can't be that blind. You're a married man!"
My face falls and my blood freezes. She knew. She knew all along. "We really don't need to talk about this."
"Blind?" Peter echoes, ignoring me. "What do you mean?"
Jess hangs her head back with a groan. "I can't. I seriously can't."
"Jess," I beg, but I'm still ignored. I drop my gaze and hold the sides of my face and decide to wait until this torment is over.
"Does she look different to you, Peter?" Jess continues, gesturing to me. "Is she walking differently?"
Peter gives me a surveying look as we enter the elevator. "I guess she's got a bit of a limp. I don't understand what this has anything to do with Miguel, though."
Jess' eyes widen in emphasis. He stares blankly back at her. She widens her eyes more and shakes her head, practically pleading with him to get the point.
Something clicks behind Peter's blue eyes. He drops his arm from me and grabs my shoulders instead. "You got laid?! Miguel got laid?!"
I drop my head to the side with a groan. "It's not that big of a deal."
"He laughed at my joke, Y/n!" Peter reiterates. "It's a big deal!"
I wrangle his hands off of me. "It really isn't."
Jess, pleased now that Peter's on the same page, crosses her arms and huffs amusedly. "When you work with Miguel instead of make-out with him, then it's a big deal, Y/n. He's a different person with you."
"Ugh!" I pull my turtleneck's hem up to hide my face. I cross my arms for extra drama. "I thought we were all adults, here."
"You're the one hiding your face," Peter points out.
I shove down the neckline to send him an incredulous glare. "Because you're making a big deal out of it!"
Peter raises his hands in defence. "Hey, you keep putting Miguel in a good mood and I'll kiss the ground you walk on, pal. No judgement from me."
"Your wife is pregnant!" I comment. "Why don't we talk about that, huh? Jess is trying for a baby! Why is it so important when it's Miguel and I?"
"Because it's Miguel," Jess snickers.
I give up. I understand exactly why Miguel is so stressed whenever he steps foot in this goddamn place. No wonder why he spends all of his time in my world.
Jess and Peter converse about their recent mission and the trouble Miguel's having on his current one. I listen in, worried, but can't bring myself to join. I'm supposed to be pissed off with them.
The streets of Nueva York are as still as impeccable as ever. The tidiness makes me uncomfortable, like I'm working through a billionaire's pristine estate rather than a bustling city centre. It's quiet - there's no shouting drivers, no radios blasting music, no engine backfire. There's not even any graffiti or business design. It's all so blank. It's so alien.
The last time I went through this version of my home, it was in a self-driving taxi with Miguel, and I was so engrossed in the fact that self-driving public transport was actually used regularly by the city goers rather than continuously being tested upon that I missed half of the scenery.
People stare at the unmasked Spidey's walking beside me, and then they stare at me.
I never would've thought that an outfit of a yellow hoodie and jeans would get stares. It's the most normal thing in my world - but here, I feel like I'm wearing something totally bizarre.
Everyone's clothes are monochromatic and sharply-cut. They're all cloaks with high necks and black boots. Dresses with geometric designs snipped out and bags with screens on them and electric locks. Heels that are needle thin and pants that shimmer like sun on water. On a runway it would be cool. But in city full of people, it's just plain eerie.
I can't even imagine Miguel living here. He's got so much more life in him than this entire city.
Jess notices my unease and pats my shoulder. "You get used to it."
"I don't like it here," I mumble. My eyes scan the crowd right back. "It's weird."
"Oh, trust me, Y/n," Peter chuckles. "There's a lot weirder out there than this. This makes most of the other realities look normal. There was this one place that was literally made of cheese - it smelt awful - and another place that..."
I try to pay attention to Peter, but I've done a double take on whom I first think is Miguel walking down the opposite side of the street - but that can't be right, he's in an entire different reality fighting some weird bad guy named after a font. I take a closer, third look and realise my mistake; he's thinner than Miguel, not as broad, and his hair is shorter, too.
I gasp.
"Oh, shit!" I grab Jess and hide behind her with my heart in my throat. "Shit, shit, shit!"
"Whoa, hello, crazy," Jess says. Her and Peter send me weird looks as I shelter behind the two of them. "What the hell are you doing?"
I peek over her shoulder just to check that my brain hasn't tricked me and swiftly hide again. I close my eyes in distress. "Fuck, it is him!"
Peter places a hand on my back. "Do you mind letting us in on what's going on?"
I send him a frazzled look. "It's Gabe. Gabriel - Miguel's brother."
Peter and Jess look over across the road. My nerves snap and I yank them behind a pristinely white bus stop.
"Don't look at him!" I hiss. I lean against the bus stop and card my hands through my hair. They stare at me like I'm going insane. I probably am. "Ohhh, my god, I thought he was dead. He's dead in my world!"
"So what?" Jess asks. And then her eyes widen. "Oh."
"I'm supposed to be dead," I say worriedly. I peer around the bus stop at him - he's just standing there, in the middle of the footpath on his phone and wearing the same ridiculous monochrome style as everyone else. "If he sees me, he'll- I don't know, have a futuristic version of a heart attack!"
"I think that's just still a heart attack," Peter mentions.
"Jesus - why did I have to wear yellow?!" I seethe. "I stick out like a red thumb!"
"Yellow thumb," Peter quietly murmurs. I slap him with a growl of his name. "Okay, jeez! Calm down. The guy hasn't even noticed you yet. All we have to do is sneak past, find an alleyway, and portal back to HQ. He won't even see us."
"Uhh, yes, he has," Jess corrects.
"What?" I glance at Jess and see her with her head around the bus stop.
Jess looks at me. "He's coming over."
My panic rises to exponential heights. "What do you mean he's coming over?!"
"Girl, what else would I mean?"
"Sorry that I'm freaking out over seeing my dead husband's dead brother who isn't dead who thinks I'm dead!"
"... who's dead... who thinks you're dead..." Peter mumbles beneath his breath. He exhales a single laugh and holds his hips. "Wow, your relationship is complicated."
"He's almost here," Jess warns through a smile she's sending at Gabriel. Peter jumps. "Do something!"
"Here!" Peter yanks his Spider-Man mask over my head just as Gabriel arrives. He spins and plants his arm on my shoulder with a nervous laugh. "Hey, Gabe!"
I freeze like a deer in headlights. My entire body is as tense as a board. I'm standing unnaturally straight, and my head is too busy and panicky to force myself to relax.
"Hey, Jess, Pete," Gabriel greets with a warm smile to the two. His brown eyes drop to me and he smiles welcomingly. "New recruit?"
"Yep!" Peter answers. He plants his chin onto his hand and crosses his leg, leaning his weight on me. My locked knees stumble beneath him. "Got 'er in just yesterday."
"She's shy," Jess says. She's far calmer than Peter and I. "Doesn't wanna take the mask off."
I feverishly shake my head. Gabriel grins in understanding.
"Going from a world where you have to keep your identity secret to a world where Spidey's can walk around without their masks is quite a change." He offers me a reassuring smile. God, he looks so much like Miguel. I forgot how alike they were before he died all those years ago. "Don't worry, newbie. You'll fit in quick."
I don't reply. I don't want to risk him recognising my voice. The silence stretches into awkward territory.
"She's also mute," Peter says.
Jess leans against the bus stop with her arms crossed, watching the show.
"Oh, that's okay!" Gabriel says. "There's lots of Spideys that are mute. It's pretty incredible how diverse Spider-People can be. When I first found out that my brother was Spider-Man, I lost my mind - now, there's hundreds here." Gabriel pauses, and I think he's going to wrap up the conversation to leave, but then he keeps fucking talking. "Have you met him, yet? He's the big boss Miguel."
"Oh, yeah," Jess chuckles, answering for me before Peter can. "She's gotten real up close and personal."
I slowly send her a glare. Jess stares right back at me.
"Real up close," she adds. Gabriel's eyes narrow in confusion.
"Anyway!" Peter takes the conversation again. "We're just showing her the ropes and the city, you know how it is. Induction, n' all that boring crap."
Gabriel furrows his brows. "You guy don't usually do the induction." His gaze drops back to me and he tilts his head. He points a relaxed finger at me. "Actually, you seem kind of familiar."
"HA!" escapes me in a high-pitched squeal. Jess and Peter cringe. I clear my throat and lower my voice. "That's funny." I close my eyes and feel the subtle shift as the mask's optics match their movement. "I mean - I get that a lot..?"
Gabriel sends me an odd look. He turns his baffled frown to Peter. "I thought you said she was mute?"
Peter pauses. "It's a miracle! Anyway, gotta go!" He grabs my hand and bolts. My gasp is sucked down my throat.
"Peter!" I shriek as I'm dragged down the street. The crowd parts for us with bewildered stares. "This is only-!" I yelp as I stumble over my shoelace. "- it's only gonna make him suspect us!"
"Then it's a good thing he didn't see your face!" Peter calls back. He pulls me into an alleyway and inputs coordinates to the base, and in the next step, I'm being thrown across the rip between space.
I slip over my leg and collapse to the floor of Miguel's station and nearly take out Spider-Canada with me. Peter lithely flips over me before he can meet the similar fate of being sprawled upon the floor.
I roll onto my back and gasp for breath. My fingers find the edge of Peter's mask and pulls it off of my head. I throw it at him with a grunt.
"You really need to wash that," I say between pants.
"I just did," he complains.
"Then do it again."
"¿Hola?" Miguel uncertainly greets. Peter and I look up and find him on his platform, staring down at us in bewilderment. "What have you two gotten yourself into, now?"
"Ah, you're back! Also absolutely nothing." Peter replies. "Sorry, Nina," he says to Spider-Canada, before hauling me to my feet. "Continue with your report, my friends."
I stagger, still thrown by the unexpected flee and the shock of seeing Gabriel. I push my hair back and reorient myself. When I find Miguel still watching me, confused and concerned, I send him two thumbs up before turning and dragging my feet to my desk. Peter follows and nods to himself as I drop myself to my chair and press my head between my knees.
"I think we're great actors," he says. I close my eyes and sigh.