Chapter Text
I can feel my heart beating in my chest, my quickened breaths coming in rapid pants. My eyes scan the pages quickly, not wanting to miss a single word, but I can’t help but skip to the dialogue. The inevitable conflict between the archnemeses stares back at me. The good part must come next, and my body practically vibrates with excitement. It’s been two hundred pages too long.
Usually I read later at night, when Peter is out saving the city and I’ve got nothing better to do than read and let my hands roam where they like. But thank god I have today off and he’s out on a mission – something to do with Kingpin, I think he mentioned – which gives me plenty of time to read my enemies to lovers in broad daylight without the worry of him coming home in the middle of the spice. Not that Peter would even care – we’ve caught each other in plenty of precarious situations over our time living together.
He’s a solid roommate, always respectful of my space, cleans up after himself. He’s funny, always cracking a joke but never at my expense. Terrible cook though. He would burn water given the chance. That’s why I always cook for two, to make sure he actually gets sustenance after running around at his day job and then slipping into his mask and saving the city at night.
That’s the other thing about my roommate. Always busy with something, always popping into the apartment at random times. Well, I guess crawling into the apartment would be a better choice of words. I don’t know how he manages to have a girlfriend in all of this, but apparently he makes time for her. Beats me. I’d rather read my books and live in a world with fictional men than even attempt to find a good one in the sea of terrible men that exist out here.
God, I’ve gotten distracted. I reread the page I’m on, desperate to make sure I know exactly how the fight goes down before they go at it. I’m soaking up every word on this page when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
An ethereal red glow is cast over the room. I glance to the window, wondering what could possibly cast a shadow that high into my apartment, but my eyes follow the trail and realize the glow is coming from inside my apartment. I hear a heavy thunk, like the footfall of someone much larger than me, and slowly twist on the sofa to figure out what the fuck Peter must’ve brought home.
Well. I guess it’s a good thing it seems to be a who, rather than a what, because it gives me the chance to talk my way into an escape. But taking in the sight of this man makes my mouth go dry. He’s got to be way over six-foot with the way he towers in our tiny apartment. His broad shoulders make him look even larger, and his muscular frame is something I know every man in this city would be envious over. The suit that clings to his body leaves me curious about what the rest of him looks like.
“I’m looking for Spiderman,” he says calmly, perhaps even a little amused at finding me instead of the guy he should be fighting.
“I don’t know Spiderman,” I respond, keeping a wary eye on him as I place my bookmark in between the pages of my novel.
The eyes of his suit narrow, like he doesn’t believe me. And he would be right, as I literally live with him, but how would he know that?
“Lyla,” he commands, startling me. I don’t know who that is, and I’m not exactly thrilled to have more than one villain in my apartment. “Scan for Peter.”
But to my surprise, about a dozen little balls scan my entire apartment, including my body and my room. The orange glow they cast lasts only a few seconds, hardly enough time to act, let alone refuse.
“He lives here, alright,” a pretty woman with pink heart-shaped sunglasses virtually appears in front of this stranger in my apartment. “Doesn’t appear to be home though. I’m surprised it brought you here, instead, considering you’re actually looking for-”
Her voice is cut short when he slaps down on his – is that a watch? – and the woman, Lyla, disappears. He takes a step forward, his shadow now looming over my position on the couch. As soon as he steps away, the weird glowing light from behind him dissipates, leaving my living room bathed in the natural light from outside.
“I’m looking for Peter Parker,” the man says, this time enunciating his words like I’m a toddler.
I still don’t know how he got in here, why he’s looking for Spiderman, or how he knows Peter’s identity. And I might be a softie, but momma didn’t raise a bitch and I won’t be bullied into giving away my best friend’s location.
“Don’t know him,” I lie easily again, shifting my feet beneath my blanket to lightly touch the floor. I’ve got to be ready in case this guy tries anything, though I’m hardly a fighter. I’ve only got a few self-defense classes under my belt, and the minimal training Peter’s given me in case something happens.
Looks like something’s finally happening.
“Listen,” he tries a different approach, his voice softening as he pleads with his hands. “I’m looking for Spiderman because I think he can help me.”
I huff a laugh, wondering what a one-million-foot-tall man could possibly need from Peter. Spiderman is barely taller than me, and it looks like this linebacker guy could get whatever he needs without Spiderman’s help.
And I’m still not a bitch.
“Well, considering I don’t know him, and you’re in my apartment, best I can offer you is my help.”
He scoffs, not placated with my offer. “I can only trust Spiderman with this information.”
“Then I guess we’re in a stalemate,” I retort, turning back to my cozy position on the sofa and opening my book again. As I move the bookmark out of the way, he seems to get fed up with my nonchalance.
“Fine,” he says, making up his mind. His mask dematerializes, and I have to fight down the gasp I want to give for just the shape of his jaw. “I’m looking for my daughter – well, not exactly my daughter, but the reality where I have a daughter. And according to Lyla, this universe has a ninety-nine percent chance of being that universe. I need Spiderman’s help finding the version of me that exists here, and to find my Gabriella.”
I look up to him while he’s talking. He softens when he says his daughter’s – well, not-his-daughter’s name. I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. My sister just had a baby, and I know how strong a parent and child bond can be.
“Gabriella is such a pretty name,” I smile, once again replacing my bookmark and turning to face him. I’m used to crazy stuff happening around Peter, but this guy almost seems…genuine. Like he’s simply here ‘in this universe’ – whatever that means – looking for his child. Or, not his child. Either way it doesn’t really make sense, but it looks like he believes in what he’s saying.
I almost feel like he’s boxed me in, the way his frame takes up the entire space in front of me. His pleas don’t go unheard, but I really do not know much about what Peter gets up to, let alone where he might be right now.
“I’m sorry, I really am, that I don’t know much about Spiderman and what he gets up to. I’m sure he would love to help you, given the opportunity.”
The man snorts, not taking my indifference seriously.
“Listen,” I try, using the same softer strategy as he used on me, “I don’t know where he is, but I do know he won’t be home for a while. That’s all he said before he left.”
“Where did he go?” he asks, tired eyes blazing at my admission.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know.” I gesture widely to the room before opening my book again. “But you’re welcome to wait him out.”
Out of the corner of my eye, he looks like he’s seriously contemplating it, like he wants to stay and rest. But he gathers the rest of his resolve and stalks towards the window, opening it with ease. A gentle breeze blows through the opening, sending a shiver down my spine. I shift my legs closer together as I try to preserve my warmth.
“Are you just going to climb out the window? It’s like a three-hundred-foot drop or something,” I exaggerate.
The stranger twists his arm, and a neon web shoots out of his wrist and grabs a water bottle off the counter. He drinks it hungrily, letting a few drops of water run down his chin and splash onto his chiseled chest. I have to glance away, though my legs rub together in a way that betrays my intentions.
He tosses the empty water bottle back towards me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I catch it offhandedly, barely managing to keep the excess water from dripping onto my book.
“I have to find Gabi,” he states. His eyes are feral, almost gleaming red in the light, but the rest of his composure shows that he’s in no condition to travel, let alone swing from a web.
“I don’t think-”
“I have to,” he cuts me off.
I swallow thickly. Sure, Spiderman 2.0, I want to say. Show up in my apartment and then immediately leave, even though you have no way of knowing where he is or where your daughter is. I settle on a different offer.
“You look like you could use a meal before you go,” I say feigning casualty. I have no idea why I’m offering this huge man a meal, let alone practically on my knees begging for him to stay. Which I’m not, I reassure myself. I’m just being hospitable.
He looks like he wants to dive out of the window, but he stops short of crawling out of my apartment into the giant, endless city. The idea of a meal seems to get him to at least think over waiting for Peter to come home. He must know that without Peter’s help, his search for Gabriella would be futile.
“…Fine,” he caves, sliding down the window before stepping away. I smile, content with having another person to cook for. I’ve always enjoyed being in the kitchen, from helping my grandmother with her bakery to making home cooked meals for friends and family. I slip off the sofa, rolling up my blanket and tossing it haphazardly onto the cushion.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask, not unkindly. I pad softly to the kitchen, my feet taking me directly to the fridge. His voice right behind me as I contemplate what to make startles me. I jump back, bumping into him as he looks over my shoulder into the fridge.
I can feel myself redden from being so close. The heat radiating off of his body reaches through my clothes, and I have to practically shove myself inside the refrigerator to keep my temperature cool.
He’s just a well-defined man, I tell myself. And I’m worked up from my book. There’s no palpable tension between us. Everything is totally normal.
Right.
If only that had been true.
He sits on one of the kitchen island stools as I work the stove. His massive size makes the open floor plan look small by comparison, and I have to stop thinking about his size, because that can only lead to me thinking about the size of other things, and the last thing I need right now is-
“Can you get the plates?” I ask instead, clearing my throat and pointing my spatula at the far cabinet.
He stands wordlessly, riffling through the cabinet and procuring two plates. He sets them on the countertop next to the stove and hovers over my shoulder, observing. I look up at him with a smile.
He inhales deeply. “It smells delicious.”
“Just wait ‘til you taste it,” I tease, turning off the burner and plating the meal. I place his plate in front of the stool he previously occupied while I stand opposite him. I manage to grab two clean forks from the dishwasher and offer him a napkin before digging in.
It’s one of my favorite recipes. It’s easy to make, flavorful, and always a winner. Worst part is cleaning up the dishes afterwards, but at least the meal is worth it.
I’m shoveling the food into my mouth, blowing on it intermittently to keep it cool enough to not burn the roof of my mouth. I watch as the Alt Spiderman in front of me takes his first bite.
He moans around the forkful, and it takes everything in me not to let my knees buckle right there in the kitchen. “This is heavenly.”
He’s got no idea about the effect of his words on my body. I could pretend that this is completely normal, like this is a rational reaction to hearing that my cooking is heavenly. Or, I could lunge at him, tackle him to the floor and sit on his face until he tells me I taste heavenly.
God, what the fuck is getting into me? This is a Spiderman, for fuck’s sake! He’s probably got a million things going on and is certainly not thinking about fucking me senseless over the kitchen counter.
“T-thank you,” I stammer. I never stammer!
Instead of dwelling on my thoughts and my irrational actions, I force the rest of my meal down my throat and quickly turn to rinse off my plate in the sink. He comes to my side, and when I step away, he rinses off his own plate. He grabs the sponge and the soap, lathering up before starting to wash the mess I created.
“You really don’t have to do that,” I say. My face is still probably red and I’m still weak in the knees, but I’ll be damned to stop him. He looks fine as hell doing my dishes.
“It’s the least I can do,” he offers.
I shrug before waltzing over to one of the lower drawers and pulling out a towel. He washes and I dry. The silence between us is thick but not uncomfortable. At least my face has cooled off and my body is going back to its normal non-aroused state. I can be thankful for that.
I want to ask about his daughter, why he needs to find her in this universe so bad. But I know that’s privileged information that I’m not privy to. So I wait for him to fill the silence. He asks my name, what I do for a living. The conversation rolls off my tongue with ease. We talk like we’ve known each other our whole lives despite asking the most basic questions. He’s more receptive to talking about me than talking about himself. But I learn that his name is Miguel O’Hara, and he’s Earth-928B’s one and only Spiderman. Every universe has a spiderman, he tells me, and most of them are Peter Parker. That’s how he knew my best friend’s name.
He asks how we met, how we became roommates. I find talking with Miguel to be easy and fluid, and before I know it, the dishes are done and I’m halfway through my glass of wine. The sky has darkened, but his face basks in the glow of the kitchen light.
I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. He’s got sharp, angular features, and a strong, muscular frame. He’s my idea of the perfect male main character in my novels. And even though he’ll be leaving, I know I won’t forget the inflection of his voice when he speaks and the red glint in his eyes as he looks around.
It’s getting late, I know, and my body reminds me with a hefty yawn. He looks towards the window, but I can see the indecision on his face.
“You can stay, if you like,” I offer quietly. His face visibly relaxes, like he was waiting for me to suggest it. “I promise I wasn’t lying about Peter’s schedule. You can stay until he gets here, if that’ll help you find your daughter.”
He nods solemnly, looking around the apartment. Somehow, we’ve managed to switch positions, and he stands opposite me while I sit on one of the kitchen island stools. I swing my body to the side, hopping down off the stool and walking towards my bedroom. I eye my nightstand, making sure nothing suspicious is out and instead is tucked neatly into my drawers. After I deem the room clear, I grab a fresh set of linens before making up the bed and offering it to him.
“I can take the couch,” he counteroffers. I look between him and the sofa, my eyes unmistakably raking his form.
“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to fit on there, no offense. You-” I grab and tug on his forearm, pulling him towards my bedroom, “-can take my bed and I’ll crash on my own couch.” I shove his body into the bedroom, though I know he’s only placating me. If he didn’t want to move, I know I wouldn’t be able to shove him anywhere.
He turns to face me, slinging one arm up to rest on the doorframe. It’s a move I’ve only ever read about in books, but god, those authors were so right. It’s undoubtedly hot, and I have to pretend that his actions aren’t doing something to me. Maybe I should take the coldest shower known to mankind.
He says my name once, regathering my attention from where I’ve been staring at his chest. He smirks, and I see a flash of white against his plump bottom lip. “Good night.”
“’Night,” I breathe out, my heart pounding in my chest. My head feels heavy, my throat is inexplicably dry. I turn without looking back, heading straight for the sofa and throwing myself onto it. I don’t miss the quiet laugh he gives, but when I finally gather the courage to look at my bedroom, the door is closed between us.