cat and mouse - 1
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Supervillain(?)!Reader
Warnings: none -- oh you get thrown into a vat of radioactive liquid, but it doesn't hurt too bad.
a/n: when you think of another fic idea in the middle of writing your other WIP :D
Summary: Every time you try to convince people it was an accident, you immediately get ratted out to the Spider. But really, it was! You don't know why you're being hunted, you didn't even do anything wrong. Yet.
w/c: 716
part 2 part 3 part 4
masterlist
----
Here’s a riddle:
“What do you get when you push an unemployed woman into a vat of radioactive liquid?”
Apparently, an unemployed enemy of the state.
You were never the kind of girl who grew up ripping the heads off of your Barbies, or a woman who falls in love with a guy at the insane asylum. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
As soon as your head ducked under the burning liquid, you thought you were dead. So you let go and stopped struggling. But really, is there anyone in history who hasn’t survived being pushed into a vat of something?
For example, there's Electro with the eels, and Sandman with the, uh, sand, so you really shouldn’t have been surprised when you woke up with more energy than you’ve ever felt before, though your back was killing you.
Opening your eyes, you noticed you were splayed over a sidewalk, clothes barely covering you as most of the fabric disintegrated in the power plant. Then you saw fire. Lots of fucking fire.
With a quick turn of your head, your eyes followed the trail of destruction all the way back to the exploded building where the accident happened. And before you knew it, you were in cuffs, being questioned by the police.
It’s easy to break out of jail, especially when you can burn right through the iron bars. And it’s easy to lose the cops too when you can scale buildings.
Despite your increased strength, agility, and sensitized hearing, there are several setbacks to being a random woman full of radioactive energy. Your hair, for one, is completely orange. Who knew radioactive juices acted like cheap boxed bleach?
You constantly have to re-dye it back to your original shade and use tons of hair oil to keep it from frizzing up but it only really lasts for a day or two. Talk about having awkward one-night stands…
Unfortunately, your hair is the most recognizable feature of yours so civilians started to call you “Blaze” like some sort of Fantastic Four character. You hate it.
You also can’t get a job because you’re the most wanted woman in Nueva York. So you resort to “borrowing” some money from rich people who definitely wouldn’t notice or care. And then you got caught.
“So it’s been you this whole time?” The low voice makes you jump. You weren’t expecting anyone to be home. “So you’re the one stealing hundreds of dollars from innocent civilians?” The Spider-man slowly walks out from the shadowed corner of the office, making the moment as dramatic as possible.
You quickly close whoever’s laptop you were trying to get into before holding your hands up in a dumb attempt to act innocent. He looks unimpressed by your ‘sneaky outfit’, eyes pouring over the black turtleneck and faded black jeans. Look, it’s not like you had a closet full of options.
You frown, “They’re hardly innocent.”
“Hm,” He slides the laptop toward himself, opening it up to see how far in you got. You didn’t. You were about to give up and leave before he interrupted you. “How so?”
You scoff without thinking about it, “You think a person can make billions of dollars without taking advantage of people?” Apparently, your words amuse him, and a small smirk quirks on his lips. The light of the computer reflects against his cherry red irises. He’s… pretty.
“All I know,” He shuts the laptop and finally looks up at you, dropping any hint of his previous smile. “Is that you blew up a power plant, escaped prison, and now live off of the money that you’re taking from others.”
“C’mon Spider-Man, it’s only a couple of bucks. I don’t have a job–”
“No kidding.” He shakes his head and takes a second to think about something before offering you a hand over the desk, almost like a peace offering. “Here’s my proposition: you come with me and we can get some dinner before getting you back to where you belong.” You quirk a brow upwards, suspicious of his change in tone. “Come on, it’s late. I’d rather avoid the fighting part.”
“Back to…where?”
“Prison, honey.”
That was the start of your cat-and-mouse relationship with the one and only, Spider-Man.
350 notes
·
View notes
Thinking about how this was in the 1989 prologue:
~ I wrote about moving to the loudest and brightest city in the world, the city I had always been overwhelmed by... until now. I think you have to know who you are and what you want in order to take on New York and all its blaring truth. I wrote about the thrill I got when I finally learned that love, to some extent, is just a game of cat and mouse ~
And how Karlie posted this 189 days before 1989 tv this year:
And how Taylor used these as clues for the vault puzzle:
🎶Which takes me back… 🎶
159 notes
·
View notes