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

🄿🅁🄾🄻🄾🄶🅄🄴

If there was one thing that every man and woman had in common. . .
It was a story.

A story of our lives.
How we came to be.
Characters, people, pets, bugs, animals, and even furniture have stories of how they came to be.

And from the beginning, I was nothing more than one of the innocent.
Fate has a cruel way of hurting those who've done nothing wrong. 
Thousands among thousands point the finger at a twisted being above them, blaming God for all their mishaps and bad fortunes.

Most of them tend to forget that there's another ear listening, and another eye watching. 
Some say that was Satan himself.
Some say the holder of payback, of karma, of bad luck.

Whoever the enemy behind the mask was. . . He sure did make my life one of suffering.

I was nothing more than a baby.

A child.

. . . A boy. . .

This was the beginning.

My very beginning of who and what I become.

Sometimes. . . I don't even know what I truly became.

But it was something. . .

And it started from this.

***

   The evening descended into night, the chill in the air cutting through the city streets like a knife. The cold offered little solace to those caught without coats or scarves, leaving them to huddle and shiver in the biting wind.
   As she stood beneath the flickering streetlight, the icy breeze sent a shiver down her spine, causing her teeth to chatter involuntarily. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, seeking whatever warmth she could muster.

   She watched the sparse traffic pass by, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Each passing car seemed to mock her with its warmth and movement, a contrast to her long wait in the cold.
   Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she stood there, her breath forming wispy clouds in the frigid air. Dressed in red fishnets that hugged her legs and a short black miniskirt that barely provided any coverage against the cold, she shivered uncontrollably.

   Her outfit was completed by a short pink shirt, its fabric worn and faded from countless times of being worn, and a white fluff scarf draped haphazardly over her shoulders.
   Her hair, the color of h/c, whipped around her face in the gusts of wind, adding to her discomfort. Despite the biting cold, she stubbornly remained in her black heels, the thin soles offering little protection against the icy pavement.

   Each step sent a jolt of discomfort through her feet, but she refused to give in to the pain. As she continued to wait, her patience wearing thin, she couldn't help but question whether it was worth succumbing to temptation once more.
   Her arms clenched tightly around her body, the sharp edges of her nails digging into her skin as if trying to anchor herself against the relentless pull of addiction. With a frustrated exhale, she shut her eyes tightly, the turmoil within her manifesting as a burning sensation that seemed to sear through her very being, causing her to tremble uncontrollably.

   It'll be worth it. She thought to herself.
Seeking solace from the biting cold, she lifted her hands to her mouth and exhaled forcefully into her cupped palms, the warmth providing a fleeting sense of relief.
   However, the comfort was short-lived, dissipating almost as quickly as it had come. Just then, a sleek black car glided up to the sidewalk, disrupting the woman's quiet moment.
   She lifted her eyes to meet the man sitting in the vehicle. The window rolled down and the stranger leaned over to look at the woman, his eyes taking in what she was wearing.