Webs of Woe (!Genderbent!Miguel O'Hara x !Male!Reader)

III. That Smile

***

   It was just one year, that the legendary Spider-Man had become a great name, his heroics filling the airwaves and dominating discussions across the city. Not a day went by without Y/n hearing about the web-slinging hero, whether it was from the relentless news coverage, glossy magazine spreads, or the endless chatter on online gossip channels.
   Even George, who saw Spider-Man as more of a nuisance to his work, couldn't escape the constant buzz surrounding the masked vigilante. But aside from the constant buzz surrounding Spider-Man, Harry had been busy making strides of his own. 

   With his trademark charm and flirty flattery, he'd been steadily advancing in his pursuit of Liz Allan. However, Harry had devised a clever strategy to woo her without bringing the wrath of Flash Thompson onto himself — he always made sure to have Y/n near his side.
   It was a classic case of having the ultimate wingman, another top dog by his side, and Harry knew how to use Y/n's presence to his advantage. With Y/n's support, Harry felt brave to confidently approach Liz, knowing that his friend's presence would help keep Flash at bay.

   Not because Flash was afraid of Y/n, but rather because Flash knew Y/n was the exact person his size. Y/n stood as a formidable opponent, matching Flash in size, strength, and most likely skill. Their encounters weren't just mere walk-by; they were intense silent battles of titans, where victory could swing if they gave into brawling.
   This means Y/n had advantages like he did, an even and equal fight that can go in either person's favor. A gamble, fifty-fifty chance that Flash or Y/n could win. It was always a stand-off, even in the hallways, glances at each other's direction felt like warfare.

   Peter and Harry settled into the worn-out bleachers, the wooden slats creaking beneath them as they focused on the court below.
   The air was charged with anticipation as the school basketball team, led by Y/n, engaged in an active practice session. Y/n's figure stood out amongst the sea of players, his jersey proudly displaying the number "4" on both the front and back.

   With every move he made, the rhythmic squeaks of his and the others' basketball shoes echoed across the gymnasium, creating a serene display of prowess, and talent.
   As the action played out, Y/n had darted across the court with lightning speed, his opponents scrambling to keep pace. With a burst of agility, he rushed toward the basket, his eyes locked on the hoop with unwavering focus.

   With perfect precision timing, Y/n managed to leap into the air, the ball cradled in his skilled hands. The crowd held its breath as he soared towards the basket, the tension was in the air.
   In one fluid motion, he released the ball, sending it sailing through the air in a perfect arc. The ball flew effortlessly through the net, the satisfying swish of nylon — acing another point for his team.

   Cheers from a few onlookers, his coach, and the boys on his team erupted, a few of the boys laughed and high-fived him, meanwhile the opposite half-team groaned and rolled their eyes at their defeat.
   He pushed another practice round, he observed the action with a discerning eye, watching as his players continued to push themselves to the limit. Another round and Y/n was swift to pass the ball to his teammate who wore the number "8" on his jersey.

   The players all moved and attempted to try and swipe the ball out of their opponent's hold, they shuffled and swerved — causing others to trip up or miss taking the ball. Number eight dodged number thirteen and tossed the ball back to number six before he threw it to Y/n who was the nearest at the net.
   He caught it and rushed toward the end of the court, racing the others who followed and tried to corner him. But in a split second, the dynamics of the play shifted. An unexpected force collided with Y/n, a shove that was both surprising and forceful, throwing off his momentum and sending him tumbling to the ground.