#Thirsting over robots

[antiquesleep]

my morning warm up today

[gomzdrawfr]

That K/o anon here I meant the tanktop in the loading screen gomz...🤤🤤

GOOD HEAVENS 😀👍

Took me awhile but MMM I GET IT NOW…

[ichinose-kazuma]

If the robot was built so shittily do yall think that Zero included reconstructed genitals on him out of his good will or did Ichinose just wake up after the surgery with his cock and balls gone forever. Sorry I just started thinking about this

[superiortrash]

I need her

[amuwo]

Ty for all the followers, likes, reblogs and nice tags on my art 🫶 I have no idea how to reply to things without sounding fake as fuck but any interaction with my silly scribbles makes my day. Bestowing silly trinkets upon you all

[daisyachain]

not much can top the CD relationship web. Prowl, who knows him better than anyone else because CD doesn’t give a damn about him and doesn’t try to hide anything. Brainstorm, who has to act as his proxy in remembering the things that he actually cared about in life/who is closer to him than his actual partners because of it. Rewind, who he tried to erase from existence because he actually loved him. Skids, who he killed by his own hand by making him remember the pain that both of them forgot. Dominus, who Rewind killed by his own hand for the crime of having forgotten him.

[kicksnscribs]

*comes from the fnaf tag broken, battered, and bruised* i can explain....

[belovedhades]

forgot to post about this yesterday but i was ONCE AGAIN slutshamed i can't catch a fucking break......

[ozzgin]

Some more dick-related brain rot…😘

We take the self serve dick bar and use monsters for the monster hotel. We are going to have that full “continental breakfast.” So we have a forest entity cumming maple syrup, a Minotaur cumming milk/creme, a yeti who cums slushies, a slime who cums various jams depending on whatever fruit we feed it, and any more monsters who we can utilize ☺️

When you were talking about your rats, it made me think of some rat-hybrid monster where reader can steer him via. his dick, like a reverse Ratatouille scenario 🐀

Having a robot/android partner, I could use his dick as a literal joy stick when playing video games. Also, if I have to charge robot/android, do you think his dick acts like a giant extension cord I could just plug into the outlet in the wall? Also does that mean he technically “eats” with his dick? I assume when traveling with him internationally, I gotta get a lot of compatible adapters so he can get plugged in successfully🕹️

A Hydra monster would be kinda funny to have sex with, cause maybe if you cut its “head” down south, two more will grow back 🤔

I think that’s all for now. Tell your man that he is very much appreciated, and it’s nice he’s in this club of debauchery 😉

-👘

This amount of thirst and depravity is exactly what the monster guests would come up with just to have Reader employee touch them. 😭 Content: gender neutral reader, rancid NSFW!!! (more white sauce I’m afraid), monster smut

The latest fad your centaur manager has been into is food cooked with bodily fluids. This has had several implications, all of them regrettably involving you.

While the idea has been gripping at his mind like a great plague, he can't possibly ask you to just...let go over his breakfast toast. He can already see how exhausted you return after being used by the starved guests. They stuff you just enough for you to wonder if you'll survive it, then make sure to clean up their mess, politely aiding your speedy recovery, almost as if they weren't the cause of destruction to begin with. The manager has heard it one too many times that your nether regions are numb from all the monstrous tongues and appendages.

Maybe a change of scenery will help.

"Kitchen staff? I thought I'm supposed to clean the rooms", you inquire, somewhat confused by the sudden proposal.

"It's not quite...kitchen duties, per se. We need someone to help with the hotel's breakfast. We have a new experimental menu, though not enough...hands."

You should've expected it. How bad could it possibly be, you told yourself, pouring some orange juice for the seated guests? You had your first suspicions from the big, flashy sign now propped outside the room: service provided by our esteemed and loved human employee. You didn't need to ponder much on its meaning. Once inside, your task became painfully clear. You were to milk the guests for the required ingredients.

Having their way with you is a treat in itself, but seeing you struggle with your small, human hands, trying to figure them out? Priceless. Well, for them, anyways. Despite your protests, you have left your morning shifts with a ridiculous number of tips. Maybe it's the way you look up through your lashes as you explain: "Of course I know your weak spot. You're one of my- our regulars." Or maybe it's the way you tease your favorites, wondering out loud, with a grin, if you should have some of the generous release for your own lunch later.

Your hard work has not gone unnoticed. The centaur head manager recently made the sheepish suggestion of having you at the receiving end of this new service, trying his best to sound convincing, and hiding the fact it’s been his most ardent wish for the past couple of weeks. Maybe he will get his breakfast topping, after all.

[Monster Hotel] | [More Monsters]

[haoboutyou]

gym crush | choi seungcheol

fluff | 1151 words | suggestive descriptions. i’m y/n’s just really thirsty

an: please take this as a formal invitation. requests are open! (whether i answer on time is another problem)

you don’t like the gym. absolutely not. it gets super hot and humid inside, it stinks of sweat, and the big machines always intimidate you.

what to do? you’re just a girl.

you usually wouldn’t even phantom the idea of stepping foot into the gym if it wasn’t for your best friend. really, the only reason why you’re even sitting in one right now was because you arrived too early for your meet up with him.

that’s how you ended up perched on a high stool, legs swinging as you patiently look around while soonyoung finishes up his last few sets of… pull-ups? you’re honestly not sure. how he’s still chatting with you while completing his sets – barely panting through it, too – is beyond you.

“so i was thinking,” soonyoung casually starts, lifting himself like he was made of paper. “we can get dinner at the new italian place downtown? i heard they’re having a opening promotion right now.”

“mmh, sounds good.” your eyes are flitting all around the gym, trying to find something interesting enough to catch your attention.

“right, i almost forgot! seokmin texted earlier; he said he’ll drive by to pick us up later too.”

“really? that’s great.” you sound enthusiastic but your hunched posture informs soonyoung otherwise. at this point, your best friend can tell that you’ve tuned out of the conversation. he huffs at the way your eyes zone into the far corner of the gym, where the weight benches are. soonyoung scoffs more when he realises your eyes are trained on a very specific person, watching intently at the way the muscles on his arms bulge every time he lifts a dumbbell.

“yeah, he also said he saw mingyu running into a tree earlier… even said a rat fell on him and started pulling at his hair and controlling him like a robot. do you think the rat would make a better chef than mingyu?”

“wow really? that’s great.” your replies get progressively monotonous as you keep your eyes trained at the corner. yeah, now he definitely knows your mind has completely left the conversation.

your breath hitched as you watched the mystery man run a hand through his faded red hair, baggy t-shirt sleeves hitched up to reveal more of his biceps? triceps? never have you ever wished you paid more attention to your biology lessons back in high school.

everything about this mystery man has you swooning. the thick veins on his hands running up his arms, the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration, how the sweat glistening on his forehead seemed to cast a heavenly glow all around him. you can’t forget the grunts he lets out with every movement, entrancing you with his deep voice. gosh, even his hands are perfect. an angel has descended to soothe all your gym-related problems, converting you into a devout worshipper of his physique.

you’ve never been more thankful for soonyoung’s suggestion to wait in the gym.

soonyoung’s arms may be burning from hanging on the pull-up bar for too long, but he just couldn’t believe his eyes; your mouth is hanging open and– wait, is that drool?! is his best friend really drooling over a man in the gym?!? a laugh of disbelief escapes him as he finishes the last of his rep. soonyoung mutters a quick prayer of thanks to god for gifting him prime blackmailing material. he drops back to the ground and swiftly snaps a picture of you, in all your thirsting glory, before he picks up the rest of his stuff.

“y/n,” he calls out. “i’m gonna hit the showers and then we can go. you good staying here on your own for a bit?”

“yeah, yeah! i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.” you wave him off, not even bothering to turn towards your best friend. soonyoung lets out another tut as he turns towards the gym’s locker room. that is, before a brilliant idea comes into mind.

“hyung!”

the red-haired man turns towards soonyoung’s voice. “hoshi, you’re going already?”

your best friend nods his head, grinning at how your eyes seemed to pop out at the way he was casually talking to your new-found eye candy. “are you doing anything tonight? i’m meeting seokmin and the others for dinner later, wanna join?”

“kwon soonyoung!” you whisper-hiss. “what the hell are you doing? you guys know each other!?” is that blush creeping up your neck he sees? the tips of your ears tinge so pink soonyoung thinks he can almost feel the heat radiating from them.

“thanks, but i’ve already got plans.” the mystery stranger shoots you a gentle smile, flirty (flirty?!) wink (WINK?!?) towards you. still, you can’t hide your disappointment; you would’ve loved to get to know this new-found work of art more.. “maybe next time? you can properly introduce me to your pretty friend then too.”

soonyoung thinks he heard a strangled cry from you, coughing as you somehow manage to choke on your own saliva. he chuckles at your suffering. “sure, hyung. i think she’d like that too!”

soonyoung doesn’t know what to expect when he finally emerges from the locker room cleaned and refreshed, but it definitely wasn’t you raining attacks on his sore arms and shoulders. seungcheol (he had introduced himself to you while soonyoung was gone– in fact, the two of you managed a whole conversation while he was gone (no, you were so shy and embarrassed you were barely able to keep eye contact with him)) waves at the both of you as you leave the gym to wait for seokmin to arrive.

you’re convinced the blush on your cheeks is going to be a permanent feature of tonight. it doesn’t help that it becomes the main topic during dinner with seokmin and mingyu, the other two boys cracking up at soonyoung’s dramatic retelling of your new-found gym crush.

(it also doesn’t help that you had a balled up fist under the table all night, hiding the hastily written phone number on a piece of paper that seungcheol had managed to slip to you while you were leaving, mouthing the words ‘call me!’ behind soonyoung’s back.)

-

bonus!

“remember when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me when we first met?” seungcheol swings his arm around you, broad shoulders almost engulfing you whole.

you groan, choosing instead to bury your head into your boyfriend’s chest. soonyoung cackles from across the booth. you have to physically restrain yourself from clawing him alive.

“hyung it wasn’t just that; she was drooling over you!” he wiggles his eyebrows, ignoring the daggers you were staring his way. blush makes its way up your cheeks, dusting them pink.

seungcheol laughs, planting a kiss on the crown of your head.

“if it makes you feel better,” he whispers in your ear. “you were my gym crush too.”

soonyoung almost falls off his seat laughing when you blush even harder.

[yannawayne]

v. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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“Oh my god, stop! I do not need to see my own fucking thirst trap!” you groaned, quickly pausing the video. You turned away, face burning hotter than Metropolis's sun, and stared at the graffiti on the wall across from you.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “This is not how I pictured my debut.”

Morgan, still laughing her ass off, was clearly unfazed. She scrolled through the comments, her grin spreading even wider.

“You’ve gotta hear these,” she said, her voice barely containing her amusement. She began reading aloud, each comment more deranged than the last.

harry 🐾☕️ @ blehhidc ・1hr going to become a villain rn. pls choke slam me into Arkham.

ji ─ nightcrawlers #1 fan @ nightcrawler_updates・1hr i want nightcrawler to smash that helicopter on my tits

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 9:40 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

“Language, kid.”

You turn, seeing Tony standing at the door. He taps on the metal frame of the entrance with his knuckles, the sound echoing slightly in the spacious lab. 

“That is suit A1. I call it the Crawler.”

He strides across the room, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor, and reaches a nearby table. The table is lined with various prototypes and gadgets, each more advanced than the last. He picks up a pair of gloves, black with red fingers and claws at the end, and hands them to you.

“Test the gloves out,” Tony instructs. “All the features are going to be introduced to you.”

You slip on the gloves and flex your fingers, feeling the suit respond instantly. As you activate the helmet's AI, a pleasant, slightly robotic voice greets you.

"Welcome, user. I am your integrated AI assistant. Please provide a designation."

Tony leans against a workbench, arms crossed, watching you with an expectant look. 

“You gotta name 'em,” he says. “Any ideas?”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you hesitate. Your gaze drifts away from Tony and lands on Morgan, who’s standing a few steps back, arms crossed, watching with a curious expression. She raises an eyebrow, sensing your uncertainty, but doesn’t say anything—just waits to see what you’ll do next.

“Uh...” you start, the words coming slowly as you search for the right name. 

For a moment, the lab fades into the background. Your thoughts drift back to your mother, and a familiar ache settles in your chest. You clear your throat, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling up. You’re not sure why, but something about this moment feels important.

“How about Maggie?”

The AI responds, "Designation accepted. I am Maggie."

You catch Morgan’s eyes, and she gives you a soft, almost tender look. There’s a warmth there, a silent recognition of what the name means to you. 

“Maggie it is, then,” Tony nods approvingly, clapping his hands as he approaches.

“Now, I’ll give you the basic rundown,” Tony says, gesturing towards the suit with a casual flick of his hand, his tone all business. “Night vision, live communication with Morgan here, medical and vital scans, contacts to emergency numbers, a heater, and a hood. The gloves? Claws for fights. And the suit also connects to web-shooters.”

You twist your wrist, curious, and notice small rectangular devices embedded in your palms, integrated with the gloves.

Tony catches your eye and points to them. “Those web-shooters are designed to enhance your organic webs—make them shoot better, farther, stronger, and faster.”

"Nice," you mutter, flexing your fingers.

The helmet’s display suddenly shifts, bringing up a sleek interface that showcases the various features Tony just mentioned. The visuals are crisp and clear, icons representing each function appearing in a smooth, fluid motion. 

Tony starts to circle you, his hands moving animatedly as he continues his explanation. “Then there’s the cape. And the advanced GPS with real-time tracking, so you’ll never lose your way, and neither will we.”

You let out a low whistle. “That is a whole hell of a lot. The media wasn’t joking when they said you were crazy about vigilante tech.”

“Crazy? I prefer ‘innovatively obsessed.’ Someone’s got to push the boundaries of what’s possible—might as well be the guy who’s not afraid to get a little nuts."

Reaching up, you pull the hood over your head, feeling it snap into place with a satisfying click. The suit responds instantly, the advanced GPS blinking to life on your helmet’s display, projecting a detailed map of Gotham right before your eyes. You catch a faint scent wafting through the helmet—clean and fresh, with just a hint of leather. 

“Smells like a new car in here, Mr. Stark,” you grin, taking a deep breath.

"Happy to help, kid. Are we good to go?" Tony asks.

You nod, feeling the suit's snug fit as it conforms to your movements. Tony smirks as he grabs Morgan by the shoulders, steering her toward the door. Her sneakers squeak against the polished tiles as she resists slightly, more out of surprise than reluctance.

"Alright! Come on," Tony urges, pressing the buttons for the elevator. The sleek doors slide open with a soft whoosh. 

Confused, you take a moment to let the suit decloak, watching as it seamlessly transforms back into the inconspicuous glasses and belt. 

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s happening. “Go where?”

“The safehouse,” Tony replies with a shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 1:06 PM - ???, Gotham City.

"What the fuck wrong with you people?"

You step out of Tony's car, your eyes widening as you take in the sight before you. The building looms ahead, a decaying relic from another era. The "SOLD" sign is barely visible through the grime and neglect, and the structure itself looks like it hasn’t seen a lick of maintenance in decades. The windows are boarded up with splintered wood, and the paint on the facade peels away in large, ragged chunks, revealing the weathered wood underneath.

Tony and Morgan follow you out, donning hoodies and glasses to blend in and avoid drawing attention. 

“You guys bought a building?!”

Morgan gives you a sheepish smile. Tony, on the other hand, claps a hand on your shoulder, his grin wide and unapologetic.

“Welcome to the new safehouse,” Tony announces with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “It’s got character, right? Sometimes, you’ve got to go a little off the beaten path to find the perfect spot.”

“Sorry,” Morgan chuckles, shaking her head. “Dad insisted. I guess we’ll see how well it lives up to that promise.”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “Hey, it’s got the essentials: privacy, space, and with a little TLC, it’ll be great. Besides, it’s just a base of operations. You won’t be living here full-time.”

You glance at the rundown building, still skeptical. “I hope you’re right about this.”

“You’re killing me, kid. I’ve seen your old warehouse. This place? It’s a palace compared to that dump. I’ve already done some work on it,” Tony chuckles, shaking his head as he locks his car. You have half a mind to tell him that leaving a luxury car in this neighborhood might not be the best idea, but you hold back. 

“This”—he emphasizes with a sweeping gesture—“will be better than anything you’ve had.” 

With that, you all walk past a broken, torn-up gate, its metal barely hanging on its hinges and rusted beyond repair. Tony retrieves a key from his pocket, and with a satisfying click, he unlocks the door. You all follow him inside.

Inside, the space contrasts sharply with its run-down exterior. The walls were covered with graffiti. Books are scattered haphazardly in one corner, and some tech equipment is piled up in the organized chaos.

Large screens line the room, with a computer at the center, displaying a dizzying array of data streams, security feeds, and holographic schematics.

Holographic displays float above the desks, showing real-time analytics and project statuses. A central 3D map of Gotham rotates slowly, highlighting key locations and active missions with a soft glow.

Mechanical robotic arms are scattered throughout the space—some hanging from the ceiling, others mounted on the walls. They buzz and whir softly as they perform routine maintenance on your equipment.

Your jaw drops, and your shoulders slump as you take in the scene. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you instinctively take a step back, as if trying to distance yourself from the sheer scale of the tech before you. 

Morgan steps in behind you, her gaze sweeping across the room with recognition. She whistles low and turns to Tony, her eyebrows raised.

“So that’s where some of my old tech went.”

“Old?!” you screech at her. “This looks like a high-tech haven compared to what we were using before!”

Morgan rolls her eyes and nudges you playfully. “Dad likes to think anything not cutting-edge is ancient history. This is all yesterday’s innovations.”

“Yep. If this is ‘high-tech,’ I’d hate to see what you were working with before,” Tony snarks, shutting the warehouse door with a creak from the rusted hinges. “Bet you had a rotary dial phone in there too, didn’t you, kid?”

“Ha ha,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “But seriously, this setup is actually impressive.”

You look around, then toss your backpack onto a nearby table and pull out your old suit. It’s practically obsolete with the new upgrades, but you’re thinking of framing it for nostalgia’s sake. Tony’s gaze sharpens as he inspects the material.

“Wayne Tech? Is that Kevlar?” Tony says, his expression souring. “Low blow bringing that into my house.”

“Lower than you think,” you shrug.

“Alright, whatever,” Tony grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. “Get that thing out of my sight before I projectile vomit all over it.”

“Wouldn’t want to make you hurl before your next upgrade,” you snort under your breath.

“I’m going to do you a solid, kid, and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

Turning back to the central table, Tony snaps his fingers. Holograms flicker to life, projecting a variety of case files and news reports.

“Now, let’s get down to business.”

The holograms display a series of high-profile incidents, with the central image featuring Black Mask, his grim visage glaring out from multiple angles.

You frown and step closer, your eyes scanning the floating holograms. Articles about Oscorp Industries, research papers on spiders, and other related documents whir around, each highlighted with a soft, glowing outline. 

Among the swirling articles and data, one catches your eye: an Octavius Burton article from your prom night.

Tony glances at you. “Everything here ties into what we’re dealing with.”

Humming, you step closer and press the Octavius Burton file. Morgan shifts beside you, her expression unreadable.

"That was the guy who attacked us at prom..." you say, turning to her.

Morgan nods and taps another hologram, revealing a new file marked “Confidential.” It’s from a government source, with its contents obscured by digital encryption.

The file opens to reveal classified documents, high-security footage, and a death certificate among them.

“He died a week ago,” Morgan says, scuffing her shoes against the floor, the sound echoing slightly in the room. ��And for some reason, Blackgate officials are trying to keep it under wraps. He died after injecting himself with a serum.”

She pauses, her dark eyes locking onto yours with piercing intensity. “Lizard serum.”

Tony taps a few commands, and more files appear on the holographic display. These documents focus on Octavius's genetic research, showing charts, graphs, and notes on enhancing human abilities.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Tony says, pointing to a dense document. “Octavius was obsessed with improving human potential, working on genetic modifications to enhance physical and mental capabilities.”

Morgan’s expression tightens as she explains, “He was trying to create a new kind of metahuman. The robotic arms were his first success, but the spider serum was supposed to be the next big leap. When the board rejected it and refused to fund him, he turned to more dangerous methods.”

Tony nods, adding, “And from what we know, it seems like he might have been successful with his spider serum research in some way.”

Morgan’s gaze shifts to you. You feel a burning sensation where you were bitten, and shift uncomfortably, tracing the spot on your skin with your fingers.

“But that serum was lost after his arrest. This lizard serum, however, is a completely different story. It’s not connected to him.”

You study the files closely, noting sections on enhancing strength, agility, and cognitive functions—some of which match your own research with Selina.

“Uh, he... I think he used to work with my dad. My late biological dad,” you say, scratching your cheek thoughtfully.

Tony’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Your dad?”

You nod, struggling to find the right words as you stumble over them. “Yeah, my dad worked at Oscorp. When I first got my powers, I found some of his old research on spiders. It’s almost identical to what Octavius was working on. He even thanked Octavius in one of his papers.”

“Freaky...” Morgan murmurs, her face scrunching into a grimace. “And now you’re—”

“I have the same powers after being bitten by a spider the night of Octavius’ attack,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Freaky indeed.”

The room falls into a heavy silence before Morgan speaks up.

"Stark Industries, uh... also used to do genetic research."

Tony tenses but doesn’t interrupt her.

“For medical purposes,” Morgan continues, “we studied serums based on animal genetics. My mom was seriously ill, and we explored genetic modifications to help her. One serum showed promise but ultimately failed.”

Tony’s eyes darken, and he lifts his head slowly, pain evident in his gaze.

“It sped up her sickness,” Tony says, sorrow seeping into his tone. “Despite the risks and the devastating consequences, I administered the serum because I was desperate. Desperate people make dangerous decisions. And... she wasn’t the only one affected.”

Tony’s face hardens, a shadow of regret crossing his features. “I thought I could make a difference, save lives. But instead, I caused suffering. My research led to deaths—people betrayed by the very hope I offered. I shut down that department the next day, but the damage was already done.”

His tone is cold, terribly cold, as he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be alive. But you are. And there’s a reason for that. I need you to understand that. I need you to believe that what you’ve been given isn’t a curse—it’s a chance."

"I know," you murmur. "And I believe in that chance."

"That’s why I want to help you, kid," he says. "I owe it to everyone who was affected by these experiments. If I can do anything to make up for the past or assist you in this fight, then I will. Because it’s the least I can do."

Tony steps back and taps a button on the console. A hologram flickers to life.

“This is Curt Connors,” Tony says, gesturing toward the hologram. The image reveals a man with rugged features: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and short-cut brown hair. He wears glasses and a lab coat, but what catches your eye is his prosthetic arm.

Tony continues, “Connors is currently researching lizard genetics. He’s got the Sionis family bankrolling him, so you know he’s not working with spare change. From what we know, he’s working on enhancements like Octavius was. There’s a solid chance he’s cooked up the serum that led to Octavius’s demise.”

Morgan steps closer, her fingers brushing the screen to bring up more data. “That’s why we need to find his research location and figure out exactly what he’s working on.”

You study the photo of Dr. Connors, zooming in on the details. 

“So, that’s the mission then,” you murmur, your gaze fixed on the image.

Tony looks between you and Morgan. “Once we have a lead on Connors, we can plan our next steps.”

“I’ll dig into any leads I can find on Connors. But be ready for some dead ends. This guy doesn’t exactly advertise his work,” Tony says, waving his phone around.

You consider the situation, glancing between Tony and Morgan. “Do you want me to start searching for information tonight? I can patrol.”

“Slow your roll, kid,” Tony raises a hand, his tone cautionary. “I’m aware of your ‘find out the hard way’ track record. PEPPER’s medical reports on you say enough.”

“Uh, I’ve got enhanced DNA. I can handle it,” you laugh at him.

“Uh,” Tony mocks, “who cares? Keep getting beat up like this, and you’ll end up dead—and that’ll be on me. My wealth, connections, and power can only do so much to sway public opinion in my favor. I’m not exactly Bruce Wayne, you know.”

Tony had seen footage of you in action and read the headlines—who hasn’t? Gotham was crawling with spandex-wearing vigilantes darting across rooftops, each with a more outlandish name than the last. He hadn’t paid them much mind—aside from their flashy tech, they weren’t his concern. But then there was you: the serum, the connections. Once he dug into that, Tony found himself unexpectedly driven, despite himself, to keep you alive.

“Seriously? Enhanced healing, web-spinning, and super strength here,” you say, crossing your arms. “I’m not exactly made of glass…”

“If we want to get to the bottom of this lizard guy, we need you alive,” Morgan says, shooting you a look and pushing up her glasses. “So, you have to take it slow. Baby steps.”

She moves to a medical area in the corner and gestures for you to follow. You raise an eyebrow but comply. Her hands slide up your arm and roll up your sleeve.

“Starting with this.”

Morgan pricks a needle into your arm, and you yelp. You wince at the sting and the cold spreading from the needle, feeling the pressure as your blood is drawn.

“Dude! What the hell?” you exclaim.

“Blood sample,” she replies matter-of-factly. She extracts the sample and slaps a bandaid on your arm. “Have you ever thought about how your powers work? Or how modified you really are?”

Morgan moves toward a machine that looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. The device hums to life, its surface lighting up with a soft blue glow. A series of holographic displays flicker into existence, showing intricate scans and streams of data.

Morgan inserts the vial of your blood into a slot on the machine, and the device immediately begins processing the sample. The holograms shift and change, displaying molecular structures and DNA sequences.

Morgan studies the readouts. “Your DNA is... fascinating. The spider venom bonded with your cells.”

“You see this?" she points to a segment of the hologram. "This is where the venom altered your genetic structure.”

You grin, stepping closer to the display. “Yeah! I’ve seen this before. I… did some research on my own. The venom has this enzyme that acts as a catalyst, a transgenic catalyst, that facilitates its integration with human DNA. The spider’s genetic material introduces specific protein structures that enhance cellular regeneration and muscle density. Essentially, it’s rewriting my genetic code at a molecular level. The changes are so thorough that my cells keep churning out these proteins and enzymes, which is why my abilities are so persistent. It’s like I’ve got built-in bioengineering on a cellular level. And—”

You trail off, realizing you’re rambling. Coughing into your hand, you try to muster a serious expression. “Uh, sorry. I tend to geek out over this stuff.”

Tony blinks at you from his spot, and Morgan raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback.

“Sometimes I forget you’re actually smart,” Morgan says, narrowing her eyes. “Every time you show a hint of intelligence, it’s like a miracle.”

“Wow,” you grumble, flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s cute,” Morgan says with a smile, continuing to read the data. “Basic stuff. Super strength, enhanced healing... standard Spidey powers we’ve seen.”

A beep sounds as she taps another screen.

“Pain tolerance when you’re adrenaline-fueled is off the charts,” she murmurs. “If you ever needed surgery, the amount of anesthetic required would be dangerously high.”

Tony leans over her shoulder. “The dosage you'd need could drop an elephant—twice over.”

Morgan glances up, turning the tablet to face you. “Your reflexes and agility are beyond the usual. You’re faster and more responsive. But that means your body burns energy quickly. You’ll need a high-calorie diet to keep up with your metabolism.”

"I do," you shrug. "I burn through like six meals a day. Our grocery bills have never been higher."

“Well, did you know you need over 5,000 calories a day?” Morgan tilts her head. “I doubt six meals covers that.”

“Oh,” you flush. "How was I supposed to know that?"

“You figured out the science behind your powers on a genetic level, but couldn't figure out how much food you need?” Tony quips.

“…yes?”

“You’re killing me, kid,” Tony groans, raising an eyebrow as he pulls out his phone. “Great. I’ll make a note to increase your stipend for groceries. Feeding you might bankrupt me faster than any supervillain ever could.”

Tony steps out to take a call from his secretary, leaving you and Morgan alone in the lab. She’s absorbed in analyzing your results, mumbling to herself and scribbling notes on a ratty notepad. You let out a sigh, reactivating your suit and running your fingers along the edges of the emblem on your chest.

Spiders, lizards, bats, and cats... What’s with all these animals?

At least you’re not up against dinosaurs.

…

Yet.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 8:03 PM - Downtown, Gotham City.

This? This was awesome. 

Swinging from the skyscrapers, you feel an adrenaline rush unlike anything you've experienced back in Queens. The swings are higher, the speed is faster, and the thrill is almost overwhelming. 

Gotham’s downtown is a far cry from Queens. 

Where once you swung past modest streetlamps and low-rise buildings, now you’re darting off glassy skyscrapers that pierce the sky. The towering structures and crowded streets of Gotham create a backdrop that feels almost alien—a dazzling, high-octane contrast to the familiar neighborhood you left behind. It’s like stepping into an entirely new world, and the exhilaration of it all is intoxicating.

"You know, after that big pep talk, I figured you'd want to take a breather," Morgan’s face appears on the screen of your helmet. She’s lounging in a chair at your new safehouse, clad in a dark tank top with her hair tousled and square glasses perched on her nose.

She looks every bit the quintessential “guy in the chair.”

“We’ve been looking over case files for hours! Cut me some slack for wanting to get some fresh air!” you retort, flipping through the air and executing a sharp swing around a skyscraper.

Morgan shakes her head, frowning. “You still have, like, two broken ribs.”

“Which will probably heal in about an hour,” you point out.

You swing onto a rooftop, landing with a skid as the rough concrete bites into your boots, the jarring impact vibrating up your legs. You brace yourself, absorbing the shock, then straighten up, brushing off the dust and debris clinging to your suit. The city lights glint off the sleek metal of your gear.

“Maggie,” Morgan’s voice carries a hint of pleading. “Run their vitals.”

A moment of silence follows, with only the distant hum of the city below. Then Maggie’s voice, calm and measured, comes through the earpiece, her data flashing across your visor. “Vitals are stable. No immediate signs of distress, but the injuries are fresh. Overexertion could lead to complications.”

Morgan’s face reappears on your helmet’s screen, her glasses glinting in the dim light of the safehouse. “See? Even Maggie agrees. Maybe it’s time to take it easy for a while.”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But come on, fresh air’s good for the soul, right?”

“I get it, but you should still be careful. Gotham’s not exactly known for being forgiving.”

You chuckle, stretching your arms above your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Crime doesn't sleep. But for now, I’m enjoying the view.”

The adrenaline from your earlier swings starts to mellow, leaving a calm satisfaction in its wake. For a moment, it’s just you and the city, connected in a way.

Morgan's voice returns to your earpiece, lighter now. "You know, I’ve been thinking about something while you were out there."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing out over the city. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Well,” she begins, a hint of hesitation in her tone, “since I’m always in the thick of things with you, I’ve been thinking I might need a codename or alias. Something that fits my role.”

You chuckle, turning to look down at the bustling street below, a river of colors as people move like ants in the city’s labyrinth. “True. I have to call my guy in the chair something. What are you leaning toward?”

“Morgana,” she replies, a touch of pride in her voice.

You laugh, a genuine burst of amusement that makes your shoulders shake. “Really? Just adding a letter to your name? That’s what you’ve got?”

Morgan’s tone turns playful. “Hey! It’s better than nothing.”

“Alright, Morgana,” you snort, giving one last look at the cityscape before preparing to head back into the night. “You up for some monitoring? I’m heading back out. This city needs me.”

“Oh, so cool,” she laughs at your last line. “You’re like Batman.”

“He is the standard,” you reply, stepping to the edge of the building. The cold wind brushes against your suit and tugs at your hood. You pull it up, feeling the fabric tighten around your face as you squint against the biting breeze.

“Think you can get me a gig?”

“Sure. Give me a moment.”

On your visor, the map highlights various irregularities in bright, pulsing colors. Patterns of activity pulse in vivid reds and oranges, tracing a trail of anomalies through the city's grid. 

Then, a prominent prompt flashes onto the screen, breaking through the overlay of data. It’s a high-priority alert, marked by a flashing icon and an urgent red border.

Morgan’s fingers dance across her laptop keyboard, the rhythmic click-clack of her nails echoing in your helmet. “Ready for your first big debut?” 

You check the readout, eyes narrowing. “What’ve you got for me tonight, Gotham?”

Immediately, the visor's display shifts to show a live news feed. The screen splits, revealing a scene unfolding at Wayne Industries. The news anchor's voice cuts through the rush of wind and the hum of your suit’s systems.

"—reporting live from Wayne Industries. A helicopter has been hijacked and has stolen sensitive technology. The situation is escalating, and authorities are struggling to regain control. We have reports of the helicopter on a collision course with the city’s power grid."

The live feed is a frenzied mix of flashing lights and dark, ominous smoke. The camera, amateur and shaky, captures the scene with screams and frantic commentary. The helicopter wobbles dangerously close to the towering buildings, its movements growing more erratic by the second.

“Alright, Morgana, give me a location on that chopper. I’m heading in.”

“On it. I’ll track its trajectory and keep you updated. Be careful out there.”

With a flip, you launch yourself off the rooftop, the sensation of free-fall exhilarating. The city lights blur into streaks of color as you swing through the air. Each swing propels you higher and faster. 

A few sharp, speedy webs later, you spot the helicopter's silhouette slicing through the thick, smoky haze—a dark, menacing shape against the illuminated skyline.

THWAP.

With a powerful swing, you fire a web at the tail of the helicopter, the line snapping tight and anchoring you securely. You grunt with effort, reeling it in and pulling with all your strength. The helicopter lurches violently, its spinning blades blurring dangerously.

Quickly, you fire another web, anchoring it to a nearby building. Using the momentum, you swing to the opposite side and shoot another web to stabilize the helicopter. The erratic spinning slows as the webs pull it into a more controlled, steady position. 

“Alright, you glorified bucket of bolts,” you mutter, “let’s see how you like a little traffic jam!”

You draw back and hurl yourself toward the helicopter’s blades, cutting through the deafening noise. Multiple webs shoot from your wrists, encasing the spinning blades in thick, sticky threads. The helicopter’s spin slows, the blades eventually halting as the craft begins to tremble and sway.

Panting, you cling to the helicopter’s side, your feet firmly anchored on the fuselage. Through the cockpit, you see the hijackers, their movements erratic and panicked.

One lunges at you with a knife, but you snatch it away and web it to the helicopter’s side. “Whoa, careful there! You might poke an eye out with that thing.”

The hijackers scramble, their attempts to regain control clumsy and chaotic. D-grade criminals, you think, as you fire webs to disarm them, yanking their guns and knives away.

“This is just sad. I was hoping for some more action,” you quip, grabbing one hijacker by the collar and tossing him out of the cockpit. He flails wildly as he’s hurled into the air, but you’re quick to fire a web, catching him and securing him to a nearby rooftop. His face pales to a ghostly white as he dangles precariously above the city. 

The second hijacker tries to take advantage of your distraction, but you’re on top of it. You spin, firing a web that catches him mid-swing. With a swift, decisive shove, you slam him against the side of the helicopter. He grunts in pain, and with a quick yank, you toss him out. Another web secures him to the same rooftop as his partner, leaving them both dangling high above the city.

You swing back to the rooftop where you left the men hanging and grin down at them. “Time for you guys to have a chat with the authorities,” you call out. “Hope you enjoyed your flight!”

KABOOM!

Before you can take another step, a violent shudder erupts from the helicopter. A plume of black smoke bursts from the engine compartment, followed by a sharp, bright explosion that momentarily illuminates the night sky. The helicopter's frame buckles and a series of smaller explosions ripple through it, sending debris scattering into the air.

“Oh boy,” you mutter, eyes widening as the helicopter, now belching thick, dark smoke, begins a slow, uncontrolled descent. Without a moment's hesitation, you dive after it, the wind roaring in your ears as you plummet. Your eyes stay fixed on the spiraling craft, webs catching falling debris to propel you faster.

Below, chaos erupts. Civilians scatter, their panicked screams piercing the clamor of the sputtering engines. Amidst the fleeing crowd, one woman remains frozen—her uniform and press ID visible. Trembling, she clutches her phone, snapping photos as the helicopter plummets closer.

"WATCH OUT!"

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 8:34 PM - Downtown, Gotham City.

A Few Moments Earlier.

“Mister Ryder, I assure you, I am not insane!” 

Vicki Vale’s voice slices through the cacophony of Gotham’s busy streets, sharp and urgent. Her frustration is clear as she clutches her phone with a vice-like grip, her manicured fingers pressing into the device. Around her, the city's frenetic pulse continues unabated—taxi horns blare, and the murmur of the crowd flows around her like a river.

Her eyes dart around, scanning the street, trying to make herself heard over the din. “I was there! The spider vigilante is real! I was nearly robbed, and they intervened directly!”

Her boss’s voice on the other end is clipped, dismissive. “Vicki, I understand your enthusiasm, but right now, we need to focus on what’s capturing the public’s interest. Wayne and Stark are making headlines. Why not go interview that Kyle girl? It’s a classic rags-to-riches story. The public eats that up.”

“Who cares about some civilian?!” Vicki’s frustration boils over. She steps into the crowded Gotham streets, where people glance at her momentarily before resuming their daily routines. “This vigilante could be huge!”

“Vicki, we’re on a tight deadline,” her boss interrupts firmly. “Unless you have solid proof and concrete details about this… Spider, I don’t see how this story fits. Stick to the Wayne-Stark coverage for now. We’ll revisit the vigilante angle if it gains traction.”

Vicki’s protest is cut short by a sudden, deafening scream. She swivels her head, then snaps her gaze upward, eyes widening in disbelief. Above, the helicopter spins wildly—a chaotic blur of metal and smoke, its descent wreaking havoc on the cityscape.

A figure emerges—a vigilante slicing through the smoke like a bolt of lightning. The red and black suit flashes against the darkening sky, the emblem of a bold, black spider spreading its legs wide.

Bingo.

Without a second thought, Vicki plunges into the heart of the chaos. Around her, the crowd is a roiling sea of panic and flight, but she’s single-minded. Her fingers fumble with her phone, desperately trying to position the lens toward the unfolding spectacle.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Flashes of light burst from her camera in rapid succession. Every captured frame is a fragment of the story she’s been hunting, and nothing—nothing at all—will pry this chance from her grasp.

KABOOM!

A deafening roar slams into Vicki’s ears, obliterating all other sounds, leaving only a sharp ring. The helicopter plummets in a swift, uncontrollable descent—a menacing blur of spinning metal and thick, black smoke, tumbling right toward her. Her eyes widen in horror, breath caught in her throat as the scene drags out in slow motion.

“WATCH OUT!”

The warning is almost too late.

A powerful gust of wind sweeps through, lifting Vicki off her feet. She screams, grabbing onto the nearest figure with a white-knuckled grip. The vigilante, clad in a red and black suit, swoops in, pulling her into the air. 

“Whatever you do, don’t let go!” you shout over the howling wind. Vicki scrambles and her arms clamp around your neck.

You swing into action, firing a web at a nearby rooftop to secure yourself. With one hand gripping the web line anchored to the building, you hold up both yourself and Vicki, who is clinging to you with white-knuckled fear. Your other hand reaches out, shooting another web directly at the falling helicopter. 

SNAP!

The web snaps into place, and you grunt as the sudden force pulls you, but the other web holds firm. With a mighty effort, you brace yourself, bearing the full weight of the 6,000-pound craft. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter, biting your lip as you throw your head back. Pain flares up like a bad cramp, every muscle in your arm and back screaming.

“Pretty sure I just broke something,” you grimace, feeling the weight of the helicopter pushing you to the limit. But with adrenaline fueling you, you grit your teeth and somehow keep it suspended. "This is great. Love my life."

Vicki, initially shaking in shock, gradually starts to calm down. Before you know it, she’s unwinding one arm from your shoulder and frantically digging through her pocket for her phone. You flinch at the sudden shift in weight.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Lady! Will’ya stop moving?!” you scold, trying to keep both of you steady, but she’s too busy to care. Her attention is locked on her screen as she fumbles to activate the video function.

“Seriously? You’re recording now?”

Clinging to you with just one hand wrapped around your neck, she somehow keeps the lens focused on your helmet. Here she is, literally hanging on for dear life, yet still focused on getting that scoop. 

You can’t decide if she’s brave, stupid, or both.

“My name is Vicki Vale, and I’m a reporter for Gotham Gazette!” she shouts, her voice slightly distorted by the adrenaline. “I’m witnessing an incredible act of heroism here! The Vigilante—”

Before she can continue, you shoot a quick, exasperated look at her. “Not the time for an interview!”

“Uh. We’re live, so if you could just—”

“Not the time! Seriously?” you hiss. “Can we save the interview for after I’m done holding up a helicopter?”

Vicki shoves her phone back in your face. “This is history! People need to know who you are. Give me something to work with!”

You let out an exasperated groan, eyes squinting against the strain. “Alright, alright! You want a scoop? One question only. What do you want to know?”

“Why are you doing this? What’s your mission here in Gotham?” 

“I’m—” you pause, wincing as a fresh wave of pain hits. “I’m here to protect the city. People like you and everyone below deserve safety, and if I can help provide that, then... Shit!—that’s... that���s what I’ll do.”

The helicopter lurches again, and you grimace. “Just—okay! Got your story, right? Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

With a slow, controlled motion, you begin to lower the helicopter. The descent is careful, each web-strained inch guiding the craft to a safe landing. Finally, with a gentle thud, the helicopter touches down on the ground. The immense weight lifts from your shoulders, and you thank every god you can think of.

Jumping down, you land a safe distance from the wreck and gently set Vicki down. The streets around you hum with activity as emergency responders rush in. You let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling a sharp sting in your back—a problem for another day.

Vicki tucks her phone away, and as the adrenaline fades, you freeze. You know her—Vicki Vale. Columnist, gadfly, all-around troublemaker. The kind of trouble people crave and dread in equal measure.

She flashes a dazzling smile, perfect teeth catching the light as her nails trail up your bicep. You flinch, fighting to keep your cool. 

“You’ve given me one heck of a story,” she purrs, her voice dropping an octave, laced with a flirtatious edge.

“So, what’s your deal?” she continues, leaning in a bit closer. “Secret identity? Hidden agenda?”

You glance at her, trying to maintain a professional tone despite the proximity. “Not interested in sharing more than I already have. Ha. Just… doing my job.”

Vicki smirks, clearly intrigued. “Well, I’ll keep digging. Heroes like you always have the best stories. And maybe… if you’re lucky, I’ll let you in on what I find.”

You let out a dry chuckle, feeling the heat from her proximity. “Glad to be of service. Just remember to stay safe out there.”

With a final nod, you shoot a web into the night and swing away, the cityscape unfolding beneath you as you disappear into the darkness.

What’s with you and redheads?

 ༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 10:41 PM - Batcave, Wayne Manor.

On one of the main screens of the Batcomputer, a news report flickers into view.

"—hat we’ve witnessed tonight is nothing short of extraordinary. A helicopter, which was hijacked and rigged to explode, was on a collision course with the city’s power grid. The situation seemed dire, but then, out of nowhere, a hero arrived."

The scene cuts to the video shot by Vicki Vale on her phone. Despite the shaky camerawork, the footage captures the exchange clearly.

“My name is Vicki Vale, and I’m a reporter for Gotham Gazette! I’m witnessing an incredible act of heroism here! The Vigilante—”

“Not the time for an interview!”

“This is history! People need to know who you are. Give me something to work with!”

“Alright, alright! You want a scoop? One question only. What do you want to know?”

“Why are you doing this? What’s your mission here in Gotham?” 

“I’m—I’m here to protect the city. People like you and everyone below deserve safety, and if I can help provide that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The broadcast returns to the news anchors.

“The footage from journalist Vicki Vale offers an “unprecedented glimpse into the actions of this mysterious figure. It’s clear that Gotham has a new guardian, and their bravery hasn’t gone unnoticed. Though it’s only been a matter of hours since the incident, social media has already dubbed the vigilante 'the Nightcrawler.'"

A still image of Nightcrawler appears onscreen, frozen mid-swing through the skyline, one hand reaching out toward the helicopter.

"While their true identity remains a mystery, it’s evident that Nightcrawler’s heroics tonight have made a significant impact! Move over, bats, there’s a new hero in town—"

Before the news anchor can finish, a Batarang hurles across the room, embedding itself in the Batcomputer’s screen with a sharp, metallic thud. The screen sputters violently, sparks erupting around the jagged edge of the blade as the image distorts. The monitor flickers wildly, casting brief, chaotic shadows before it goes dark.

Bruce whirls around, eyes wide. “Damian!”

"I'm going to kill them!"

“Enough!” Bruce snaps, yanking off his cowl with a frustrated sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache, salt-and-pepper hair falling messily over his furrowed brows.

“Start from the top. What’s this about the vigilante?”

Damian, braced against his bike, glares through his mask. “Oh, I don’t know, Father. Maybe because just as we’re about to start patrol, some so-called minor vigilante swoops in and takes over the hijacking we were handling.”

He jabs a finger at the damaged screen, frustration crackling in his voice. “And on top of that, this ‘hero’ seems to have made it their personal mission to mess with my operations.”

“What operations?”

Damian’s jaw tightens as he spits out, “It’s… It’s Y/N.”

Bruce’s shoulders tense as he swivels his head, darting rapid, searching glances at Tim, Dick, Cassandra, and Jason.

“Alright, Damian,” Dick says, pushing himself off the control panel. “That’s a big bomb to drop out of nowhere. We need details. What do we know about this Spider?”

Damian, clearly agitated, rolls his shoulders and scoffs. “When I was assigned to track them—”

“No one assigned you,” Jason points out. “You’ve been on a one-man crusade to follow every shady character in Gotham. It’s practically your hobby at this point.”

“And it’s led me to this,” Damian hisses, slamming his fist against the edge of his bike. The impact sends a shudder through the entire vehicle. “So, if you’re done interrupting, maybe we can actually make progress. Remember the night of the dinner when they showed up, bruised and battered?”

“You’re saying it’s connected?” Tim narrows his eyes, sliding his laptop from the table and settling it on his lap. He flips the keyboard open, his fingers flying over the keys. “If we pull together all the recent incidents and sightings, we might spot a pattern.”

Bruce nods slowly, a deep-rooted fear gripping his heart. The threads of panic pull at him, a sensation all too familiar. It’s a feeling that surfaces whenever his insane, trauma-fueled, highly trained, rebellious sons sneak out—something that’s happened more times than he can count—and it never leads to anything good.

He’s caught in the well-worn groove of dread, like an old record that keeps skipping to the same track. The adoption jokes practically write themselves in his mind, but right now, he's too worried to laugh.

Selina and Bruce had always been a tangled mess of on-again, off-again. 

When they were younger, the chase was a thrill, the romance intense. But when things got serious, the cracks started to show. Bruce was too immersed in his work as Batman, burning himself down to ash to save his city. Selina loved her freedom as Catwoman and couldn’t bear to watch him destroy himself.

Then, one storm-lashed night, everything changed. Selina appeared at his doorstep, Rain streamed off her like tears, and in her arms was a small bundle—a toddler, swaddled tight but still shivering, cheeks flushed and red. 

It had been years since they’d last spoken. Bruce, barely containing his shock, asked if the child was his. Selina shook her head, the sobs barely intelligible as she murmured something lost to his ears.

Not his, he mourned. 

But the connection was there. You were a mirror of his own younger self—the same tragic backstory, the same deep-seated sadness. In the quiet, lonely hours of the night, Bruce would find himself searching for glimpses of your life, his mind wandering to what might have been. You were his child in spirit, if not in blood.

His daughter—if not truly, then almost.

“A solid approach,” Bruce says, snapping back to focus. “Her safety is our top priority. We need to figure out how to protect her from whatever this threat is.”

“But what exactly are we protecting her from?” asks Dick. “We still don’t fully understand what this vigilante wants or why they’re fixated on Y/N.”

Cass steps forward, her hands moving fluidly. 

“Sullen,” she signs.

Tim nods in understanding, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he updates the document. 

“Does Selina know about this?” he asks, glancing up. “Y/N’s been looking more scrawny. They’ve put on some muscle, sure, but they’re clearly neglecting their health. We might have missed other signs.”

Bruce made a strangled sound in his throat. He mentally made a note to call Selina later.

Catwoman hadn't been on any heists recently—good for Gotham, but bad for Bruce. 

Had they been struggling financially? He could easily arrange for groceries or some form of support—after all, it was the least he could do.

“Kid came in with a black eye,” Jason grunts, striding over to his gear. He slams rubber bullets into their chambers with a sharp clack, the sound echoing through the room. “And from what I see, they’ve been holding back on us. We should’ve noticed something was off sooner.”

Damian rubs his eyes in frustration. Guilt eats at him. 

You'd been hiding injuries and sneaking around at odd hours, that much was clear. The Spider inflicted them deliberately, not just to hurt you but to send a message. It was a warning to the Bats that they could make things much worse if they got in their way.

“There was a cut on their ribs. A knife wound. The way it was done, so precise—there’s no way it was an accident or a stray hit. Someone wanted to hurt them, to send a clear message.”

Everyone’s head whips toward Damian.

Dick takes a deep, shuddering breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “She didn’t tell until after that night?”

Damian’s fingers dig into his own arms, leaving crescents of white where his nails press. “They’ve been hiding things from us. I should’ve seen it coming. I’ve been pouring over every encounter, trying to piece together what’s been going on. But there’s something we’re missing, and I—”

His voice catches, trembling with regret. “They must have been too terrified to speak out. It took them showing me before I finally caught on to what was happening.”

Bruce steps forward, his hand soothing over Damian's tense shoulders. “Son, now isn’t the time to blame yourself.”

Damian’s eyes blaze with frustration as he jerks away from Bruce’s touch. “How can you say that? They’re in danger because I didn’t see it coming!”

Bruce’s expression melts, mouth pressed in a concealed white-hot wrath. “It’s not about blaming anyone. What matters now is what we do next.”

“Alright.” Jason grabs his gun and starts loading it with a series of sharp clicks. He slides it into his holster and looks up. “Let’s say we find a connection. What’s the plan? Do we confront her directly or set a trap for the Spider?”

Bruce moves to the Batcomputer, slipping his cowl back on. “We can’t rush into anything. We need concrete evidence first. Confronting Y/N without it could put her in danger and jeopardize our position.”

He turns to Damian, a silent exchange passing between them. 

Damian, on the edge of adulthood and just a step away from graduation, is nearly a carbon copy of his father—save for his far tanner skin and hooked nose. His deep-set eyes are shadowy pools that seem to contain entire worlds, while dark, inky waves of hair tumble over his forehead. His broad shoulders are as solid and sculpted as marble.

“For now, you’ll keep a close watch on her. Protect her if you need to.”

Damian strides toward the Batcomputer, his cape trailing behind him. He dislodges his Batarang with a deft flick, expression set in stone

"Of course."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 12:35 AM - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

The door groaned loudly as you pushed it open, its hinges protesting against the late hour. The dim light from the multiple screens flickered as you stepped inside, casting long shadows across the cluttered room.

With a weary sigh, you uncloaked, and your suit shimmered as it dissolved into nanotech, reforming into your glasses and belt. Sweat clung to your forehead as you ruffled your damp hair, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. You removed the glasses with a swift motion, tossing them onto a nearby table cluttered with papers and gadgets.

Morgan looked up from her workstation, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of multiple screens. Various tabs and data streams flickered across her monitors. 

"Sup. Doing research?" you asked, your voice hoarse from the night’s exertions.

Morgan’s grin widened, though she tried to hide it behind a bite of her lip. "You... could say that."

You slumped into a nearby chair, raising an eyebrow at her. Morgan leaned back, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the armrest. "That was one hell of a debut. The media is already all over it. They’re calling you the ‘Nightcrawler.’”

"‘Nightcrawler’?” you repeated with a grimace. “Not exactly... friendly. I preferred Spidey.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s badass!” Morgan grinned, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She wheeled back to her desk, snatching a remote and pointing it at the large screen mounted on the wall. The screen flickered to life, and news footage of the event burst onto the display.

As the video played, Morgan leaned closer to the screen “See? They’re eating it up. ‘Nightcrawler’ has a nice ring to it. It’s got mystery, it’s got edge—”

"Oh my god. I’ve turned into the stereotype."

“What stereotype?” 

“The emo Gotham hero stereotype,” you groaned, slouching further into the chair. “Dark, brooding, with a name like Nightcrawler. It’s like I’m fitting into every cliché.”

"Clichés are just classic for a reason!"

Morgan flashed a screen, and an image appeared: you—Nightcrawler—perched on a rooftop, the scene drenched in shadows. The red of your suit bled into the darkness. Your hood was drawn low, obscuring your face, while the city lights below flickered like distant stars in the void.

You squinted at the screen, oddly flattered. "Well... I guess if villains are scared, they’re paying attention. Strike fear into their hearts and all.”

“Exactly,” Morgan said with a nod. “Hell. There are even edits of you on TikTok now!”

"..."

"..."

"...You cannot be serious," you paused, trying to wrap your head around it. “TikTok? Really?”

“Yup!” Morgan’s grin widened as she glanced at her phone, swiped through her feed, and tapped on the tag #NightcrawlerEdits. She then turned the screen toward you, excitement practically bursting out of her.

Clips of your rooftop swings, dramatic landings, and quick takedowns looped across the screen, set to raunchy music and flashy edits.

You watched in shock and slight embarrassment. "Oh.my.god."

Morgan’s excitement only grew as she pulled up another video. This time, the video was a velocity edit. It featured you throwing your head back, straining against a helicopter's weight while Vicki clung to your neck. Your biceps were prominently flexed, and the background whizzed by in a blur of motion and color.

The accompanying song blasted, with the lyrics:

Push me down, hold me down Spit in my mouth while you turn me on I wanna take your light inside Dim me down, snuff me out Hands on my neck while you push it out And I'm screamin' out

Morgan burst into laughter, practically rolling on the floor. 

“This is my favorite one,” she said, her eyes sparkling with tears.

“Oh my god, stop! I do not need to see my own fucking thirst trap!” you groaned, quickly pausing the video. You turned away, face burning hotter than Metropolis's sun, and stared at the graffiti on the wall across from you.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning in embarrassment. “This is not how I pictured my debut.”

Morgan, still laughing her ass off, was clearly unfazed. She scrolled through the comments, her grin spreading even wider.

“You’ve gotta hear these,” she said, her voice barely containing her amusement. She began reading aloud, each comment more deranged than the last.

estellea @ abcdfuckyou・1hr

vicki lucky af. I’d be clinging on too if I were her

jennyjay @ metroboomingpolis・30m

someone give me a ticket to Gotham so I can throw myself off a building and let Nightcrawler save me. no cap 🧢

harry 🐾☕️ @ blehhidc ・1hr

going to become a villain rn. pls choke slam me into Arkham.

ji ─ nightcrawlers #1 fan @ nightcrawler_updates・1hr

i want nightcrawler to smash that helicopter on my tits

Of course, there were the occasional snarky comments but they were buried under an avalanche of over-the-top reactions and sheer, unrestrained heat.

“Hooooly shit!” Morgan howled with laughter. “This one called you mommy long legs─!”

"Morgan!" You cringed, peeking through your fingers. "Stop! I can't believe this shit. They turned my life-threatening mission into a fucking thirst trap.”

Morgan could barely catch her breath between laughs. 

“Alright, alright. Enough,” you said, snatching her phone away. “Enough with the thirst traps! Let’s get back to work!”

Morgan’s laughter died down as she moved back to her spot at the computer, still grinning. “Whatever you say, Mommy Long Legs.”

You rolled your eyes and began to slowly pull off your undershirt. Morgan glanced up, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she maneuvered a robotic arm from the workstation to scan you.

Pepper’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Injuries detected: dislocated shoulder, torn muscles in back and bicep, a cut on the cheek, and minor abrasions.”

The robotic arm paused. “Recommendations: immediate treatment for the shoulder and muscle tears; clean and treat minor cuts to avoid infection. Rest and recovery are essential.”

“More injuries?” Morgan fake gasped, rising from her chair. She gave your forehead a playful tap with her knuckles. “What’s going on in that head of yours? It’s like you’re a magnet for trouble.”

“It’s not my fault!” you shot back, gesturing wildly. “You try catching a helicopter with one hand while some shitty reporter tries to interview you midair!”

Morgan just rolled her eyes. Quick on her feet, she approached the medical cabinet and gathered supplies. The room filled with a soft hum as a bunch of robotic arms whirred to life, their sleek forms extending and positioning themselves around you.

“Alright, superhero, let's get you your fix.”

One of the robotic arms gently secured your dislocated shoulder. Morgan adjusted its settings on a nearby console, her fingers moving deftly over the controls.

“You really need to stop making my job so interesting,” she muttered.

“You’d die of boredom otherwise,” you retorted, wincing as the arm held your shoulder in place. The brief, sharp pain of your bone realigning quickly faded as the shoulder was set back into position.

The remaining robotic arms moved in to treat your muscle tears. They applied a soothing gel and began a methodical massage, easing the inflamed muscles with each gentle stroke.

Morgan glanced up from the control panel, still adjusting the final settings. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid,” you say dryly.

“True,” she replies with a smirk, “but keeping you in one piece is its own reward.”

You raised an eyebrow. The tips of Morgan’s ears turned red and she cleared her throat awkwardly.

Typing in a few final commands, she lingered a moment, glancing at you with a faintly hopeful look. “So, any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Probably just going to sleep,” you said, stifling a yawn. “Deadlifting helicopters really takes it out of you.”

Morgan’s eyes lit up with an idea. “How about coming to Gotham Academy with me?”

“Why? Ugh. Please don’t tell me you want to go to class.”

Morgan shook her head. “No, no! I know the internship has both of us excused for the month, but I need to check out some files on Octavius Burton. He used to be faculty there, and I thought it’d be a good chance for us to revisit the oh-so-magnificent halls of our beloved school.”

You cringed. “Oh my god, I do not miss that place at all.”

Morgan pursed her lips. “You might run into Damian, though.”

You pause.

You thought about it for one second, then nodded. 

“Gotham Academy it is.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

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voomba sorry for the long ass paragraphs i write shit lore

ur like a redhead magnet girlypop

[sunshine-lux]

Clueless (v.)

summary: harry osborn is as smart as he is charming and that seems to be ruffling a special someone's feathers!

pairings: Stark!reader x MCU!peter parker, gwen stacy x MCU!peter parker, Stark!reader x harry osborn

warnings: angst, miscommunication (oops), f!reader, none that i can think of other than that!

word count: 9.4k

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The headline was still burning into her eyes: “Next Gen Power Couple?’ Y/N Stark & Harry Osborn Spark Dating Rumors After Glitzy Gala Appearance”

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed in a hoodie that wasn’t hers (probably Peter’s, not that she’d admit it), staring at the pictures of the gala on her tablet while her friends gathered around her room like they were strategizing for war.

MJ was pacing with a juice pouch in hand, Ned was half buried in a pile of pillows on the floor, and Peter… hadn’t said much. He sat in the desk chair, hands clasped between his knees, brows furrowed.

“No offense,” MJ said, turning sharply to point at Ned, “but if anyone leaked Y/N’s powers, it’s you. You’re too friendly. You probably said something dumb at a Comic-Con.”

Ned gasped. “Excuse me? I would never! You’re the one who made her a custom Tempest Funko Pop. Maybe someone saw it.”

Peter looked up. “Guys, come on. Nobody here leaked anything.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, exasperated. “Which is why this makes no sense. How does he know? I haven’t even seen Harry Osborn since that stupid summit. And now he’s back and suddenly throwing around hints and doing interviews like he’s my PR manager?”

“He’s been suspiciously smooth,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes. “Like… media trained Bond villain smooth.”

Just then, the door opened with a soft knock. Tony walked in with Pepper trailing behind, holding a tablet.

“I ran the Osborn kid’s record,” Tony said, tossing the tablet to Y/N. “It’s clean. Squeaky. Too squeaky, honestly. Graduated from a top-tier boarding school in California back in June. Spent the summer hopping through Europe. Won two lacrosse championships, three state science fairs, a robotics thing in Tokyo, and was apparently on the cover of Forbes Next last year.”

“He’s like evil Peter,” Ned whispered.

“Hey!” Peter snapped, offended.

“He’s not evil,” Pepper said thoughtfully. “Just well-groomed. And possibly trying to charm your daughter.”

Tony muttered, “He can try.”

Y/N scrolled through the file on the tablet, her stomach turning. There was nothing. No red flags. No PI receipts. No spy tech orders. Nothing to explain how Harry knew.

“So what now?” MJ asked. “We just wait for him to drop another cryptic one liner on the morning news?”

“No,” Y/N said, eyes hard. “Next time he says something like that… I’ll make sure he tells me what he knows.”

Peter shifted in his seat. “Just—be careful, okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her fingers sparked faintly against the edge of the tablet.

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Later that evening, the group had moved to the tower’s living room — a cozy sprawl of mismatched throw pillows, glowing screens, and the half finished remnants of takeout containers. The TV played reruns of Love Island in the background, mostly ignored except for MJ who kept pausing her phone scrolling every time a dramatic sound cue hit.

Y/N was curled up on one end of the couch with her legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Ned sat on the rug, enjoying a bag of chips. MJ was lying sideways across the armrest, casually stalking Harry Osborn’s Instagram like it was a crime scene.

“Okay,” she said, swiping up. “His grid is too curated. Like… look at this. Who just posts a dumb picture with an artsy caption and gets 78k likes? It’s like he thinks being rich gives him permission to post dumb philosophical captions with thirst traps.” 

Ned leaned over. “What’s it say?”

She tilted the screen toward them. “‘You can’t outrun your shadow. But sometimes… you can dance with it.’ And it’s just a picture of him standing in front of a sunset. Shirtless.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s kinda funny actually.”

Then, without missing a beat: “No but yeah, who’d post something dumb like that and get thousands of likes?”

Both MJ and Ned turned to look at her. MJ raised an eyebrow.

Ned grinned. “you literally captioned your last post ‘say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset ’ and it was just a picture of you on the balcony before the gala.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s different. That’s a Taylor Swift lyric...”

“Uh-huh,” MJ said dryly. “Tell that to your twelve fan accounts.”

“Thirteen,” Ned corrected, showing her his phone. “One of them just posted an edit of you and Harry. Y/N Osborn era incoming.”

Y/N groaned and sank into the cushions. “I hate the internet.”

“You are the internet,” MJ said, scrolling again.

Peter tried to laugh along, but it came out awkward and quiet. His eyes flicked to the screen MJ was holding, where Harry’s shirtless photo was still open. He looked away fast, jaw tightening.

Despite the jokes, the mood was still weird. Uneasy. Everyone could feel it.

Peter sat nearby, scrolling through memes but clearly not paying attention. Every time Y/N shifted, he glanced up. Like he was trying to read her thoughts.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

She frowned, swiping open the message — and froze.

From an unknown number: So what’d you think about the interview? Gotta give 'em some insight on the new it couple. 😉

Her stomach dropped.

“I got a text…” she said slowly.

Peter perked up instantly, trying to get her attention. “You got a text!!!” he shouted, mimicking the Love Island alert voice with over exaggerated excitement.

Y/N side eyed him but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

MJ sat up straighter. “Wait—from who?”

Y/N tilted her phone so they could see.

Ned leaned over the couch. “Osborn?! No way. That’s so weirdly flirty. He totally wants you.”

Peter frowned. “She doesn’t want him. So who cares.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, she reread the message, thumb hovering uncertainly over the keyboard.

“Should I reply?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“YES,” MJ and Ned said in unison.

Peter looked like he was chewing glass. “I don’t think—”

“Let’s see what his game is,” MJ cut in. “We’ll play it smart.”

Y/N hesitated a moment longer, then typed:

You sure know how to get attention. Was that whole thing planned?

A beat. Then another buzz.

You caught me. I figured a little chaos would get you to text me.

Ned gasped. “He’s so smooth it’s infuriating.”

Another ping.

Let’s talk in person. I think we’d both rather skip the small talk.

Y/N stared at the screen. “He wants to meet.”

MJ snatched the phone. “He’s deflecting. He’s not answering your question at all.”

“Which means he knows something,” Ned said. “He’s dodging, but he wants you to follow up. Classic bait.”

Peter crossed his arms. “You don’t have to go. You know that, right?”

Y/N glanced at him, something unreadable flashing in her eyes.

“Yeah. But maybe I should,” she said softly. “If he knows something—anything—I need to find out how.”

MJ handed the phone back. “Then text him back and set it up.”

Ned gave her a very serious nod. “Y/N, this man wants you so bad. You could probably get a confession out of him and a dinner reservation in SoHo if you play your cards right.”

Peter scoffed quietly. “Yeah, because this is definitely the guy we should all trust right now.”

Y/N ignored him. Her fingers flew over the screen as she texted back:

Fine. Tomorrow after school. Neutral ground. You pick.

The message sent. Now all they had to do was wait.

Outside, the city buzzed on — and somewhere out there, Harry Osborn was already planning his next move.

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The school day dragged, but the final bell was a sweet relief. Y/N strolled out of Midtown with Ned at her side, the late afternoon sun casting gold light across the pavement. She had her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Ned, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m just saying,” he said, hands waving as he walked backwards in front of her. “You’ve got this in the bag.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You think?”

“Uh, yeah. Y/N. Stark. Literally you. He’s already texting you flirty nonsense, making you the talk of the gala, dropping hints—he’s obsessed.”

“I think he’s just playing a game.”

“Then play it better,” Ned grinned. “You’ve got the power of girlhood and great sarcasm on your side. Just lean into your girly mystique or whatever. He’ll fold. Watch.”

She laughed under her breath. “Harry Osborn doesn’t fold, Ned. He practically invented the game.”

“Right,” Ned said, smirking. “But you broke his nose once. That’s gotta count for something.”

Y/N snorted. “Punched. Not broke.”

“Still,” he said. “You live rent free in his head. Just flirt a little, ask the right questions, maybe toss your hair and —boom. Answers.”

They were halfway down the block when a familiar voice called out behind them.

“Hey—wait up!”

Peter jogged to catch up, winded despite the short distance, his bag thudding against his back. His hair was messy and his sweatshirt slightly askew, but he wore that easy smile she’d seen a million times.

“What are you two up to?” he asked, falling into step on Y/N’s other side.

“Y/N has a date,” Ned said, far too casually. “Very mysterious.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—what?”

“It’s not a date,” Y/N cut in, rolling her eyes. “I’m meeting Harry. After school. For a totally casual not-date where I try to figure out how he knows about my powers and whether or not he’s been stalking me, remember?”

Peter slowed down slightly, his expression darkening. “You’re seriously going?”

She gave him a look. “Yeah. I said I would.”

“To Harry Osborn?”

Ned frowned. “You literally saw her text him yesterday, dude.”

“I thought you were kidding,” Peter said, turning back to Y/N. “What if it’s a trap or something? You don’t know him, Y/N/N. He could be dangerous.”

Y/N stopped walking. “You think I can’t handle a coffee with some rich kid?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You’re acting like I’m helpless,” she said, crossing her arms.

“I’m acting like I care,” Peter snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re walking into a sketchy situation alone and brushing it off like it’s no big deal.”

Ned glanced between them, then slowly took a very strategic step back.

“I’m not alone,” Y/N said. “I’ve got a tracker. FRIDAY’s monitoring my vitals. And my dad knows where I’ll be. This is controlled.”

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words.

“I’m not doing this to make you mad,” she added, softer now. “I just want answers.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “You’re seriously trusting him?”

“I’m not. That’s the point.”

Silence stretched between them for a second. Just long enough to feel uncomfortable.

Ned clapped his hands once. “Anyway! I’ll, uh… see you later! Y/N, good luck with your super spy girl mission.”

He practically bolted across the street, leaving the tension simmering.

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I will.”

And for a moment, she thought maybe that was it — that he’d leave it there.

But then he said quietly, “I don’t like him.”

She gave him a tiny smirk. “Noted.”

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Y/N spotted him instantly.

Harry Osborn didn’t blend in. Not here. Not anywhere, probably.

He sat at a small outdoor table on the sidewalk, black sunglasses pushed up into his hair, one leg crossed casually over the other. He looked like he was born to be in front of the cameras — tousled, expensive, infuriatingly relaxed. There was a cup of something steaming in front of him and a second one waiting, untouched.

She slowed her steps.

Okay. Just a conversation. Get answers. Figure out what he knows. Maybe zap him a little if he gets too smug.

“Hey,” she said as she reached the table.

Harry looked up, smile curling. “I was starting to think I’d been ghosted.”

Y/N gave him a flat look. “Please. I’m not that polite.”

He laughed, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Relax, Stark. No hidden cameras. No secret microphones.”

She slid into the chair, studying him carefully. “So… this is casual Harry now? No gala lighting, no pressed suits?”

“I’m full of surprises.” He pushed the second cup toward her. “Matcha with almond milk and a little bit of vanilla. Still your order?”

Y/N hesitated. “How do you know that?”

Harry just sipped his coffee, eyes dancing. “You’d be surprised what people remember.”

Her fingers tapped the paper cup, electricity pulsing faintly through her nerves.

“Is that what this is, then?” she asked. “ a trip down memory lane? Or are we gonna talk about the weird, cryptic things you’ve been saying since the gala?”

Harry tilted his head, playing innocent. “Weird and cryptic is subjective.”

“You said I looked electric. Then you told the media we had 'chemistry' and that girls with lightning in their eyes were your type.” She leaned forward slightly. “That doesn’t sound subjective. That sounds intentional.”

He smiled again, slower this time. “Maybe I just meant you’re intense. Striking. Kind of hard to look away from.”

“Right,” she said, unimpressed. “Try again.”

Harry tapped a finger to his cup. “Why don’t you tell me, Stark? Do you have lightning in your eyes?”

Y/N stared at him for a beat too long. She could feel the buzz under her skin. Not just her power — this electric, impossible tension between them.

He knows.

He knows, and he’s not afraid of it.

“I think you’re messing with me,” she said finally, leaning back. “You’re bored and rich and weirdly charming and this is just some game to you.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not a game. Not really. I just… remember things. I notice things. Especially when they almost fry my retina at a tech summit.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t think it was anything more than just a punch.”

“It was way more than just a punch. Hard to forget the girl who nearly gave me a heart attack in front of twenty MIT donors. To be fair, I was being annoying.”

“You said my project looked like a Fisher-Price toy.”

“It was bright orange.”

“It was custom Stark tech,” she snapped.

“Still ugly.”

A beat of silence.

Then—unexpectedly—Y/N laughed. She tried to fight it, to smother it in a scowl, but it escaped anyway.

Harry grinned, victorious. “There she is.”

“God, you’re the worst,” she muttered, sipping her drink.

“You’ve said that before.”

“And I meant it then, too.”

A moment passed, lighter now. Still tense, but… different. Balanced.

Harry studied her, quieter now. “You don’t have to be so on edge, you know. I’m not trying to blackmail you. I’m not dangerous.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “See, dangerous people always say that.”

“Touché.”

She glanced down at her drink, then back up. “So what do you want?”

Harry’s smile turned softer. “Maybe just a conversation with someone who doesn’t care about my last name.”

Y/N blinked.

That… was not what she expected.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed.

It was Ned.

Ned🤠: bro are you still alive?!

Ned🤠: is he cute in daylight or was it just the suit and low lights?

She snorted and tucked her phone away.

Harry watched her, amused. “Friends keeping tabs?”

“Something like that.”

He stood suddenly, brushing nonexistent lint from his jacket. “Walk with me?”

She hesitated.

Then stood.

Just a conversation, she reminded herself.

Just information.

Even if it felt like walking into a storm.

They walked in step without speaking at first, the cool wind tugging playfully at Y/N’s hair, the city around them starting to blur into late-afternoon golden hour.

“I don’t think we’ve done this since we were, like… ten,” Y/N said eventually, glancing at him. “Walked somewhere together without security or screaming.”

Harry hummed. “You mean back when I was an insufferable little gremlin and you had braces and a right hook?”

She side-eyed him. “Are you not still like that?”

“You got me.” He smirked.

They turned a corner, the sidewalk opening up into the edge of a quiet park. There weren’t many people around. Just a couple kids on swings and someone walking a tiny dog in a sweater.

Harry slowed, then motioned to a bench beneath a bare tree. “Sit?”

Y/N nodded.

They dropped into the bench. Silence again. But this one wasn’t tense. It was… easy. Familiar in a weird way. Like falling into an old rhythm she didn’t realize she still remembered.

Harry leaned back, eyes flicking up at the branches above them.

“You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “my dad used to talk about you all the time. You and your dad.”

Y/N glanced over, startled. “Seriously?”

“Mm. He liked the idea of us — the next generation. Stark and Osborn 2.0.” He gave a half-smile. “Didn’t matter that I was in California. He’d still call me after some gala or tech expo and be like, ‘Y/N Stark presented her own AI prototype today. Why can’t you be more like her?’”

Y/N snorted. “Oh god. That’s horrifying.”

Harry laughed. “Right? I resented you so hard. But I also… I don’t know. I think part of me looked up to you. You were always just… blazing through everything. Untouchable.”

She looked away. “I didn’t feel that way.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, nudging her gently with his shoulder, “you hid it well.”

They sat there for a moment, watching the shadows grow longer.

Then Harry’s tone shifted.

“That’s the thing, though,” he said, voice lower now. “You think you’re hiding it. But I saw it. The way your eyes shifted to a dark electric blue. The way your fingertips sparked and after the punch it all went back to normal. Like you had to let the energy out.”

Y/N froze.

He turned to look at her, not smiling now. “I’ve known for a while, Stark.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the bench.

“But,” he continued, calmly, “I haven’t told anyone. I won’t.”

She studied him carefully, heartbeat thudding. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “What would I gain from it? Shock value? Attention? Money? I get enough of that.” A pause. “I figure if someone’s carrying something that heavy, the least I can do is let them carry it in peace.”

Y/N stared.

“You haven’t said anything.”

Harry met her gaze evenly. “Because it’s yours. Not mine.”

Something about that — about him — made her chest ache a little. Like there was something sharp and hollow buried just under his smirk.

He dropped his eyes, fiddling with the edge of his cup. “You know… I used to have a crush on you.”

She blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “Back when we were kids. It’s true what they say — boys are mean to girls they like. I was the worst.”

“You were,” she agreed.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.” He glanced sideways at her. “Trust me.”

And somehow… she did. At least a little.

She let her guard drop — not fully, but enough to exhale.

“You’re lonely,” she said quietly, not a question.

Harry didn’t flinch. “Everyone in my life wants something. Image, deals, status.” He paused. “You didn’t care when I had nothing. That stuck.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So,” he added, smile tilting again, “if pretending to flirt with the Stark girl keeps the vultures off my back? If I get to piss off your little boyfriend in the process? Not a bad deal.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Objectively,” he agreed.

But he wasn’t joking anymore. Not fully.

She could feel it. Beneath the charm and the chaos and the little glint in his eye — he wasn’t doing this for clout. Not really. He wanted something real. And he saw that possibility in her.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, standing and tossing the empty cup in the nearby trash.

As she stood too, Harry turned to face her.

“See you soon, Stark.”

And then, with a wink that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he walked off — leaving Y/N standing in the middle of the quiet park, her thoughts sparking like static in the autumn air.

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Y/N sat cross-legged on the rolling stool, elbows braced against the lab table, her fingers absently fiddling with a spare tools. The prints in front of her blurred into nothing — her thoughts still stuck on the conversation at the park.

Across the lab, Tony stood at the touch display wall, flipping through security footage and diagnostics. He hadn’t said much since she told him.

“So let me get this straight,” he finally said, turning around. “Osborn. As in boarding school golden boy, Harry Osborn.”

Y/N nodded once.

“Has known about you since you were 13.”

Another nod.

Tony folded his arms, stepping closer. “How sure are you he hasn’t told anyone?”

“I’m sure,” Y/N said quietly.

Tony didn’t respond right away. His expression shifted — not angry, but something taut in the lines of his face. Concern, maybe. Or disappointment.

“You know…” he started, voice lower now. “There was a time I thought Steve Rogers would never lie to me. That we were on the same side. That friendship meant something unbreakable.”

Y/N looked up.

“Then Sokovia happened. And Berlin. And he didn’t even blink before choosing Barnes over everything we built.” He paused. “People change. Even the ones who meant something to you once. Especially them.”

“Harry’s not Steve,” Y/N said, more defensively than she meant to.

“No, he’s not. But that’s my point. You don’t know who he is now. He was gone for years. California, Europe, countless of trips around the world. Who knows what circles he ran in. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I’m not saying I do.”

Tony exhaled, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to protect you, honey. You’ve got this whole world ahead of you. Powers, pressure, headlines... You don’t need some rich boy wildcard stirring the pot.”

Y/N stared at her hands, then said quietly, “One day, the world’s gonna find out about me. I know that. But it won’t be because of him.”

That — for some reason — settled something in Tony. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it.

He let out a slow breath, then nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he passed. “Okay. I’ll run background again, just in case. But… I trust your gut, kid.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

As he reached the door, it slid open before he could press the panel. Peter stood there awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, can I talk to Y/N for a sec?”

Tony shot Y/N a look, then Peter an even longer one. “Just don’t blow anything up, okay?”

“We’ll try,” Peter said.

Tony shook his head with a small smile and disappeared down the hall.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as Peter stepped inside. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying with Gwen or whatever?”

Peter shrugged, edging closer. “It’s Love Island Monday.”

She blinked, then huffed a small laugh. “Right.”

They stood in silence for a second. And then—

“How’d it go?” Peter asked.

Y/N tilted her head. “Huh?”

“You know. Your whole… mission. With Harry.”

“Oh.” She looked back down at the table. “Fine.”

Peter waited.

Y/N sighed. “He knew. He’s known for a while. He said he wouldn’t tell.”

Peter stiffened. “He’s known?”

She nodded. “Said he noticed… little stuff. I shocked him when I punched him. Didn’t take much for him to put two and two together.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. His thoughts were racing — none of them particularly rational.

So Harry Osborn had been watching her? Studying her? That was weird, right? Like weird rich boy behavior. Not cool. Not… normal.

Peter wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t trust the guy. Rich, charming, annoyingly perfect smile — textbook womanizer. Yeah. That’s what this was.

“He said,” Y/N added, eyes flicking down, “that he used to have a crush on me when we were kids.”

Peter blinked. “He what?”

Y/N’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Peter said, voice cracking slightly. “I just didn’t know that was… on the table.”

“It’s not. It was a long time ago.”

Peter looked at her. Really looked. “Do you really trust him?”

She nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

His shoulders softened, the fight draining out of him.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I trust you. More than anyone.”

She didn’t expect that. The way he said it — like it was easy, like it was obvious — it knocked the air from her chest.

Peter reached for her hands, holding them carefully between his. Their fingers tangled without thinking.

They stayed like that, suspended in the warmth of it, in everything unspoken but deeply known.

And then—

“Miss Stark,” FRIDAY’s voice chirped through the ceiling, “Love Island has just begun. Would you like it on the common room screen?”

Y/N didn’t look away from Peter, but a soft laugh slipped out anyway.

Peter grinned. “I guess we should go.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said. “We should.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The glow of the Love Island intro pulsed across the room, all pink neon hearts and sparkly bikinis. Peter and Y/N sat side by side on the massive couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced between them, feet tucked under throw blankets. 

Peter tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth, snorting. “I don’t think I’d last a day on this show.”

Y/N turned to him, amused. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know… cameras everywhere. Confessionals. People fighting over you. Public voting. It’s like The Hunger Games but with fake tans.”

She laughed. “You’re too much of a loverboy to handle it.”

Peter grinned. “I wouldn’t like to see another guy trying to take my girl.”

Her smile slipped for just a second.

Because he said it like a joke. But his voice had gone a little quieter, and he was still looking at her — really looking — and suddenly, the warmth in her chest felt dangerous.

The air shifted. For a moment, neither of them looked at the screen.

But then Peter’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He leaned forward to check it, and Y/N forced herself to breathe again.

He smiled. Soft. Familiar.

It was a text from Gwen.

Y/N turned back to the screen, her pulse racing.

Right. Gwen. The actual girl. The one everyone saw. The one he chose.

A quiet ache started to thread through her ribs.

“She says hi,” Peter said gently, phone still in his hand.

Y/N didn’t look away from the screen. “Tell her I say hi back.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her for a moment longer.

Then, in that sweet, awkward Peter way, he tried to bring her back.

“I still think you’d win this show,” he said. “You’d break the fourth wall like a champ. The whole country and villa  would fall in love with you.”

She laughed — soft but real. “Please. I’d be voted off in a week.”

“No,” Peter said, almost too serious. “You’d win.”

And the way he said it — like it wasn’t about the show at all — made her chest tighten.

So she just smiled. Leaned back. Let the episode play. Let herself exist in the comfort of him, even if it couldn’t mean what she secretly wished it did.

Even if her heart kept whispering: this doesn’t feel like friendship anymore.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The group had claimed the corner table in the library — tucked between the science section and a dusty window that barely let in light. The quiet hum of other students working or whispering hung in the air, but at their table, a different kind of energy was brewing.

Peter’s sneaker nudged Y/N’s under the table.

She nudged back.

Then again — a little firmer this time. A challenge.

He bit down a grin, eyes still focused on the open physics worksheet in front of him. Y/N, pretending to read her book, raised an eyebrow without looking up, her foot sliding boldly along his ankle.

MJ groaned and dropped her pen. “Okay, I’m literally trying to do my calc homework, and you two are playing rom-com footsies. So gross.”

Y/N laughed, not bothering to deny it. Peter went red but didn’t stop.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “My foot slipped.”

“Sure it did,” MJ said dryly, hiding her smirk.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, leaning back in her chair and twirling her pen. “I was telling you guys about Harry.”

MJ perked up. “Oh right. What happened?”

Y/N shrugged. “We got coffee. Walked. Talked. He—uh—knows.”

“Knows what?” Ned asked, biting into a granola bar.

Peter glanced at Y/N, already tense.

“…About me,” she said. “The powers.”

Ned choked a little. “Wait—how? Has he been stalking you?”

“No! He just…knew. He brought it up. Kinda subtle at first, but then not at all.”

MJ’s eyes narrowed. “That’s sketchy.”

Peter’s pencil snapped in half.

They all looked at him.

He didn’t even blink. “He said he has a crush on her.”

Y/N blinked. “Had a crush. Past tense. It was, like, years ago.”

Peter muttered, “Yeah, right.”

The silence that followed was loaded.

MJ slowly leaned across the table. “Parker. You good?”

He didn’t respond — just doodled aggressively in the margin of his worksheet.

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You sound…off.”

“I just don’t trust that guy,” Peter mumbled.

“He was actually really chill,” Y/N said. “He promised not to tell anyone. And he hasn’t.”

MJ sat back, arms crossed, watching Peter trying to swallow his jealousy. Then her face lit up.

“You should invite him to the football game.”

Peter and Y/N both snapped their heads toward her.

“WHAT?!”

“Shhh!” the librarian hissed from across the room.

Ned looked thrilled. “Yes! I wanna meet him. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

Peter scoffed. “He’s, like, a whole college guy. Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s hanging out with juniors?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You hang out with me and I’m technically a senior.”

“That’s different,” Peter grumbled. “We’re friends.”

“Right,” MJ said under her breath, smiling into her notebook.

Y/N shot her a look. “I mean… I can ask him. But no promises.”

Peter said nothing, just stabbed his pencil into the spiral binding of his notebook.

Under the table, Y/N nudged his foot again — softer this time. He didn’t nudge back.

Which only made her smirk.

Because that? That was a very Peter Parker sulk.

And she kinda loved it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Dinner had come and gone. Her hair was still a little damp from her shower, and she was curled up in a hoodie, legs crossed on her bed, staring at her phone anxiously.

Finally, she tapped the contact.

HARRY OSBORN

It rang once.

Twice.

“Miss me already?”

His voice was smug and silk-smooth through the speaker. She could practically hear the grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, already smiling. “You wish.”

“Stark, I always wish.”

She scoffed. “Okay, Romeo. Relax.”

There was a pause, then his voice again — low and amused. “So? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d come to my school’s football game this Friday.”

Another pause. Then:

“You asking me out, Stark?”

“In your dreams.”

“Frequently.”

Y/N groaned, flopping backward on her bed. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, still charming.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “My friends want to meet you.”

“Oh, so you’re talking about me to your friends now? Isn’t that what girls do when they have a crush?”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Wait, wait,” he said through a chuckle. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. That easy charm. The unbothered confidence.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“Of course,” he said, softer now. “I’m always down to see you outside the city lights. Maybe I’ll even bring a sign. Team Stark.”

Y/N laughed again. And this time, it was real.

They hung up a few minutes later, and she stared at her phone for a beat before tossing it onto her comforter.

Her face burned.

He had a way. He always had. Even as a kid, he got under her skin — smug and quick and impossible to ignore. And now? With the height and the bone structure and the voice?

She groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.

Y/N let herself fall back onto the mattress with a groan. She stared at the ceiling again, arms flopped to her sides, heart beating faster than she cared to admit.

“He’s charming,” she muttered. “And smart. And objectively hot. This is doable.”

She said it out loud like it would make it more real.

“Yeah. If I try—if I really try—I could fall for him. Maybe I just need to give it time.”

There was a part of her that didn’t fully believe it. The part that still turned its head every time Peter Parker laughed. But she ignored that voice.

For now, she was doing the right thing. The reasonable thing.

Wasn’t she?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Wait, so what’s the plan for spirit week?” Ned asked, balancing his tray as he flopped down into their usual corner table in the cafeteria.

“I think it’s pajama day tomorrow?” Y/N said, twirling her fork in her salad, distracted.

“Thank God,” MJ muttered. “Finally an excuse to wear slippers to calc.”

Peter snorted. “You don’t need an excuse. I saw you in fuzzy socks with Birkenstocks last week.”

“That was a fashion statement.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking.

The group dissolved into easy laughter—easy for everyone except Y/N, who was very aware of the empty seat beside her. Gwen's.

She hadn't even realized she was waiting for her until—

“Sorry!” Gwen’s voice rang out as she slid into the seat beside Peter, breathless and beaming. “Leadership ran long. Everyone’s freaking out about the rivalry game. The marching band wants their own half time show now and everyone’s too scared to say no to them. I swear it’s like I’m the only one with a functioning brain.”

“That’s because you’re literally running that place,” Peter said, eyes warm as he looked at her. “You joined, like, last week and they already treat you like you’ve been there forever. You’re amazing.”

Y/N blinked.

Her fork paused mid-air.

He used to say stuff like that to her.

“You’re so smart, Y/N/N.”

“You always make things better.”

“Of course you fixed the generator, you’re brilliant.”

She shook it off. Shrugged. Forced a smile. “Speaking of high school chaos,” she said, a little too brightly. “I talked to Harry last night.”

All three of them turned toward her.

Ned perked up. “Harry Osborn?”

“Yeah,” she said, stabbing her lettuce. “He’s coming to the game on Friday.”

“No way,” Gwen gasped. “Harry Osborn is coming to our football game? Like—our high school football game?”

Peter groaned under his breath. “Not you too…”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. Her heart stuttered.

She tried not to overthink it, but of course she did.

Great. He DOES like her. He’s annoyed because she’s excited.

But before her thoughts could spiral further, Gwen leaned forward, eyes wide. “No! I just meant… like, I knew he had a thing for Y/N!”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

“At the gala! You two were totally giving something. And then the photos came out? And his interview?” Gwen clapped her hands. “That boy totally has the hots for you.”

Ned gasped dramatically. “Are we witnessing a love triangle?”

“Oh my god, no,” Y/N laughed, feeling her face heat up. “It’s not like that. He just likes messing with people.”

MJ was watching Peter now, like she was watching a kettle about to boil over.

“He had a crush on you, though, right?” she said casually. “Like, way back?”

Y/N hesitated. “When we were kids.”

“Iconic,” MJ said, grinning. “Man’s playing the long game.”

Peter made a face. “Oh, c’mon.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Gwen asked.

Peter shrugged, tone tight. “I don’t know. He’s like… a womanizer. And rich. And bored. I just don’t think we should be, like, throwing Y/N/N at him and hoping for the best.”

“Throwing?” Y/N repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Relax,” MJ said, eyes twinkling. “He’s just being protective.”

“I am not—” Peter stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just—he’s sketchy, okay? I don’t totally trust him.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly color on you, Parker,” Ned teased.

Peter’s face flushed pink.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered. “I’m just… being logical.”

“Totally,” MJ said, biting back a smile.

Y/N tilted her head, trying to read him. He wasn’t looking at her. Just picking at his sandwich like it had personally offended him.

And maybe he was just being logical.

Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t like the idea of Harry Osborn showing up and charming the hell out of everyone.

Either way… she wasn’t going to ask.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The car ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Peter sat beside Y/N in the backseat, arms crossed, eyes trained on the window, but he hadn’t looked outside once.

Y/N could feel it before he even said anything.

“So. You and Harry Osborn?”

She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Oh my god. Are we still on this?”

“It’s a fair question.”

She sighed. “Is it?”

“You guys are starting to hang out. You’re calling him charming now. You’re clearly texting.”

“He is charming,” she said, casually. “That’s like public knowledge.”

Peter scoffed under his breath. “Right. And that’s all it takes, huh?”

Y/N looked up, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” He cut himself off. Shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No, say it,” she pushed, voice sharp. “You clearly want to.”

Peter turned to her, jaw clenched. “I just didn't realize you were the kind of girl who throws herself at the first guy who gives her attention.”

Y/N blinked. Her stomach dropped.

“Wow,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That came out wrong.”

“No, I think it came out exactly how you meant it.”

Peter looked away. “He’s shady, Y/N/N. He shows up out of nowhere and suddenly he’s flirting with you, knowing about your powers, giving interviews about you—”

“He hasn’t told anyone,” she snapped.

“Yet.”

She turned fully now. “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Then act like it! Stop making me feel like I’ve done something wrong by talking to someone else.”

“I’m making you feel like that?” Peter shot back. “You’ve been hanging off his every word and I’m the bad guy?”

She glared. “No. You’re acting like some jealous ex-boyfriend and it’s exhausting.”

He flinched. “I’m not—”

“Not what? Not jealous? Not pissed off that another guy is wanting to spend time with me?”

Peter’s face tightened. “I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Neither do you!”

They were both yelling now.

In the front seat, Happy shifted uncomfortably, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

Y/N was fuming. “What happened to ‘I trust you more than anyone’, huh? You said that like two nights ago.”

Peter’s expression hardened. “Yeah, well, two nights ago you weren’t throwing yourself at Osborn like some kind of groupie.”

She stared at him, mouth falling open.

Her voice was deadly quiet. “Pull over.”

“Y/N—” Happy tried, but she cut him off.

“I said pull over!”

Peter looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you doing?”

She leaned forward. “Happy, take him wherever he wants to go. I’m walking.”

“Come on, don’t be dramatic—” Peter started, reaching for her arm.

“No. You don’t get to say something like that and then tell me I’m being dramatic.”

Peter’s voice lowered, bitter. “Of course. Run away, just like you always do.”

Y/N opened the door. “Screw you, Parker.”

“Enjoy the walk, princess.”

She slammed it behind her without another word.

Peter stared after her, jaw clenched, heart pounding. Happy said nothing.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Finally, Happy muttered, “You’re an idiot.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N stormed into the Tower, her platforms hitting the floor like gunshots. She barely registered the swipe of the doors closing behind her, too busy replaying every word Peter had just said in the car. Her face was flushed with anger, chest tight.

Tony was at the kitchen counter adding creamer to his mug, casual in a worn Black Sabbath tee, a coffee half made in front of him. He looked up as soon as he heard the elevator hiss open.

“Whoa. What the hell, kid?” he said, dropping the knife. “Happy called. Said you made him pull over in the middle of Queens and walked home. You wanna explain that to me?”

Y/N tossed her bag onto the island and leaned against the counter, jaw clenched. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Peter and I just got into a fight.”

Tony raised both brows, crossing his arms. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight if you ditched a private driver for the sidewalks of New York in those shoes.”

She stared at the floor. “He was being an ass.”

“Well, that’s new,” Tony muttered. “What about?”

“The Harry thing.”

Tony sighed. “Right. Osborn Junior. Not exactly my first choice for your after school activities either.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Oh my god, not you too.”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “The kid's got more red flags than a Hydra reunion. You’ve been through a lot. Last thing you need is some spoiled rich boy with perfectly tousled hair and unresolved daddy issues screwing with your head.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m not dating him.”

Tony gave her a look. “You’re defending him like you are.”

She glared at him.

“I trust you, Y/N,” he said, gentler now. “I do. But maybe Peter’s got a point. I think he’s coming from a place of concern. We don’t really know Harry. Hell, I’m not even that friendly with Norman!.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, grabbing her bag again. “You sound just like him.”

“Whoa—hey, don’t do that,” Tony said, stepping around the counter. “Don’t twist this. I’m not picking sides.”

“You kind of are,” she snapped, already heading toward the door.

Tony followed her, his tone shifting. “Y/N/N. Where are you going?”

“I just need air.”

“You just walked twenty blocks, how much more air do you need?”

She didn’t answer.

“Hey,” he called, more serious now. “Be careful. Alright? You’re not bulletproof yet.”

Y/N paused at the elevator, not turning around. “I’ll be fine.”

The doors opened.

Tony frowned, watching her go. “Call me if you’re not.”

She didn’t respond. The doors closed, leaving him alone in the silence of the kitchen.

He stood there for a long second, running a hand down his face before muttering under his breath, “God, she’s really mine.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The café was calm in that late-afternoon lull — no crowd, just the occasional customer tapping away on a laptop or scrolling through their phone. Y/N sat at the corner table by the window, picking at the edge of a paper napkin, eyes downcast.

MJ was behind the counter, apron on, cleaning a coffee machine that didn’t actually need cleaning. She kept glancing over, clearly trying not to seem obvious about how much she wanted to talk.

“MJ,” Y/N whispered, trying to catch her attention.

MJ glanced around. “Girl, I’m on the clock,” she mouthed dramatically, before returning to restacking biscotti with intense purpose.

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her seat.

The bell above the door jingled. Y/N didn’t look up — not until she heard a familiar voice.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her eyes snapped up.

Harry Osborn, in a navy half-zip and jeans, stood beside her table, holding a drink from the counter. His smile was easy. His eyes were sharp.

Y/N blinked. “What—how did you…?”

Harry slid into the chair across from her. “Was in the neighborhood. I love supporting small businesses.”

Y/N raised a brow. “So you’re not stalking me?”

“Well,” he started. “I might’ve contacted your friend here to ask where your sad girl hideout is.”

Y/N’s head whipped toward the counter. MJ threw up her hands and said, “he asked nicely!”

“Well played, Osborn.” Y/N muttered.

Harry grinned. “I try.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes on her. “So what’s wrong?”

Y/N hesitated. “It’s stupid.”

Harry tilted his head. “Everything’s stupid until it isn’t. Try me.”

She fiddled with the napkin again. “I got into a fight. With Peter.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Over me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

Y/N sighed. “He was just being... weird. And I snapped. It got bad.”

Harry took a slow sip of his drink, watching her. “Well. I’m honored to be the catalyst for your teenage angst.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

He leaned back, letting the charm drop just a bit — enough to show sincerity underneath. “Seriously though. I’m sorry.”

Y/N glanced at him. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Still. Sucks that he’s giving you a hard time over me. I’m just a guy who enjoys a good cappuccino and used to have a massive crush on you.”

She blinked. “Used to?”

Harry smirked. “My therapist says I’ve worked through it.”

Y/N laughed, for real this time.

From behind the counter, MJ had her chin propped on her hand, smiling softly as she watched.

Harry reached across the table, gently nudging her fingers. “For the record, I’m not trying to make your life harder. I just like talking to you. Even when you’re grumpy.”

Y/N looked down at their hands, surprised at how easy it felt — how not-weird it was, after everything.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter opened the front door of his apartment, confused. “Ned?”

Ned stood on the stoop, wild eyed and panting. “You’re not gonna believe what I just saw.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “...Aliens in the city?”

“Y/N,” Ned said dramatically, “is on a date.”

Peter blinked. “...What?”

“At MJ’s job,” Ned said, pushing past him into the apartment. “With Harry Osborn.”

Peter turned. “Wait—what?”

“I saw them,” Ned said, breathless. “Through the window. They were, like, leaning in close. Holding hands.”

Peter stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Ned said, tossing his backpack on the couch. “He had the eyes. You know. The eyes.”

Peter frowned. “What eyes?”

“You know—flirty eyes.”

Peter looked away, trying to keep his tone casual. “It’s not a date. She would’ve said something.”

“Well, maybe she didn’t think she had to,” Ned shot back. “They looked... cozy, bro.”

Peter's jaw tensed.

“They weren’t making out or anything,” Ned added quickly. “But it was very much giving first date vibes. MJ was there too, behind the counter, and she didn’t look like she was gonna stop it.”

Peter sat down on the edge of the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” Ned asked.

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I mean, she can do whatever she wants.”

Ned eyed him. “You’re making your ‘I’m fine but internally combusting’ face.”

“I’m not,” Peter muttered.

Ned sat beside him. “Dude. Just be honest. Do you like her?”

Peter didn’t answer right away.

He just stared ahead, jaw tight, a million thoughts spiraling behind his eyes. Images of Harry and Y/N laughing together, holding hands, looking like they belonged in some perfectly filtered Instagram post.

Finally, Peter sighed, low and sharp.

“God,” he muttered. “This sucks.”

“She was holding his hand, man,” Ned said again, like he still couldn’t believe it. “Like—like the casual kind of hand-holding. Flirty and soft. Who does that unless you’re into someone?”

Peter didn’t respond.

Ned narrowed his eyes. “...Did something happen?”

Peter looked up.

“We—” He stopped. “We got into a fight. On the way home from school.”

Ned blinked. “Wait, what? You guys fought?”

Peter exhaled. “Yeah. In Happy’s car.”

“That’s like... couple behavior. You argued in Happy’s car?”

“She said I didn’t trust her,” Peter muttered.

Ned raised his eyebrows. “Well. Do you?”

“Of course I do!” Peter snapped. “She’s just—she’s being dumb. About Harry.”

Ned held up a hand. “Okay. Chill. Just... tell me the truth.”

Peter looked at him.

“Do you like her?” Ned asked.

Peter’s jaw ticked. “...No.”

Ned stared.

“Dude,” he said flatly. “You were obsessed with her after Berlin. You didn’t shut up for a week. You were all like ‘she’s so cool, she fights like Natasha, she zaps things—’”

“That was last year,” Peter cut in, defensive.

“And when Mr. Stark said he was enrolling her at Midtown? I thought you were gonna faint.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Ned folded his arms. “Didn’t you say Gwen was cute or whatever?”

Peter leaned back, frustrated. “Exactly. I like Gwen.”

“No, you don’t,” Ned shot back. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The Liz thing. Remember when you ignored everything and asked her to homecoming even though all of us thought you were gonna ask Y/N? You’re doing it again. Same script, different girl.”

Peter’s mouth opened—then closed again.

“You like Y/N,” Ned said, matter-of-fact. “And not in a casual way. Like in a ruin-your-life, lose-sleep-over-it kind of way.”

Peter rubbed his hands over his face. “She’s the first friend who’s a girl that I’ve ever had. It’s different.”

Ned gave him a long, slow blink. Yeah, right.”

Peter glared. “I don’t like her.”

Ned just shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude.”

Peter didn’t respond.

But the silence was louder than anything else.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The elevator dinged as Y/N and Harry stepped into the Tower.

The lights were low, city skyline glittering outside the windows. She was mid laugh at something Harry had just said when Tony’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to come home.”

Y/N froze like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. Harry, of course, didn’t flinch at all.

“Mr. Stark,” he said smoothly, offering a small salute with two fingers. “Pleasure.”

Tony looked him up and down, towel slung over his shoulder from where he’d been drying a glass. “Harry Osborn.”

“In the flesh,” Harry said with a grin. “But don’t worry, you’re not my future father-in-law. As cool as that’d be.”

Tony blinked once. “Right.”

Harry turned to Y/N, leaning in slightly. “See you at the game, love.”

He winked, then sauntered toward the elevator, not a single ounce of shame in him. The doors closed behind him with a soft ding.

Y/N let out a long breath.

Tony set the glass down. “You wanna tell me what that was?”

She shifted her weight, arms crossed over her chest. “We just... walked and talked. He was being nice.”

“He always that flirty with you?” Tony asked casually, even though there was a sharper edge buried in there somewhere.

Y/N sighed. “He’s like that with everyone.”

Tony gave a look that said sure he is, but didn’t press.

She walked over to the counter and leaned on it. “I’m sorry. For earlier. For storming off.”

Tony finally relaxed a little, watching her.

“I get it, kid,” he said. “I was your age once. Believe it or not, I was also dramatic.”

Y/N cracked a smile.

“But we’re a team, you and me,” Tony added. “And when you shut me out like that... it stings a little. I’m not against you. I just worry.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You’re growing up. And I don’t totally love the fact that boys are a regular topic of conversation now.”

She laughed under her breath. “Me neither, honestly.”

There was a beat of silence.

Tony softened. “He’s sweet to you, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

“You like him?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tony reached over and ruffled her hair gently. “Well, just make sure whoever it is... they’re good to you. No less than that.”

Y/N leaned into the contact for a moment before pulling away with a quiet, “’Kay.”

“Now go shower,” Tony said, walking away. “You smell like teenage angst and overpriced perfume.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but for the first time that day, her chest didn’t feel quite as heavy.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Peter sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tugging at his hair like if he pulled hard enough, the thoughts would all fall out of his head.

It had been hours since the fight.

He’d replayed every second of it over and over. The way her voice shook. The way she looked at him like he’d actually hurt her — because he had. The way she’d slammed the car door, the sound echoing through the city like a punch to the gut.

He shouldn’t have said those things. About Harry. About her.

But she shouldn’t have gone to him.

She always used to come to Peter when she was upset. For comfort. For advice. For literally anything. And now—

Now she went to Harry Osborn.

Peter’s stomach twisted again. He hated it. Hated that she looked so okay walking away from him. Hated that she wanted to talk to Harry instead of him.

And worst of all? He got it.

Because Peter had pushed her away. He’d snapped. Again. He didn’t trust himself to keep it together anymore — not when it came to her.

Because he knew what happened to the people Peter Parker loved.

His parents. Uncle Ben.

And now, as Spider-Man, he had more enemies than ever. More danger. More risk.

He could handle that. He could take every hit, every threat, every loss — if it meant people like Y/N stayed safe. If it meant she stayed safe.

She was trained. Strong. Genius-level smart. But even so… if anything ever happened to her because of him—

Peter closed his eyes. He wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. A text from Gwen: Ugh just finished that leadership meeting. We have a day and a half to pull off a pep rally!!

He stared at it for a second. Then, slowly, he picked up the phone and hit call.

She answered after a few rings, her voice warm and familiar. “Hey, Peter. Everything okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—wanted to check in. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Tell me about it,” Gwen groaned. “You would not believe how intense the other members are. One guy literally made a PowerPoint about the half time for the game.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “That sounds like something Flash would do.”

“It was Flash.”

That made him laugh for real. “Right. Should’ve guessed.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, but not easy either.

“So…” Gwen said gently. “Everything okay? You sound kinda…”

“Yeah,” Peter said too quickly. “Yeah, just—tired.”

Another beat.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “You wanna go to the game together?”

Gwen blinked through the phone. “Uh… Peter. We’re all already going together. As a group?”

“No, I mean—” He scratched the back of his neck, the words foreign and stiff. “Like. Just us. As a… date.”

A moment of silence.

“Oh.” Gwen’s voice brightened. “Yeah. Yeah, of course! I’d love that.”

Peter smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Cool.”

They talked a few more minutes before hanging up. Gwen was sweet. Funny. She liked him. It would be easy. Safe.

And maybe that’s all he could afford to want.

Because Harry Osborn could give Y/N everything — money, status, safety. Peter had web fluid, sarcasm, and trauma.

He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, fists clenched around his phone.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But at least this way… no one else would get hurt. Not really.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

taglist: @f2lix @the-faceless-bride @lovely-foxes-exe @uhmellamoanna @gyus-lvr @aomi04 @liaverse37

author's note: guys i was scared to post this one LMAO don't get mad at me!! i'm lowkey loving y/n and harry tho, idk he's kinda doing it for me. peter needs to learn how to communicate. but he won't. not really :p

i'm gonna post my clueless playlist later and you're all gonna listen and you're gonna love it!

ummm yeah! lmk what yall think so far (don't get mad at me)

Love yall!!!

[revelboo]

You are literally feeding my starscream needs. Someone I know talked me into seeing transformers one and I can never tell him about the robot fetish that developed because of it 😭 it altered my brain chemistry so fast

Welcome to the dark side, we have thirst

Everything is Alright pt 35

Starscream x Reader- jealousy

• It almost feels like trespassing, moving through your space. Even mass displaced, the door had been too narrow and locked besides, but it hadn’t taken much effort to rip it free of the frame. His wings and helm scrape the ceiling as he moves through the house, the damage unimportant. You’re never returning to this place, but it was yours. His wings gouge into the walls in the hallway, knocking down things no matter how he holds them. On a table beside a plush chair is a picture of you and another human, an arm about you as you both smile. Happy. He knocks the picture off the table in passing. The sound of breaking glass so satisfying, because that person, that moment is from before he found you. A life he knows nothing about and for some reason, that bothers him.

• It’s easy to find your sleeping space, your scent lingering everywhere. Realizing getting your things out through the bedroom door is going to be problematic, he steps back and blasts a hole in the wall. Begins to ferry things out in a pile he’ll be able to pick up when he returns to his full size. You’ll be pleased with him, thank him. Smile up at him like you did in that picture and warmth spreads through his spark. Picking up a red and blue checkered covering, his servos crush the material, because the scent on it isn’t yours. The human in the photo? Even though the they seem to be gone, haven’t come for you, anger sparks through him. This human shared your space? A mate? Running his glossa over his denta, he lets the covering drop, unsettled by how furious the thought makes him. How off balance when it shouldn’t matter, you’re his now.

• That human’s scent and yours both on the bed has him ripping the sheets off, wings trembling with the need to hunt that stranger down for touching what’s his. Ripping drawers free to dump your coverings on top of the bed. His servos won’t stop shaking, that anger a living thing because now he’s thinking of that human touching his caged little bird. Holding you while you sleep against them. No longer trying to not disturb your space, he rips open cabinets, taking anything you might like or need, most of it just weird and alien. When he’s satisfied, he steps outside and mass shifts, scooping up your things. And then slowly and methodically destroys the house. Destroys the reminder that you had a life before him, but also every trace of that stranger.

• Head laying on Ravage’s side, you wheeze as Lazerbeak lands on you hard enough to knock the breath out of you, not seeming to realize or care how heavy he is. Soundwave is busily typing away at his desk, and the huge mecha panther was warm, sprawled out, and hadn’t immediately snapped at you for trying to heat leech. Apparently, Lazerbeak had the same idea, though and while heavy, he’s also warm. You’re not sure where Rumble and Frenzy are, but also fairly sure you wouldn’t be so relaxed if they were here. Ravage and Lazerbeak much mellower and a lot more tolerant of being clung to.

• Head tipping to covertly check on the human and cassettes curled together on a corner of his desk, his spark twists a bit, because it feels right. Like you belong there with them. He might not particularly care for Starscream, but he did bring you to him and he’s grateful for it. Not that he’ll ever bring it up to the Seeker. As territorial as he is, it might drive him to make more of an effort to keep his pet isolated. It’s only Starscream’s worry that he might use you to hurt him that keeps the Seeker in line. Like he’d tell Megatron about you knowing the likely outcome. On the corner of his desk, your breathing evens out as you fall asleep. Feeling safe with him, home where you belong.

Previous Next

[apple-eating-goat]

it was the suns post

I'm sorry you had to see that @sulfur1c-4cid

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors :)

The Forgotten Spaces: You've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you? https://www.tumblr.com/oddinary4bts/714163315613614081/the-forgotten-spaces-masterpost-jjk?source=share When The End Comes: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook? https://www.tumblr.com/oddinary4bts/727637458044469248/when-the-end-comes-masterpost-jjk?source=share&ref=oddinary4bts

The Boy With Galaxies In His Eyes: You had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. That is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. Will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours? https://oddinary4bts.tumblr.com/post/694226660441128960/the-boy-with-galaxies-in-his-eyes-jjk

Sinful Lust: In an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating... https://www.tumblr.com/oddinary4bts/724853153529495552/sinful-lust-masterpost-myg-jjk?source=share

Oh My God, They Where (Quarantined) Roommates: What do you do when you're quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S-tier cuddler, workout robot and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess. https://ot7always.tumblr.com/post/624575056240050176/oh-my-god-they-were-quarantined-roommates

Once Bitten, Twice Shy: You meet Taehyung college and he convinces you to move to his hometown with him. The town is nice, Taehyung’s friend are great, and you get along with everyone except Jungkook. You can’t seem to figure out what you’ve done to make him not like you, and why did you care so much? Also, why did none of them ever get cold? https://www.tumblr.com/pbandjk/184635794224/once-bitten-twice-shy Alpha Jeon: You’ve been raised to be a Luna since you were born. You’ve always had an idea of how your future would be, there was little room to imagine anything different. You’d meet your mate and fall madly in love, and the two of you would take over for your parents once they got older. But what happens when a certain wolf comes in and throws all of your plans on their head? https://www.tumblr.com/pbandjk/636812449904017408/alpha-jeon-masterlist

Bite Me, Jeon: Somehow you convince Jeon Jungkook to look into theories of vampirism for a research paper. What Jungkook doesn’t expect, is for vampirism to become a very real and very personal problem for him. https://sailoryooons.tumblr.com/post/683613241221464064/bite-me-jeon

Habits Of A Clandestine Nature: College au. https://www.wattpad.com/story/365219172-habits-of-a-clandestine-nature-%E2%80%A2-jjk

Silver Chains: Jungkook is inquisitive, he likes asking questions. He also likes fucking. These are both great qualities - when done separately of course. After the Muster, he asks you numerous questions, but whether they were out of genuine interest or purely to tease, the answer escapes you (as always). https://satnin-darling.tumblr.com/post/654462205050355712/ silver-chains-m-one-shot-jeon-jungkook

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hi, this is the same anon who question what not to ask about! Thanks again for the reply, I feel so much more calmer asking knowing that I won't ask for something you not comfortable with!! I just had one thought in my head, how would Metal Sonic react if at one moment he was saved by a reader despite the fact that they are on different sides (I leave it up to you to choose the situation, maybe he will refuse the help or something but I just really will be interested read something like this :] ) and then, for example, the reader needed help!

Precis: metal sonic getting saved by reader and repaying the favor

Warnings: near death experience!!

Notes: oo this is a cute one!! It was really interesting to write and I'm glad you asked me to make this<3 ok but lowkey metal sonic is kinda fascinating, like, does he think or not? I'm fighting every urge in my body to not make reader have magical girl powers grbfxioslwkrnc metal sonic is a silly little thing confirmed by me😛 edit: I thought I'd make the tag lost generally and not only for the valentines posts lol

Metal sonic tag list: @eternallykokomi @francistimefranche

I have talked about how I view metal sonic many times; a robot who's loyal, proving he can destroy his body many times purely out of loyalty, choosing to stay with his maker until his end, the only times he falls in love is when his code shows faulty. His feelings, if he even has any, are a mystery. A huge mystery. What are his thoughts? There are so many questions that race your mind everyday, when you fight, when you stare, when you think of him. It's so much. Metal sonic is so fascinating

Let's say you're on Sonic's side, or maybe even on your own, nonetheless you're found to get into a fight with Metal sonic if you're against Eggman! When a fight did break out, all hell broke loose. There was a lot of damage, but on particular home, the roof fell off, leaving rubble and more falling straight on metal. In an act of your hero complex, or maybe just stupidity, you push (the disaster reference) Metal sonic out of harm's way. The landing was rough, but it wasn't that bad seeing as you landed on metal. Did you just save him? Metal sonic was bewildered, why would you save him? The robot immediately pushes you off and makes a run for it. What ever needed to be done could wait!

That little scene replayed in Metal sonics head over and over, during fighting, while on patrol. Everywhere. The way your panicked voice asked if he was ok, the fearful look in your eyes... It made him feel all warm inside. Maybe he was glitched? Even after virus scans, checkups, system repairs, anything and everything... You wouldn't leave his mind, something inside him bloomed, bloomed into something amazing. So this is love? So this is the love that everyone raves over everywhere he goes? It felt so nice, yet, it hurt knowing he could probably never love you. You didn't even like Eggman for crying out loud! So why should metal sonic like you?

When Metal sonic finally went back into the battlefield, it felt empty, nothing felt right. He could only watch you, think of you, yearn for you. His non existent soul thirsts for your contact after you've left. He knew the clock was ticking, maybe he could never confess? He couldn't even talk, what a silly little thing metal was. When metal sonic entered another mission, he knew there was a high chance of seeing you. It sounded like something made for you, he didn't know whether that was good or bad. When He saw you again, he first noticed how tired you looked. Have you not been getting sleep? Are you doing too much? He felt like he was gonna short circuit from worry. Your fighting was sloppy, your body looked spent and tired from fighting. You should take a break. The evidence of your tiredness showed when you didn't realize how a badnik was about to pounce on you, the eyes looking blood thirsty and out for its prey. Metal sonic knew in the moment he had to do something. Suddenly, when you turn around, you saw metal sonic, his sharp claws full of the oil of the badnik, eyes looking straight at you; lovesick. It's a small way of repaying the favor, maybe, just maybe, he could help a bit more.