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[orchidiism]

SALVATION (03)

MIGUEL O’HARA + ANTI-VENOM! F! READER

SYNOPSIS : Nothing like the rain, when you’re in outer space.

WC : 4.5k

WARNINGS : Mentions of childhood trauma, substance use (Exploration of Rapture), bullying, fluff, pining if you squint

NOTES : Overall theme inspired by the song Outer Space by 5 Seconds of Summer. Additionally, Second half of this chapter inspired by Nikolai and Zoya’s relationship in the Grishaverse. The basis of their connection was really driven by my love for their dynamic and i may have indulged myself a little too much so enjoy the fluff in this one while you still can :)

I’ve done up a visual concept of the Anti-Venom suit compared to Miguel’s new one here if anyone’s interested!

Series Masterlist | AO3 Mirror | Next Chapter

"I have learned that people will stay, leave, save, and destroy you, but by far the most dangerous thing they can ever do is come back”. — Beau Taplin, The Arsenal

YOU RECALL the way you would have the most sterile, Toppie friendly opinions when you first arrived at Alchemax School for Gifted Youngsters. Sentiments you did not truly have but were dedicated to upholding your word of trying to make use of the opportunity handed to you and gain some connections. Attempting to make conversations with the elite kids but failing to do so when Miguel scoffed a little too loudly whenever he was in the vicinity, which he almost always was.

“Oi”. 

“What”.

You were about to lay over a barrage of insults and curse words till you noticed the book in his hands. Batman volume one. A collectible you’ve only ever seen pictures of online. 

“Is that Batman?” you’d asked,  a little too excited.

That night ended with the book in your hands, sitting on the floor back against his bed and him on the bed begrudgingly rereading a Spider-man comic book grumbling about how it wasn’t fair and you saying “Shut up I’m trying to read”.

It unsettled you just how easily he was able to see through your fabrications. However, it was fair game. The second he opened his mouth you knew that he was no ordinary Toppie. You knew something was off about him, a weirdly familiar feeling settled around him. It was in the way Miguel had an air of pride about him that didn’t quite match the beat of the others around him. While theirs were evidently the result of how rich daddy was, his was different in a way you couldn’t quite put a finger on. You were never close enough to know the details of what went on behind closed doors but you saw it in the way he got easily defensive, his biting remarks, the snarky undertone of his speech. Others wrote it off as the norm of entitlement that existed in that realm. You however, saw it as a means of protection. A conclusion you drew when you noticed how he would tense up whenever someone raised their hand around him. 

You got your confirmation as you watch him cower as one of the seniors, Kron Stone struck him against the lockers. The pain in his eyes, the way he shielded himself almost immediately as if it was a familiar situation. His fight or flight response was to just lay there and take it in silence. A boy who you thought only had fight in him. He would not ask for help, even when he noticed you in the distance, watching him. Distant eyes looking over your figure, as if mocking you. Taunting, daring you to intervene. A boy too proud to admit weakness. Even when you made your presence known, causing Kron to flee, Miguel would not thank you with words. Only his frown would deepen as he collected himself, intentionally bumping into your shoulder and glaring at you before walking away. His ego and pride was insufferable, he was insufferable. Yet it reminded you of home. He behaved in a way only a broken person would, hissing when anyone got too close. You recognised that unwavering pride and respected it, akin to how kids back home behaved. Maybe it was messed up of you to think that way, but hell, aren’t we all?

You made Kron Stone’s life at Alchemax hell after that day. A decision that would not come without its consequences.

You caught on he’d show his thanks through other means. Letting you read his prized comic collectibles, only in front of him because he didn’t trust you to keep it in its pristine condition. Or the times he’d sit and tutor you, Biology being a class you unfortunately couldn’t drop but was his forte. The surprise your class had when a junior shows up to your class, handing you the breakfast you missed because you overslept. It transitioned to things like saving a seat next to him and Xina during school events despite your protests of it being weird sitting amongst the older kids.

You knew him better than most despite never acknowledging the unspoken agreements to never speak a word of what either of you witnessed, heard or done for each other even to the very end when the connection between you two severed.

A culmination of words that were never said. 

You pieced it together after the fact, when you’ve reached home, heaving and cursing under your breath. The client that the dealer was waiting on was Spider-man, Miguel is Spider-man. 

Miguel, Spider-man, Rapture. Three things that you thought didn’t belong together yet that was the present reality. The more you looked at it the more obvious it was. The sarcastic clapbacks, heck the goddamn height should’ve been a dead giveaway because really, not many people were that tall and so happen to have a familiar voice. In your blind resolve to forget him and move on with your life you had allowed yourself to unknowingly be drawn to him yet again, to be completely blindsided by the same man. The man you had been so comfortably taunting for a fortnight. 

So here you are sat across a person who you remember longer than you have known, a ghost of your past, a reminder of your sins. The colour drained from his face after the revelation of the previous night. You await his response impatiently, prodding him,

“Well?”

He collected himself quickly, expression returning back to a scowl.

“Why didn’t you say anything, I could've killed you”. He says this in almost a snarl.

“You want me to feel bad that you almost killed me?” You scoff out, disbelief etched in your voice.

“You should feel bad for almost costing me my job”. It came almost instantly, referencing your first reunion.

He was deflecting. hard. An escalating argument over who should hold the shame of guilt. Annoyed at his insistence to not talk, you blurt out the first thing that came to mind,

“So you help me, then walk out on me”.

Eyes narrowing, he leans back in his chair, posture a reflection of  yours with arms crossed.

”Wonder who I learned that from”.

Pause.

Neither of you can look the other in the eye, the cause of tensity between you two has abruptly been mentioned and it feels like he dropped a bomb that has you finally acknowledging the gap.

Regret fills you like a storm despite your conscience arguing within you that your past actions weren’t fallacious. Both of you were oil and water. You should’ve never let him into your life again, that was your first mistake. Should’ve left your selfish desire for reconciliation at Alchemax. You were perfectly fine alone in the confines of the house that was your bubble. Now he was at your doorstep, refusing to knock, standing there waiting. And you want nothing more than to open the door but instead you sit there in the corner with knees to your chest, praying he goes away.

For what it’s worth, you recognise he deserves some form of an apology.

“I’m sorry”, you began.

“…’M Sorry”, it came out as a mumble.

Both blurt out an apology at the same time, glancing back at each other only to look away when you’ve noticed the other was looking. Although it was clear that the apologies were for very vastly different matters. Yours for the past, and his for the present.

Truthfully you weren’t as angry as you came off to be. You had seemingly gained immortality through Kevin, no longer fearing death. Perhaps you were more worried over what caused the outburst from him, how he got his life intertwined with Rapture. A parasite that sunk its teeth into the depths of Downtown. The media exposure of the scandal only snowballed, causing a spike in its inhabitant’s interest in the hallucinogen. It was the way the world managed its balance, your liberation causing someone else’s subjugation. No doubt you felt a sense of responsibility for the consequence of your heist despite the exposé for their intentions to turn Rapture into a biological weapon. So you took it upon yourself to punish those who took advantage of the effects of the drug out of sheer capitalistic greed. Drifting from the role of a healer to vigilante.

The look he gives tells that it wasn’t nearly enough. That what he seeked was not an apology for he could care less if you felt sorry or not. What he wanted was an explanation. But he doesn’t prod, already uncomfortable enough with the sudden confrontation so early in the morning. Frankly both of you have grown tired of this constant push and pull, of getting nowhere. And you’re glad he doesn’t push it, doesn’t step the line. Suddenly the distance between you two felt smaller than before. Five steps taken towards each other, you were now as close as strangers.

You shift, you weren’t expecting this either. Then again, you weren’t expecting to almost be a victim of manslaughter just hours ago too. A momentary weakness which you cover up by circling back to the previous subject of conversation. Your voice came out in a more sympathetic tone, less accusatory than before.

“What’s going on, Miguel?”

A long blink, glancing around and noticing the crowd that was beginning to form in the coffee shop. Civilians that were getting their morning coffee fix. He felt the eyes, some even trying to listen in on the conversation. The slight argument had drawn the littlest of attention to your corner.

“Mierda”, he mutters.

The words fail to form. Instead, he bargains for more time.

“Can we talk someplace quiet?”

One World Trade Center, previously the tallest building in all of old New York. Now a piston that connects to the ceiling, lay atop of it. The pressure threatens to crack the foundation but it has stood there unyielding ever since the inception of the ceiling above. Away from eager ears and prying eyes, it was your favourite thinking spot. Had a killer view too.

You lean against the side of the rectangular piston as he walks up, enthralled by the view. While Uptown has the sky, the view didn’t come anywhere close to what Downtown had to offer. The culture of people hailing from various different backgrounds and ethnicities. 

He remained in silence for a minute before beginning to speak. Finally being able to talk to someone about the past couple weeks aside from his AI who wasn’t programmed to be able to console him so it felt more like a personal diary than anything. It was liberating.

He tells you about the experiment gone horribly wrong, the death of Sims, a prisoner who only agreed to being Alchemax’s lab rat for a reduced sentence only for it to be a one way ticket straight to hell. Tyler Stone, the father of Kron Stone himself, a name that made you raise your brow only to frown when he continued with how he had drugged him with Rapture. You felt yourself seethe in a way you haven’t in years. An evil act that deserves a punishment that even the devil would think death and torture was enough.

He also tells you more of Aaron who you learn that he already hated before your meeting, going on a tangent about how much he hated being called Mike and the time he had a big speech that went like, 

“My name is Miguel. not Mike, not Michael. Don’t you dare call me Miggy, only friends call me that. To you, I am Miguel. How many times do I have to repeat myself to get it through your stupid shocking brain”.

Only for Aaron to say “Alright, I get it Mike”, right after.

He finally reaches the events of last night, how he succumbed to his symptoms. Your jaw dropped when he mentioned that he had gone cold turkey for two weeks. From your experience, he should be dead by day 7. Rapture was a drug so addictive that drove users to death or to kill,  if they didn’t get their fix quickly. You stopped him before he could apologise. Understanding that it was in fact not his will to attack you but acknowledging that you appreciated that he felt guilty either way.

When he was finished that was when you finally proposed something that he could not deny. An agreement you had thought of after calming down last night. You were already ten steps ahead of him in this confrontation. You’d play doctor and keep his withdrawals at bay and teach him how to fight better, he’d research into the origins of your symbiote and run tests for you. You’d also become a guinea pig and let him test his capabilities against a Venom symbiote. A fair trade despite the awareness on both ends of  underlying agendas.

Now that he’s met the other half of you there was no going back. The Mox shielded you, kept your identity under wraps with only the ones higher up the chain of command knowing your status as Anti-Venom. But you weren’t certain if Miguel was someone you could fully trust. It was apparent that he was no longer the same man that he was at 16. So you tell yourself that keeping him around was convenient, so you could keep tabs on him. It was the same the other way round, you were still a Venom host, anti or not. Even if your morality leaned towards good and your primary use of your healing capabilities, your symbiote was birthed from the seed of destruction.

He did ask why you needed his help with learning about your symbiote.

“You’re the smartest person I know. And i don’t think there’s anyone better to go to for this”, gesturing to your palms. 

“Why’s that?”

“Cause you made the cure for cancer”.

 You said it with such softness that left him at a loss of words, wondering why you placed such high respect on an achievement that was minute to him. He walked to the edge of the building, looking down at hell. How it made his heart soften at just how alive the city was. How welcoming, loving it was to its own people. Something that the land above severely lacked.

Not too shabby, yea?” A smile apparent from your voice.

He doesn’t look back, eyes roaming the streets still.

“..Yea”.

You give him a moment to take it all in before walking up to him.

“So,” You began.

“Friends?” You extend your hand, a small smile gracing your lips. 

“Fine”. He huffs.

His large hand engulfs yours, a fate sealed with a firm handshake.  

The past cannot be rewritten, nothing can erase the words that were never said. The damage had already been done. If anything, this was a mutual agreement to let it be water under the bridge. The chain is still on your door, steel doors block his castle barring entry.  But it brought about the acknowledgement of a new beginning, a new chapter in both your lives. A chance to start anew.

“Glad we’re on the same page, Tinky Winky”. The smile turned mischievous grin has him dropping his hand and scoffing.

“I take it back”.

“Nah, you can’t”.

“I can”.

“Nope”.

“I am.”

“Nu uh”.

“Stop that”.

“Stop what?”

He groans.

It dawned on him then that you used a joke that before, was only reserved for Spider-man. An indication that his life as the spider and as Miguel can for once be shared and viewed as a whole by someone else. He looks back at the scenery before him and he can’t help but smile a little.

“Shock, Miguel, is that a smile I see?”

“…Shush”.

Gaining Miguel’s trust took a process of four months that came in four stages. 

Setting foot in his apartment was the first. Where you met Lyla, his personal AI assistant. A stage where you began getting to know each other again. You knew the Alchemax Lead Scientist money would be insane but you did not expect a double-floor-penthouse-in-the-middle-of-Manhattan level insane. Later cemented by unfathomable things like the branded watches he wears, the type of clothes he wore, and low and behold, his pretentious coffee machine. The coffee machine you grew to love dearly, its product unlike anything you’ve ever and would ever experience if it wasn’t for your friend who had rich boy money.

When he brought out his fancy sugar cubes and used tea tongs you admit you felt a little sophisticated. But the sheer audacity of this man to stop at just a singular cube.

“Did I tell you to stop?”, your brows furrowed.

He keeps adding on more, looking back at you after every cube to see how far your insanity goes. When you were satisfied and he, horrified, you smiled and thanked him. Leaving him concluding that if it wasn’t for Kevin, diabetes would’ve been the thing that latched onto you instead.

“Don’t. Touch anything”, was what he said when he let you into his lab one night. He was methodical in his approach to pretty much everything, valuing efficiency over all else, a reminder that he was the product of corporate America. Miguel was a man who did everything with intent. A perfectionist to the extremes, with a perseverance to no end, he would not rest until either his body gave way or unless he was victorious in whatever task it was.

I thought you could heal” he complained when you squirmed a little when he tried to collect your blood sample.

“I can but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain”, you deadpanned.

He sighed before going in again, this time a little more cautious than before. That was when the bickering started becoming commonplace. The little jabs at each other that never had any malice in them.

“What do you mean you don’t have a spidey sense?”

“I just don’t”.

“The Unaware Spider-man ” a mumble under your breath.

“I heard that. You have a parasite in you”.

curse his heightened hearing.

You swat at his arm.

“Don’t you dare call Kevin that. Look, you’ve made him sad now”.

Kevin didn’t like Miguel. The only people who weren't detected by your danger sense was your father, and Eddie Brock who only got the privilege years into your friendship.  With the way you were constantly around him you knew where he was like an in built sonar making the inside of your head tingle constantly. Weirdly enough it served as some assurance for you. Partially to know where he was in case he pulled the same shit again when he nearly ripped you into pieces. You had grown accustomed to his presence, the tingly feeling fading to that of a warm sensation pointing towards his direction at all times whenever he was around you. Which was increasing in frequency as days went by.

“So you can zoom in like, with your eyes?”

He hums in response.

“Okay so what does it say on this”, pointing to the metal can in your hand, an assortment of words that was printed in the tiniest of fonts. You lean against the wall on the opposite side of the lab. He turns to look at it from his seat, to your surprise he begins reading out the ingredients list without needing to squint. Scientific words that sound like gibberish to you but tumbles from his lips as if it were only natural in his vocabulary. A slight testament of how smart Miguel is. 

The next pivotal stage was when you’d spend your time doodling, finding yourself drawing out a new suit design since his current one was becoming an even worse eyesore for you now that you had to look at it more times than you’d like. Keeping the essence of the previous suit, with a more modern take and bolder colours. Drawing inspiration from pictures of spiders that made you shiver, it was a species that was ruled extinct in your time period so you were impressed by how Alchemax had the DNA in their archives. It turned out to be a design that was actually scary. And cool. But you assumed he wouldn’t consider it so when you showed your masterpiece to him you didn’t think much of it when he asked if he could keep the sketch. Only for you to stare in awe when he materialised it into reality the following day. A suit that would be digitally printed onto his frame, he explained for ease of mobility. Truth was he had the technical aspects of a new suit ready to go but was stuck on the design portion of it.

He’d mumble that he “just thought the design was cool, that’s all”.

You never suit shamed him ever again after that.

The next stage was noted when he said, “You can enter any time. Your name’s on the list”.

It was merely out of convenience, he didn’t want to bother having to give the green light every time you showed up when he could’ve been using those precious seconds focused on his work. What he would not tell you was that he’d only given two people the luxury of unprohibited access to his private quarters. His beloved brother, Gabriel, and you. Of course Lyla was always monitoring, you learnt it was after Venture, a cyborg bounty hunter commissioned by Alcehmax to track Spider-man got too close to his liking. 

He’d learn to recognise whenever you’ve arrived from the jingle of the keychains hanging from your brown sling bag. From ‘oh you're here’s to ‘good you're here’s. It had turned into an expectation for you to swing by.

The final stage was what puzzled you the absolute most. The Mox was increasingly needing your involvement for matters that concerned a rival gang. You still had your volunteering efforts at FEAST, and on night when it was Miguel’s shift you worked at your father’s bar. Days that were far too busy that had you taking naps when you could. He’d let you show up unannounced to take the best naps of your life on his very comfy couch before you’d start your nightly routine. A great benefit of your newfound friendship if it wasn’t for the fact that you’d never outgrew your habit of oversleeping.

Sometimes you rose way too late with a jolt, your mind reminding you that you had something to do only to find Miguel on the perpendicular couch across you, suit still on after completing his patrols, the tv playing softly in the background, feet propped up on the coffee table and looking at you judgingly for choosing sleep over the city.

He’d taken over on days he’d find you still asleep at night. It was sweet, truly was. But you were not about to get beaten at your own game. 

Eventually you wonder if he's intentionally making sure you don’t get to do your own patrols. A conclusion you drew when you found a weighted blanket drawn over you, with warm food left on the coffee table. Scoffing down the bowl of food grumbling about how you will not fall for his machinations but your mother taught you not to waste even a single grain of rice. Neatly folding the blanket before you leave, still stubbornly continuing your night job, working the graveyard shift.

Miguel would not tell you the true origin of the nickname he’d jokingly use on you, “Magic hands”.

“Ay, magic hands. Come here”.

“Couldn’t you have come up with something better? At least mine’s funny. Yours isn’t”. You’d deadpan.

It stemmed from nightly encounters that neither of you wished to speak of. Circling around the topic like vultures. The prideful king would never admit his fear for the nightmares that came with darkness. The cause for his sleepless nights in the lab, a mere distraction to keep the devil away.

“You should get some rest”,  you’d tell him.

“I’m fine”.

“No, you’re not”.

Somehow you’d force him out of his lab and retire to his room for the night.

When you hear him talking in his sleep, the incoherent mumbles right as you’re about to return home, you pause. Perhaps it’s the conviction that your lives were officially intertwined now, that you felt comfortable enough to venture past his room door to check on him. Cautious footsteps as the door slid open, the light from the doorway illuminating his figure. Sweat dripped down his forehead with his eyes shut tight. Flashback to young Miguel who grit through the pain of his past. A nightmare. You didn’t have it in you to just leave him be, so you did the only thing you could, wondering if it would do anything at all to soothe his pain as you slowly laid your hand on his bicep to which he froze. A mechanical reaction to being touched before succumbing once he realised it was just you. Your powers did nothing to cure his ailment. Your presence however, your touch, the gentle pats on his bicep transitioning to soft caresses of your thumb causes him to relax and lull him back to sleep. This time, the nightmares no longer haunted him.

Neither of you say a word of it the following day. It was a routine that was not once verbally acknowledged. You’d check on him randomly. On the days where you didn’t spend the day with him you’d arrive long after dusk falls. A slight beep of the front door as you enter, soft footsteps against the cold marble floor as you approach his door unknowing to the fact that he’d await you every night. 

Miguel no longer left the door shut behind him. A sign of invitation, silent acceptance of the maiden who’d grace him with her presence in the dead of the night. Who would leave the lamp burning for him, whispering prayers of protection, shielding him from his horrors. He would not ask you to stay, it was not in his nature to plead with anyone, nor was it the agreement to confide in each other.

But when you visit again the next time he is relieved that you did.

He laid there every night wondering if it would be the last you’d come to see him, to use your magic to ward off the evil that threatened his slumber. Only to be rid of the anxiety when you came that night and night after, and the one after that. Your attendance becomes that of a regular occasion. He slept extra well on the days you stayed longer than a minute. 

He began leaving the smallest of gaps between his curtains, allowing a ray of moonlight into the dark room. Just so you could navigate his space better. When he would wake the only evidence that you had entered was the fully closed velvet curtains.

Even under torture he would never allow himself to admit that he found comfort in your presence. Reminding him of the times you both sat in his dorm room reading comics when you were young teens. Momentarily transported back to a time where the gap wasn’t as wide as it has become with the unresolved complication that quietly lingers between you two. For now, he is at peace.

The darkest night never felt so bright with you by his side.

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[orchidiism]

SALVATION (2)

MIGUEL O’HARA + ANTI-VENOM! F! READER

SYNOPSIS : Repression breeds catastrophe.

WC : 3.5k

WARNINGS : Canon typical violence, attempted murder, mentions of drug use (Exploration of Rapture), slight gun violence.

NOTES : A bit of a heavy chapter, expect some fluff in the next one :)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Mirror | Next Chapter

"He and I are closer than friends. We are enemies linked together. The same sin binds us.”

— Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband.

THERE was no instruction manual that came with your symbiote. You could communicate with it and it responded to your will, did whatever you told it to. You initially felt weird about sharing your body with a being that would heed your every command. It told you that it was a spawn, a child. Newly born the day it latched onto you. Which explains why it was so compliant, unlike its Venom counterparts which only sought mayhem. It was learning every day, growing stronger through every experience. It was attuned to your thoughts, your emotions. It fuelled them and fed off the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. As if it was sitting on your shoulder, spurring you on to keep going. It was the number one enabler.

You never found out why it chose you or how it happened in the first place although it was still on your bucket list to figure that out. Making peace with it for now since it quite literally saved your life. So you decided to give it some kind of a name, you thought long and hard, even making a list of possible names. But you settled on something that resembled it, and its most defining feature was that it was white. So, you called it Kevin. 

Kevin didn’t really interfere with your life. Only ever speaking to you through a telepathic link asking for ‘food’ which was rare considering the lifestyle you lived was rather action packed. 

One day you discovered it really liked chocolate. Happy chirps resounded in your head the first time you bit into a piece since your rebirth. So on quieter days you’d remind yourself to have little snack breaks lest it starts getting hunger tantrums which fortunately hasn’t occurred yet neither did you wish to see what that would entail.

You also found that Kevin enjoyed laughing at the new guy. Cladded in red and blue, a ridiculous bodysuit that you swore you once saw at a high-end costume shop years ago. Was it supposed to be terrifying? Either way you weren’t shaking in your boots at the sight of him.

These days where crime goes, so does the man who was known as Spider-man. When some people thought Peter Parker had risen from the dead, you thought of it as just some guy who somehow gained spider powers and took up the mantle. He was no Peter Parker. Had a sharp tongue on him which led you to dub him as the official unfriendly neighbourhood Spider-man.

Most days you don’t notice when shit goes down. Be it a robbery, a brawl or shady transactions occurring in the streets. Most people knew not to mess with you considering your affiliation to the Mox and your reputation for being their bruiser, the one who pays them a visit to give anyone the generous gift of a fist to their face, if they so happen to mess with any of the girls. 

On the occasion where it’s just some dummy trying to jump you, all you needed to do was give them one nice punch that has you sometimes praying you didn’t accidentally unalive them with how quick they get knocked out cold.

These days when crime happens you get annoyed. 

He was a newbie. A conclusion you came to after having bear witnessed the spectacle that is a battle. A dead giveaway was in the way he fought in such a sloppy manner that had you snickering. As if he had never learnt to fight. You wouldn’t be dissing the new guy if it weren’t for the fact that he was completely stealing your thunder. And you were bitter. The second you step away to take care of other priorities in your life, this guy swoops in and makes himself comfortable in your city. It had you thinking of the line ‘this city isn’t big enough for the both of us’, except it was.

When you realised just how easy it was to get under his skin, you did not hold back. It started the first time you saw the spider in person and quickly became a recurring thing, happening throughout the week where Spider-man interrupts your day to day. A busy bee buzzing to any instance of crime that plagued your streets.

You slightly felt bad for the guy, it was foolish to think that he could stop every instance of misdemeanour but his determination was charming. Fact still remains that he would eventually stretch himself out too thin. Downtown lacked structure yet one thing remained constant. People don’t change. You had already ruled out the possibility of him being a local. Topsider? Probably. It was a prospect that slightly irked you for obvious reasons.

That had you wondering further where his motivations lie. Surely by now he’d realise it was futile, yet he didn’t pack his bags and leave you back as the sole protector of your city. A gut feeling that there was more than meets the eye, that it was not purely just acts of altruism. Furthermore, it was the way he enacted justice that had you raising an eyebrow. You didn’t think the punishments always fit the crime, stealing a purse doesn’t necessarily warrant being beaten to a pulp. In such moments he behaved like a brute. As if they were a punching bag, an outlet to release pent up anger in him. You weren’t one to judge having been guilty of doing the same once upon a time, a past version of you that you kept hidden away since then. So you let him be.

Sometimes you seriously wonder if you should’ve just let cancer take you. Your usual laundromat shut down for repairs after a fiasco with Stupid-man so the following week you had to walk all the way to a different district, under a different group’s control, just to get your laundry done. Here you were after making a dumb decision to take a short cut through a shady alley. You sighed at the predicament. A gun to your head demanding you to hand over your brown sling bag. Life could not be any better.

A bored expression upon your face, raising your hand slowly about to slap the poor guy harder than his mother ever did, when a flash of red and blue rammed right into him, a huge dent made into the concrete floor. Unfortunate guy was barely alive after but what caught your attention was the unwelcomed figure that was getting up. If it isn’t the bane of your existence.

Ugh.

It happened so often that every time he saw you he’d groan.

Mumbling to himself, “ Oh here we go”.

He waits for it. 

“Nice onesie, Spider-man!”

There it is.

No appreciation, just a mean suit shaming remark that made him frown under his mask. Ungrateful girl, he thought.

You made comments that irritated him to no end so much so that he’d gone home one day and began drafting plans for a new suit. The Endless TwenCen references when you could have at least stuck to the right era. The cartoons of present day were way cooler than shocking Power Rangers, recalling how you called him the Blue Ranger during your third run in of the week.

The last straw for him was when you said you reminded him of a Teletubby, which he initially did not know what it was but regretted even asking the second you pulled up a picture of Tinky Winky on your mobile. Exasperatedly throwing a fit over it saying he didn’t even remotely look like it. Only to realise He had lost before the fight even began, when he saw your half lidded eyes and the knowing smirk beginning to form on your face. An expression that definitely didn’t make his tummy turn in the slightest. You were intentionally trying to rile him up and he absolutely hated how he fell for it every time.

You were nothing short of frustrating, your jokes were not funny. but what rubbed him the wrong way even more was how he felt closer to you as Spider-man than he did as Miguel. You’ve spoken to his alias more comfortably than you had the previous time you met him as who he was, even if it only consisted of witty remarks and bickering. You were an annoyance, a thorn to his side that had him wanting to rip the mask off his face and yell at you to quit it. Something that he couldn’t do because in Miguel’s life you were gone. How odd it felt to be haunted by a person who was no longer there, yet your presence lingered in his mind like a ghost. With a clenched jaw and multiple eye rolls, he puts up with your antics as Spider-man for the sole reason of it being the closest he had ever been to you in years.

Eventually you came to tolerate the webslinger. Realistically, he made your life easier. Lessened the workload, posed no threat to your status as Anti-Venom aside from the bruising of your ego. You found yourself being able to spend nights helping your father out at his bar a few days of the week. Give the old man some rest. Today was one of those days, A quiet weeknight shift. You were the sole person working that night and being the daughter of the owner had its benefits: full authority to basically do whatever you wanted.  

Munching on a piece of chocolate when the bell chimes at midnight, marking the arrival of a customer. Again with those glasses. Not to mention Downtown got zero sunlight, only the amber hues emitted from the industrial factories. There really was not a need to be wearing those downtown yet alone indoors, again. The ceiling being the very foundation of Topside. You were seriously questioning his fashion choices.

The awkward silence persisted, visible discomfort reflected on both your faces. 

Exhaustion evident on his face, heavy eye bags the result of the many sleepless nights couped up in his lab. He needed something strong and fast to curb the withdrawal symptoms in addition to his fatigue. Punching in the location of the best bar in Downtown. He wanted something decent still, he was a man with fine taste, a little bit of a snob but that was not fully his fault.

This time you were the one to break the ice.

“What can I get ya?”

“Whiskey. On the rocks”. He mutters, pulling out a bar stool.

He was on edge, leg shaking, an impatience unlike no other as if he had somewhere to be. Running his hand through his hair as you turned to pour his drink.

“Rough day?”

“Yea”.

If you focused your hearing you’d be able to hear the crickets.

“Listen, about the other time-” He begins as he moves to grab the drink right as you place it on the counter. 

An act that caused your fingers to slightly brush his, it hit you like a flashbang. A glimpse of the evil coursing through his veins. In addition to a composition that felt foreign, mixed with something that you couldn’t comprehend due to the contact being that but a fleeting moment. 

He took note of how your hand recoiled at the touch. Widened eyes, a stutter in your breathing. A reminder to him that he was a fiend. The distance between the both of you widening even further. 

“..I’m-” 

“Never mind”.

When you fail to come up with an excuse he promptly gets up, leaves a bill on the counter.

“I get it”. 

Leaving you speechless as you watch him leave as the front door slams shut. Miguel held a grudge, that much was apparent. But you were more focused on your discovery. The shock is ever present.

The epiphany that has you bewildered, that of all people,  

Miguel O’Hara was a Rapture addict.

The stinging on his face had seized, looking at his dishevelled reflection against a glass window, neon lights of the Undercity illuminating his tan skin. He had gained the ability of accelerated healing but it was usually nowhere near that quick to act. Even when he swiped at his cheek it was met with smooth skin. The cut was completely gone. Puzzling, but whatever. He had bigger problems to deal with. The voice in his head was screaming at him, fingers beginning to twitch. Not good. He didn’t know where his feet took him. He’s lost. Great.

He was not a naïve man, he was however horribly arrogant. A glass of wine that was laced with Rapture. Drugged by none other than Tyler Stone, the CEO of Alchemax when Miguel demanded for a resignation. Miguel was one of Alchemax’s greatest assets. He should’ve known they wouldn’t just let him walk. It boggles his mind how a person like him who was always the smartest guy in the room, fooled so easily. Even when it was explained that Rapture was highly addictive. He looked it right in the face and said “Try me”.

For the better part of the past couple weeks he had coped better than what was humanly possible. Although it’s up for discussion if his newfound abilities have anything to do with his perseverance to resist. Spider-man or not he was still susceptible to withdrawals and he was about to crash, hard. Maybe going cold turkey wasn’t the best idea. He was starting to lose it. Now full on swearing in Spanish, cursing himself, cursing Alchemax, cursing the shocking president of the United States. The world, whoever. Lastly, he was cursing you, for bringing this on him. If he hadn’t helped you, Alchemax would still be legally distributing Rapture and he wouldn’t be on the wrong side of the city, a place he knew nothing about. Wouldn’t be in this god damn situation having a shocking meltdown. Okay, Miguel. Relax. You’re fine. So fine. A passerby was staring at him. Kill them— NO. 

He was squatting now, sweat dripping down his temples. As a last resort, he phoned a dealer. He’s done his research. Having the number on standby but only dialling it when he felt like he was on the brink of death.

Putting his suit on proved harder than he thought. He felt like his legs were about to give in, head pounding so hard he was sure it would blow. But he was too late. The dealer was on the ground, unconscious. The vials of Rapture broken next to him. A woman in a white skin tight suit stood above. A spider symbol across her chest. A Spider-woman? False. He recognises the symbol despite the inverted colours. A white Venom? He was far from ready to take on his very first supervillain, let alone a Venom. At least this one was tiny, he thought. 5’3 at most.

Wait why is she looking at me weird?

The eye slots widening as she turns to face him. Head tilted in recognition. She faltered.

“O’Hara?”

What.

That’s when he felt a breeze blowing through his hair. Mask in hand, he didn’t realise he’d ripped it off on the way there trying to get rid of the constricting feeling in his chest.

She takes a step back.

He was compromised. He can hear the headlines, ‘Spider-man: Rapture Junkie’. Who was she? If word got out that the vigilante was strung out on rapture it would leave him vulnerable. He would lose all credibility as the spider, and he wouldn’t blame them. Why would anyone trust a shocking Rapture junkie? He was ashamed, hateful of what he’d become. No, he can’t risk it. You have to stay quiet. He can make sure of that, permanently. If he let you go, you’d only cause more problems for him. Another loose end to tie, another mess to clean. 

Claws extended, he pounces.

Feet pounding against brick walls, hearing the scraping of claws behind you. You made the mistake of looking behind, Spider-man. On all fours. Chasing you on the side of a building. Your heart felt like it was going to explode with how hard it’s beating in your chest. Various bruises and slash wounds littered his form, the ones on yours already healed. You had to wrestle your way out of his grasp, for even a slither of an opening to run. Your danger senses were going off like crazy at the back of your head. The direction in which imminent danger was hot on your heels.

You round the corner, seeing a fire escape above and swung to it with webs that resemble chrome.. He emerges a little later. Pauses and scans the area around him. His posture taking on that of a predator’s. You wanted to take back every negative thing you said about him because now you were scared shitless and praying that this was only a nightmare. You haven’t even begun processing that Spider-man was Miguel this entire time and being immediately hunted down was not helping either.

He stood still below you. You could run. Just let him rot in the streets. He doesn’t know this place like you did, he’ll give up eventually, find some other target. You didn’t need to heal the guy. But you knew enough about Rapture to know how torturing it was. Condemned to eternal suffering. You wanted answers badly but you had to calm the beast below you first. 

You leaped on him, slamming into his chest, crashing down onto the hard concrete. He was manic. Pinning him down with all your might despite how forcefully he was trying to shove you off him, thankful for the additional strength you gained from your symbiote. Straddling his chest with hands wrapped around his face, the scars on his body turned gold before dissipating back into his bronze skin. breathing hard, claws digging into the cold, hard ground. Whatever plan you had was working, his shoulders dropping.

When you felt two pointed tips against the palms of your hand you immediately let go. Begging your damn symbiote to do something, anything as you attempt an escape. Your prayers were answered when it camouflaged you, blending you to the surrounding as you sprinted towards the opposite direction.

You were gone by the time he was back on his feet.

He returned home that night with a sinking feeling in his chest. He had lost all control of himself. Before, he had one hand on the wheel, resisting the whispers of the devil. Disgust eats at him. Even the scalding shower he took couldn’t get rid of the itchy feeling. Laying in bed, the earlier scenes playing in his mind. You did something to him, something that soothed the burning feeling in his veins. He’ll be fine for a week but he'll need more Rapture eventually. He noticed the exhaustion was gone, his shoulders felt light. A healer? He wonders. But He wasn’t going to bank on a person he nearly mauled to death. Head hurting from the chronic overthinking he was doing, when a beep resounded in his pitch black room. 

Lyla calls out to him, “Priority call”.

“No”. He groaned.

“It’s from your brother, Gabriel”. He immediately gets up not without a string of curses in his native tongue.

Sighing, “Fine. Put it through”.

A second hologram pops up, now in the form of Gabriel O’Hara.

“Miguel. You look like shit”.

“Thanks for that, you’ve bummed me out. Now, what do you want?” He rolls his eyes at his brother.

“Not me, Xina”.

“What does she want?”

“She’s been yelling at me asking why you’re not picking up”.

“I’m busy”.

“Sure seems like it”.

Miguel gave him a look. 

“She said, word on the street’s that you had coffee with a woman she knows. and ‘is very offended that you didn’t invite her too’ and that this was ‘utmost betrayal’ ”. He continued, mimicking quotation marks with his fingers.

“It’s nothing”. He waved his hand at Lyla, a signal to hang up.

A lightbulb moment. He thought of you. You lived in Undercity all your life, surely you had connections, knew how to get your hands on some Rapture. He should’ve just done that from the beginning. Only he kinda did walk out on you the two times you had met, not asking for any of your contact info. The only place he could think to run into you was the coffee shop from the previous meeting. He looks at the clock, it was nearing sunrise either way might as well just get ready. Hope you’re in some mood for coffee today.

Relief spreads after seeing a familiar face, finally a person he wasn’t actively trying to run from. Calling you over to join him at the table he’s been waiting at for the past fifteen minutes. 

A thrill that was short-lived as he noticed your sombre visage. The way you looked at him chilled his blood, but what you said as you sat down in such a low, threatening voice that made his skin crawl.

“Alright, Spider-man. Explain to me now the science behind why the shock you tried to kill me last night”.

[orchidiism]

SALVATION (01)

MIGUEL O’HARA + ANTI-VENOM! F! READER

SYNOPSIS : Welcome to Nueva York, where dreams go to die.

WC : 4.3k

WARNINGS : Mentions of death, terminal illness, war and gangs.

Notes : For those unaware, ‘shock’ is the 2099 equivalent of ‘fuck’ so just a heads up! Also there’s a slight Cyberpunk 2077 crossover with an adaptation of the Mox. Loved the concept so much that I couldn’t help but to include it.

Series Masterlist | AO3 Mirror | Next Chapter

"Then suddenly you're left all alone with your body that can't love you and your will that can't save you”.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

THE WORLD has evolved dramatically since the golden age. The age of heroes, only remembered as a point in history, stories of villains and supers now mere fables told to children akin to the boogeyman who would terrorise them in their sleep rivalled by the sandman who’d protect their dreams. Devout believers still pray for the return of the enhanced. Mutants, wiped after the Mutant-Human War in the 21st century, the world was in anarchy. Most of the world was declared uninhabitable aside from several major cities across the earth. One of which was now Nueva York, a city so rigid it refused to succumb to the hands of war. In the end, the elites prevailed. Greedy individuals that sought to prove their superiority over those they deemed unworthy to consort with.

The class divide between the wealthy and the ones below manifested into a tangible division after a blank slate was called for by the ones consumed by avarice. Pistons were scattered across the old New York overnight in a rushed attempt to start anew. Holding the weight of an entirely new land above, crushing the ones below into the earth, as if condemning them to Tartarus. The only thing connecting the two worlds, a vertical highway.

The underbelly of Nueva York had many names, officially called Undercity. Residents however, referred to it as Downtown. Downtown was dominated by various groups, all led by different leaders and had different agendas and manners in which they ruled over their region. Some adopted more aggressive methods than others. For self preservation and otherwise protection for you and your father, you joined The Mox, much to his disappointment.

You grew up in chaos, as such was the environment you lived in. So much so you became the incarnation of that. When the prospect of living in peace was given to you as an option, you turned it down. An incident that involved Alechemax caused a school block to collapse in the Undercity, a place that was not under their jurisdiction. An event that they couldn’t sweep under the rug. A proposal was made to offer a student at that school admission to the most prestigious prep school in the nation.

You were by no means gifted in the way majority of individuals who were accepted, nor was your IQ as astoundingly high as the rest. You've always excelled at language. Having always harboured a deep love for literature and the arts, you found solace in writing. the process by which words shape people's attitudes, actions, and judgments. You also hoped to reverse the unfavourable image that the universe had given of your hometown. Your personal essays swayed the school board, electing you as a candidate. A representation of the best that Downtown had to offer. Much to your dismay when you actually got selected.

Your father wished for you to learn of peace you have never known, to escape purgatory. He convinced you that this was your one shot at social mobility. A chance to prove yourself as “better than what toppies see ya as” and lord if you weren’t so competitive you wouldn’t have yielded. Before you know it, your bags were packed and off you were to the Alchemax School for Gifted Youngsters. The Mox and your old life left behind to make something of yourself in society.

Academic success opened doors for you, landing yourself a full ride for a Journalism course in university where you met and befriended Eddie Brock, who shared the same classes with you. He turned out to also reside in Downtown, on the other end where you never ventured due to gang rivalry between the ruling group and The Mox. Even when you ended up in rivalling newspaper outlets, he remained your closest friend. Eddie Brock was a mess. A mess who was a good friend. Had your back even when he shouldn't. That was enough for you.

All sense of stability was shattered the day you received your diagnosis. Weeks of fatigue, nausea, shrugged off as exhaustion from work but when you started coughing out blood it prompted a very expensive visit to the emergency room. The ringing in your ear was deafening, the pounding in your heart unbearable. Your blood ran cold upon seeing the grim expression on the doctor’s face.

Cancer. Stage 4. Inoperable. 3 months.

The doctor mentioned a cure was available. In the year 2099, artificial intelligence became commonplace, technology advanced so much so that the solution to most illnesses was present. Only you wouldn't be able to afford it even if you worked till your expiration date.

The Bugle was quick to drop you after learning about your medical condition, you were a liability and expendable. So you were broke, in debt and on a timer. What a way to live out your last couple months. At some point you had given up on getting treatment, the hospital bills were piling up and you were severely behind on rent.

Just like that you were seemingly thrown back down to hell by Zeus himself. You sold your assets and moved back to the undercity. The universe shoved you, spit on you, told you where you truly belonged. Forcing you to a predicament that left only rage within the depths of your soul. Icarus, who came too close to the sun, was punished by death.

Your anger only grew as you watched your father break down when you eventually broke the news. How he sobbed uncontrollably, apologising for bringing you into such a cruel world. You felt powerless. Helplessness turned to fury, you were enraged at the corpos, the cursed world, the gods, shock you were angry at everything. It was futile. When there was nothing left to take out your anguish on, you had no choice but to surrender your mind, body and soul to your fate.

Now you were on the road of destined death.

In your quest to learn more about your illness' treatment, you fell down a rabbit hole of web research. Alchemax-manufactured, patented, under lock and key and very strictly regulated. You’ve heard people have tried to get their hands on it by force only to end up at Riker’s. The city’s largest jail. You searched on, finding more about the scientists that made the discovery.

A familiar face stared back at you, a smug expression that screamed that the achievement was just child's play to him. They described him as a genius level prodigy, had his hand in creating the cure as a mere intern at 18. Only you remembered him by a nickname that you so graciously bestowed upon him over a decade ago.

Nerd.

The revamped Nueva York was hailed as ‘Heaven on Earth’. Built upon the skeleton of old New York. Tall white skylines, bright and clean, technology unlike no other. It was a symbol of perfection unlike its lower counterpart. Unwavering and refusing to bend to the will of others for none matter except for its own. Much like how it was reflected upon the impervious nature of Miguel O’Hara.

You were introduced to him by Xina Kwan, a chipper high energy girl who you met when on your first day. She was your ‘buddy’ as they called it. An older kid who was assigned to show you around the school and to help with acclimatising. She had brought Miguel around who was of the same age as her. Shaking your head as you waved the holographic screen away, refusing to bring up memories of a past chapter.

You’d never admit it but you did find yourself wondering if you opened yourself to the prospect of forming a closer friendship with Xina and Miguel back then, gave yourself the privilege to drop your guard, how different would life have turned out? Would you be able to phone them for help? It wouldn’t have mattered for you would rather let death claim you before you’d ever depend on someone else. It was a selfish resolve but it was every man for himself. A part of you felt a tinge of guilt for being the reason things turned out the way it did between the three of you. It was of no use, they probably didn’t remember you either way. Soon you will depart the earth and the world will move on.

You awaited your demise with a sense of peace unlike before. Volunteering in your free time outside of The Mox at a homeless shelter called the Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter and Training, FEAST for short. Aiding those with no other options, nowhere to go. The owner, Martin Li, had graciously accepted you. Grateful for the warm ambience you brought to the place that was otherwise brimming with negativity. The very place you gained your powers, bonded to an extra-terrestrial symbiote that cleansed your being from sickness.

Eddie was the first person you told about your diagnosis along with your recovery and newfound abilities. He was devout, a believer of God. He believed you were bestowed a gift from god and exhorted you to help others now that you can. You told him that it was too risky especially in the condition that Downtown was in. Everyone was holding their breaths, on edge, awaiting a war that was inevitable. He persisted with his argument, asserting that Downtown needed a hero to restore balance.

“You have no idea how many people you could help, man. Come on, you said you wanted to change things here. This is your shot”.

You relented, said you’d give it some thought. Your mind was made by the time you got home. The walk back proved more than eventful. A core memory, perhaps. A story to tell for another day. An event that had you reeling, heavy breathing as you shut your front door. No longer doomed to damnation, with clarity unlike before.

Maybe Eddie was right after all.

Gripping the ends of the counter and sighing exasperatedly. Thoroughly annoyed with the elevator music that was played over the speakers. The past hour was spent trying to negotiate with the clerk. A late rental payment yet again and here you were like a fool begging for an extension despite constant rejection.

“Ma’am if you don’t leave I may have to call security”.

You huffed, giving up and packing your documents into your sling bag. Maybe you did bring along your diagnosis papers to persuade them despite now being completely healthy. Not your proudest moment but you were desperate. Still, in corpo fashion they looked over it, apologised, and demanded for payment.

“Your appointment is at noon tomorrow, I advise you to behave in a more cordial manner to plead your case to upper management. Good day”.

Great.

Walking through Topside made you feel like a runway model. Foreign material and designs displayed for them to critique. You’ve heard whispers commenting on it, words like ‘vintage’ and ‘odd’  being thrown around. The audacity for them to judge your style when theirs looked like abstract art turned fashion.

You sat at the bus stop waiting for your transport back down, flying cars zooming past the streets. Things were gonna go from bad to worse if you didn’t find some way to pay up fast. After escaping the grim reaper you resorted to freelancing. By day you were chasing stories and leads, selling evidence to large news outlets for some form of a salary. You acquired them in ways that had you thinking maybe the symbiote wasn't enough to keep you alive. Risky but it paid the bills. Well, most of them. You needed something astronomical to crawl yourself out of debt this time with how rent went up substantially overnight.

Looking up, your eyes focused on the skyscraper with the words ‘ALCEHMAX’ at its front. Tapping your foot against the pavement, biting your lip as you thought intently. Reaching into the pocket of your hoodie pulling out your mobile, phoning your literal partner in crime.

“Hey Eddie, I’m about to do something really stupid”.

One of the benefits of being in a crew was the connections. The small device in your hand was just what you needed, courtesy of the Mox’s best techie, who laughed at your master plan to rob Alchemax when you randomly showed up at her doorstep. A replicator that could fabricate a working hologram. She had picked out a fake identity for you. A janitor, working the night shift. Bingo, one very real access card coming up.

You struck at the dead of the night. Building empty with the supposed exception of security. Practically daydreaming of money bags now, fingers drumming against the soft fabric of your sling bag waiting as the lift ascended you to your destination. 7th Floor, restricted labs. Doors opening with a ding, you stepped out, tip toeing across the hallway. It was pitch black as you gingerly brought out your phone, using the camera light as your only source of lighting. You had to be quick, so you didn't have the luxury of being picky. Stopping at the first lab and desk you came across. Shining the light on the cover of a folder that sat there revealing ‘PROJECT R’ in large bolded letters. 

Jackpot. Immediately shoving the folder into your bag. You were in the midst of a short happy dance when a low voice called out your name from behind you, lights switched on. You froze.

shock, shock, shock, shock, shock.

Slowly turning to face your capture as your heart dropped. A sense of uneasy familiarity hung in the room. Lab coat over broad shoulders, chiselled jaw and an eyebrow raised. Sat at the opposite desk was Alchemax’s golden boy. Miguel O’Hara, twice the age and height since you last saw spoke.

Your perplexing reunion was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching the lab outside. You immediately grabbed the folder, stuffing it into your bag before diving between the gap of a shelf and a 3D printer that was to the left of the door. He watched your movement with intent as you shifted, knees to your chest.

An older man opened the door, saying in a singsong manner, 

“Mike~”. A devious smile across his face.

Miguel clicked his tongue at the name, already over with the conversation.

About to make a snarky reply, he was interrupted by Delgato scurrying to his desk, looking frantically through the set of drawers below it.

“Where’s the Rapture file? I put it there an hour ago. Where is it?!”

Miguel briefly glances at you, contemplating his next words. You looked up at him from your hiding spot with pleading eyes. Arms crossed, a hardened expression upon his face.

Lord. He didn’t have the energy for this. If Delgato was enough of a fool to leave classified documents on his desk then he’ll suffer the consequence for it. Miguel’s decision summarised in three words, ‘Not My Problem’. Either way if given the chance he would let Delgato drown in quicksand even if he begged for mercy.

Glancing back at the panicked man, “Do I look like I do?” 

That’s when you notice the messy hair, the heavy eyelids and the frown. Along with the husky voice. That’s why you didn’t notice him, the idiot was asleep at the opposite desk. Your damn happy dance was what probably woke him up. Curse your little woohoo’s and yahoo’s.

Alarm bells ringing in Delgato’s head. Shit. This was bad for him. A ploy to make Miguel (or ‘Mike’ as he called him) complete his work in his stead backfired on him. Delgato would be the one to take fall. The older man sprinted out of the lab, running through the hallways trying to retrace his steps.

For a moment the two of you stayed in silence. Neither able to find the right words to say. He was the first to speak.

“Did you disable the cameras?” Brown irises now trained on you, his voice low.

Shock. 

Your widened eyes was enough for him to infer that you in fact, did not think things through. Your master plan included three bullet points of firstly, breaking and entering, acquiring evidence, and celebration. Blinking the tiredness away he sighed and got up. Narrowing his eyes at the small replicator in your hand before he pulled something out of his lab coat pocket and placed it on the desk.

He glanced at you then back at the item before stomping out the room without a word.

You scamper to his desk to look at what he left you. His access card. It had his picture on it, a slightly younger Miguel. No smile, pursed lips. Lead scientist for the genetics department. He had gone far in life, that much was expected. Groomed by Alchemax since youth to be one of their best minds. Again, you were reminded of how vastly different the life you led was from your past peers. 

You grabbed the card and ran.

Over the next week, Alchemax-manufactured Rapture was ordered to be recalled by the government. Due to overwhelming backlash from topside residents over their worries that Rapture would grow rampant among their people. A problem that was ever present in the underbelly of Nueva York, ignored by the ones above. Real change only happened when the elite got upset, akin to a spoiled child throwing a tantrum and a coddling parent giving in to their demands. The only shared sentiment between heaven and hell being the growing resentment of the corpos that held control over the city and the authorities that were mere puppets enforcing their will.

Aaron Delgato was under fire for being the scientist in charge of the project but he was nowhere to be found. The company was all up in arms with the best lawyers in the nation, Alchemax is indestructible. Corpos always won. You got your bag, that was more than enough to satiate you.

You sold the evidence to the Daily Globe, the main rival of the Daily Bugle. Part of the reason was to say “shock you” to your ex-company but primarily because Eddie worked at the Globe. During a night out drinking with him to celebrate your success you heard over the news of an explosion occurring at Alchemax at the bar. You found yourself wondering if Miguel was well. Slightly hoping to bump into him one day to offer him your thanks for helping you set your life back on track. Also to return the access card. It wasn’t until the next Wednesday at a café where your wishes were answered.

You had caught him on his morning run. You liked the coffee from a specific coffee shop which explained your presence above the highway. Beans from abroad roasted to perfection. Only for you to favour a drink with more milk than coffee and more sugar than required. Occasionally alternating to a peach tea drink that you guessed had about seven spoonfuls of sugar in it. A guilty pleasure you indulged in from time to time. You only ever arrived early in the morning ahead of the crowd and the bus schedule. Swinging up with chrome-like webs from your fingertips courtesy of your symbiote.

Cladded in a compression shirt, a pair of sweatpants, running shoes and round shades, he was a sight to behold. He had a ‘glow up’ as what the oldies would say. A slang you learned originated from the 21st century though you wouldn’t be caught dead making TwenCen jokes ‘irl’. You held yourself back from questioning why he chose to have the shades on even indoors, finding it just a tad bit pretentious. A slight Topsider moment, you thought.

So now you were both sitting opposite each other at a table in the quaint coffee shop, the sitting area empty aside from the two of you. You didn’t know what he’d like so you opted to get the same coffee you enjoyed only to regret it when you saw him flinch after taking a sip. It was fine, made you want to die on the inside, but fine. It was awkward, no doubt. Especially with no Xina around to fill the silence with mindless chatter.

“You’ve gotten taller. Not, like since then. But, you know. Since Alchemax. The company, not the school”. You blurted out at once. It had you wanting to bash your head against a wall at how bad an attempt for conversation it was.

“Mhm”.

You wished Xina was here cause god, this was painful. You forgot just how dry this man was.

“You’re still short”.

Rolling your eyes at his comment you dug into your bag, handing him the access card. He looked at it, jaw clenched.

“Don’t need it anymore”.

“You…quit your job?” 

“Something like that”. He shrugged. 

“I’m sorry if I caused that”. You didn’t mean to make him an accomplice, unsure if he got caught helping you. Since he didn’t get arrested you assumed he didn't.

Shaking his head, “You didn’t. Did me a favour actually. Delgato was a pest”.

You flinched slightly at the tone he used to describe his ex-colleague but you understood just as much as the next guy how insufferable co-workers can be.

“Are you tight on money?” Miguel is as blunt as ever, always opting to cut to the chase albeit not the most sensitive. He was always a bit of an asshole.

You were reminded of how he was cold like winter whenever he interacted with you, even when he didn’t mean to come across that way. Something you could never really wrap your head around since you’ve seen how casually he’d talk to Xina back then. You recall how the second conversations would pivot to you his responses were tighter, body language shifting into something more serious.

Like Batman, you thought.

You look down, playing with your fingers, “Just had some things to pay off. Story struck gold so I did that. Gave me a second shot at life”. 

He had his questions. However, he did not go any further than that, seemingly stopping himself. Nodding along slowly, aware of how you offered only a piece of the puzzle. Frankly he found it hard to read you. You kept him and Xina at an arm's reach even before the whole incident. After which you completely cut them off, choosing to spend the rest of your prep school days on your own. But that chapter is over now. You’ve both moved on, you’re adults now. Too old to linger on the complexities of your adolescence.

“Thank you, though”. You said it with the utmost level of sincerity, looking up at him. Grateful for the help. In retrospect, he had no reason to have your back after whatever went down when you were teenagers.

“No need. I owed you one, for Kron. Now we’re even”. Shaking his head once again he spoke monotonously before checking his watch and getting up.

oh.

“You haven’t changed one bit”. A small smile playing on your lips.

He paused. Broad shoulders tensed, unable to discern the look on his face with his back turned toward you, being only met with silence.

He huffs in a low tone, “I gotta go. See ya around, I guess” , walking away before a reply could be formed.

You looked down at the barely touched coffee cup, wondering what the hell you said wrong.

Dark wavy locks stuck to his forehead, he sat at the edge of his bed examining his hands. Claws emerging from the pads of his fingers, the culprit of the destruction caused to his room. Claw marks across bed sheets and curtains. A full week's worth of practice allowed him to retract them at will, finally.

“Good evening, Miguel. The time is 0300 hours”.

“You have six messages pending, would you like to—”

“Dump them”.

“Understood sir”. The hologram disappears leaving him alone in the darkness.

He walked up to the mirror, smashed to pieces after one of his outbursts fuelled by rage and the withdrawals of the poison in his veins. Staring at a reflection he was unfamiliar with.

“You haven’t changed one bit”.

Your words replayed in his mind on a loop. The words of the girl he may have had the slightest crush on back in prep school. Scoffing at memories reminding him of how insulted he felt when you chose to shut him out. A frown morphed into a scowl. Oh, how he despised his own reflection. The monster he had become. Initial contempt replaced with the slightest of sympathetic joy when he realised the stark contrast of how your lives had turned out so different within the span of a week. You who’s life had turned out for the better and his, for the absolute worst. He noticed a glint in your eyes that was never present before. How you were smiling more now.

Miguel O’Hara is a man who’s always known what he’d wanted, always knew what to do in every situation. The only threat to that being you. A fact from the past which came back to haunt him the very second you made a reappearance in his life ostensibly as a completely different person than he recalled. But what would he know? You were merely someone who he used to know.

“Lyla”. The hologram returns, smiling.

“Yes, Miguel”.

“Prepare the lab”,

“And coffee, black”.

A second chance at life huh.

After all, present Miguel was in fact different. He was but a man at his lowest, desperate to try anything to reclaim a life that was never his to begin with.

[orchidiism]

HOPELESSLY DEVOTED TO YOU.

MIGUEL O’HARA + GN!READER

SUMMARY : He was at your mercy, a knight who swore undying loyalty to his one true sovereign.

WC : 700+

NOTES : Loosely inspired by King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo. Bite sized writing for starters, first one ever on Tumblr so go easy on me aha :)

SPIDER-MAN 2099 was a lot of things. Strict, sarcastic, and unfunny to most. To you, he was your world. Most would laugh at the very idea of the menacing vigilante being described as a gentle lover. The general consensus being that it was impossible for Miguel O’Hara, as rigid as he is. For the most part, they were right. A string of bad relationships tainted his record. Xina and Dana experienced a partner who was not only stoic but largely lacking in the affection department. It was unfair and he was aware. Sometimes he felt a little guilty, for not loving them the way they wanted him to. Yet they couldn’t understand him the way he’d always wished for. The trials and tribulations that came with being Spider-man.

He was convinced romance wasn't for him. That was until he met you. He cursed at himself for how much of a cliché it was. An internal scowl at how he had allowed a stranger to interest him the way you did. You in all your glory lit a fire under his heart, had him yearning for you more and more. He was greedy for the mere sight of you, greedy for your touch, and greedy for your attention. Of course he never outwardly displayed that apart from secretive longing glances or the way his narrowed eyes would soften the second his crimson orbs laid on you. Despite denial it was decided. His heart was set on you.

Hope. Something he gained when he learnt the horrors of what you’d endured in life and how you refused to remain jaded despite it all. The sheepish smile spread across your face as you looked up at him when you admitted that you did in fact, falter at times. All resolve crumbled that day.

Miguel was made into your prince, your consort and your fool. You ruled over his very soul, conquered his flesh, and invaded his mind. He succumbed to you in ways he never had. How could he resist? The desire to protect only grew. Akin to the undying loyalty of a knight to his one true sovereign. He’d lay his armour down and offer himself bare to you. Oh, how he loves the way your fingertips lightly drew circles around the small freckles on his back whenever he held you. He adores the way you frantically worry over his safety, your quick demands to “Drop the hologram now!” just so you could treat any wounds after every battle. He’d chuckle and gently wrap his arm around your waist, the other bringing your hand up to his lips as you grumble over how his antics wouldn’t work on you this time. It was futile, melting the second his lips graced your skin. Light kisses across your knuckles as he assures you that he was okay, and it was no lie. With you, time stood still. With you, everything is going to be okay.

There was no doubt, he was smitten. you were oblivious to how you had him wrapped around your finger, for once the spider was trapped in a web willingly awaiting to be devoured. Truly a contrast to his brash demeanour. He would move heaven and earth for you. Be it in the way he swore to protect you from any evil that descends the cosmos, or the way the otherwise impatient man would wait in line for over an hour at that one bakery all because you mentioned you’d like to try those seasonal muffins that were absolutely overpriced. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, god, that smile on your face is unlike anything else. The twinkle in your eyes whenever you spoke passionately about anything, rambling on about how “Jayce didn’t deserve Viktor” or whatever your hyperfixation for the week was. His gaze fondly focused on you and you only.

He’d find himself whispering sweet nothings in his native tongue as you both lay in bed, the drawl of his low voice lingering in the air lulling you into the warm embrace of sleep. Only it could not compare to the warmth of his lips. Soft kisses traversing skin from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, other hand gently caressing your cheek. He is yours, just as much as you are his. Lord knows how Miguel O’Hara became so hopelessly devoted to you.

[orchidiism]

THEY'RE ALL SO CUTE SHUTUPFKGJ

The dads (plus noir)

[orchidiism]

i find it fascinating how nueva york is described to be unwelcoming toward outsiders who disturb the careful order of things, coupled with miguel’s origin of being spider-man to combat conglomerates that seek to control the city while being the son of an immigrant. its so interesting how they externalise his traumas and insecurities through his desire to maintain the peace of the multiverse by running a society in such a militaristic manner— a reflection of how he unknowingly becomes the very thing he vowed to banish. so excited to see how they build on his character and arc, hopefully they delve into things more in beyond the spiderverse.

i believe they made things vague in the film on purpose to confuse or to make the audience doubt miguel’s capabilities and identities of being spider-man. i’ve seen so many people having theories that he isn’t spider-man and i’ll give them the benefit of the doubt that they’re not aware of spider-man 2099’s origin and key aspects aside from what they showed in the film. god. what a character. i love the nuances and the layers to his narrative. i’m by no means justifying his behaviour cause man definitely has issues but simply stating that there’s more to him than meets the eye! just the fact alone that he was created to combat the traditional idea of what the audience perceive spider-man to be, even down to his very personality. he’s not a rewrapped peter parker, he is an anti-hero. chefs kiss.

[orchidiism]

hi i love you

hello my dearest and loveliest, uriel. moots on tumblr now omg,, i love you more <3

[orchidiism]

RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH first post has to be this for now. in my tumblr era rn 💃