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nebulousmoon3990 · 7 months ago

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GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

III𓂃› SPIDER

Warning: violence, swearing, sensitive topics, bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and the reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), female reader!, I accept criticism, but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Hey guys! I'm really sorry it took me so long to post (I was sorting out some things in my life). well, enjoy the chapter!♡

Clark really didn't know what he was getting himself into.

He had expected to come to New York to do a simple interview for the Daily Planet, write the report and spreadsheet right here while eating at a café and if possible bring back some souvenirs for Lois and Jon.

Fighting a supervillain was definitely not in his plans.

It had happened out of nowhere, while he was waiting for the meeting with the businessman, the urgent news on television warning about a monster attacking the city made him leave urgently. He could solve this and finish it in time.

He just didn't know that he wouldn't need to solve it.

While flying, now as Superman, he easily found the villain, it wasn't very difficult to see him in fact. He was the size of a building of at least nine or ten stories, his skin was rocky and hard, made purely of stone. Clark was about to attack the giant when he heard a scream.

Looking through the villain a helicopter was in the way, the pilot tried to maneuver away but they would be enveloped in the confusion. Using his speed, Clark tried to get closer to the helicopter, however it was not enough since it was still far away.

The rocky hand would catch the vehicle before him.

Well, he is not alone.

Before the walking rock caught the propeller and possibly destroyed the vehicle something got attached to the hand and pulled it up, bringing the villain's focus to another place, his distraction was enough for him to catch the helicopter. He noticed as he moved away that what had stopped the giant was... a web? He followed with his gaze the path of the white rope and saw a figure pass quickly on it.

What?

Leaving the helicopter on top of a landing area of a nearby building, he approached the frightened journalists. "Are you hurt?"

The one who answered was the cameraman, who was still breathing heavily, "N-no, Mr. Superman. We're fine-"

"IT'S HER! TYLER FILM, FILM!" The woman's excitement made the man quickly grab his camera. She looked at him and gave a shy smile while holding the microphone, perhaps a little embarrassed by her euphoria. "Oh, Superman, thank you very much. It's just that we never get clear images of her, so you can understand our excitement."

She? She who?

No one needed to answer his question because when he looked at the monster he saw the "she".

A super heroine

Her figure swayed between the giant and the buildings. She wore a suit that covered her entire body, leaving no room to see any of her features. All Clark could see was that she was short, perhaps indicating that she was a teenager.

The monster tried to grab her with its free hand, moving much faster than it had when it was with the helicopter. She, however, brought her webbed wrist towards the giant's face, causing him punched his own face. Swinging away from him, she taunted, her voice echoing off the buildings. "Hey big guy, is that all you know how to do? For someone so tough, you're softer than jelly!"

Hit a nerve, for sure.

"Who is she?" He asked the man who was filming the action with the reporter, even in a situation like that the cameraman looked at the heroine with a glint in his eye, a glint that intrigued Clark.

"Her? She's Spider-Woman."

Spider Woman, he had never heard of this superheroine, but that didn't matter now.The "Spider Woman" swung again on her webs at the stone man's aggression towards her. Superman moved away from the reporters and headed towards the brute. He was quick to bump his fist with the giant's, preventing him from punching a building. The action made the heroine finally notice the Kryptonian. She widened the white eyes of the mask when she saw him flying. "Superman?"

She hung from a building, climbing the glass to get closer to him, she looked at the monster and then at him, her head spinning until she realized something, knowing that he would help her she addressed him. "Hey, Superman. Can you immobilize him for me for at least a few seconds?"

The Kryptonian looked at her, hesitating a little, but then a smile appeared on his lips "Leave it to me."

They moved together at that moment. Clark used his freezing breath on the stone legs, freezing them and immobilizing him to the ground. With the giant still, the spider woman climbed on his back and reached his neck. While the monster struggled, he saw her take a syringe and apply it to the rocky neck. With the liquid entering the monster's veins, he began to scream. Clark was about to intervene when the thunderous scream stopped.

Slowly, pieces of stone fell from the giant, and when they found their end on the ground, they turned into sand, being carried away by the wind. Little by little, the monster began to disintegrate until there was nothing left of him, just a cloud of dust in the place. Approaching to see the damage, he went down and came across the individuals.

The villain, once gigantic and grotesque, was now a thin and small man, passed out in the heroine's arms, while his breathing stabilized, Clark for the first time observed Spider-Woman up close, without being in the heat of battle.

The costume she wore was outlined in black and golden, the fabric was a mix of a dull color and another bright color, the symbol of a spider displayed proudly on her chest, the hood covered the mask on her face, making it difficult to see the white eyes of the mask. What intrigued him most was that it was not common fabric, since when he tried to use his x-ray vision he could not see Spider-Woman's identity.

She certainly knew how to hide her identity.

Just like someone he knew.

"Looking at he now, he doesn't look like a villain."

"And he isn't, they forced him, he's just an ordinary citizen." The dust slowly cleared, now revealing the street they were on. "Honestly, it's a surprise to see you here, shouldn't you be in Metropolis?"

Clark started to sweat a little. True, he should be in Metropolis, not New York, but he couldn't just watch everything on TV, there was a villain attacking the city! And he didn't know New York had a heroine to protect them! How careless of him. "Yeah, actually, I was..."

"was?"

"I-I flew past here! That's it." Spider-woman looked at him before starting to laugh, well at least he tried to hide it, in fact the excuse had been pretty bad.

"Okay, I'll take this as truth, you must have your reasons, don't you, Mr. Clark?"

The aforementioned froze, looking at the spider, who stood up carrying the injured man. The sounds of sirens were heard in the distance, indicating that the police were coming. "What?"

This time, it was the spider woman who froze, realizing her carelessness too late. She looked at him, and even with the mask on her face, he could have sworn a bead of sweat was on his forehead. "Ah, I and my big mouth."

"Do you know my identity? How did you-"

"L-look, I swear it wasn't intentional, seriously! I have... my reasons to know, but I promise! I didn't tell anyone and I won't tell anyone." Superman just looked at her in astonishment, it wasn't intentional? How did she find out then? While the police and ambulance finally arrived, the woman was quick to hand the man over to the police and briefly explained everything, she distanced herself from the police, ready to leave as quickly as possible when he approached her.

"Who are you? Like, really?" She looked at him, clearly anxious to get out of there. "That's... a secret, but like I said, I won't tell anyone, don't worry."

She pulled away from him again, releasing a web from her wrist, already trapping her in a building to resume her run. But before that, she turned to Clark, the tone of her words showing no lies, only truths. "After all..."

"If I wanted to do this, I would have done it nine months ago."

And with that she was gone.

Again, Clark didn't know what he was doing.

It had been a few days since his encounter with Spider-Woman, the revelation that she knew his identity disturbed him, but that wasn't what was going through Clark's head now.

That was who she was.

That woman (or teenager?, Clark doesn't know) had been saving New York for at least a year and absolutely no one in the league knew, she was literally under their noses the whole time and no one knew! But while they didn't know anything, but New York knew, you weren't liked by everyone but most definitely liked you, you gave those people security every day and they trusted you.

You were a real mystery.

In addition, there was the identity issue. Clark wasn't rich, so he didn't have spectacular security to hide his identity, but he always took precautions. You, however, found out so easily. Clark knew that your "it wasn't intentional" statement might be wrong, but whether it was intentional or not, you still did it.

Clark knew that you wouldn't reveal your identity to the world. Your statement made that very clear, but even so, his head itched and itched to meet you.

Maybe he was being hasty, but you were a great heroine, there was no denying that. You fought well, you were smart, and you had experience. You could be a good ally. Besides, Clark doesn't know if you're an adult, so it would be a good way to keep you under supervision.

That's why he's heading back to New York now.

The sun had already set, giving him a view of the beautiful night that had fallen while he was flying, but at that moment Clark was trying to find you.

He didn't know where you could be, in fact he didn't know what to do when he found you, he didn't even know what sparked his interest, he simply... felt. Something about how you were, the mystery surrounding you intrigued him, and Clark simply followed that instinct.

His thoughts were interrupted when his super hearing picked up a sound, of what sounded like running, it could have been anything but his instincts told him to follow the sound, to find the source.

He did.

And thank goodness he did, because he found you.

You were jumping over the buildings, like he had seen you do before, and it was only when you stopped that he could approach you. You were on the edge of the building, looking down at the floors. Clark intended to approach you, but it seemed like you had other plans.

"I thought you had already left." Your voice was neutral, showing no irritation or pleading, it was as white as a sheet, which made him stop, a little surprised that you had discovered him. "I did."

You turned to him, the eyes of the mask you were wearing showing him your confusion, looking him up and down, your reasoning led you to realize why he was here. "You- wait, are you following me?!"

"Following is a very strong word-"

"But you just admitted that you went to the metropolis and came to New York again!" Your arms gestured so quickly thanks to your nervousness that when you realized it you put one of them on your waist and the other you ran your hand over your face.

Clark couldn't help but find this cute.

"Look if this is because of the identity-"

"More or less, but that's not all." Clark's mouth turned into a gentle smile, your brain thinking about the possibilities again, all while you looked at him.

Silence reigned between the two, neither of them wanting to comment before the other, but it seems that Spider-Woman didn't have much time because a sound came from her gauntlet, she quickly accessed it and Clark saw that the "bracelet" was a type of miniature screen attached to the fabric of the suit, you looked at the messages before turning to Clark.

"I'm sorry but I have to go." You looked at the city below, looking at the lights that illuminated the place. Clark was about to speak when you cut him off before. "No offense Superman, but I think it's better if you go back to Metropolis, I don't have time to talk."

You spread your arms wide as you leaned towards the edge of the building, your eyes narrowed affectionately, which contradicted your voice full of irony. "Then this is our last meeting, thank you~"

And then you threw yourself.

Clark flew to the edge, ready to catch up with you, only to be faced with the emptiness of the city, you disappeared before their eyes, like a ghost.

"Then this is our last meeting."

No, it wouldn't be.

And it wasn't.

For the past four months, Clark has been bothering you, appearing out of nowhere, scaring you, helping you, making you more irritated by his constant appearances, making you more dynamic, more ironic, but happy.

It was a confusion of emotions, to tell the truth.

You expected that after a while he would stop doing this, after all he had things to take care of, for example: a city called Metropolis.

But Clark apparently didn't agree with that, because at least once every two weeks he would go to New York just to talk. The weirdest thing is that he started talking about his life to you as if he had known you for years! He talked about how he loved Lois, his relationship with John and Conner, GOD! He even talked about the Daily Planet!

Dude, he didn't even know who you were and he was just talking about his life to you?

You, however, always listened to him, you didn't tell him anything about your life but you didn't stop listening to him either.

Honestly, if you wanted to, you could very well mess with his life.

Good thing you're the heroine here.

As you jumped between buildings, your danger sensor beeped, warning you of something approaching. Knowing who it could be, you went down to the terrace of a building. Your suspicions were confirmed when you felt a gust of air from above. Turning around, you came face to face with the hero who had been on your tail for the last few months: Superman.

Clark had a gentle smile on his face, the smile of a hero, something that conveyed confidence and comfort. And it really did.

"Hello, Mr. Super, you look as happy as ever."

"Yeah, you look as relaxed as ever." He landed in front of you as you leaned against the building's railing, your elbows keeping your body steady as you assumed a carefree posture. Clark glanced at the buildings behind you nervously, uneasy about something. "I hope you don't mind, but we have company today."

You arched an eyebrow in doubt as your danger sensor went off like crazy, you had a few seconds before you turned around and launched a web at the person. You expected to find a criminal or even a super villain, but you were faced with the sunglasses of a teenager in a costume similar to Superman. "Yeah, she's really fast like you said."

What?

Before you could react, a much smaller figure appeared in front of you, just like the teenager (the difference was that he was a child and didn't wear glasses) he also looked a lot like Clark, he floated in front of you, bright and excited eyes directed at you. "Wow! You're so much cooler in person!"

A drop appeared on your head, turning to the man of steel you muttered to him. "Who are-"

"John and Conner." He chuckled softly, seeing your eyes narrow in irritation. "John really wanted to meet you and Conner ended up joining too."

"Oh." You pulled away from John a little as sarcasm flooded your lips. "That's great!"

Conner chuckled softly as you released him from your web, he approached you as he bent down a little to speak to you, since he was taller. "I thought you'd be happy to see us, it's not every day three Kryptonians come to New York to help with crimes." His voice held an undeniable teasing, the low and deep tone of his voice having the words dragged in his speech, it seemed almost sensual.

You stopped as you watched the other two, John and Clark froze, their gazes fixed on Conner, who you had confirmed was trying to subtly court you.

But you're not the shy girl here.

You approached him, close enough to be face to face, your breath could be felt on his mask. Conner, surprised by your bold move, leaned back, his cheeks flushed with your approach. "Well, New York is already protected by its heroine every day, so I don't need help." The smile on your face grew when Conner turned redder at the sound of your voice.

You quickly moved away from him and hung on the ledge, you turned to him, your figure shining with the lights in the city. "Then watch me do my job, mini super."

You fell from the building, the wind shaking your hood as you fell. Before hitting the ground, you threw a web up and climbed up again, hanging on one at a time. As your figure moved away, Conner and John looked at you. "Damn."

"You better come, or we'll end up losing her."

The night would be very long.

"OH GOSH, I'm so tired!" You yawned as you hung on the webs, it was almost four in the morning and you decided to go home. The supers had already left, you believe they were tired too (Especially Conner, where you and he played flirting all night).

You stopped on the terrace while looking around, seeing if someone or something had followed you, seeing no threat you hung on your web and slowly fell to your apartment, you opened the balcony door and as soon as you entered you were greeted by a satisfied meow.

Looking at the sofa in the living room, you saw Mooly lying on the cushion, the little black kitten moving and going to your ankle, cunning for affection. You laughed softly and picked her up gently, while placing her in your arms. "Hey, haven't you gone to sleep yet?"

As you petted the little one, footsteps were heard throughout the house, when you looked up you came across a large white vinyl robot, its form being embraced by its shadows, its round eyes shining in the dark space.

You looked at it and it did the same, the atmosphere apparently cold and tense to those looking from the outside, but completely the opposite for those who live in this house. The robot bowed respectfully, its voice, calm and tobotic, showed deep down a contained joy, reserved only for those close to it.

"It's so good to see you home." He stood up from his position, round eyes blinking slightly in the darkness of the apartment.

"Master (Name)."

You smiled as you set Mooly down on the couch again, you raised your hand to his neck and squeezed it, causing his mask to retract, revealing his identity. His face, the face of someone forgotten is a frequent presence on the walls here.

(Name) Wayne, the Spider-Woman, the missing daughter, the useless Wayne. His face was older than before, aged like red wine, clearly showing that you took after your father, since your face was just like his. Beautiful and exquisite, cold and deadly.

"It's good to be home Mark, where's Alex?" You asked as you squeezed your shoulder, which was a bit sore from today's patrol.

"Mrs. Alex is already asleep, she said she couldn't stand listening to you flirting with Superboy anymore."This made you laugh out loud, you could imagine Alex covering his ears so he wouldn't hear the two of you. You pressed the bracelet on your wrist and in a flash your suit retracted into the bracelet, showing your figure that had a loose blouse and pants. You stretched, heading towards the bathroom.

"Well, I guess I better go too, tomorrow I have a college project and Mrs. Vivian wants me early at the coffee shop" before you could get there Mark called you, his voice echoing through the house. "You got a message from Master Billy."

You stopped and looked at Mark, the notification displayed on his cute belly from an ologram. "Did he send it at this time?" The robot shook his head and handed the phone to you.

Opening your messages you went straight to Billy's contact, concern starting to creep in on you, but then again, you should know how Billy is.

Because when you saw the message you felt your stomach churn.

Billy Batson was eating the most beautiful and delicious candy you had ever seen in your entire life, and he sent it to you even though he knew about your addiction to sweets.

That little shit-

You quickly typed furiously on the cell phone keyboard, not caring that it was late, just wanting to curse Batson for making you feel hungry when you planned on not having dinner.

'Fuck, I hate you Batson ಥ_ಥ'

His answer didn't take more than a few seconds to come, his response irritating you even more.

'HEY, you finally answered me, I was already worried. Besides, I know you love me 𖹭𖹭𖹭(∪ ◡ ∪)'

'I promise I'll buy one for you, good night little spider ツ'

'...good night Billy.'

You wanted to cry, that's it.

Especially because you were hungry now.

Knowing your fate, you threw the cellphone on the couch and turned on the kitchen light, you heard Mooly and Mark's footsteps following you.

"I think there are still ingredients for a mug cake, right?" eating now wouldn't hurt.

"Bruce? BRUCE!" The aforementioned looked at the entrance of the batcave where Tim and Jason had rushed in. The two looked like they had seen a ghost, sweaty and pale, still in their suits. "Tim, what is it?"

"You- You need to see this!" He sighed heavily as he threw himself into the chair at the control panel, his fingers typing faster than he had seen them on missions. Bruce looked at Jason, who was standing next to him, who had a burning look on his face, hope hidden behind his eyes.

What's going on?

Bruce didn't need to ask, because Tim began to explain to him. "Since the accident with... (Name), I've never found any clues..." Bruce shuddered at the sound of your name, they didn't talk about that subject.

Even after three years it still hurt.

"But that was because I wasn't looking in the right place!" The teenager put up the pictures of the bus that had been carrying you that day, only the wreckage that was left was in the picture. "But now-now I know where to look."

"Last year, Star City had several people kidnapped suddenly, just like (Name) no one found any clues about the case, but Jason and Roy investigated thoroughly and managed to find a kind of underground dungeon where the kidnapped people would be."

Now on the computer was the picture of the bus and of a kind of what Bruce would call a mental hospital. The place was so rotten and filthy that Bruce wondered if anyone lived there. "Apparently there's nothing, but if you look behind each of the huge graffiti on the wall..."

Tim, using the program, removed the graffiti, which gave Bruce a view of the white walls, but in the middle of them, pieces of something nonsensical resided there. "... and put them together."

The movement in Tim's hands moved the images on the wall, distorting and shaping them until one completed the other, making the nonsensical make sense.

"A symbol."

The symbol of a womb wrapped around a two-headed serpent.

"Do you know where else this symbol is?" Tim again returned to the image of the bus wreckage, he shaped the image and put together pieces of the walls that resulted in the same symbol, but with small parts missing. "So you mean-"

"That the same people who kidnapped the people in Star City were the ones who kidnapped (Name)." Jason answered for the two, his tone as dejected as Bruce's.

He can't blame him, he's in a similar state.

"The problem is that I can't find out what it means, I've tried on the Internet, in history books, even on Wikipedia! But I haven't found anything."

The crushing silence suffocated those present, leaving invisible marks on their being. "It has to have a meaning, anything- okay, what does it mean to a womb?!"

"Jason, this is stupid-"

"No, but we have to try! Shit, you only looked in science books or-or whatever, but have you tried to look for anything related to mythology?" Tim thought for a moment, but shook his head negatively.

"The womb refers to the woman, the mother. Now, what does a two-headed snake refer to?" Bruce asked no one in particular, his thoughts searching for the knowledge he had about it.

"Would it be a mother snake? That's nonsense."

Jason thought for a moment and realized something. "Technically, it's not." The red hood searched the control panel while talking to Robin and Batman.

"In Greek mythology, there was a creature that was half snake and half woman." The mythological image appeared next to the symbol. The grotesque figure of the creature somehow referred to the symbol.

"She was known as the mother of monsters."

"Echidna."

HI GUYS, this chapter was a lot of work, I had a lot of blockages but I managed to do it.

Now I have a question to ask: Is Conner treated as Clark's son or brother?

You already know that I haven't read the comics, I've watched Young Justice (at least there it gave the impression that Conner would be treated as Clark's son) but on Wikipedia it says that Conner is treated as John's uncle, please answer me 😭.

I'm also doing a reader drawing (NON-CANONIC), I think I'll do headcanons too. I'll possibly leave a link below.

Ok, let's go to the Tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib @bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93 - @horror-lover-69 - @mybones537 - @eyeless-kun - @timotheechalametswifeys - @justabreadslice - @nymphzy0 - @1-800-g00ber - @pix-stuff - @jsprien213

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye 𖹭

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claramelooo · 7 months ago

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HEYYY! It's me again! I'm so happy with all the support words and the great proportion this story is taking that I got excited and I just want write more and more to you guys!! (I'm vacations btw lol)

First of all, I would like to say that I don't know much about the US admission system, so if I got it wrong, please correct me.

Second, if you have any suggestions to improve the story's progress or speed up my writing, feel free to contact me.

Last but not least: enjoy it and comment plsss <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Paring: Mommy Dom Wanda x Brat Fem reader

WARNING: +18

Summary : Wanda wraps you in the web she has created.

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 – Predator | Part 3 - On your knees

Velvet Chains

The Prey

It was around 3 a.m., and Wanda sighed, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom. The silence was broken only by the lazy whirring of the fan. Vision lay asleep beside her, turned away, breathing deeply. The space between them on the bed felt like an unbridgeable chasm. She turned her head to look at him for a moment but felt a weight in her chest as she realized there was no warmth there, no real connection.

Sex with Vision had always been… functional, almost mechanical. It was always about him—his needs, his desires. There were moments when she tried to convince herself that this was normal, that love was above all a commitment, but nights like this made it clear: something was terribly wrong.

Wanda shut her eyes tightly, trying to push away the frustration building up inside her. It wasn’t just the sex. It was everything. The suffocating predictability, the lack of intensity, the absence of something she had never been able to name but missed with an almost painful ferocity.

And then there was you.

The memory of your face, the way you looked at her during dinner, came rushing back like a storm. Your eyes held a mix of defiance and uncertainty—something Wanda couldn’t get out of her mind. Since seeing you, there had been a growing need inside her, something primal and overwhelming. It wasn’t just desire—though that was undeniable. It was the way you made her feel, as if she were alive for the first time in years.

Wanda sat up in bed, running her hands through her hair, frustrated with herself. It was wrong. That much was obvious. You were young, inexperienced—a delicate soul who deserved freedom, not the weight of the obsession she felt growing inside her.

But the more she tried to rationalize, the more inevitable it seemed. There was something about you—your innocence mixed with a quiet resilience, as if the world couldn’t break you, no matter how hard it tried. It was hypnotic. She wanted to shape you, to dominate your strength and fragility all at once, to explore every nuance of you until there was nothing left to hide.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to stifle the thoughts.

“This has to stop,” she murmured to herself. “This isn’t who I am.”

But the truth was, she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. With Vision, with the life she had built—it all felt so distant, so colorless. And then you appeared, and the entire world gained a new vibrancy, an intensity she hadn’t realized she craved until she felt it.

She looked at Vision again, still turned away, still oblivious to the storm raging beside him. For a moment, Wanda felt a wave of guilt, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Because the reality was clear: she would never feel whole with Vision.

The clock read 3:23 a.m. when Wanda slipped out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor. She needed space, needed to think, but she knew that every step she took was leading her deeper into dangerous territory—a path of no return.

Reaching the living room, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey—Vision only drank it to celebrate work promotions—and took a swig straight from the bottle, hoping to drown out the chaotic thoughts of you, of Vision, of herself.

But they didn’t go away.

As the alcohol coursed through her veins, Wanda felt her body float. And then, she felt ready to do something she had never done before. With trembling hands from adrenaline and excitement, Wanda picked up her laptop from the coffee table and searched for what had been on her mind since the moment she first laid eyes on you.

The video was artificial, the expressions of pleasure fake, the moans hollow. But the scene itself sparked Wanda’s imagination.

She pictured you moaning beneath her as she slid a good, thick strap inside your tight little pussy, pinning your arms above your head, leaving you completely at her mercy. She imagined slapping your pretty face until you gave in, sticking your tongue out to accommodate her fingers, letting her lubricate them before slowly sliding them into your tight little ass, driving you wild.

Denying you orgasms until you begged her with teary, pleading eyes. Pushing you until you finally said the one word you so desperately needed to say—and that she so desperately needed to hear.

Wanda also fantasized about riding your face, making you drown in her wet pussy, suffocating on her juices. Marking your neck and chest with bruises she would proudly touch the next day.

These thoughts alone were enough to make Wanda forget the adult film on her screen and focus entirely on you. Her fingers worked diligently over her clit, her body trembling as the signs of orgasm built within her. Moments later, she came, her eyes rolling back, her legs shaking.

Oh, fuck. She had to have you soon.

[...]

The city library was a sanctuary of sacred silence, where whispered voices mingled with the soft rustle of turning pages. You had returned to the country with a single purpose: to study. Your mother never missed a chance to remind you that your bright future hinged on a prestigious university. But after everything, Yale felt like an unattainable dream.

Not anymore.

You still had a chance to transfer and adapt to a new routine—though adjusting had never been hard for you. You’d spent your 18th birthday alone, blowing out the candle on a strawberry cupcake someone had given you, wishing for the power to change your life.

And now, here it was.

Determined, you worked tirelessly to achieve an excellent GPA, nurtured relationships with your professors, and spent the remaining months meticulously preparing your early decision application.

Then came the waiting—waiting and waiting for that damn call. Time passed. You turned 20—too old for a Christian boarding school, too young to face the world—and found yourself staring out of the same window.

When your father finally called, his expressionless voice carried the weight of your shattered dreams.

And now, here you were, standing before an old building with beautiful architecture that probably held some intriguing history. With a pile of notebooks and a battered binder in hand, you pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the library's main hall. The comforting scent of aged paper and polished wood enveloped you.

The plan was straightforward: find a corner, avoid distractions, and lose yourself in formulas, essays, and reading lists for the next few hours.

But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

As soon as you entered, your eyes locked onto something—or rather, someone—that made your stomach churn. Behind the lending counter stood Wanda Maximoff.

She wore thin glasses that only accentuated the intensity of her piercing gaze. Her hair was tied back haphazardly, loose strands framing her face. When you walked in, she looked up, and a dangerous spark flashed in her eyes—something intense, hypnotic, and unnervingly expectant.

It was as though she’d known you were coming.

You felt the shift in the atmosphere before you could process it. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction—dangerous, predatory.

"Oh, my, my… What a surprise," Wanda murmured, her voice low and sweet, yet carrying an underlying weight that twisted your stomach. She left her computer and moved toward you, hands clasped in front of her like she owned the place.

You cursed softly.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Dekta?” she asked, her accent curling around your name in a way that made your core tighten despite your best efforts.

“I’m here to study.”

“Ah, yes… Yale, isn’t it?” Her lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer, making your fists clench at your sides. “Your parents mentioned it,” she mused. “I admire ambition—though ambition without focus is a waste, don’t you think?”

Your eyes narrowed. "I have focus."

She took another step closer, her presence suffocating. “Do you now?”

“I’m not a child, Wanda,” you snapped—perhaps a bit too loudly for a space that demanded quiet.

For a brief moment, her pupils expanded, eclipsing the green in her eyes. If you weren’t so innocent, you might have seen the excitement pooling in her gaze. But you felt it—the way your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly, your nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of your bra.

Her expression shifted, the intensity replaced by a false, sugary smile.

“Oh, of course, because you’re such a big girl now, aren’t you?” Wanda tilted her head, her tone deceptively kind but dripping with condescension. Her eyes seemed to dissect you, reading your every reaction like an open book.

“I’m an adult,” you retorted, forcing your voice to remain steady. “I don’t need anyone treating me like I’m still in a school uniform.”

Wanda’s steps were deliberate as she sidled past you, gesturing lazily to a nearby table. “An adult, you say? Funny, because what I see…” Her gaze swept over you and then to the table, “…is a little girl with big dreams, crumbling at the slightest challenge.”

Your entire body tensed. You loathed the way she spoke to you, as though she had the right to dissect your maturity.

“You don’t know me,” you shot back, defensive.

“Don’t I?” She raised an eyebrow, her smile slow and menacing. “Then why are you trembling, Dekta?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat. She was right. Your hands, clutching the binder, were trembling slightly, your heart pounding too fast.

Wanda noticed. Of course, she noticed.

“See?” she whispered, stepping closer, her voice soothing yet laced with control as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Adult or not, you still have a lot to learn.” Her words dropped to a murmur, almost too soft to hear: “And I’ll teach you everything.”

Before you could react, Wanda straightened, creating distance as she adjusted her glasses—a deliberate motion that left you inexplicably yearning for her touch again.

“Now, find your table and study. Show me this sharp ambition of yours.”

“You don’t control me,” you snapped, anger flaring briefly.

She chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. “Oh, Dekta… I don’t have to. You’re already doing exactly what I want.”

With that, she turned and walked back to the counter, leaving you trembling and unsettled, as though you’d just lost a game you didn��t know you were playing.

After 40 minutes of calming down and trying to stop thinking about the woman, you finally manage to focus and regain control of your thoughts. Math had always been something very abstract to you, perhaps even more so than philosophy. There was something about numbers that seemed to elude the logic of your brain, as if every equation were a puzzle with its solution written in a language you couldn't quite comprehend.

You sigh, your eyes fixed on the book's page, where a series of elegantly aligned formulas stared back at you with an almost cruel indifference. It had always been this way. Essays were your forte—your words flowed like a river, structured and persuasive, but numbers? They slipped through your fingers like sand.

With the pencil in your hand, you begin to scribble what seemed to be the first step toward a solution, but your mind soon wavers. Math, with all its precision, left little room for intuition. Every mistake was exposed, every misstep impossible to hide. You had always hated that.

Suddenly, Wanda's presence invades your thoughts again, like a shadow you can't escape. The way she looked at you, as if she knew exactly where your weaknesses lay. Worse, as if she was willing to exploit them.

You shake your head, trying to banish her image, but it’s useless. It’s as if she were still there, standing behind you, watching, waiting for you to fail.

And maybe that was exactly what you needed.

"Okay," you whisper to yourself, turning the page of the notebook with more determination. "This isn't about her. This is about me."

Your strength had always been your ability to adapt and overcome challenges. No matter how impossible something seemed, you had an inner resilience that kept you trying. That was what made you special, even when everything seemed against you.

But that strength came at a price. You were stubborn, almost obsessive, and the idea of failing—for yourself, for your parents, for Wanda—was intolerable. That need to prove your worth, to be good enough, was both a gift and a curse.

Feeling a touch on your shoulder, you jump as if you’d been shocked. Looking at the hand that touched you, it belonged to an elderly woman with a friendly expression on her face.

"Looks like your study session was productive, right?" the lady asked in a voice trembling with age. You simply nodded, still confused by the sudden approach. "But I must inform you, dear. We’re closing now."

"Oh. Yes, of course… I’m sorry," you said as you stood, hastily packing your belongings. "I didn’t even notice the time." You offered an embarrassed explanation.

The lady just laughed, sweetly.

"It's all right! Wanda asked us not to disturb you," she said as if it were nothing, but for you… you felt your pulse quicken with your heartbeat, felt your heart warm at Wanda's indirect gesture.

You looked around, hoping Wanda would appear again to provoke you—to make you surrender to her dominant aura.

But with a click, the library lights turned off, leaving you alone with your confused thoughts.

Letting out a tired sigh, you enter your house. Today had been exhausting, but your mind was at peace from finally breaking out of your loop of procrastination and self-sabotage. It was draining, but it was gratifying—enough to make you proud of yourself.

Arriving in the living room, you see your mother smiling, which makes you raise an eyebrow at her unusual gesture. Noticing you, she stood up, laughing.

"Sweetheart! Come here!" she called, making grand gestures that filled the room.

As you reached the center of the living room, you saw her.

There she was. Wanda Maximoff, sitting in your living room as if she owned the place. Her posture was impeccable—relaxed, but not sloppy. Long legs crossed, her expression composed. She held a teacup in her left hand, her long fingers resting on the porcelain as if it were a luxury item.

Your heart raced. You froze in the doorway, looking from your mother to Wanda and back to your mother.

“Oh, sweetheart, finally!” your mother exclaimed, her voice full of enthusiasm. "I can hardly believe our luck. Wanda offered to help you with your studies! You know how much I worry about your preparation for Yale, and now she's willing to guide you!"

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. Everything felt like a blur. Wanda? The woman who had just turned your afternoon into an emotional whirlwind? Now she was here, in your house, looking more dangerous than ever?

"I simply did what anyone would," Wanda replied, her voice soft but firm. The tone carried a duality: apparent humility, but a pride you could feel beneath the surface. She rose slowly, placing the teacup on the coffee table. Her gaze met yours, and you felt that same shiver from the library.

"Good evening, Dekta," she said with an intonation that made your skin tingle. “I hope you don’t mind my visit. Your mother and I were discussing how I might be helpful for your academic ambitions.”

“Of course,” you responded automatically, trying to keep your composure. “Thank you so much for your help, Wanda.”

Wanda smiled, a small, calculated smile. There was no genuine warmth in it, only something... satisfying. As if she were celebrating an invisible victory.

"In fact," she continued, taking a step closer to you, "I thought we could make this mutually beneficial. Your studies require dedication, and I noticed you have potential. In exchange for my guidance, perhaps you could help me a few hours a week at the library. There are tasks that require... youthful energy."

Your mother seemed more than thrilled with the idea. “Oh, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? You’d spend more time learning, in such an inspiring environment!”

You knew you had no choice. Your mother was already beaming, and any refusal would be a family disaster. But above that, there was Wanda, with that look that seemed to pierce your soul, as if she knew that deep down, you didn’t want to refuse either.

"Sure," you finally replied, trying to sound neutral. “That sounds great.”

Wanda took a small step back, satisfied. "Excellent. We’ll start tomorrow."

Your mother clapped her hands, excited. "I’m so proud of you, sweetheart! And so grateful, Wanda, for being willing to help my baby.”

Hearing your mother’s last words, Wanda’s body tensed, clearly disliking the way she referred to you.

Wanda looked at you again, placing a light smile on her face, but her eyes... they had an almost predatory gleam.

“It will be my pleasure,” she said, but you knew there was much more to that phrase than your mother could understand. "Well, it’s late, and I still need to put Tommy and Billy to bed. S/n, would you walk me to the door?"

Finally, you snapped out of your trance upon hearing your name. "O-of course."

As the older woman passed through the door, she turned to look at you again, her eyes gleaming. “You looked beautiful today, darling.”

The compliment made you blush, and the air felt thin, making it hard to breathe.

“Hmm, what do we say when we’re complimented, Dekta?” Wanda broke your trance once again, touching your chin in a firm grip, forcing you to look at her.

"Thank you, Wanda," you replied softly, in an almost submissive tone. Almost. The exhaustion of the day weighed on your shoulders, and Wanda’s sweet voice left you weak, hypnotizing you and slowly turning you into a needy kitten.

"Good girl." She caressed your face with her fingertips, almost as if you were a raw diamond—precious and ready to be shaped. By her. By her hands.

You hadn’t noticed—perhaps due to exhaustion—but Wanda's hands were trembling. The woman trembled as she touched you, as she felt the warmth emanating from your fragrant, untouched skin. Wanda felt blessed, as if finally that scared kitten was learning to trust her.

"We’ll see each other tomorrow, yes? Good night, beautiful girl." She didn’t want to say goodbye to you. She wanted to stay, make you kneel, rest your head on her lap, and stroke the top of your head to hear you purr.

The mark she left on you lingered until you fell asleep, embedding itself under your skin, making you dream of her, of her floral scent—it was something citrusy. Orange? Lemongrass, perhaps? The fragrance clung to your body, your mind, and suddenly, Yale seemed like a distant dream, and Wanda was the only thing you could dream about.

~*~

Poor S/n... A milf caught her.

Tag list <3

@rosekjsses @vyvvycg @3liyuh

If I forget someone, pls remind me in the comments!

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #wlw smut #wlw post #lgbtq #lgbtqia #mommy k1nk #mommy k!nk #bd/sm kink

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tornado1992 · 1 year ago

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No one knows where Sonic lives.

Even in his so called world renowed hero status, there’s way too little that the general public knows about Sonic The Hedgehog, sure, they know what his favorite food is, they know the names of his friends, and they know when his birthday is, but they don’t know where is he from, how is he so fast, or what is his reason to fight.

They know about most of the times he has saved the world, but they don’t know why his shoes don’t get burned by his speed, they know he can turn into a god-like glowy golden being, but they don’t know how exactly the magical jewels that do that work, they know he’s unstoppable, but they don’t know why.

Most people don’t care that much about that kind of information, even if he’s a hero, that’s his own business, even heroes need privacy; but then there’s the curiosity, the enigma, the mystery, most of those questions will be left without a solid answer, but there’s a few that should have definitive one.

Where does someone who can run around the whole globe in a matter of hours live? There’s a lot of theories.

Sonic has enough fame to have several fan clubs all around the world, and between all those fan clubs there’s been a lingering interest in the enigma of where does sonic live, between all the other questions this one is the one that gets the most possible answers, considering factors like his speed, his well known crave for adventure, his love for nature, all of it could make the difference between the right answer and the wrong answer.

At certain point, the curiosity reaches to more general public apart from the fanatism prone, and when in opportunity to talk to him, a lot of people start asking him the same question: “where do you live?” the answers all equal and all different at the same time “right here in the same world as you” “it varies from time to time” “I don’t think you could visit me”

The vagueness, the confusing contradictions, the evasion of the subject; he’s doing this on purpose. They might not know a lot about the blue speedster, but now this sole data needs to be known.

They start asking Sonic’s acquaintances instead of the hedgehog himself, they know they’re not getting an answer out of him at this point, and if anyone could have one, his friends should know it. Turns out that they don’t know.

Most of his friends being more annoyed with the fact that not even they know where he lives than about the people sticking their noses to his friend’s business was a surprise to the masses, and underwhelming, backtracking, frustrating surprise.

There’s an anonymous user online who affirms that not even the hedgehog’s arch nemesis knows where Sonic lives. Reliable sources support the statement.

The waters of nonsense gossip calm down after some time, but the question still remains, left to be more of general curiosity than lingering mystery.

A random day in a random town, a news program happens to be live outside when the speedster passes by and stops to smell the flowers around the area, the reporters ask him for a small interview, he says they have till he finishes picking up enough flowers for a crown.

They ask the same question everyone has asked for quite some time, just a different word, “Sonic, where is your home?”

Apparently the accidental rephrasing change is what finally gets it, as the speedster just says “right now? should be at mystic ruins”

He runs off immediately, the reporters left speechless, the program still on air on TV’s and the web, and the world going wild.

They finally got a straight, solid, specific answer. “That can’t be true” “but it can” “it’s logical” “it’s not” “he must’ve been joking” “he sounded serious” and more and more discussions take place around that single interview, the fan clubs are theorizing again, the general public is now more curious, and the official news from all over the globe need to confirm this by themselves.

So they ask again.

A full week later, a different city in a different country, different news reporters don’t even bother to ask him for an interview, they just run to him the moment they see the blue blur pass by and ask him again “Sonic, where is your home?!” He yells his answer without stopping:

“Last time I checked was in Central City”.

“It’s a contradiction” “then he was joking before” “he might change where he lives weekly” “we need more proof” “that was way too specific again”.

A different continent, two days later, a group of kids manage to record him when he greets them from the other side of a mountain, they ask “Where is your home?!” He yells back “I’m not sure at the moment!”

The confusion only grows, now no one knows if he’s genuinely giving true answers or full ass lying, it would be logical for him to do either. The curiosity becomes a mystery again, and people are legitimately trying to track all the locations he has mentioned to find out what is this all about. Some people even try to track him down. They try.

A whole month later, there’s a celebration near sunset city, a commemoration of some sorts, there’s been a lot of battles in way too little time so people just try to think about the party rather than the motive for it. Sonic attends the celebration along some of his friends.

A local news channel manages to reach him at the chili dog stand where he is waiting for his food while talking to the two tailed fox everyone knows is his best friend. They don’t mean to interrupt, but these opportunities are limited.

They ask the same question, the same word change that they know works: “Sonic, where is your home?”

The blue blur hangs an arm around the kit’s shoulder in a half hug as he grins widely, he says loudly: “right now, it’s right here!”

This time his home was with him.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #they are brothers your honor #home is where the heart is #Tails is Sonic’s home #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #sonic headcanon #sonic fanfiction

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bombiikki · 1 month ago

Text

𝖎sn't 𝖎t 𝖑ove? ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!hanni x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you’re torn between loving hanni and protecting her from the danger that follows you as spidergirl. you keep breaking up with her, but she always waits. maybe it’s time to stop running—and just love.

𝖈ontains : ANSGT. resolving some issues, emotional whiplash, they break up so many times, then make out up, lots of yearning, and hesitation, reader questions everything, but never her love for hanni, hanni is lwk the strongest soldier ever, it ends with fluff, so its still technically the happy ending

𝖜ord 𝖈ount :13.6k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : the happy ending cuz its what the ppl crave for. i lwk rushed the ending bc idk i think it js got a lil repetitive but dont let my opinions stop u from enjoyign the fic !!

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — isn't it love? from steven universe

a part 2 to "a blessing in disguise" < to the spidergirl series masterlist

the wind was a scream in your ears, wild and relentless as it whipped past your mask. the city blurred beneath you in streaks of brick and concrete, yellow cabs and blinking lights, all of it too fast to matter. your body moved on instinct—knees bending, arms snapping forward, webline catching the ledge of a glass tower and flinging you forward into open air.

you didn’t even feel the drop anymore. just the cold. just the way it cut through your suit like a knife, or maybe it was the way your thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

it had been a week. a week since the funeral. a week since the rain soaked your suit and your hands trembled behind the mask. a week since hanni’s eyes had searched for answers, and you gave her none.

now there were sirens below. two police cruisers, lights bleeding red and blue into the smog, racing after a black sedan that had just slammed through a bank’s glass doors. the windshield of the getaway car was cracked, the front bumper barely hanging on, and one of the guys inside had been dumb enough to start shooting before they even turned the corner.

you didn’t hesitate.

your webline snapped taut as you flipped over a rooftop, the gritty surface racing beneath you. with every swing, you gained on them. one breath. two. then you dropped low, just above traffic, your body twisting through the maze of cars and honking taxis.

you could see inside the car now. four guys. ski masks. bags stuffed with cash. one was screaming into a walkie. the driver jerked the wheel violently, swerving into the opposite lane. horns blared. a truck nearly clipped them.

you gritted your teeth, picked up speed.

your shoulder clipped a traffic light—pain bloomed, sharp and bright—but you didn’t stop. you dove lower, flipping under a scaffold and landing hard on the sedan’s roof. the whole car buckled. the guy in the back screamed.

“what the hell was that?!”

you grinned beneath your mask and pounded your fist against the roof. “guess who!”

the guy on the passenger side rolled down his window, raising a pistol with shaky hands. you shot a line of web straight into the barrel before he could aim. the gun clicked uselessly. he tried to pull it free, but you yanked him out the window instead.

he hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling to a stop.

the driver screamed and lost control. the car swerved, smashed into a fire hydrant, and skidded onto the sidewalk. water exploded into the air behind it. you leapt off the roof just before impact and landed crouched on the hood.

before the others could recover, you launched a web at the nearest one’s chest and yanked him into a mailbox. he groaned and didn’t get back up.

two left.

the driver scrambled out, limping. you chased him on foot this time, your breath coming hard, every muscle alive with adrenaline. he darted through an alley, tried to climb a chain-link fence. you reached him before he could get over the top and pinned him there with two quick webs.

the last guy didn’t run. he just raised his hands, knees shaking.

you looked at the wreck behind you—sirens still closing in, lights reflecting in the puddles—and exhaled slow.

you were tired. of all of it.

and then, like always, you remembered her. hanni, somewhere in a classroom. maybe doodling in the margins of her notebook. maybe looking out the window and thinking about the girl who left her in the rain.

you swallowed the thought. it burned.

fifteen minutes later, you were back on the rooftops, peeling off your gloves as you ran. you had five more blocks before school. your hair stuck to your forehead beneath your hood. your ribs ached.

you climbed into the school building through a back stairwell and slipped into class thirty-five minutes late.

your teacher sighed so deeply you thought it might echo.

“miss y/n,” she said. “again?”

you nodded sheepishly, clutching your bag.

“sorry,” you muttered, still catching your breath. “traffic. i promise i won’t be late again.”

a few of the students laughed, and your teacher only sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’d give you detention, but i think at this point you’d consider it part of your schedule. just… try to be on time. and don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

you nodded, slipping into the desk behind hanni. her posture didn’t change, her eyes fixed on her notes. she hadn’t looked at you since the funeral.

you leaned forward, voice barely a breath.

“but those are the best promises to make.”

and maybe she didn’t believe it. maybe you didn’t either.

but for just a second, you thought you saw her pencil stop moving. and that small, impossible flicker of hope warmed your chest.

even if only for a moment. even if you didn’t deserve it.

some part of her still listened and some part of you still loved her—even now. especially now.

it started slow. a glance. a breath. a flicker of something almost lost. not with a grand gesture or a dramatic apology. just with a glance. and then another.

she didn’t smile when she looked at you. but she didn’t look away, either.

sometimes, that’s all a flame needs—just a little air.

you sat behind her again in chemistry. same seat, same scuffed floor tile beneath your foot that squeaked if you shifted your weight wrong. the desk still had that scratch in the corner where someone once carved a heart and then tried to erase it. you’d traced it before, back when your thoughts moved like rivers toward her, even when you were supposed to be balancing chemical equations. back then, she’d twirl her pen when she was thinking, and you’d find yourself watching the motion like it meant something.

now, she sat straighter. tighter. the space between her shoulders seemed smaller, like she was always bracing for something. she didn’t glance back. didn’t nod. her presence was sharp, all edges. like she’d drawn a silent boundary between you—chalk on pavement. and you didn’t know if you were meant to cross it.

but then she passed you a beaker before you asked.

and later, when your hand accidentally brushed hers near the sink, she didn’t pull away. didn’t flinch. just went on adjusting the bunsen burner like nothing had happened.

not much. but enough to burn.

you caught her humming under her breath one morning. it was faint, like the wind barely catching on an open window, but you knew the song. a melody you’d only heard once, when everything still felt new and terrifying. back when she was pressing gauze to your bleeding shoulder, eyes wide, voice shaking. back when she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to run or hold on.

you didn’t say anything now. just listened. let it fill the quiet space between you like sunlight sneaking through old blinds. warm and unexpected. gentle on skin that had only known cold lately.

at lunch, she sat beside you. not across. not at another table. not with her usual friends in their usual corner.

she sat beside you. her tray bumped yours, and you both said “sorry” at the same time.

she didn’t laugh, but the corners of her mouth twitched. like laughter might’ve been hiding there, waiting for the right moment to be brave.

you almost smiled. almost. but you didn’t trust your hands not to shake.

it was still too soon. still too glass. but still, you spoke.

your voice found her without permission. soft questions about class, about the mitosis quiz, about whether or not she thought mr. lee might actually be in love with the concept of kinetic energy. she rolled her eyes, but she answered. and her voice wasn’t cold—not warm either—but real. a kind of tentative honesty, like testing ice with one careful step.

you didn’t touch her. not even a sleeve or a wrist. not yet. you didn’t deserve to.

but you listened. really listened. especially when she talked about the things she loved. the way dna coils because of hydrogen bonding. how amino acids twist into helixes and sheets like origami. how enzymes knew exactly what to become in order to fit the molecule they’d bind to—like some kind of molecular soulmate. you didn’t say much when she got into it, just nodded and let your chest fill with the sound of her excitement. like her voice could stitch you back together without meaning to.

sometimes, after class, you’d walk beside her in the hallway. not touching. not talking. just walking. your shadows brushed the same patches of linoleum. she didn’t ask you to leave. and that was something.

on good days, when the clouds weren’t too heavy and the guilt in your chest hadn’t swallowed your spine, she’d look at you with something close to softness. like she remembered. and once, she said something funny—dry and sharp, about enzymes being the unsung heroes of the human body—and it made you laugh out loud. she looked at you like she didn’t mean to make you do that. like she hadn’t meant to reach you.

but she had.

still, you saw it. in the way her fingers curled tight around her pen. in the way her gaze sometimes lingered too long before pulling away.

the question lived in her eyes. do i let you back in? will you leave again?

and you couldn’t blame her. you didn’t have a promise that would mean anything. your mouth had already broken the ones that mattered.

so you said nothing. just sat beside her during study hour. your notebooks side by side. pens moving in quiet synchrony. the silence wasn’t empty—it was full of questions neither of you were ready to ask.

then one afternoon, you stayed late to finish a group project. just the two of you. sunlight filtered low and golden through the windows, catching the strands of her hair and making them shimmer like copper. she was writing notes. focused. calm.

you glanced at her. just once.

and she looked up. caught you.

you didn’t look away fast enough.

“what?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you shrugged, eyes flicking back to your notebook. “just glad we’re talking again.”

her fingers stilled on the page. she blinked. and for a heartbeat, you thought she’d get up and leave, close the door, draw the line again.

but she didn’t.

“me too,” she said softly. it wasn’t a whisper, not quite. but it was steady.

it wasn’t a promise nor was it forgiveness. it was just a flicker.

and you, like the fool that you were, cupped your hands around that tiny flame and swore to keep it alive.

even if you burned. especially if you burned. even if it meant burning all over again.

it took weeks. not just glances or passing words anymore—but real time. quiet hours spent in the same room. late study nights. group projects that turned into gentle conversations. she laughed at your jokes again, sometimes. rolled her eyes, but with softness, not distance. you learned to be patient. to not reach for her hand even when your own ached to hold something steady. you waited. not because you were uncertain. but because love wasn’t a thing to be rushed. not when it had been broken before.

sometimes you’d catch her watching you when she thought you weren’t looking. sometimes her gaze lingered too long. sometimes you swore she almost smiled.

you remembered everything. the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. the way she’d tap her pencil twice before writing something down. you memorised it all over again, like it was a new language and you were desperate to be fluent in her.

you found excuses to be near her. in the lab, you offered to be partners. she agreed without looking up. you told yourself that meant something. maybe it did. maybe it didn’t. either way, you held onto it.

and then came the day when your heart couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

you’d spent the afternoon helping her carry boxes for the science fair—oscillating models and half-finished posters, that kind of thing. she was laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like forever. and for a second, the world tilted right again. like maybe things could be good. maybe they already were.

so you did it. you asked her to meet you on the rooftop of the old library building after sunset. said you had something important to say. she blinked at you for a second. hesitant. wary. but she said yes.

the sun was already gone when she climbed up the fire escape. the sky was navy blue and full of quiet stars. you were already waiting, pacing, rehearsing the words you’d said a hundred times in your head.

she stepped forward, folding her arms, her expression unreadable. “you’re being weird,” she said.

you swallowed. “i know.”

silence.

then—“i love you.”

your voice barely broke the air, but it was enough.

her breath caught. her shoulders tensed.

you kept going, even though your heart was racing like a train without brakes.

“i never stopped. even when i left. even when it hurt. i thought i was protecting you, hanni. i thought if i stayed away, you’d be safe.”

her eyes didn’t soften. not yet.

“but it just made us both miserable,” you whispered. “and i was wrong. i know that now. you don’t need protection. you need honesty. and... love. and i want to give you that, if you’ll let me.”

she stared at you like she was trying to solve an equation with too many variables.

“you left,” she said, voice small. “you said you loved me and then you left.”

“i know,” you said, stepping closer, hands trembling. “and i won’t pretend like that didn’t happen. i broke your heart. and i hate myself for it every day. but hanni, i swear to you—i won’t leave again. not unless you tell me to.”

the wind moved gently through her hair. the city below buzzed faintly, distant and irrelevant.

you reached into your pocket and pulled out a tiny folded paper—creased and worn. it was the note you’d written weeks ago but never had the courage to give her. on it was a sketch—her and you, sitting under the stars, the words “worth it” scrawled at the bottom.

“i made this the day after the funeral,” you said. “because even when i was hurting, even when everything felt too big and too heavy, loving you still felt right.”

she looked at the drawing. then at you.

and then, like sunlight cutting through cold—she stepped forward.

“i’m scared,” she said.

“me too,” you breathed.

“but i still love you,” she whispered. “even if i didn’t want to.”

you laughed, a broken, relieved kind of sound.

“so… what does this mean?” you asked.

she took your hand and it was the first time you’d touched her in what felt like forever.

“it means,” she said slowly, “you get one more chance. and you don’t get to waste it.”

you squeezed her hand gently. “i won’t. i swear.”

“don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said mockingly.

you smiled, eyes shining. “but those are the best ones to make.”

and that night, under a sky full of stars and unsaid fears, you kissed her—softly, carefully, like a prayer—and for the first time since everything fell apart, you let yourself believe that love might just be enough.

because even broken hearts can burn again.

even flickers can become flames.

the days were softer now.

sometimes you woke up and forgot what it was like to ache. her laugh had that effect on you. it echoed through the halls, through your chest, and settled in the cracks you used to hide behind. there were moments—brief and blinding—where you almost believed you could be normal. just a girl in love. just two science nerds holding hands on the way to class.

the world was quieter with her hand in yours.

she wore your hoodie now, the one with the tiny web stitched inside the pocket. her hair tied messily. her knuckles ink-stained from taking notes. she tapped her pencil on your desk during class, nudged your shoulder when you got distracted, smiled at your jokes before you finished them.

and you smiled back. really smiled. with teeth and dimples and something in your chest you hadn’t let breathe in a long time.

but even sunlight casts shadows.

he started showing up in the corners of your eyes.

mr. pham.

not alive. not even speaking. just... standing. watching. arms crossed like the day he caught you sneaking onto their rooftop. eyes sharp. unreadable.

you’d blink and he’d be gone.

you never told hanni. how could you?

but some days, when she touched your cheek and kissed the corner of your mouth, you felt ice bloom down your spine. not because of her—but because of him. because of the promise. because of the look in his eyes when he told you to protect her. because you said yes, even though it shattered something inside you.

you started hesitating more on patrol. paused longer on rooftops. you couldn’t bear to swing past the district station anymore. every siren made you flinch.

but you always came back to her.

every day, she waited by your locker. every night, she texted you goodnight, even if you hadn’t replied for hours. and every time you looked at her, really looked, it felt like forgiveness. like the world was saying, try again.

still, she noticed.

one afternoon, in the quiet lull between school and golden hour, you were at her house. she was reading something on her bed, and you were pretending to do the same, but your fingers kept twitching, tapping against your thigh. your mind kept drifting. always back to him.

“y/n,” she said softly.

you looked up, startled. her eyes were on you, steady and warm and a little sad.

“where’d you go?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. shrugged. “just tired.”

a lie. the kind she’d stop believing soon.

but instead of calling you out, she set her book aside and crawled closer. her hand found yours, curling around it like it belonged there.

“you’ve been pulling away again,” she murmured. “is it... about my dad?”

you froze.

she didn’t look angry. just honest. just scared, but not of you.

“sometimes,” you said quietly, voice like ash, “i see him. not really. just... sometimes i think he’s still watching me. judging. wondering if i’m keeping my promise.”

her fingers tightened around yours.

“and are you?”

you blinked at her.

“keeping it?” she clarified. “are you protecting me?”

you didn’t answer. because protecting her meant walking away. it meant leaving again. and you hadn’t. not this time.

hanni’s other hand cupped your jaw. she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. her breath was warm. steady.

“i know he wanted you to keep me safe,” she whispered, “but he didn’t know what that would cost you. he didn’t know how much i—how much we love each other.”

your breath hitched.

“if being with you puts me in danger,” she said, “then fine. that’s my risk to take. not his. not yours.”

your eyes stung. you tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let you.

“look at me,” she said. “i choose this. and i will every time. i choose you.”

you wanted to believe it. god, you did believe it. but some part of you still trembled with every kiss. every time she held your hand too tightly. every time her heart beat against your ribs and you thought, i could lose her.

but right now, she wasn’t afraid.

and maybe, for tonight, that could be enough.

you kissed her like a prayer. slow. shaking. she kissed you back like a promise—one stronger than the one you’d made to a dying man.

when she pulled away, she smiled. not like before. not soft or shy.

this one was steady. certain.

and when you closed your eyes, there was no ghost behind them. no shadow in the corner.

just her.

and for now, for this, it was enough.

you hadn’t meant to wake up like that—breath caught sharp in your throat, heartbeat thudding like a war drum in your chest. the nightmare had torn through your sleep like claws, dragging you back to a rooftop soaked in rain and blood. to a promise you made on shaking knees. to a man gasping for air, begging for his daughter’s life.

and now you were here again.

not in that moment, but somewhere far too close to it.

you stood outside hanni’s window, rooftop beneath your feet and the city stretching out like it always did—loud and indifferent. the night air chilled your fingers even through your gloves. you hadn’t even realised you’d suited up until you caught your reflection in the glass. spidergirl. not y/n. not the girl who had kissed hanni on this very rooftop just days ago. not the girl who had made her laugh so hard she cried.

just spidergirl. you were always spidergirl when you did this.

you knocked once, softly, and she opened the window like she had been expecting you. like she always was.

her smile flickered when she saw the suit. she didn’t say anything. she just stepped aside and let you climb in, like this was normal. like this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

“you okay?” she asked quietly, brushing hair from her face. her voice was sleepy and a little concerned. she was wearing one of your hoodies—probably the one you left here two weeks ago. her room smelled like lavender and detergent and home.

but that warmth was the last thing you deserved.

“what happened?” she asked again, stepping back.

you didn’t move. didn’t answer. just stood there, mask on, chest aching, lungs full of things you didn’t know how to say.

she waited.

and then you shattered.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you said. your voice cracked like something small and broken. “i can’t keep pretending this is okay.”

her brows furrowed. “pretending?”

“that you’re not in danger every second we’re together. that i can just love you and nothing will go wrong.”

hanni blinked, and something in her expression faltered. “where is this coming from?”

“a nightmare,” you said. “no. a memory. your dad… he was dying, and he looked at me like i did it. like it was my fault.”

her voice was gentle, but firm. “it wasn’t.”

you paused. the memory surged again—his voice, his blood, the way he looked at you like you were both his worst fear and his only hope.

“i think we need to stop seeing each other.”

and just like that, the silence shattered.

hanni’s face folded in on itself. not angry. just… wounded. like you had taken something beautiful and crushed it in your hand.

“you’re breaking up with me again?” she asked, disbelieving. “now?”

you still couldn’t look at her.

“i have to. i keep putting you in danger. i can’t—i can’t sleep without dreaming of the worst-case scenario. every time i’m with you, i’m scared it’s the last time.”

you stayed silent. and despite the silence, you kept your mask on and didn’t dare meet hanni’s eyes.

“you don’t get to do this,” she said, her voice rising further. “you don’t get to show up in the middle of the night and decide for both of us.”

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“then stop,” she snapped. “stop acting like love is something dangerous. i’m not going to fall apart just because you love me.”

you turned your face away, jaw tight behind the mask. your hands curled into fists.

“i see you die every night,” you said, voice soft and shaking. “you don’t know what that does to me.”

“and you think i didn’t notice when you disappeared?” she said, her voice beginning to fray. “you think i didn’t feel it every time you pulled away? when the texts stopped, when you vanished like i meant nothing?”

you couldn’t look at her.

“i love you,” you said. it came out like a confession. like a wound.

“then stay.”

you flinched. “i can’t.”

“why? because of a promise?”

you didn’t answer. because you knew your answer was yes. because fear had clawed up your spine like it always did. because if something had ever happened to her and you were the reason, you’d never have forgiven yourself. because love, to you, still meant sacrifice. still meant leaving.

and because she looked at you like you were worth the risk—and you weren’t sure she was right.

she stepped back then, like she was trying to protect herself from the words you hadn’t said.

“so that’s it?”

you nodded. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t wait for her to say your name—didn’t wait for the look she’d give you when she realised you meant it.

you swung off the rooftop before your heart could change its mind.

you swung through the city like it was the only way to stay sane.

the wind in your ears, the rooftops flying by in blurs of steel and brick, the weight of gravity pulling you down and the webline pulling you forward—it was the only rhythm left that made sense. it was all muscle memory now. the city pulsed below you like a wounded thing, flickering with sirens and neon and breathless cries for help. and still, none of it could drown out her name.

her name lived under your ribs. soft, painful, echoing. your heart ached with every rooftop passed, every second spent above a world where she no longer held your hand.

you saw her at school sometimes. that was the worst part. not the bruises. not the late nights. not the dream of her dying again and again beneath the lizard’s claws. no, it was the ordinary things that hurt the most.

seeing her brushing past you in the hallway, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. seeing her in chemistry, head bent over her notebook, pencil tapping as she annotated diagrams of cellular respiration like her heart wasn’t broken. seeing her laugh—god, laugh—with someone else during lunch. not the kind of laugh she gave you, not the kind that wrapped around your neck like summer air, but still—it was a laugh. and you weren't the reason for it anymore.

you kept your distance. that was the deal you made with yourself. no more climbing to her window at midnight. no more stolen moments of warmth between bruises. no more selfish love.

because that’s what it had become, hadn’t it?

you loved her so much, you left her.

you wished you could stay. you wished that was enough. but it never had been, had it? the shadows always came back. and you always followed them. not because you wanted to—but because someone had to.

and still��still—when you saw her smile at someone else in the hallway, your chest squeezed like it didn’t know what to do with all that ache. like it didn’t know whether to be happy that she was okay, or broken that she was healing without you.

you were pulling away. and she was letting you.

but neither of you had stopped hoping. not yet. not entirely.

and maybe that was worse. maybe that was the cruelest part. because there was still warmth between you. the kind that lingered in silence, in the corners of your shared memories. just enough to feel. just enough to miss when it’s gone.

just a flicker.

but it hurt like a flame.

sometimes you found yourself looking for her reflection in windows. watching her from across the courtyard like you were stuck behind glass. her hair in a loose braid. a bandaid on her finger. her lips mouthing the steps of mitosis under her breath. and you’d wonder if she still thought about you. if she still dreamed of the nights you lay side by side, breath tangled, hearts too full.

but the guilt always came back.

the guilt always won.

so you stayed quiet. you laughed at the right times in class, answered questions when the teacher called your name, pretended your smile wasn’t made of paper. and every night, you pulled on the suit like armor and bled for a city that would never know your name.

you tried to be brave. you tried to be spidergirl.

but even spidergirl couldn’t stop thinking about hanni.

she lived in your silence. in your hesitation. in every part of you that wanted something soft and safe and too bright for someone who only existed in shadows.

you wished she hated you.

it would’ve made things easier.

but she didn’t. she still looked at you like maybe she could forgive you. and maybe that was the most painful thing of all—that she still had that light in her, and you weren’t sure if you deserved to be near it again.

so you let her go. but not all the way.

you let yourself hope—just a little. just enough to hurt.

just enough to wonder… if someday, somehow, she might look back. and you’d be brave enough to take off the mask. and maybe—just maybe—stay.

hanni hadn’t moved on. not really.

people thought she had. she laughed again. tied her hair with yellow scrunchies. answered questions in class like nothing had ever broken inside her. and maybe that was the trick—she didn’t look broken. she looked like someone who was healing. someone who was learning how to live without something she once held close.

but you knew better.

you saw her at school, always in the corner of your eye. you never looked for her—never directly—but your eyes found her anyway. like she had been stitched into your peripheral vision. like your heart had been trained to search for her, even when your head begged it not to.

she still smiled. still watched.

sometimes, you felt her gaze on your back like a gentle hand—not pushing, not pulling—just there. quiet. steady. waiting.

and god—it hurt more than any bullet ever could.

because you knew what bullets felt like. the sharpness, the heat, the panic. you had been grazed, torn through, stitched up more times than you could count. but none of it had ever settled into your bones the way she did now. none of it ever lingered like this ache. this awful, tender, impossible ache.

she was waiting for you. maybe she shouldn’t have—but she was.

you saw it in the way she still left space beside her during study hour. in the way she glanced toward the door when you were late to chemistry, even though she didn’t need to anymore. in the way she picked at the label on her water bottle when your name was mentioned, like she was holding something back.

you wondered what would happen if you sat beside her again. if you said something soft. something true. you wondered if she’d still listen.

but you didn’t. you said nothing.

you just watched her from a distance and pretended your silence was safety. you wore it like a shield, even as it rotted you from the inside.

she passed you once in the hallway. close enough that your arms brushed. she didn’t flinch. she only glanced up at you and nodded, slow, like she was giving you time. and her eyes—those eyes—were still kind. not like they used to be. not wide and glowing. but something quieter. something deeper. like a flame beneath glass.

you felt yourself swallow hard. your breath stuttered in your throat.

because she still saw you. and somehow, that was worse than being invisible.

sometimes you wondered what she told herself. did she think you’d come back? that you’d knock on her window again one night like nothing had ever happened? or did she know—did she know you were still out there, swinging from rooftops, haunted by a promise and a man who died on your watch?

you wished she hated you—you really did—because hate would mean she’d let go.

but she hadn’t—not completely. and maybe that was the cruel part. maybe that was what kept you up at night more than the guilt or the blood or the dreams. the knowing. the unbearable knowing that if you turned around, if you just reached—she’d still be there.

waiting. still.

and you didn’t know if that made her brave or foolish. but you knew what it made you.

a coward.

because love—real love—didn’t leave. not like you did. not when it still had a heartbeat.

so you walked past her in the halls, your steps slower than they should have been, your head bowed just slightly. and she walked past you too, her eyes catching yours for half a second.

not a question. not a plea.

just… hope. just that quiet, stubborn flicker that refused to go out.

and every time, you wondered how something so gentle could hurt so much.

you couldn’t stay away. the city sprawled beneath you like an endless maze of memories, and every rooftop you swung past felt hollow without her waiting on the other side. the night was cool, the air sharp with the faint smell of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. somewhere far off, a siren wailed, distant and lonely, like a sound made just for you.

and before you even realised, you were there again—right outside her window again. the same window you’d stared at in sleepless nights, the one that held the ghost of promises you never fully kept. your heart hammered, not from exertion, but from the ache of everything you’d lost and everything you still wanted.

your knuckles hovered just above the glass. you hesitated. then, finally, the knock—soft, almost shy, like maybe you didn’t want her to hear it. or maybe you did. maybe you needed her to.

you held your breath, waiting, heart pounding like a drum you couldn’t quite control. after a moment, the curtains at her window fluttered—a slow, hesitant movement that felt like a fragile heartbeat.

the fabric was drawn aside, and then the window slid open with a faint creak. her face appeared, framed by the dim, golden light of her room. her hair was down, loose and slightly tangled. her eyes—wide, searching—found you through the dark like they’d been waiting. she looked vulnerable, raw—like she’d been waiting for something she wasn’t sure would come. like she had been holding in so much, and finally, here in this quiet night, some of it was slipping free.

you felt your chest tighten. despite the exhaustion etched on her face, despite the sadness that seemed to hover just beneath her skin, she was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

you smiled awkwardly, the kind of smile that tries to hide everything—guilt, fear, love all tangled up inside. your fingers went up, trembling slightly, and you tugged off your mask, letting it fall with a soft thud to the floor. your hair was wild and messy and you ran your fingers through it, half to fix it, half just to do something with your hands.

your smile wobbled—nervous, unsure. the kind that tried to say “i love you” and “i’m sorry” at the same time but said neither.

her eyes flickered over your face, lingering on every line, every shadow. she didn’t say anything for a moment—just watched you with a quiet intensity that made your heart ache.

“you,” she breathed, a word heavy with a thousand things unsaid.

your chest stung.

“hey,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

there was a pause. neither of you moved. the space between you felt both impossibly close and miles away, full of shadows you couldn’t quite reach through. and still, she stepped back, pulling the window open wider. a silent invitation.

you carefully climbed through, the cool air of her room brushing your skin as you moved inside. the room smelled faintly of jasmine and old books, a softness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

the door was closed. the light was warm. the world outside didn’t exist here.

you stood in front of her, not quite touching, like if you moved too fast, she’d disappear.

she looked up at you, and in her face was every sleepless hour, every quiet moment she’d waited. and you looked back at her like she was the only real thing in the world.

you lifted a trembling hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. your fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of her jaw with gentle reverence, like you were trying to remember every line, every detail of her face.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. her breath hitched, and you felt it—how close the edge still was. how fragile this moment could be.

then, without warning, your lips found hers—soft at first, searching, like you were trying to say everything without words. but the moment she leaned into you, everything shifted. the kiss deepened, growing hungrier, messier. her hands found your shoulders, then your neck, pulling you closer like she couldn’t stand the space between you. your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring yourself to her, to this.

you moved together like something inevitable—like you’d been holding this in for too long and the dam had finally cracked. her lips were warm and desperate against yours, and when her fingers slid into your hair, tugging just slightly, it pulled a quiet sound from your throat. you felt everything all at once—her breath catching, her body pressing against yours, the rush of heat that made your chest ache.

you backed her toward the wall without meaning to, one step, then another, until she was there beneath your hands, her breath warm against your cheek. your lips broke apart only for a second, gasping, and then found each other again, even more urgent than before. it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t clean. but it was real—raw and aching and alive.

your hand found her waist again, sliding around her back as you pressed into her, needing her close. she fit there, perfectly, like something lost and found. you kissed her like the world was ending, like maybe it already had, and this was all that was left. and somehow, despite the heat, despite the trembling that ran through both of you, there was something unspoken holding it all—something soft beneath the fire. it was what you both needed, even if it didn’t fix everything.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths ragged, lips swollen. the warmth of her skin grounded you in a way the city never could. her skin was warm. your hands were still on her waist, steadying yourself like the world tilted when she wasn’t this close. you could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the quick beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“i missed you,” you whispered, voice barely steady.

she smiled, the kind of smile that’s a little sad but still hopeful. “i know,” she said, voice soft, almost fragile.

you didn’t say sorry. you didn’t promise that you wouldn’t leave again. the truth was heavier than words could hold. the guilt, the fear—they were still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

but she didn’t ask for those things. instead, she stepped into your arms, as if somehow this moment made the uncertainty feel a little less sharp.

you held her close, careful not to crush the delicate thing between you. the silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty—it was waiting. waiting for something neither of you could name yet.

and even though the problems weren’t solved, even though the future still felt uncertain, in that quiet space between heartbeats, you let yourself believe maybe—just maybe—this flicker could grow into something stronger.

for now, that was enough.

the day began like it had forgotten the past. no nightmares. no rooftop ghosts. no blood behind your eyelids.

just sun through your window, warm and golden, and her name on your tongue like a prayer you didn’t mean to say out loud.

you saw her before first period, standing by her locker, one foot tapping the floor as she balanced a book on her knee and tried to fix her hair with the other hand. she didn’t notice you right away. her face was scrunched up in quiet frustration, lips pursed as a loose strand refused to stay tucked behind her ear.

and for a moment, you just watched. let yourself memorise her again. the small things. the way she hummed under her breath when she read. the curve of her smile when it finally settled, unbothered and soft.

then she looked up and caught you staring. her eyes widened, then softened.

"you’re staring," she said.

"i do that sometimes."

"creepy."

"flattering."

she rolled her eyes. but she smiled.

you walked her to class. talked about nothing. the clouds. the vending machine still being broken. she said her chem teacher was a sadist. you said yours probably had nightmares about molarity equations. she snorted into her sleeve. and you felt something settle inside you—something that hadn’t felt calm in weeks.

in physics, she leaned over her desk and whispered, “explain this to me before i go insane.”

you looked at her worksheet. “you’re already insane.”

“so help me before i get worse.”

you scooted closer. tried not to smile too wide when her arm brushed yours. explained the formula slowly, pointing to where the force and displacement aligned, and her eyes followed your finger like it was the most important thing in the world.

"why do you know this stuff so well?" she asked.

"because i’m secretly a nerd," you said.

"not secretly."

you nudged her with your shoulder. she didn’t nudge you back, but she also didn’t pull away.

at lunch, she pulled you down beside her before you could think twice. her tray bumped yours, and she handed you her juice box without asking. you blinked.

“i don’t like grape,” she said simply.

“i do,” you said, even though you didn’t.

“then we’re even,” she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly like nothing had changed.

and maybe, for a few hours, it hadn’t. for a few hours, the world tilted just right.

after school, you offered to walk her home. she hesitated for the briefest moment. then nodded.

you walked slow. too slow, probably. like you were trying to delay the end of something sweet. she talked about the project she was doing for bio—enzymes, heat, all the ways protein could fall apart. you listened like it was poetry. she noticed.

“you’re staring again,” she said, without looking at you.

“can you blame me?”

“you’re still cheesy,” she muttered, but she was smiling, and the sky was turning orange above her, and you swore she glowed.

on the steps of her apartment, you stopped. her key dangled from her fingers.

“wanna come up?” she asked, hopeful, nervous.

you looked away.

there were sirens in the distance. you could feel the weight of the suit in your bag. a familiar ache in your chest—one that never really left.

“i can’t,” you said, too quiet.

her face didn’t fall, not exactly. but something behind her eyes dimmed.

“right,” she said. “you’ve got... things.”

“it’s not like that.”

she nodded like she understood. like she was used to it. and she was. she shouldn’t be, but she was used to the feeling.

you stepped closer, hesitated, then leaned in. she didn’t pull away. your breath touched her lips. your hand hovered near her cheek.

“i have to finish that paper,” you whispered.

she opened her eyes. looked at you. and god—she looked tired. not of you. just tired of waiting for something you never promised to give.

“okay,” she said.

you didn’t move. neither did she. and in the end, it was you who turned away first.

you didn’t look back. but her presence followed you anyway.

later, as you swung through the city—rooftops passing in blurs and the wind biting your skin—you kept thinking about how close she had been. how the sunlight had turned her hair gold. how she had waited for you to close the space between you.

you tasted the lie on your lips. not a big one—just small enough to swallow.

she didn’t know you were headed toward danger. toward alleyways soaked in shadow. toward a name you still didn’t say out loud.

but she smiled at you anyway. she shared her juice box. she listened when you spoke, and spoke when you listened.

and for one golden day, you let yourself believe. maybe this time.

even if it wasn’t forever. even if the danger crept close again.

you lied—just a little. but it was enough to make your chest ache.

because the truth was never far behind. and neither was she.

it happened fast—like most things in your life lately.

a scream shattered the quiet, tearing through the cold air like it didn’t belong to anyone. and just like that, you were already moving. there wasn’t time to think, not when fear crackled in your ribs like lightning, not when someone needed saving.

your suit clung to your skin like instinct. you vaulted off the rooftop without hesitation, the wind slicing past your face, sharp and familiar. below, a man in a ski mask was dragging someone down an alley, a glint of metal in his hand, something darker flickering in his eyes.

you dropped in without ceremony, landed with a crunch of gravel and a tilt of your head.

“hey, don’t you know it’s rude to ruin someone’s night?” you called out, voice light, steady, even as adrenaline thrummed in your veins. “also, terrible outfit. like, painfully cliché.”

the man spun around, startled, his grip tightening on the gun.

“you’re just a kid,” he snarled.

you webbed the weapon out of his hand before he could raise it, the gun clattering uselessly to the pavement behind you. “and yet, here you are—getting your ass handed to you by one.”

he lunged. you ducked, swift and fluid, your body twisting under his swing. you landed a sharp kick to his ribs, sent him sprawling into a trash bin. but he wasn’t done—he scrambled to his feet, pulled a second gun from his jacket.

you saw the trigger move before you heard the sound.

the shot rang out like thunder in a tunnel.

pain bloomed hot and immediate in your left arm, the force knocking you back a step. your breath caught as blood soaked through the suit, warm and fast. still, you didn’t let yourself fall. didn’t let him see the pain.

instead, you webbed his feet to the concrete, yanked him off-balance, and pinned him with a final shot of webbing to the alley wall.

“you just had to make this dramatic,” you muttered, pressing your palm against the bleeding wound. “can’t even bleed in peace anymore.”

your knees buckled slightly as you launched yourself upward, each swing from building to building tugging at your arm. you clenched your jaw through it. forced yourself to keep going.

you didn’t even realise where you were heading until the fire escape came into view.

her window.

you landed hard, knees thudding against the metal railing. the world swayed for a moment, blurred around the edges. you blinked it back, knocked on the glass with a shaky knuckle.

just once.

the curtains fluttered. and then she was there, eyes wide, barefaced and soft in the lamplight. sleep still clung to her, but the worry chased it away fast.

she unlocked the window and pushed it open. the night air rushed in around her.

“y/n,” she breathed, like she wasn’t sure if she should be angry or relieved.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

she reached out anyway, helped guide you inside with steady hands. you nearly collapsed, legs trembling, shoulder screaming with pain.

“what happened?” she asked, voice low, trying not to panic.

you shook your head. “it’s nothing.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“still nothing.”

“shut up.”

she made you sit on the floor, back against the wall. you watched her cross the room quickly, pulling out the worn first aid kit from under her bed. her hands trembled for only a second before she dropped to her knees beside you.

her touch was gentle, careful as she peeled back the torn fabric of your suit. the bullet had grazed your upper arm—deep, but clean. she muttered something under her breath you didn’t quite catch.

“you need stitches,” she said. “but i’ll do what i can.”

you nodded faintly. her voice kept you grounded.

you watched her work. watched the way her brows pulled together, the way her bottom lip was tucked beneath her teeth, how her fingers moved with quiet confidence.

“i missed you,” you murmured, eyes locked on the ceiling, just loud enough for her to hear.

her hands didn’t pause. but her breath hitched.

she didn’t say it back.

not yet.

when she finished wrapping your arm, she didn’t let go. her fingers remained around your wrist, warm and careful, like she was afraid to lose you again.

“why do you always come back like this?” she asked softly.

you looked at her. really looked. even in the dim light, she was breathtaking—hair messy, eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, heart open in ways you didn’t deserve.

you didn’t have an answer. not one that wouldn’t sound like a broken promise.

instead, you leaned forward, just slightly, resting your forehead against hers.

she didn’t move.

you wanted to kiss her. you wanted to stay. but the city still called. and you were still who you were.

so when she finally drifted off beside you, her back slumped against the wall, her head tilted toward your shoulder—you slipped away.

you left without a sound—out the window, into the wind, bleeding and quiet.

you didn’t say goodbye. because you never did.

the rain came down slow, then heavy, soaking through your hoodie before you even reached the edge of the school parking lot. you kept your head down, hands stuffed into your pockets, hood tugged low over your eyes. it was easier not to look. not to search the crowd for her face like you always did.

you hadn’t spoken in days.

not since that night. not since the blood. not since you left before morning, the bandage she’d wrapped around your arm still clinging to your skin like a promise you’d never made.

and still, every time you turned a corner, you expected her to be there.

you didn’t see her at first—not until your foot hit the sidewalk and your breath caught for no reason. not until you looked up and saw her standing by the bike racks, soaked to the bone, arms crossed tightly over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling.

she wasn’t letting you go this time.

you could’ve run. maybe you almost did.

but your feet betrayed you. they moved forward, one slow step after the other, until you stood in front of her, the rain curling at your lashes, dripping down your cheeks like sweat or tears—what was the difference anymore?

she didn’t speak at first.

her eyes traveled across your face, your soaked hair, the bruise peeking from under your collar. her voice, when it came, was small. tired.

“why do you keep doing this?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. the words felt too heavy to lift.

“why do you keep leaving?” she asked again, firmer this time. “i wait. every time, i wait. and you still walk away.”

you looked at her then. really looked. her cheeks were flushed with cold, eyes red-rimmed, mascara smudged under her lashes. the rain blurred her edges, but it couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. the quiet breaking.

“i’m trying to protect you,” you said, and your voice cracked around it.

she let out a shaky laugh. not because it was funny. because it hurt.

“no,” she said. “no, you’re not. you’re breaking me. again.”

the silence between you split wide and deep. thunder cracked in the distance, low and distant like a memory.

you didn’t mean to hurt her. but meaning never mattered as much as it should’ve.

“every time i think you’ll stay,” she whispered, “you disappear. you leave me with the pieces. and i pick them up, and i wait, and i hope. but i can’t keep doing this, y/n.”

your name in her mouth was a wound. soft, but bleeding.

“i had a dream,” you said, because it was the only truth you had left. “i saw you die.”

her expression softened. not because she forgave you. but because she knew you meant it.

“you think keeping me away will save me?” she asked. “do you think it hurts less, watching you leave than taking the risk of staying?”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

“i love you,” she said. “i don’t care if it’s dangerous. i don’t care if it’s messy. i just want you. not the version that disappears in the dark. not the one who says nothing and bleeds alone.”

you looked away. the streetlight shimmered against the rain, glowing like a second moon.

“i don’t know how to stay,” you said, quiet as a confession. “i don’t know how not to ruin things.”

she stepped closer. not to forgive you. but to let you feel how much it hurt.

“then let me ruin things with you,” she said. “because being left behind hurts more than anything else ever could.”

you closed your eyes.

the rain kept falling.

but for a moment, her hand brushed yours, fingers barely touching, as if asking—not demanding—just once, for you to stay.

you didn’t hold it. you just stood there. aching. unsure. and still so in love you could barely breathe.

and then the moment passed. and like always, you turned to leave.

but this time, she didn’t call after you. she just let the rain speak for her.

you were falling through yourself again. slipping in slow, uneven spirals. some days, the sky felt like it belonged to you. some days, you swore your feet had never left the ground. you moved through the city like a whisper, like a bruise no one could name. sometimes you wore the suit just to feel like someone else. sometimes you couldn’t even bear to touch it.

your mind was a mess of turning gears and cracked reflections. nothing stayed still. nothing held its shape. some mornings, you woke up believing you could do this—love her, save her, keep the world from breaking at the seams. other mornings, you couldn’t even look in the mirror. the shadows clung too tightly. your hands trembled. your chest ached.

you didn’t know what you were doing anymore.

one minute, you could still taste her lips on yours, soft and startled like a sunrise. the next, you saw her bleeding, limp in your arms, a nightmare with too much detail. blood on your palms, too familiar to be anything but memory. you shook it off. tried to. but it stayed, clung, echoed.

you loved her and that was the only truth that didn’t shift beneath your feet. you loved her. but was love enough to keep her safe? was love enough to keep yourself from running?

you didn’t know.and god, it hurt to not know.

your thoughts never stayed quiet. they screamed and whispered, begged and warned. you should stay away. you should hold her closer. you should disappear. you should never let go.

you should stop loving her.

no. no, not that. never that.

you couldn’t stop, even if you tried.

she haunted your every corner. her laugh lived in the hollow of your throat. her smile burned behind your eyelids when you blinked. her voice lingered like a ghost in your ears, asking you to stay, to try, to let her in.

you couldn’t tell if you were healing or breaking.

every time you touched her hand, you wondered if it would be the last.

every time you saw her eyes, you feared the day they’d stop looking at you with love.

you tried to be strong. you tried to believe you could be enough for both of you. but sometimes you looked at your reflection and saw nothing but failure stitched into the seams of your suit.

you weren’t a hero. you were just a kid with broken dreams and too much love in the wrong places.

but still—still—you loved her. with everything you had. even when your hands shook. even when your voice faltered. even when you couldn’t promise her anything beyond your heart.

she was your constant in the chaos.

your still point in a spinning world.

and somehow, even when you were at your lowest, even when guilt cracked you wide open, that love remained.

it burned. it stayed. even when you weren’t sure if you would.

you hadn’t meant to walk that way.

honestly, you weren’t even sure where your feet were going until they stopped—and there she was.

just outside the back exit of the school building, half-shadowed beneath the awning where the rain couldn’t quite reach her. her backpack hung off one shoulder, and she was twisting the strap with her fingers like she wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay.

you froze.

she looked up.

your eyes met like they had so many times before—across hallways, between lab tables, under the heavy air of everything left unsaid. but this time, it was different. not painful exactly. just... exposed. like both of you had forgotten how to look at each other without remembering all the times you didn’t.

she didn’t smile and neither did you.

your throat tightened, but you nodded, slow. cautious. her head tilted slightly, the smallest twitch of something unreadable in her expression. you thought, maybe, she’d turn away. maybe this was too much.

but she didn’t.

instead, she stepped forward—not far, just enough to show that she wasn’t leaving. not yet. not this time.

you swallowed the ache in your chest. it still lingered, that awful twist of guilt and longing and shame. you hadn’t meant to stay away for so long. it wasn’t supposed to be like this—like every inch toward her felt like crossing a battlefield. like love was something you had to walk barefoot across glass to reach.

still, you took a step closer. she let you.

“hey,” she said, voice soft but steady. there was no blame in it. just a quiet kind of knowing. a thread of hope strung through hesitation.

you opened your mouth. nothing came. your tongue felt like stone. you hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t built up the words. all you had was your guilt, your silence, and the tremble in your fingers.

she noticed.

her eyes flicked down to your hands, and slowly—carefully—she reached out. she didn’t grab. didn’t push. just let her fingertips ghost against yours, like asking a question without words.

you flinched.

just a little. not out of fear. not out of rejection. just out of the weight of it. and still, she didn’t pull away.

your breath hitched. you watched her face, the way her brows drew together, the way she kept her hand there, unmoving, waiting. her warmth bleeding into your cold fingers like sunlight on frost.

you didn’t deserve this. not the softness. not her patience. but god, how you wanted it. how you missed her in every way a soul could miss something.

you curled your fingers around hers, slow. hesitant. like it might break if you held on too tight.

her expression didn’t change, but her grip tightened.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered, and her voice cracked just enough to undo you a little.

you looked away. the rain was falling just past the awning, glittering in the soft streetlight. everything smelled like wet leaves and concrete.

“i almost didn’t,” you said.

the truth sat heavy between you.

you expected her to ask why. expected the weight of her voice pressing against all the reasons you hadn’t said before. but she didn’t. she just stood there with you in the quiet, like she knew the question wouldn’t help.

“but you’re here,” she said, and there was no question in it. just quiet acceptance. not forgiveness. not yet.

you nodded. “yeah.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty. it breathed. it held you both in its arms and didn’t ask for anything more.

your hand still in hers, you glanced up again, slowly. her eyes were glassy in the low light, rimmed with tiredness, but still… still they held that same softness. that same wonder.

she stepped a little closer. your shoulders brushed. the contact sent something deep in you cracking open.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “i want to. i do. but i’m still scared.”

she looked at you like she already knew that. like maybe she’d been scared too.

her thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “so am i.”

you blinked. she said it like it wasn’t a failure. like fear wasn’t a door slamming shut, but something you could walk through together, even with shaking hands.

“but i’m still here,” she added, and her voice didn’t shake that time.

your chest ached. your ribs felt too small for your heart. you didn’t speak, didn’t know how to. you just looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense. and maybe she was.

maybe she always had been.

you didn’t say thank you.

you didn’t say sorry.

you just held her hand, standing in the space between leaving and staying, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was enough.

the night was soft. a hush of wind through the trees, a warmth left over from the sun still lingering in the brick of the rooftop. stars blinked above the city, quiet and uncaring, and the skyline glowed faint orange and blue like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to sleep or stay awake forever.

you sat side by side, your legs dangling over the edge.

her shoulder brushed yours.

you hadn’t meant to talk. hadn’t planned to open the doors you’d kept bolted shut since the beginning. but maybe that was the thing about love—it wasn’t always planned. it just asked you to be brave, even if your voice shook. even if your heart did too.

and tonight, for once, you were tired of carrying it alone.

you looked down at your hands, the scars along your knuckles, the rough skin on your palms. you exhaled.

“he asked me to promise,” you said, quietly. “right before he…”

your throat closed. you didn’t say it. didn’t have to.

her gaze didn’t leave you.

you looked straight ahead, the city stretching out in front of you like a secret you were still afraid to tell.

“he said—if i loved you, i’d let you go.”

a pause. heavy. real.

“and i did. i tried. i did everything he wanted. i thought if i could just stay away, you’d be safe. like that would be enough.”

you bit your lip. the words were tumbling now. too fast, too raw.

“but it wasn’t. it just broke us. over and over. and still—i can’t stop thinking about it. the rooftop. the blood. how i couldn’t save him. and the dreams, hanni—i see you there too, sometimes. i watch you fall and i can’t catch you. and i wake up and i’m already breaking.”

she didn’t interrupt.

you finally turned to look at her. her eyes shimmered, soft with something that wasn’t pity. it was understanding. it was something deeper. something still standing after every collapse.

“i know i keep hurting you,” you whispered. “i don’t mean to. i just—i keep thinking, if something happened to you because of me… i wouldn’t survive that.”

you swallowed. your voice dropped again.

“and i don’t know what’s worse. losing you, or knowing i was the reason.”

the silence stretched.

and then she spoke.

“love isn’t weakness,” she said, gently but firmly. “not mine. not yours. not what’s between us.”

you looked at her. her expression was steady, clear.

“you don’t make me weaker. you don’t put cracks in me. you hold me together.”

your breath caught.

“i know what your life looks like,” she said, softer now. “i know the risk. i’m not pretending i don’t. but i’m choosing this. i’m choosing you.”

she reached out, touched your hand. warm. real.

“you keep trying to protect me by pushing me away. but you don’t see it’s what’s breaking me. not the danger. not the fear. the silence. the leaving.”

your eyes burned.

she scooted a little closer, her hand now fully covering yours. “i’m stronger with you. not without. and maybe—maybe you’re stronger with me too.”

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

you leaned into her shoulder, your forehead brushing her temple. her hair smelled like something soft and familiar. and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel it—the weight in your chest loosening. the ache easing.

you were still scared. the fear didn’t vanish overnight.

but in this moment, with her hand in yours, her breath steady beside you—you didn’t feel alone in it.

and maybe that was the beginning of healing. not being unafraid. just being unafraid together.

you didn’t hear the green goblin’s cackle before you saw him. no—what you heard first was the whine of his glider splitting the wind above the city. then came the bombs, the chaos, the smoke rising into the sky like the city itself was burning. and somewhere in all that noise, all that fear, you knew: he was looking for you. or worse—he was looking for her.

you met him halfway across the skyline.

“you’re late,” he sneered, standing at the edge of the rooftop. “i was starting to think you forgot about me.”

“oh no,” you said, voice dry and sarcastic despite the tight knot in your chest, “i wouldn’t miss this date for the world.”

your body moved before your mind could catch up, launching forward with a sharp kick. he blocked it easily, laughing like it was all a game. his glider whirred behind him, circling like a vulture.

"you’re getting sloppy, spidergirl!" he shrieked, wild eyes shining like broken glass. "you’re soft. i can smell it on you."

you didn’t answer. didn’t dare. you were already bleeding—left shoulder, the same one that caught a bullet months ago. he was faster than before. stronger. crueler. you wondered what oscorp had done to him. you didn’t care enough to ask.

the two of you crashed into the side of a building, glass shattering around you. your breath caught in your throat. still, you fought. knee to his ribs, elbow to his chin. he laughed through the pain.

every punch felt heavier than the last, every dodge slower than it should’ve been. your left arm was still sore from the last fight—you hadn’t had time to rest, not really. but you pushed through it, your breath shallow and burning.

he was strong, unpredictable, but you had something he didn’t. desperation.

but even as your fists connected and your webs tangled around him, something inside you twisted. something heavy.

where was she?

you hadn’t seen her all day. hadn’t heard her voice. not even from across the classroom. you’d been keeping your distance again—because distance meant safety, right?

then you heard it. a crash. a voice.

you spun midair, only to see her.

hanni. standing beneath a flickering streetlamp, eyes wide. breathless.

you froze.

"what are you doing here?!" your voice cut through the wind, sharper than you meant. "gp—get out of here, hanni. now."

she crossed her arms, defiant even in fear. "oh, what, i’m just supposed to let you handle this alone?"

behind you, the goblin cackled again. “oooh,” he purred. “spidergirl has a girlfriend.”

your heart stopped.

“how... sweet.”

you turned too late. he was already moving. the glider howled through the air. he slipped past you with terrifying ease, grabbing hanni by the arm. she yelped, legs kicking as he lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing at all.

"hanni!" you screamed, already leaping—already too slow.

the goblin lifted her into the sky, her scream tearing through you.

“let her go!” you screamed, swinging after them with everything you had left. “you wanna fight me? fight me!”

he laughed, rising higher—hovering over the glass dome of the old clock tower.

"gladly," he sneered—and he did.

she fell.

your body moved before your thoughts did. one web shot toward her, another toward the tower behind you. time cracked open. the world slowed.

you caught her. barely. arms around her waist, your body between hers and the glass roof of the clock tower dome. you wrapped your body around hers, arms tight. you cradled her head, shielding her from the impact—shielding her head as you both slammed onto the clock tower’s glass roof. her eyes were wide, but she was breathing.

cracks spidered beneath you like veins.

"are you okay?" your voice broke on the edges. your hand shook as it cupped her cheek. "tell me you’re okay."

her fingers clutched at your suit. “i’m fine,” she whispered. “you caught me.”

you almost smiled. almost.

a pumpkin bomb landed beside you, exploding with a sharp hiss of fire and glass. it shattered the dome beneath you. glass rained down.

your web snapped taut as you both plummeted into the belly of the clock tower. your body twisted midair, webs shooting again—one, two, three—to slow your fall.

the wind roared past your ears. you landed hard, one knee buckling. hanni clung to you, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

you didn’t have time.

he was still here.

the goblin dove through the broken ceiling like a demon from the sky. his glider shrieked. you met him midair again, this time with a rage you hadn’t felt in weeks. your punches were wild, desperate. you didn’t hold back.

"stay away from her!" you screamed, voice shaking.

your mask was torn. one of your lenses cracked. the world looked like it was shattering in half.

you slammed him into the gears of the clock tower. sparks flew. he clawed at your side—sharp, jagged. you screamed. the pain lit your nerves like fire.

but you kept going.

you webbed him to the tower. the last punch cracked something in his helmet. he slumped, glider sparking. the wind stilled.

you didn’t breathe.

then—your web slipped.

“no—no no no—”

hanni’s scream snapped your head down. her weight yanked at your shoulder. your grip was faltering.

she was dangling again. the wires holding you both up strained and groaned.

"hold on!" you begged.

“i’m trying!” she gasped.

your fingers were slick with blood. your arm screamed with pain. your mask blurred from tears.

“just—just a little longer—”

her hand slipped.

you caught it again—barely.

her wrist was small in your palm. you clutched it like it was the last real thing in the world and when you finally pulled her up, cradling her to your chest, something inside you broke.

the guilt was louder than the relief.

you held her in your arms, chest heaving, the ruined clock tower groaning around you. and all you could think about was how close it had been. how you could’ve lost her.

how it would’ve been your fault.

she was safe—yes. but only for now.

the green goblin was unconscious. the tower was falling apart. you couldn’t stay. so you ran again.

you webbed her down gently—far from the wreckage, far from the fight. you didn’t say a word. didn’t dare.

you turned your back before she could stop you and you disappeared into the smoke.

you didn’t say goodbye. because this time, you didn’t know if you deserved to.

you hadn’t slept. not really. every time you closed your eyes, it was like falling into the ocean mid-storm—dark and endless, full of faces you couldn’t reach. her face. his. blood on your hands that wouldn't wash away, no matter how hard you tried. your body was tired, but your mind never stopped. it kept flipping through your memories like pages in a book that wouldn’t close.

the city felt too loud, too bright. every siren in the distance echoed inside your ribs. every rooftop you passed reminded you of a time when you felt braver. stronger. steadier. now you just felt like a ghost wearing a mask. and it was heavier than it used to be.

you disappeared for days. spidergirl went quiet. you stopped swinging. stopped saving. even stopped going to school. because you knew she’d be there. you knew you’d see her smile, or worse—her sadness. and that would break you all over again.

but she stayed in your mind. like fog at the edge of a mirror. always there. soft. persistent. you missed her so much it physically hurt. she wasn’t just someone you loved—she was safety. warmth. the only part of this life that felt like home. and you had left her again.

the guilt clawed at you. sometimes literally—phantom pain in your chest, in your spine. sometimes it was his voice, haunting your dreams, sometimes it was hers, saying your name like she was trying to pull you back from the edge. and maybe she was.

so when you saw her again, by chance—just her silhouette, standing near the old science wing of the school, under a sky that looked like it couldn’t decide whether to rain or shine—your whole body locked up. your feet didn’t move, but your heart did. violently.

she saw you too. you knew she did. she always did. and still, she waited for you to come closer.

your hands were shaking. you stuffed them into your hoodie pockets, but that didn’t stop the tremble in your jaw or the ache in your chest. every step you took felt like walking toward a memory instead of a person. and maybe that was true. because when you looked at her, all you saw was everything you lost. everything you still loved.

you stopped a few feet away from her. she was watching you with those eyes—gentle, steady, unreadable in a way that made you want to fall apart and hold her all at once.

the silence stretched between you, and your throat felt too tight to break it. and then she asked, in the softest voice:

“do you still love me?”

you tensed like she'd hit you. every bone in your body locked up. you felt everything all at once—heat, cold, fear, longing. suddenly hot, suddenly cool. suddenly sure, suddenly so afraid. the words caught in your throat like a sob that hadn’t been born yet.

your heart was beating so fast it felt slow. like it couldn’t keep up. like it didn’t know how.

she had that look on her face. not angry. not demanding. just—hopeful. quiet. like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you. needed to be sure you were still there beneath all that armor.

you swallowed. tried to breathe. your heart felt like it was fighting you from the inside out.

“…yes,” you said, so quietly it barely made it out. “i could never stop loving you.”

her breath hitched, just a little. and then—then she smiled. that warm, quiet, kind smile that you’d only ever seen on her face. like spring after a long winter. and you couldn’t understand it. you didn’t know how someone could still smile at you like that after everything.

you were still tense. your body didn’t know how to let go. your hands curled in your sleeves, your shoulders locked in place, like if you moved, the whole world might break again.

but she stepped forward, slow and careful, like approaching a scared animal. she didn’t rush you. didn’t ask for anything more. she just opened her arms.

and then—without thinking, without breathing—you stepped into them.

and it was like everything stopped.

the world, the wind, the ache in your chest—all of it just… paused.

you melted into her. fully. completely. like you’d been waiting to collapse into her since the moment you left. your arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, like you were afraid the universe might take her from you if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

she held you. didn’t speak. didn’t move. just held you, her chin resting lightly on your shoulder, her hands rubbing soft, slow circles into your back. you could feel her heartbeat against your chest. and yours slowly matched hers.

you were still crying, though you didn’t realise it until her shirt was damp beneath your cheek.

the tension in your muscles eased. the storm inside you hushed.

you weren’t okay. not yet. but for a second, just one second—you felt peace.

in that moment, love wasn’t a battlefield or a punishment. it was stillness. it was soft and warm and solid. and it was hers. and yours.

and wasn’t it love? wasn’t it love, to fall and still reach for her hand? wasn’t it love, to be broken and still show up? wasn’t it love, even if it hurt?

it wasn’t the easy kind. not the perfect kind. but the kind that holds you when you break. the kind that waits. the kind that sees the worst in you and chooses you anyway.

because right then, in her arms, you weren’t spidergirl. you weren’t a walking contradiction. you weren’t a promise failing to hold.

you were just a girl, finally safe enough to fall apart. finally brave enough to feel everything. and she held you like she’d never let you go.

and maybe that was enough. maybe for now, just this moment—just her arms around you, just your name whispered softly against your hair—was enough.

you breathed her in like oxygen and held on like you were drowning.

you stayed.

not because the fear left you—it didn’t. it still pulsed beneath your ribs like a second heartbeat. it still crept into your spine when the wind howled just a little too loud through the alleys. but for once, fear didn’t win. love did.

you stayed, even when every instinct told you to run.

even when your hands trembled lacing hers. even when you caught yourself checking over your shoulder every few steps, because danger had never needed an invitation. you stayed. not because you were brave—but because you were tired of running. tired of losing what made you feel alive.

she never asked you to promise again. not in words. not outright. but the way she looked at you—quiet, wide-eyed, waiting—it made something in you ache. not with guilt this time, but with longing. for peace. for something soft. something simple.

you sat with her on her bedroom floor, knees touching. she was playing with the edge of your sleeve like she was scared it would disappear if she stopped. the window was open. the city buzzed beneath you, but for once, it didn’t feel like it needed saving. not right now.

“you’re still here,” she whispered.

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

she touched your face so gently you almost didn’t feel it. fingers warm, brushing the edge of your jaw. you flinched—not out of fear, but disbelief. her touch always made you feel like something fragile. not broken, just precious.

you held her hand against your cheek.

“i’m scared,” you said, finally. “but i’m not going anywhere.”

her smile was small but real. the kind that grew behind the eyes first, not the mouth. “me neither.”

the moment was quiet, but not empty. there was weight in it. meaning. her thumb traced lazy circles into the back of your hand. it grounded you. like gravity—but kinder.

you walked with her after that. to school. to the bakery down the street. to the park where the grass was still damp and the sky was just starting to turn gold. you sat on benches and split pastries and let the sun hit your skin. you watched her laugh with sugar on her lips and thought, i could live in this moment forever.

at night, you didn’t swing alone anymore. not always. sometimes, she waited at the rooftop with a blanket and thermos, just to see you land. sometimes, she fell asleep there, head on your shoulder, the stars above you both like a lullaby in light.

you still fought. you still bled. the city never stopped needing you. but now, when you limped home, there was a light in her window. there was warmth in her arms. there was safety in her silence.

and every time you doubted—even for a second—she would find you. sit beside you in the dark and say nothing until your hands stopped shaking. and when you finally looked at her, scared and small and tired, she’d just say, “i know.”

and somehow, that was enough.

you told her everything. about the night on the rooftop. about your promise to her father. about how much it hurt to love her and still fear her being near you. she listened. she always did. and when you were done, breathless and broken open, she kissed your forehead like it was sacred.

“i choose this,” she said. “even when it’s hard. especially then.”

you rested your head against her shoulder and let the tears fall. you didn’t speak. didn’t move. just breathed. just existed beside her.

that night, when she touched your cheek and pulled you into her arms again, you didn’t tense. you melted.

you stayed.

and it was hard. but it was worth it.

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader

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natalievoncatte · 2 months ago

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Lena watched their new visitor as she, in turn, watched the bier that lay beneath the healing power of the Purple Ray. It had been almost a full day and while she was breathing shallow breaths, Lena’s counterpart on the table was still not awake.

The cyborg stood just outside the perimeter of the beam, as still as a statue, just watching. At various times Kara, Nia, Alex, and Diana herself had all taken up silent watch next to her, along with the honor guard of Amazonian warriors.

Lena looked at… herself. Her doppleganger tapped the name tag on her leather jacket.

“It’s easier if you just call me by my number- 938. That’s how we keep track of each other.”

Lena nodded. “Others?”

“The other Lenas. There’s about fifty on the ship right now, the core membership. There’s about three hundred of us in total. We’re the ones who can’t, or won’t, go home.”

“I see,” said Lena. “Why can’t you go back?”

938 looked at her. “It’s not a fun story.”

“I’m listening.”

“Let me show you something.”

She held out her wrist. There was a piece of tech on her arm, like a bulky smart watch. When she activated it, a three dimensional holographic display appeared above the smooth surface. 938 pointed out the branches of what looked like a huge tree.

“The multiverse is much larger than you can imagine. I’ve spent some time charting a small section of it. See this branch?” she indicated one with a sweep of her finger. “This the reality cluster I come from. Our worlds are different from yours. I believe it’s because the divergence point, where the two universes split on a quantum continuity level, is further back in history. I think some of the changes can go all the way back to the Big Bang.”

“There’s so many,” said Lena.

998 nodded. “There are. There are worlds like yours, but many others like mine. We have no protectors. No Kryptonians. No Lanterns. There are worlds out there where no one has powers at all.”

“But not yours,” said Lena.

938 turned off the device, and turned away from the scene behind them. “For me it started with a lab accident. A genetically modified spider was irradiated and bit me before it died. It’d escaped from an enclosure in another lab and got zapped by my own experiment. I was sick for three days. When I came out of it, I had the proportionate strength, speed, and agility of an arachnid, plus a precognitive danger sense and spinarettes in my wrists.”

“You became a superhero?”

“Yes,” said 938. “For all the good it did. I fought the good fight for a few years and eventually ran afoul of a new gang in town. The problem was that it was led by my own brother.”

“Lex,” Lena spat.

“He’d experimented on himself. Used an unstable steroid. It drove him utterly insane and he started wearing a goblin costume and flying around on a rocket powered glider.”

“Oh God,” said Lena.

“My universe doesn’t have a Krypton. My Kara was human, only human, and I loved her with all my heart. I couldn’t breathe without her. She was my everything. I tried to keep her safe, so I kept my identity and my feelings from her, but it didn’t matter. Lex knew. He abducted her and threw her off the George Washington Bridge.”

938 looked away. “I thought I had her. I tried to use my webs to catch her but I didn’t think and the shock… I’m the one who killed her really. The sudden stop snapped her neck.”

Lena stared at her.

“I’m so sorry.”

938 shook her head. “I fought Lex after that. I was in a rage. I killed him in front of thousands of witnesses. I broke his neck, almost twisted his head off. It didn’t matter. She was still gone, and nothing would ever fill that void. I hung up my costume and turned back to science, trying to build something meaningful in Kara’s name, but no matter how many labs and fellowships I named after her it was never enough. That was how I stumbled across the multiverse, working on a portal device in my lab.”

“You found yourself, I take it. Or ourself.”

“No. I found another Kara, and in a world with no Lena. She was alone. I crossed over with some of my tech, never planning to go back. Then I realized, that woman wasn’t her. All I could ever be to her was someone grooming her to be a dead woman from another world. I despaired for a while, jumping from ‘verse to ‘verse, trying to find some reason to keep going.”

“What did you find?” said Lena.

“Lena 1467, the Sorcerer Supreme of her Earth. She’d lost her Kara too, in a car accident when they were med students. That was when the League of Lenas got going. We found more of us, started assembling a team.”

“To do what?”

998 looked at the cyborg. “Fix it. Save her.” She sighed. “Our main mission is to help out and protect as many Karas as we can, but also to protect the multiverse from rogue Karas or rogue Lenas that might breach the barriers between universes.”

“I’m assuming that’s to prevent wars between timelines.”

938 shook her heads. “No. Not long after I started traveling I had… an experience. I only vaguely remember it but there were these yellow aliens and they told me that we had to protect the branches from each other so that some kind of corruption won’t reach what they called the ‘core world’ or the ‘Ab-Juda-Earth.’ The multiverse needs superheroes. We have to exist to keep it alive.”

“So you’re here to help the cyborg?”

“Both of them.”

“You know,” said Lena. “The cyborg Kara mentioned something about yellow aliens when I first met her, but I didn’t think to ask-“

“She’s awake!” The cyborg was saying. “She’s awake, let me see her!”

Lena turned and found both her Kara and Diana holding the cyborg back.

“Shut off the Ray,” Diana commanded.

Once it was off, the pair released the cyborg. She lunged across the space, limping as her metal foot clacked on the floor, slowing as she reached the bier.

“Kara?”

Lena watched, 998 standing next to her. The cyborg kept her distance, suddenly apprehensive. The other Lena slowly sat up, finally prompting the cyborg to move.

“Lena?” she rasped.

The other Lena- thinner, visibly older with strands of gray shot through her hair, smiled and cupped the fleshy side of Kara’s face with her hand.

“You found me.”

“I found you. My love. My zhao. My red sunrise. I found you.”

“It’s going to be alright, baby,” said the other Lena. “I can fix you up. I’ll make you better.”

The cyborg took a deep, rasping breath, closed her eyes, and collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap.

“Move!” 938 shouted. “We don’t have time, we have to help her now. Princess, I need to jump my ship into your airspace. Please.”

“Who are you? What’s happening?” the other Lena demanded.

“Trust us, please,” said Lena. “You’re among friends here and we want to help you.”

938 was speaking into her watch.

“I need you now, hurry.”

Outside, a booming shockwave sent a blast of air through the open, airy temple, almost gusting Lena off her feet. Her Kara steadied her, then lifted her cyborg counterpart gently in her arms.

“Get her aboard my ship,” said 998.

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yannawayne · 11 months ago

Text

iii. 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, Gunshot wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

A wave of stunned stares passed around the table. Tim quickly typed something on his laptop, his fingers moving with practiced speed. He then turned the screen around for everyone to see. The headline on the screen read:

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration.

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

 ༻⊰───⋅

GOTHAM WAS BEAUTIFUL. The city's lights stretched out below you like a glittering sea, each pinprick of light a mesmerizing dance of color and shadow. The towering, sleek skyscrapers stood tall and proud, their glass facades reflecting a mosaic of neon hues and starlight. Between them, narrow alleys wove like dark veins through the city's heart, their secrets hidden from view. The flicker of billboards and the intermittent flash of police sirens were the rapid, erratic beats, sudden bursts that pierced the otherwise steady thrum of urban life.

Even from above, the city's heartbeat was loud, a living, breathing entity that pulsed with a desperate rhythm. No matter how one might describe it or what reasons one might offer, you found Gotham to be beautiful. Even now, despite the terror you felt in the moment.

From the shadows, Selina's gaze was sharp, her helmet reflecting the fragmented light of the city. She leaned casually against the metal railing, watching you carefully.

You took a deep breath, the cool, crisp air stinging your lungs and sharpening your senses. Every muscle in your body tensed as you focused on the edge of the building. The drop was dizzying, a thousand feet of dark emptiness that seemed to call out to you with both a thrilling invitation and a stark warning.

"All it takes is a leap of fate," Selina’s voice cut through the wind.

Once you jumped, there was no turning back. It was a point of no return, a decision that would define the trajectory of your night and perhaps your life.

"That's all it takes."

Her words echoed in your mind, mingling with the roar of the wind and the hum of the city. Slowly, you moved, your foot pressing forward until you were on the side of the building. The glass beneath you felt like a lifeline, each shift of your weight sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

A leap of fate.

With one final, steadying breath, you adjusted your stance, your legs bending in preparation.

And then, with the night sky as your backdrop and Gotham as your stage, you leaped. The glass shattered beneath your feet, a shower of fragments raining down as you soared into the void. The world below rushed up to meet you, the sensation of falling merging with the thrill of flight.

For a fleeting moment, you were suspended between sky and earth.

Then you reached out with a steady hand, launching your web into the night.

THWIP.

The web shot upward, a silken thread connecting you to the distant skyscraper. In an instant, you were soaring through the air, the rush of wind against your face and Gotham a blur of lights below.

You were flying.

Swinging through the city, you rushed past streets and towering buildings. People looked up in awe, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights as they followed your form.

You shot up and soared past the metro tracks, the rhythmic clatter of trains below blending with the distant hum of the city. Each swing carried you further, higher, and faster, weaving through the urban landscape with the freedom of flight.

Gotham unfolded before you, a sprawling playground, and for a brief, exhilarating moment, you were unstoppable.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 2:32PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

A Few Months Later.

Over the past few months, you had quickly settled into your role as Spidey. The initial buzz of your debut had faded, leaving you working in Gotham's shadows. You were recognized by locals and criminals but had yet to make a significant impact on the city's larger stage. The occasional mention in articles was nice, but it mostly felt like a footnote compared to Gotham's big-name heroes.

Headlines were dominated by the likes of Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin. They were the ones who made the news, while you were still working your way up from the minor leagues.

In the beginning, Damian—Robin—seemed to have made it his personal mission to keep tabs on you. You’d spotted him a few times, lurking in the shadows with those white lenses glaring at you like he was waiting for you to mess up. It was almost amusing, if not a bit intimidating. It felt like he was waiting for you to do something spectacularly dumb, just so he could swoop in.

But as time went on, it became clear you weren’t exactly shaking up Gotham’s chaos. Your focus was on street-level crimes, dealing with the petty crooks and local thugs who didn’t warrant much more than a scowl from the bigger players. Damian, realizing you were more of a nuisance than a game-changer, gradually eased off. It was like you’d been demoted from “potential problem” to “minor annoyance,” and with that realization, he redirected his attention to Gotham’s bigger, more pressing issues.

And well, it was fine. You played the part of the neighborhood’s friendly Spidey with ease, dishing out smiles and saving the day. On the surface, everything seemed under control. But beneath the mask, a different story brewed. Restlessness gnawed at you, a persistent itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

The city’s shadows felt darker these days, more oppressive. You’d heard the whispers and seen the signs—Black Mask was back, and he was even more violent than before.

It was like he was putting on a show just for you, as if he was daring you to do something more, to be more.

Welcome to the Hotel California Such a lovely place (such a lovely place) Such a lovely face Plenty of room at the Hotel California Any time of year (any time of year) You can find it here—

Your music is abruptly cut off when your earbuds are yanked from your ears. You groan and turn, only to find Morgan smirking at you, casually swinging your earbuds between her fingers.

Over the past few months, you and Morgan had grown incredibly close—best friends, if you would call it that. Morgan’s hair was now cropped into a short pixie cut, and her wardrobe seemed to be mirroring yours more and more. Whether this influence was good or not was still up for debate in your mind.

“Asshat, give those back!” you snarl, reaching for the earbuds.

Morgan just smirks and leans out of your reach. “Oh, come on. What’s got you so pissy today?”

You groan and slump into your seat, burying your face in your jacket. “Just a lot on my mind. Ugh. I want to go home.”

“You’ve been in a funk for days. What’s up? You’re acting like the world’s about to implode.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to look up. “It might as well. Things are getting insane out there.”

“It’s Gotham,” Morgan shrugs, tossing your earbuds back. You catch them with one hand and stuff them into your pocket. “Thought you’d be used to this crap by now.”

“I am used to it, but what’s that supposed to do, Starky?” You roll your eyes again, and Morgan grimaces at the nickname. “Am I just supposed to dance it away? Pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not?”

Morgan’s eyes narrow, and she gives you a hard stare. “Look, I get it. Shit’s messed up. But moping around isn’t gonna fix anything.”

You sigh and lean over your finished worksheet, erasing some of the leftover pencil scribbles. “It’s easy for you to say. You live in a penthouse with a view of the city. For you, it’s like Gotham’s just a playground.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping onto her face. “Well, if you’re so stressed, maybe you need a little pampering. I could always offer to be your sugar mommy.”

You snort, shaking your head with a small chuckle. “You'd go broke trying to pay for my therapy. Gotham’s therapists charge extra for dealing with our kind of crazy. Hell. One of them literally became a villain herself.”

“Oh, come on," Morgan’s grin widens as she leans closer. "You’ve already got a sugar daddy anyway, don’t you? Damian’s practically a walking trust fund.”

“Had to secure my future,” you grin back, leaning over her side of the table. You point to one problem on her worksheet, circling a mistake with your pencil. “By the way, you got that wrong.”

Morgan looks down, eyes widening in surprise. “Damn. I thought I had that down. You’re really good at this.”

“Weeks of practice and 3AM cramming sessions,” you say with a shrug, leaning back in your seat. “It’s nothing.”

Morgan seems to think for a moment before glancing back at you. “Speaking of securing your future, have you ever thought about applying for an internship? I know a spot at Stark Industries that’s opening up soon.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your tone. “Stark Industries? Your dad's company? Why would I want to go there? Isn’t that where all the corporate rivalries come into play?”

“Not all of them," Morgan laughs, shaking her head. "I get it, though. There’s definitely some bad blood between the Waynes and the Starks. But this internship could be a game-changer for you. You’d get real experience, and it’d look impressive on your CV.”

You hum, your fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t know. Damian might maul me.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and nudged you playfully. "Come on, just think about it. It's a great opportunity, and I'd be there to make sure you don't get lost in the corporate jungle. If you're going to be Damian's trophy wife, you need to get used to dealing with this stuff. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it."

You sigh, considering her offer. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But no promises. Things are a bit... chaotic right now.”

Morgan nods, clearly understanding. “Fair enough. Just keep it in mind. It could be a real game-changer for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it on the list,” you say, managing a small smile.

Class ends and you both gather your things, making your way into the hallway. The corridor is a chaotic swirl of students, their chatter and footsteps echoing off the lockers and tiled floors. Damian is leaning against your locker, his usual stony expression slightly marred by an air of impatience as he waits for you.

Morgan, walking beside you, suddenly reaches out and gives your ass a playful slap. You yelp in surprise, causing Damian to straighten up and cast a sharp, puzzled look at Morgan, who just grins mischievously.

“What the fuck,” you laugh, shoving Morgan lightly.

“Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t keep me waiting too long,” Morgan smirks. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, then shifts to Damian, who’s watching her with a fiery, barely disguised jealousy. She turns and strolls away, Damian glaring daggers into the back of her head like he’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“Later!” she calls over her shoulder with a wave, her grin as smug as a cat who’s just pissed in your shoe.

You walk up towards Damian, moving a hand to squeeze at his bicep. “Dames, are you okay?”

“She’s quite forward, isn’t she?” he murmurs, placing a hand over yours.

“She’s my best friend. Just loves to mess with me,” you snort. Standing on your tiptoes, you lean in and press a quick, affectionate kiss against his cheek. “And don’t worry, I’m all yours—no matter how much she tries to steal me away.”

Damian’s scowl softens slightly, though a trace of irritation still lingers in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today."

He pushes himself off your locker with a subtle sigh. His gaze flickers with a hint of hesitation before he clears his throat and turns his full attention to you.

“Would you care to join my family for dinner tonight?” he asks, shifting on his feet. “I’m planning to take the night off from patrol. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time together. You could stay the weekend if you’d like.”

You hesitate, your mind occupied with your own plans. “Thanks for the offer, Damian, but I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. I’m really looking forward to a quiet night there.”

Home being the safehouse. Quiet being patrol. You wanted to kick some ass tonight.

Damian’s face visibly falls, his nose scrunching up in disappointment.

“Oh,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I see. I guess I should have expected that,” he adds, his attempt at indifference coming off as strained.

He shifts his stance, straightening as if to regain his composure, but a subtle downturn of his lips betrays his frustration. “Are you sure you can’t spare a moment? I thought we might enjoy some uninterrupted time together.”

You shake your head gently and smile as you smooth your hand through his hair, fixing the few stray strands that have gone askew. “I really have to go. There’s too much on my plate right now, and Mom wants me back early.”

Damian turns his head to the side, gently batting your hand away before reaching up to fix his own hair, running his fingers through it. His shoulders slump, and he clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hide his disappointment. “Fine. If you have to put other things ahead of spending time with me, I guess there’s nothing more to be said.”

You notice the strain in his posture and chuckle, reaching out to squeeze his arms. “I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

Damian’s eyes soften a little as you lean in and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His eyes close momentarily, long lashes brushing against his cheeks.

When you pull back, Damian’s gaze meets yours, a touch warmer than before.

“Very well,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more tender tone. “I’ll be waiting for your call tonight.”

You offer a reassuring smile, then turn and head off, feeling his gaze on you until you blend into the crowd. Damian watches you go, the tension in his posture easing as he takes a deep breath. With a frustrated huff, he reaches for his car keys and makes his way to the parking lot, grumbling to himself.

He'll make sure to lift extra hard tonight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:32PM - Personal Gym, Wayne Manor.

The gym at Wayne Manor is bathed in a subdued, moody light that stretches long shadows across the polished floors and sleek, high-tech equipment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat, mingling with the low hum of an overworked air conditioner trying—and failing—to keep up with the rising heat.

Damian stands in front of the deadlift bar, wrapping straps around his wrists with a practiced grip. His rough hands pull the straps tight, the material digging into his skin as he secures them. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles.

Please could you stop the noise? I'm tryna get some rest From all the unborn chicken Voices in my head What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android) What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)

Music thunders through his headphones, creating a personal soundscape that drowns out the rest of the world. He's dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie, both soaked through with sweat.

Bending down, he grips the bar, his knuckles turning white. With a powerful grunt, he starts the lift. The barbell, loaded with an impressive weight, rises steadily. Damian’s face contorts with the effort as he concentrates on keeping his breathing steady and controlled.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and damp strands of hair fall over his molten eyes, clinging to his skin. Normally, Damian keeps his hair cut short, maintained to match his routine. But lately, his schedule has been packed, and his bangs have grown longer than usual. He grits his teeth, pushing through the lift, doing his best to ignore the annoying feel of hair brushing against his sweat-slicked face.

CLANG!

After a few seconds, Damian drops the bar with a resounding crash that echoes through the gym, the metal slamming against the floor and ringing off the walls. His headphones slip off his ears, falling onto the floor. With a sharp, frustrated snap, he flings his weight belt aside; the leather slaps the ground with a solid thud. Letting out an irritated scoff, he breathes heavily, his anger evident in each exhale.

In another corner of the gym, Tim is deep into his calisthenics routine, his body moving fluidly as he pulls himself up on the bar. His back muscles ripple with each movement, sweat glistening on his skin. He casts a curious glance toward Damian, his eyebrow arching at the loud crash.

“Not joining Bruce for patrol tonight?” Tim calls out.

Damian, clearly irked, casts a sidelong glance at Tim. “Grayson and Todd are out, as is Batwoman. They are more than capable of handling themselves. Unlike certain individuals I could name.”

Tim, ignoring the jab, looks at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I have a life outside of Robin,” Damian retorts. “Unlike you, who seems to think that withering in front of the Batcomputer is the epitome of existence.”

Tim, rolling his eyes, sneers, “You’re just being a jackass because you’re stuck here sulking. It’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Damian’s scowl deepens. “It’s about clearing my head. Sometimes pushing myself physically helps with... other stuff.”

For most of them, working out is just a way to blow off steam or handle their emotions. Damian’s go-to routines are cardio and weights—anything that lets him channel his inner rage and frustration into something productive. Tonight, though, he’s taking it to another level.

Tim heads over to the water dispenser, his footsteps light as he moves. As he passes Damian, he delivers a playful but firm punch to Damian’s arm—not hard enough to cause real pain, but definitely with some intent. Damian scowls, rubbing his arm and shooting Tim a sharp look.

“Whatever works, I guess,” Tim shrugs, taking a chug from his water bottle. His Adam's apple bobs with the effort as he swallows.

“Patrols have been a washout the past few days,” Damian murmurs, wrapping his knuckles as he prepares for a boxing session. “I doubt anything of importance is going to happen.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:04 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

"WOO!"

The night breeze rushes past you, a cool whisper against your face as you spin through the Gotham skyline. Below, the city sprawls in a chaotic mosaic of flickering lights and deep shadows. You glide through the air, the fabric of your suit rustling softly in the wind. Beneath you, the streets are a patchwork of cobblestones and cracked asphalt, each corner a reminder of where you’ve fought, protected, and survived.

Tonight is unusually slow. A surprise considering the area you patrol is a district near Crime Alley.

The vicinity around Queens in rundown Gotham, urbanized but not as bustling as the busier business districts, usually teems with activity. The area, close to the docks, is a maze of clustered buildings and the occasional factory, their smokestacks cutting dark silhouettes against the night sky.

The distant hum of machinery from the factories blends with the occasional sound of waves lapping against the docked ships. From your vantage point, you can see the bridge stretching out in the distance, its lights twinkling against the darkness.

Just as you start to think the night might pass without incident, you hear a distant commotion—a series of hollers and shouts echoing through the narrow streets. Your eyes narrow as you scan the area, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Then you spot her: a woman sprinting frantically down the street, her cries of terror slicing through the night air. Her short-cut hair whips around her face, and her wide eyes reflect sheer panic. Hot on her heels, a group of men give chase, their grotesque laughter bubbling up from their throats like a pack of pigs rooting through garbage.

Your heart skips a beat as recognition slams into you.

It’s Morgan.

Wait—what the hell is she doing here?

Morgan, who has no business being anywhere near this part of town—especially not at this hour—stands out like a sore thumb. She lives miles away in the heart of the city, far removed from this grim neighborhood near Crime Alley. Queens Street feels like a different world compared to her usual haunts.

Without hesitation, you dive down from the rooftop, landing with a thud that cuts through the night’s tension like a knife. The sudden appearance of your figure causes an immediate hush.

"Hey, kid! Stay behind me," you call out, changing your voice to sound deeper. "I’ve got this covered."

Morgan, clearly relieved but still visibly shaken, nods and takes a step back, her trust in you evident despite the fear in her eyes.

Cracking your knuckles, you address the would-be assailants.

"Gentlemen," you say, “Shall we resolve this quickly, or do you wanna continue your charade?"

One of them sneers, “Look who decided to crash the party. Here to play hero?”

You tilt your head, scratching at your neck. “Wow, I must be slacking if I’m getting an invite to parties like this. But hey, if you’re offering free entertainment, who am I to refuse?”

THWIP.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at one of the thugs, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying up to dangle from a nearby street lamp. He struggles and curses as he hangs there, the webbing holding him securely.

Another thug charges in, swinging a crude metal pipe. You leap over him effortlessly, grabbing the pipe mid-air and twirling it like a baton. “Wow, talk about a swing and a miss. I’d say better luck next time, but I’m not really into giving second chances.”

"Whoop!" You deliver a swift kick to his side, sending him sprawling into a nearby alley. He crashes into a heap of garbage with a muffled thud.

The remaining thugs, now visibly annoyed, glance at each other, clearly weighing their options. One of them, the largest and most boisterous of the group, musters up some bravado. He cracks his knuckles and sneers, “You think you’re funny, huh? I’ll show you funny!”

You raise an eyebrow and sigh dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to have a nice chat?” You flick your wrist and a web shoots out, sticking over his mouth. “There you go! Now we can all enjoy some quiet time.”

He charges at you with a muffled, bull-like roar, but you easily sidestep, letting him stumble past. As he tries to regain his balance, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking him back and sending him crashing into a stack of wooden pallets. The crates topple over with a loud clatter, and he ends up sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

!!!

Your senses tingles just in time. Another thug lunges at you with a wild swing, and you catch his fist mid-air, twisting his arm with a practiced flick. Using his own momentum, you deliver a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling backward. He crashes against a nearby wall, dazed and disoriented. Quickly, you shoot a web at him, pinning him against the wall.

The last thug, now clearly outmatched, takes a step back, his form shaking. “You’re not worth it,” he mutters, raising his hands in surrender.

You laugh and walk over to him with a thumbs up. “That’s the best decision you’ve made all night.”

You shoot a web at his feet, pinning him in place. “Why don’t you just sit tight and enjoy the show? I’m sure the boys in blue will be along shortly.”

With the thugs now subdued and securely webbed up, you turn to Morgan, who’s watching with wide eyes. She lets out a shaky breath, clearly relieved.

“You know,” you say slowly, deepening your voice, “I didn’t expect to see Tony Stark’s daughter in a place like this. What’s the story?”

“Oh. Oh, you… know who I am,” Morgan says, catching her breath and chuckling weakly. “Well, I was just out for a... walk, and I made a wrong turn. Next thing I know, I’m being chased by a bunch of guys.”

"Uh-huh," you say, shaking your head with a hint of disbelief, the slits of your mask narrowing as you scrutinize her. "You’ve got a real knack for picking your strolls. Queens is kind of a crime magnet, you know. And you, being as famous as you are, might as well have a bullseye on your back. Just saying."

Morgan’s expression shifts to embarrassment, red flushing her cheeks. “Yeah, I know. I actually came here to meet someone about some tech. You know, to see if I could get my hands on something... a bit more... advanced.”

You raise an eyebrow, perplexed. “Advanced tech? You’re like... Tony Stark’s daughter. You have more tech at your disposal than most governments. Are you sure it's not drugs?”

"I am not a crackhead!" Morgan scowls and sends you a glare. “Sometimes, it’s not just about having access. It’s about finding unique pieces or... getting a better deal. Plus, sneaking out to do something on my own—well, it’s a bit of an adventure.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Teenage angst? Really?"

"Where’s the fun in having everything handed to you on a silver platter?" Morgan smirks. "A little thrill never hurt anyone.”

You just wave a hand at her, shaking your head again. “Fair point. Just please try not to make it a habit of going out at night alone. You uh... got a ride home?"

Morgan licks her lips, her expression thoughtful. "Guess... Guess I could call my dad."

You nod, giving her a thumbs up. "Good idea. And remember, if you ever find yourself in a pinch again, don’t hesitate to call for help. I patrol Queens. Just... don't make this a habit."

Morgan lets out a chuckle, her nerves easing. “I’ll do my best. Thanks for the rescue.”

With that, you turn and leap into the night, your form quickly vanishing into the darkness as you swing away. A sudden tingle on the back of your neck makes you glance back, but you see Morgan still standing there, her gaze fixed on where you disappeared.

You brush off the feeling—must have been a false alarm.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 3:18 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

After a few hours, you decide it’s time to call it a night. Returning to your warehouse, you strip off your suit and slip into civilian clothes. Stepping out into the dimly lit streets, you keep your head low and your pace casual, blending seamlessly into the nocturnal cityscape. Gotham's alleys and shadows are no place for the spotlight, and drawing attention could be dangerous. Here, the key to staying safe is blending in—letting the city's dark corners swallow you up.

You pull out your phone and dial Damian’s number. Sure, you can handle yourself, but right now, you're out in your civilian identity. Better to play it safe.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na…Batman!

The Batman ringtone echoes softly in the alley, its familiar chime cutting through the muted sounds of the city. You can’t help but smile at the stupid thing—the Batman brand (made without Batman's permission) has become so popular that it’s practically a commercial empire. Bruce, of course, loathes it. He's filed at least twenty lawsuits trying to shut it down, but the brand keeps growing.

There’s even Robin merch, which you’ve collected obsessively over the years, much to Damian’s embarrassment. He’s never quite gotten used to his persona being reduced to a collectible item, but your enthusiasm for it is well-known.

After a few rings, Damian picks up, his voice steady and unmistakable. “Habibti?”

“Hey, Dames,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “Just checking in. How’s everything on your end?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or fabric in the background before he responds. “Everything’s fine. Just buried in homework. Why are you calling so late?”

You detect the edge of concern in his voice, and it makes you smile. “Oh, just heading home. Got a bit wrapped up with some errands. Didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Damian’s tone sharpens, his concern clearly growing. “Errands? At this hour? Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park after dark. Why are you out alone? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”

“I’m fine, Damian," you reply, sidestepping a wet puddle on the street. "Just a few things I needed to take care of. I’m heading home now, so no worries.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late, especially not alone,” he insists, his voice taking on that familiar stern tone. “Do you realize how many things can go wrong? You could be in grave danger..”

“I promise, I’m being careful," you assure him. "I’ll be home soon. Just wanted to check in and let you know I’m okay.”

Damian doesn’t relent. “Fine. But stay on the line until you’re home. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease lightly. “But okay, I’ll stay on the line.”

There’s a soft huff from him, as though he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Good. And, for the record, I’m not being dramatic. I’m being cautious.”

“Whatever you say,” you reply, your tone light. “By the way, are you free tomorrow? There’s this new comic shop I wanted to check out.”

Damian perks up at that.

Finally.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the chance to enjoy a proper date. The usual routines—dinner out, a movie, or just hanging out—have been squeezed out by the demands of Gotham. Damian felt the lack more than he’d like to admit. He’s missed them—missed you.

“Yes, I’m available," he says, almost too quickly. He doesn't want to seem overly eager, but the anticipation is hard to hide. "I’ll make time and pick you up. What time, beloved?"

“How about noon?” you suggest, swinging your keys lightly as you approach your apartment building. “That should give us plenty of time to explore the shop and maybe grab lunch afterward.”

You reach your apartment building and slip inside, the familiar creak of the door signaling your return. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching, you crouch and bound up the flight of stairs in quick, powerful jumps, reaching your floor in mere seconds.

Heading down the hallway, you adjust your phone and catch the end of Damian’s statement just in time.

“—I’ll be there at noon,” Damian confirms, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

“Great,” you smile as you fumble with the lock. The sound of the key turning in the door echoes softly in the quiet hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally open the door, stepping into the comforting familiarity of your home.

"I'm looking forward to it,” you continue, kicking off your shoes and setting them neatly by the door. “I’m home now, by the way! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the other end, Damian’s voice comes through the phone, warm and laced with the faintest hint of affection. “I shall see you then,” he replies, his care evident even through the small, digital speaker. “Goodnight, beloved.”

There’s a moment of silence as his words linger.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, letting the warmth of his voice settle before you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

You slip your phone into your pocket and step into your living room, where the soft glow of the television fills the room. A Filipino drama plays on the screen, its melodramatic dialogue and heartfelt scenes subtitled in English. The rest of the room is shrouded in dimness, with only the flickering light of the TV breaking through the darkness.

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you notice Selina perched on a bar stool at the counter. She’s cradling a steaming cup of coffee, its rich aroma wafting through the air. Her gaze lifts to meet yours as you enter, curiosity etched across her features.

“You’re home a lot later than usual, honey,” she comments.

You pour yourself a glass of water, the quiet clink of the glass against the faucet a small comfort. You sit down across from her, the chair creaking slightly under your weight. “Yeah, it’s been one of those nights. I wrapped up patrol and ended up dealing with some trouble. Nothing major, though. But I did run into someone.”

Selina takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Who?”

“Morgan,” you say with a grim look. “She was out in Queens on some sort of tech hunt. Had to give her a little lecture about roaming Gotham alone.”

“The redhead? That’s definitely unusual. What was she after?”

“She was hunting for some tech—apparently, even with the best gadgets at her disposal, she thought Gotham had something special,” you explain.

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Typical Stark. Always chasing the next shiny thing. Did you know her dad’s been trying to worm his way with the Bats lately?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

Selina takes a sip of her coffee, her expression bemused. “He’s been throwing money at them, trying to fund their operations. He’s got this obsessive need to upgrade superhero tech. Batman’s been turning him down flat. I guess his ego took a hit.”

You laugh, taking a swig of your water. “Can you imagine Tony Stark trying to ‘help’ Batman?”

“If those two could ever check their egos long enough to actually collaborate, it’d be a miracle,” she scoffed.

“Speaking of which,” you say, dumping your cup back into the sink, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Damian or Bruce would freak out if I accepted Morgan’s invitation for a Stark internship?”

Selina’s grin widens. “Oh, honey, that’s a show I’d pay to see. Damian would hit a 100 on the scale of overreaction. Bruce might be a bit more restrained, but he’d definitely hit an 11.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Lovely. Just what I need.”

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Remember when Bruce tried to offer you an internship? The look on his face when you turned him down was priceless.”

A twinge of awkwardness settles over you, and you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, that was... something. It’s like he had this whole script for how he wanted the conversation to go, and when it didn’t, he kind of just... froze.”

Selina’s gaze softens a bit. “He thinks of you like family. And with you and Damian getting serious, he’s probably bracing himself for the long haul.”

You groan as you push yourself off the sink and head toward your room. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:03 PM - Empire Comics, Gotham City.

RING.

The bell above the door jingles as you and Damian step into the bustling comic shop. The aroma of ink, paper, and coffee fills the air, blending with the hum of excited conversations and the occasional laugh.

You’re sporting a casual look: a red cap with a Robin symbol on it, jeans, a white Batman shirt, and Damian’s soccer jacket draped over your shoulders. Damian is clad in his usual fit—a dark turtleneck, crisp cream pants, and black boots. He looks every bit the model for a high-fashion magazine, even in a comic shop.

The walls are lined with shelves packed full of colorful comic books and graphic novels. Display cases highlight rare editions and collector’s items, their glass gleaming under the shop’s lights. You’re in your element, eyes wide as you scan the rows, your fingers brushing the spines of the comics.

Grabbing one off the shelf, you flip it over with a grin, admiring the glossy cover. It’s an edition you’ve been eyeing for a while—a real gem.

“Do you want that?” Damian asks, his eyes flickering from the comic in your hands to your face. There’s a sharpness in his gaze, as if he's trying to dissect you with his eyes.

You nod, barely containing your excitement. “Definitely. It’s one of the limited editions I’ve been after.” You flip the comic over, eyes lingering on the price as you clutch it a little tighter.

Without a beat, Damian reaches for his wallet. “Let me handle it.”

A protest rises in your throat, but Damian cuts you off with a look that could freeze lava. His scowl deepens. “No arguments. It’s a treat for today.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Damian swiftly pulls the hood of your jacket over your eyes. “If you keep insisting on paying, I’ll just take back my jacket.”

“What?!” you hiss, instinctively clutching the jacket closer around you. “No way! You don’t even wear this.”

“Precisely. Which means I can reclaim it as a bargaining chip.” Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, smug satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now, if you don’t let me handle this, the jacket’s going back to my closet. I suggest you reconsider.”

It takes a few more minutes of his gentle but insistent threats, before you finally give up. As he heads to the counter, you glance around the shop, taking in the array of comics and collectibles.

A newspaper rack catches your attention. The headline boldly reads:

“Spidey Foils Attack on Morgan Stark: Hero Swings in to Save the Day”

Damian returns shortly after, handing you the paper bag with a triumphant smirk. You beam at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. Damian hums at your affection, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close.

Emerald eyes flick to the newspaper on the rack, his expression shifting slightly.

“Stark was in an altercation?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. He leans closer, the scent of freshly printed ink mixing with the rich, smoky aroma of his cologne.

You glance at the newspaper, the pages rustling softly as you turn them to face him. “Looks like it. It’s been a while since I saw a headline like this. Spidey doesn’t get as much press as you guys do.”

“Speaking of Morgan,” you say slowly, deciding it’s time to rip off the bandage. You lean against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of your jacket. “I was actually thinking about applying for an internship at Stark Industries. It could be a great opportunity, you know? She’s offered me a spot.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Damian’s expression shifts from casual interest to a full-blown scowl. His lips curl back, revealing a flash of teeth, and the muscle of his jaw rolls beneath bronze skin.

“Wayne Industries is far superior.”

Rolling your eyes, you allow a hint of amusement to creep into your voice. “Oh. I know. But Morgan’s offering me a spot. And honestly, it could be a huge opportunity.”

Damian’s eyes narrow, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve offered you spots and programs at Wayne Industries before. Why accept hers but not mine?”

You deadpan. “I’m your girlfriend. They’d just see me as a nepotism hire.”

Damian grumbles in response, his expression darkening as he reaches for the newspaper. His fingers brush against the glossy paper with a soft rustle, and his gaze locks onto the photo of your vigilante form, captured mid-swing through the city. The image is dynamic, full of motion and energy, but Damian’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes it.

You shift on your feet, the squeak of your Converse against the floor drawing his attention. Trying to break the tension, you clear your throat. “So,” you begin, your tone light but with a hint of curiosity, “have you ever encountered Spidey on the job?”

Damian’s expression hardens at the mention. His lips thin into a line, and a look of disapproval settles over his features.

“The Spider?” he scoffs “From what I’ve seen, they’re nothing more than an amateur.”

You feel a pang of offense at his harsh words but manage to keep your expression carefully neutral. “Really? I’ve heard they’ve done some impressive things.”

Damian’s emerald eyes lock onto yours, the frustration behind them clear as day. “Impressive?” he retorts, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “If you consider reckless behavior and a complete lack of tact impressive, then sure. But to me, it’s far from professional.”

Ouch. That was expected, but it still stung.

“Everyone has their own style,” you say, your eyes fixed on the floor as you run your tongue over your lips. “What might seem clumsy to one person could be strategic for someone else.”

“Strategic?” Damian spits out in a laugh. The newspaper crumples under his grip. “Their approach is more about spectacle than substance. They swing around like a circus act, with no real strategy. It’s a wonder they manage to accomplish anything at all.”

Frowning, you look back at Damian, who stands rigid, his shoulders tensed. “Maybe their methods look a bit rough, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t making a difference. They’ve managed to help a lot of people.”

“Helping people isn’t just about flashy moves and headlines,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He shoves the paper back onto its shelf, the paper crumpling from the force.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, struggling to control the anger rising within you. As much as you loved Damian, his insufferable egotism could be unbearable at times. Your eyes focus on the comic book display, the vibrant covers searing into your retinas.

“You’re one to talk,” you can’t help but snap. “Robin and Batman are practically on the front pages almost every week. And what, you’re saying their efforts are worthless just because they don’t meet your standards? That’s pretty unfair. Just because they deal with lesser threats doesn’t mean they’re any less of a hero than you guys are.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian hisses, his tone sharper than intended. The sting of your criticism and his bruised ego fuel his words.

Damian craves validation more than he likes to admit. His entire life has been a constant battle to prove himself—whether it’s measuring up to his father’s expectations, competing with his peers, or affirming his place within the shadow of his legacy. He’s used to being the one in control, the one whose actions are seen as perfect. When that perception is challenged, it’s not just his skills or methods that are questioned; it’s his very worth.

The irony, of course, is that your approval matters more to him than anyone else’s. Your opinion matters to him, and your criticism hits harder than any public scrutiny ever could.

“I’m saying that they’re trying to help!” you snap, your voice rising to match his. From behind the counter, the cashier gives you a wary glance. “They’re doing things that you guys can’t always do.”

Damian’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “What can’t we do?”

“Helping the little guys!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. You gesture toward the crumpled paper, your movements sharp and erratic. “Spidey—they stand for exactly what you stand for—the belief that everyone deserves protection and justice.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, his pride visibly wounded. “Maybe you should reconsider what you’re so willing to defend. It’s important to recognize when someone’s approach is flawed, even if it’s someone you admire.”

You shake your head, refusing to back down. “I’m not saying Spidey is perfect, but they’re out there trying. That counts for something.”

With a sigh of resignation, you tug his jacket off and shove it into his arms. Damian’s face scrunches up in hurt, the gesture cutting deeper than he lets on.

“I’m going home,” you say quietly, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

Damian watches as you slip out of the shop, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth from the argument. But as he catches a glimpse of the hurt in your eyes, his anger begins to dissolve into regret.

Without hesitation, he follows you, his footsteps quickening until he catches up. Gently, he grips your shoulder to stop you.

“Beloved,” he calls out softly, his tone now tender. His earnest gaze meets yours, regret pooling in his eyes. “I apologize.”

You stop and turn to face him. “Apologize for what, Damian?”

Damian hesitates, searching for the right words. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken feelings.

You try to move past him, your steps feeling heavy. “I just need some space right now."

Damian doesn’t let go. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No. I need to walk and blow off some steam.”

With a final, apologetic look, Damian steps back, giving you the space you need. You turn and start to walk away, the heat of the sun only intensifying your already heated emotions. The city, bustling with life, seems to close in around you as you move deeper into its more crowded parts. The shops grow closer together, the crowds thicker, the noise louder, and the streets narrower with every step.

Lost in thought and simmering with frustration, you’re suddenly jolted back to reality by an alarming noise—a commotion coming from a nearby alleyway. The muffled voices and scuffling footsteps cut through the city’s din, pulling your attention.

A group of masked individuals are cornering someone in the alley. The victim, pinned against the wall, is desperately trying to fend off the assailants. The attackers are demanding valuables, their threats laced with violence. Despite the bustling city around them, no one seems willing to intervene. The crowd keeps a safe distance, choosing to look away rather than get involved.

You glance down at your civilian attire—a shirt and jeans, not exactly ideal for a fight.

But someone has to help, and if you’re the only one who will, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the alley.

“Hey!” you call out, trying to draw their attention away from the victim. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The muggers turn their attention toward you, and suddenly, their target comes into sharp focus. Tousled red hair spills out from beneath a white beanie, and thick black frames are crookedly perched on her nose.

Your eyes lock with hers, and you freeze—Morgan.

What is it with this girl and finding trouble?

Her eyes widen in sheer disbelief at the sight of you, practically screaming, Are you out of your damn mind? You can almost hear her thoughts. You flash a reassuring smile, throwing in a thumbs up that you hope translates to, “Relax, I’ve got this,” even though you’re pretty sure you’re both in deep shit right now.

Shaking your head, you refocus on the muggers. There are ten of them in total. Your goal is to keep their attention away from Morgan and buy time until help arrives—or if help arrives.

“Ten on one, huh? Not exactly fair, but hey, I’m feeling generous today,” you say, your voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. “Let’s make this interesting. If you take me on and win, I’ll buy you all a round of whatever you’re drinking. And if you lose”—you flash a cheeky grin—“well, let’s just say you’ll be spending the night in a cozy little cell, courtesy of the GCPD.”

The muggers burst into laughter, clearly entertained by the sight of an unathletic-looking eighteen-year-old in a Batman shirt stepping up to them with such bravado. You just grin, letting their amusement roll off you.

“Yeah, I get it,” you say with a shrug, rolling up your sleeves to your shoulders. “I might not look like much, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. So, who wants to take the first swing?”

The laughter fades as the muggers size you up. One of them, a lanky guy with a scruffy beard, steps forward, cracking his knuckles and sneering.

“Alright, girly,” he taunts, “unless you want to back out now, you’re about to get a taste of what we’re all about.”

Before he can react, you pull your arm back, focusing on the momentum. With a swift, forceful punch, you drive your knuckles straight into his jaw. The impact lands with a solid thud, sending him crashing into the alley wall, his head snapping to the side.

One.

The other muggers freeze. They exchange glances, their earlier laughter choked off. Morgan’s mouth falls open in shock.

“What the fuck,” she mouths at you.

A grin stretches across your face as you size up the remaining muggers.

“So,” you whistle, “who’s next?”

One of them steps forward, but you’re ready. A brutal left hook catches him square on the cheekbone, and he staggers back, blood erupting from his nose. He collapses to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Two.

A woman with a wild, frizzy mop of hair barrels toward you, snarling menacingly. You sidestep her clumsy swing and deliver a powerful uppercut. Her head snaps back with a satisfying crack, and she crashes into the alley wall with a loud clang, blood streaming from her split lip and chin.

Three.

Before you can catch your breath, a wiry man with a rat-like face tries to dart around you, aiming for Morgan. But you’re quicker. You grab him by the collar, yank him close, and drive a vicious knee into his gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath, and you follow up with a hard right hook that sends him sprawling into a puddle of muck.

Four.

Adrenaline surges through your veins, and the earlier argument with Damian feels like a distant storm driving your fists. Each punch lands with a mix of frustration and resolve, the anger you’re trying to process fueling your strikes.

Two more muggers, a lanky guy with a snake tattoo and a burly man with a scarred face, charge at you simultaneously. You sidestep the lanky guy’s wild swing, then deliver a brutal, bone-crushing kick to his ribs. He crumples with a pained gasp, collapsing to the ground with a wheezing groan.

Five.

You pivot to face the burly man, deflecting his punch with a forceful block. With a grunt, you slam an elbow into his gut, making him double over, gasping for air. Before he can recover, you drive a fierce knee into his face. He crashes into the alley wall, blood and sweat mingling as he slides to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Six.

That’s around half of them. You turn to face the rest.

“Last chance,” you blow a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Either you leave now or join your buddies in the hospital.”

The remaining muggers scramble, retreating as fast as they can down the alley. The noise of their hurried escape fades into the distance, leaving you and Morgan.

Breathing heavily, you survey the scene. The alley is littered with fallen muggers—some groaning in pain, others unconscious. Blood stains your hands and the ground, and your knuckles are bruised and swollen.

Morgan slowly rises from her crouched position, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and awe. Her gaze flickers over the scene—the battered muggers, the bloodstained ground, and you standing amidst the chaos, breathing heavily.

“That was…” she starts, shaking her head as if to clear the shock. “You’re something else. What the hell?! I didn’t know you could fight like that!”

You give a wry, tired smile. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Morgan steps closer, her expression softening from disbelief to something akin to admiration. “Seriously, though, that was insane. I thought we were done for, but you—”

DANGER.

Your instincts kick in with a jolt of alarm, making your hair stand on end. Everything slows to a crawl.

You see it: one of the muggers, still on the ground but moving, starts to stir. His fingers slip into his jacket, reaching for something concealed. Each movement seems to stretch out in excruciating detail, from the twitch of his fingers to the barely perceptible shift of his body. Morgan, still caught up in her surprise and relief, is too busy chatting to notice.

The mugger’s hand emerges from his jacket, revealing a glinting gun. You quickly fire a web, aiming to disarm him. The webbing sticks to the gun, but the mugger has already squeezed the trigger.

Without a second thought, you react instinctively.

“Get down!” you shout, pushing her aside.

BANG!

The sharp crack of the gunshot reverberates through the alley, and you feel a searing pain in your ribs. A hot, burning sensation spreads through your side, intensifying with every heartbeat. Morgan’s scream pierces the air, her horror evident as she watches you stagger.

You stagger back, clutching your side.

Well... shit.

“Motherfudger—” you grit your teeth, the pain in your side intensifying. You turn your focus to the mugger scrambling to flee, his gun now ensnared in your webbing.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot another web, pulling him toward you. As he comes within reach, you slam his head against the wall, the impact knocking him out cold.

Morgan rushes back to your side, her face pale. “Are you okay? Holy shit! Holy shit! You're shot.”

Her gaze then turns to the webs scattered across the alley, her eyes widening in realization.

“You’re—”

You hush her, slamming a hand over her mouth. “Quiet!”

She mumbles into your palm, eyes darting nervously. “Y-you’re Spidey!”

“Listen,” you say softly but firmly, removing your hand once you're sure she won’t start screaming, “we need to keep our voices down. I’m hurt, and we need to get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

Morgan bites her lip, running a hand through her frazzled hair, white beanie long discarded on the ground. “But you’re hurt, and the police—” She trails off, glancing around at the mess and the moaning muggers scattered on the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off. “We don’t need the police right now. Just help me get out of here.”

Morgan’s face twists but she nods. “I know where to go.”

Both of you soon find yourselves swinging through the alleys. You grit your teeth, pushing through the burning pain in your ribs and focusing on the task at hand. Ignoring the searing ache, you accelerate, swinging through the city with Morgan clinging to your side. You take the longer route, weaving through the shadows to avoid detection.

Finally, you drop down into an alley beside her penthouse building. Morgan’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of your shirt, a stark contrast against the white. She steps back, shock and concern etched across her face.

“Damn,” she curses. “You’re really hurt.”

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” you grunt, pressing a hand against the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Now, let’s get inside before I bleed out or pass out—whichever decides to happen first.”

Morgan doesn’t waste a second. She grabs your arm and pulls you toward the back door of her building. The heavy steel door creaks open, and she nearly shatters the elevator buttons with the force of her pressing.

You lean heavily against her as she steps into the elevator with you. The harsh fluorescent lights inside the elevator are glaringly bright, intensifying the pain in your ribs with their sterile, clinical glare. As the metal doors close with a soft, echoing thud, the outside world fades away. For a fleeting moment, you find some relief as the lift begins its ascent, the gentle hum of the machinery offering a small distraction from the throbbing ache in your side.

Morgan keeps glancing at you, nervously biting her lip. “Just hang in there. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

You manage a shrug, despite the discomfort. The pain isn’t as overwhelming as it might be for most, thanks to your spider abilities, but the real kicker is the identity reveal.

"Did I at least look badass?"

"Oh my god. I literally hate you."

When the elevator finally dings open, Morgan practically drags you out, guiding you swiftly down the hall to her penthouse. The door swings open, and she ushers you inside.

You collapse onto the plush couch, wincing as you sink into its cushions. The pain in your ribs throbs with each breath, and as the adrenaline fades, you feel every ache more acutely.

Without wasting a second, Morgan strides across the room and shouts into the air, her voice echoing off the sleek, modern walls.

“PEPPER, I need you!”

You’re caught off guard as a series of robotic arms extend from sleek panels in the walls, their metallic surfaces catching the ambient light. The arms are intricate, equipped with various tools and sensors, whizzing towards you.

One of the arms reaches out, its end featuring a gentle, flexible grip. It carefully tugs at your shirt, and you reluctantly slip it off, exposing the wound on your side. The arm’s sensors begin to glow softly as it scans your injury.

The room fills with a soft, synthesized voice. “Scanning gunshot wound. Location: left lower rib, depth: 4 cm. Severe damage, high infection risk. Blood loss: 150 ml. No internal bleeding. Administering anesthesia. Cleaning and debridement soon.”

Tiny robotic tools emerge from compartments within the arm—sterilizing swabs, a precision scalpel, and a fine, retractable syringe. The anesthetic solution is applied gently, its cooling sensation numbing the pain.

“Uh, what the actual fuck is going on?” you blurt out.

Morgan watches with a stony expression, her focus fixed on a tablet in her hands as she monitors your vitals closely.

“Oh, that’s PEPPER. She’s a Stark Industries AI I’ve had integrated into the penthouse. She’s pretty good at this kind of thing. Coded her myself."

The robotic arm emits a soft beep before starting the process of removing the bullet. You feel a series of sharp, targeted tugs as the bullet is gradually extracted, each pull sending a brief jolt of pain through your side. The bullet clinks as it drops onto a metal tray.

“Isn’t... isn’t PEPPER your mom’s name? Damn, you actually coded this?” you ask, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Morgan gives a small, proud smile, her eyes meeting yours.

“I’m the next in line for Stark Industries, after all,” she says. “So yeah, I figured out how to make this kind of tech. And yep, Pepper’s named after my mom. She used to patch up my dad whenever he got into trouble.”

A fleeting, wistful look crosses her face, but she shakes it off quickly. “PEPPER stands for ‘Personal Emergency Protocol and Protective Emergency Response.’ It’s a tribute, and it’s supposed to handle everyday stuff and emergencies like this.”

The robotic arms continue their work, the AI’s voice providing updates. “Bullet extraction complete. Administering wound care and infection prevention. Proceeding with final checks.”

“Just hang tight,” Morgan says. “We’re almost done here.”

"This is—this is insane! It’s insane," you hiss at her, leaning back as the machine starts bandaging you. "Is this what rich people do? Build robots that can do fucking surgery?!"

Morgan chuckles softly, her eyes still focused on the tablet as she adjusts the settings. “When you have the resources, why not make the best use of them?”

The robotic arms complete the bandaging, applying a final layer of antiseptic and securing the bandages with a gentle press. The AI’s voice announces the end of the procedure with a soft chime. “Wound care complete. Vital signs stable. Patient recovery in progress.”

You let out a deep sigh of relief as the robotic arm finally withdraws. You stretch out your shoulders and take a moment to appreciate the absence of pain. “Well, thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one... or maybe a lot.”

Morgan’s smile is faint but warm, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “Well… you did save me today. And… on that night. I’d say we’re kinda even now.”

Suddenly, a new chime interrupts the moment. Morgan’s brows furrow as she glances at the tablet, her confusion giving way to awe.

“Whoa,” she breathes, eyes widening. “You’re healing at an insane rate... Your tissues are already regenerating. This is... freaky. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You wince slightly as the last of the bandages is applied. The robotic arms retract with a soft whir, leaving behind a faint, antiseptic scent. You manage a tired smile, though your face is still flushed from the pain and the adrenaline crash.

“It’s the spider stuff,” you explain. “Enhanced abilities. Healing and pain tolerance are part of the package.”

Morgan’s expression shifts from shock to a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “No shit. You treated that gunshot like it was just a scratch.”

The redhead places her tablet on a nearby table and takes a seat directly in front of you. Her demeanor is a blend of fascination and a newfound respect. “So, you’re Spidey? I mean, I knew you were something special, but this...” She gestures to you with a grin. “This is next-level.

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “You think I’m special?”

Morgan’s cheeks flush slightly as she stumbles over her words, clearly flustered.

“Uh, well, yeah. I mean, I think you’re really smart and capable—like, a genius. I mean, your skills with chemistry and science are incredible. The way you analyze problems and come up with solutions, it’s like you’ve got a grasp of things that usually takes years to master. And then there’s the tech you’ve built—it's insane. Seeing you in action like that? It’s next-level. I didn’t expect you to be, like, superhero-level special.”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by her enthusiastic praise. “Well… thanks,” you say, a wry grin spreading across your face.

Morgan, still flustered, clears her throat and tries to change the topic. “So, how long have you been doing this?”

You shrug, rubbing your eyes as the weight of the day settles in. “A while. It’s... been a lot. Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the bigger the threats get.”

“Huh,” Morgan leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “I guess I’m in it now, too.”

“Woah,” you laugh, raising a hand. “No, no. I see where this is going. I’ve read too many comics. I know what you’re about to say.”

Morgan’s gaze narrows. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You lean back with a groan, your head tilting back against the sofa. The action causes your chest to rise and fall more rapidly, sweat clinging to your skin. Your throat bobs with each breath, and the effort makes your neck arch slightly.

Morgan’s eyes wander, taking in the sheen of sweat on your chest and the way your skin glistens. Her face flushes deeper as she stares.

You waggle a finger at her with a grin. “I know where this is headed,” you say, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ve seen the trope before. The whole ‘I’m in this now too’ speech. And trust me, it’s usually followed by—”

“By what?” Morgan blinks, snapping out of her daze.

You give her a knowing look.

“Okay, fine, you got me,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “And before you say anything, I’m not just looking to tag along for the excitement. I genuinely want to contribute. I’ve got resources, skills, and—”

She gestures to the high-tech surroundings of her penthouse, where one of the robot arms gives a casual wave. “—I can do more than just sit on the sidelines.”

Pursing your lips, you nervously bite on your fingernails, glancing away. “See, this is where I’m supposed to give you the ‘I can’t put you in danger’ speech. The whole ‘this is too dangerous’ line. Normally, in a story like this, you’d be the love interest.”

Morgan slumps. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not just some bystander here.”

“Morga—”

The door creaks open, and a soft, synthesized voice echoes through the apartment, cutting you off.

“Welcome home, Tony.”

Both of you freeze.

The front door swings fully open, revealing Tony FUCKING Stark himself.

His face is stony as he takes in the scene. His eyes dart from you—shirtless and in nothing but a bra, with bandages wrapped haphazardly around your torso—to Morgan, who looks flustered and disheveled.

You and Morgan stare right back, just as wide-eyed. There’s a beat of awkward silence as Tony’s brain catches up with the situation. He glances at you, then at Morgan, and back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, hey, Dad,” Morgan says, her voice hitting a pitch that could break glass. She scrambles to smooth her hair and adjust her clothes, her face a portrait of embarrassment.

Tony’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to piece together what he’s walked into. “Well, this is... unexpected. I didn’t realize I was interrupting... whatever this is.”

You, still sprawled on the couch, cross your arms over your chest, your face blazing red. “Um. Hello, Mr. Stark. This... looks exactly like it’s not what it seems.”

Tony’s gaze sharpens as he scrutinizes you. His eyes narrow, and he points a finger at you with a blend of suspicion and recognition. “Wait a second. Aren’t you that Wayne kid’s girlfriend? The youngest one. Darryl, right?”

“Damian,” you correct, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Yeah, him.” Tony squints. “So, what’s the deal? Am I looking at a tabloid scandal in the making here?”

Morgan’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, clearly mortified. “Dad!”

Tony’s expression shifts to one of mock seriousness as he holds up a hand, covering his eyes with exaggerated drama. “It’s okay! I’ll be in my workshop, pretending I didn’t see a thing. Just... try not to make any more headlines while I’m gone.”

“Sh—she’s not—!” you start to protest, but Morgan cuts you off with a rapid, high-pitched explanation.

“She’s the Stark intern I told you about!” Morgan lies straight through her teeth, sending you a look that screams, 'Go along with it!' “I was just showing her how some of the bots work!”

Tony squints at Morgan, then at you, and back at Morgan with a grimace. “For the love of tech, Morgan, next time you give your intern a hands-on demonstration, maybe keep it... less hands-on?”

Morgan sputters and gapes, but Tony is already turning on his heel and strutting out of the room. Over his shoulder, he adds with a shout, “Be who you are!”

The door swings shut behind Tony with a soft, final thud, leaving you and Morgan in an awkward silence.

“Does this mean I actually have to become an intern for your dad's company now?”

“Yes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better excuse? Like, say, that I’m just a really good friend or something?”

Morgan rolls her eyes and flicks your ear. “Dude, chill. I can get you cool tech. I mean, who wouldn’t want access to Stark Industries’ gadgets? I can be the guy in the chair and all that cool Oracle stuff. Think of it as a tech upgrade for your superhero gig.”

“You want to be the guy in the chair? Seriously? I am not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

Morgan gasps in disbelief. “Why not?! I’m perfectly capable of providing a little tech support. And! I just showed you how I can help with your injuries.”

“I’m not sure if I want to gamble my safety on your ‘tech support.’”

“Come on, it’ll be fine!”

“I’m not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

“You’re just repeating yourself.”

“You keep pushing the ‘guy in the chair’ thing.”

“Well, you keep rejecting me.”

“Because you’re a civilian!"

"Am I?! Are you seriously doubting my tech skills?”

“More like your impulse control.”

Morgan huffs dramatically, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Ha, very funny. You’re one to talk! May I remind you who exactly got shot between us?”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing up your hands in defeat. “You win! You can be the guy in the chair!”

Morgan’s face lights up with a smirk as she pushes her glasses up with a satisfied flick of her fingers. “Perfect. But just so you know… I’m not planning on getting into any alleyway brawls.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Not like you could do anything with your spaghetti arms."

"Ass!"

“Also," you add. "You say that now, but I’ve seen how people get when they’re itching to help. You’re not allowed to step a foot into any of my alleys. You stay where it’s safe, understood?”

Morgan raises her hands in mock surrender. “Got it."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 8:12 PM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

The moon casts long, eerie shadows across the grimy streets of Crime Alley, its pale light barely penetrating the oppressive darkness. The night air is cool and sharp as you swing effortlessly between buildings.

Morgan clings tightly to your back, her grip firm. Her breath comes in quick, exhilarated bursts as the wind howls around you, whipping through her hair and making her voice rise with the rush of the night.

“This is incredible!” she shouts, her words lost momentarily in the roar of the wind. “I had no idea you were so… so agile! I’m practically flying!”

You chuckle, tightening your grip on her. “Glad you’re enjoying it. Just remember to keep this between us, okay? I already texted my mom, told her I was working late on an internship. She’d totally lose it if she knew the whole story. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know.”

Morgan nods enthusiastically, her laughter mingling with the wind. “Secret’s safe with me! Besides, this is way cooler than any boring internship!”

As you approach the warehouse, you swing gracefully from the rooftops, landing lightly on the building’s edge. You gently set Morgan down, her eyes wide with curiosity. You lead her to an open window, and together you step into the warehouse, emerging into the loft area that overlooks the cluttered first floor.

Tables cluttered with tools, spare parts, and old electronics fill one side of the warehouse. Shelves stacked with various gadgets, blueprints, and half-finished projects line the walls. A makeshift bed, complete with a thin mattress and a worn blanket, sits in a corner, flanked by a few of your personal touches like a small stack of comic books and a faded poster of a vintage comic.

“It’s a bit scrappy, but it gets the job done,” you explain, glancing around the space. “I’ve done a lot of work here over the past few months.”

Morgan sets her gear down on one of the tables, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She starts pulling out a few gadgets, laying them out with a smile. You watch her with interest as she reveals the basics for now: a comm device, a sleek laptop, and a set of earpieces.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” Morgan says, holding up the comm device. “This little beauty will keep us in touch no matter where we are. It’s got encryption and a few extra features that’ll come in handy for tracking and coordinating.”

She places it on the table and picks up the laptop, opening it to reveal a high-resolution screen. “This is my command center. Well... laptop. It’s loaded with security protocols and a few surprises. I’ll be able to monitor everything from here, plus it has advanced analytics.”

Finally, she holds up the earpieces with a grin. “And these are for communication and hearing everything clearly, even in the middle of a mess. They’re noise-canceling and have a range that can reach the entire country.”

You stare at her blankly.

"You are... oddly prepared for this."

Morgan shifts her weight and shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m really into heroes, okay?! Stark Industries has some pretty cool special projects.” She coughs lightly as she sets the equipment down, arranging it on one of the tables. “Just wait until you see what else I’ve got in store."

You shake your head with a smile, letting her dive into the setup. As she busies herself with the tech, you move to the corner of the warehouse where you’ve set up a small training area. You pull out a yoga mat, your muscles aching from the day’s activities and the previous night’s adrenaline rush.

Spreading the mat out on the floor, you begin a series of stretches and exercises to ease the tension in your body. The quiet hum of the warehouse is soothing until suddenly, your ringtone starts blaring through the speakers.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na… Batman!

You perk up, eyes wide, as the theme song fills the room. Morgan’s snort echoes through the space as she looks over at you, clicking something on her laptop.

“Nice fucking ringtone,” she laughs. “Damian’s calling.”

You squint at her, then glance at your phone, which is sitting a few inches away on the table. “Did you just hack my phone?”

“Hacked,” she corrects with a smirk. “You’d be surprised at what I can do with Bluetooth and a laptop.”

You roll your eyes and settle back down to squat on the floor. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the tech expert here.”

Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. “Consider it a skill I picked up. Besides, if you’re going to have me as your tech support, you need to get used to this kind of thing.”

The ringtone continues to ring, and Morgan raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you going to answer that, or do you want me to handle it for you too?”

You wince. “We had an argument.”

“Trouble in paradise,” she squints before pointing to the door of the warehouse. “Maybe you want some privacy?”

You glance at the screen, where Damian’s name is flashing. With a resigned sigh, you reach for the phone and press the end button. Morgan whistles and grimaces.

“Yikes.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the discomfort. “I’ll talk to him when I feel like it. Let me do my yoga in peace.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

"I'm sorry, this caller cannot be reached—"

With a sharp, irritated breath, Damian swipes the call away, the screen of his bike’s console dimming to black.

You didn’t want to answer? Fine. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

The bike’s engine roars to life with a deep, throaty growl, cutting through the night air like a predator on the hunt. Damian deftly navigates Gotham’s tangled mess of traffic, weaving between honking cars and startled pedestrians. The bike’s tires bite into the wet asphalt, the city lights reflecting off its sleek frame as he darts past another red light.

Tonight’s patrol is anything but routine. High-profile cases, gang activity, and urgent calls stack up like a never-ending to-do list, and Damian can already feel the weight of the week ahead pressing down on him. Gotham’s underbelly churns with unease, as if the city itself is bracing for something darker on the horizon.

BUZZ!

Just as he begins to settle into the rhythm of the ride, the steady hum of the bike’s engine is interrupted by the sharp buzz of his comm link. He glances down at the small screen embedded in the bike’s console, his eyes narrowing.

“Robin? You there? I’ve got something I need you to check out. It’s near your location.”

The familiar voice of Oracle crackles through the earpiece, cool and composed, but with a hint of urgency that sparks Damian’s interest. A digital map flickers to life on the dashboard, zooming in on a narrow, dimly lit alleyway nestled deep within one of Gotham’s most rundown districts.

“I’m picking up unusual activity,” she explains. “There’s a gang meet-up happening in that alleyway near Queens. From the chatter, it sounds like they’re discussing something big—possibly a new drug shipment or an upcoming operation. Get some eyes on them.”

“Understood. I’ll check it out,” he replies curtly. Damian’s grip tightens on the handlebars as he adjusts his course, the bike’s engine growling in response as he veers sharply toward the indicated location.

It only takes a few minutes before Damian pulls up to the alleyway. He slows the bike to a stop, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement before he parks it in a shadowed corner, blending in with the darkness. The engine’s deep rumble fades to a low, menacing purr before it finally falls silent.

Damian pulls off his helmet, his hair tousled from the ride. He shakes his head slightly, letting the cool night air ruffle through his dark locks. The city’s muted sounds reach his ears—the distant wail of sirens, the occasional shouts, the drip of water from a nearby pipe.

The alleyway ahead is cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a faulty streetlamp. Shadows stretch and twist along the grimy walls, creating an unsettling landscape.

He dismounts and approaches the entrance to the alley with silent steps. As he ventures deeper, the muffled sounds of voices become clearer. The air grows heavier, thick with the smell of smoke mingling with an acrid tang of something burning and the less pleasant odors of old beer and rotting food.

Damian reaches into his earpiece and taps the control for his embedded mic. The small device activates with a soft, almost imperceptible beep and he begins recording.

“Did you hear about latest shipment?” One voice says, his accent thick and unmistakable, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy Russian lilt. “It’s stolen Stark Tech. Black Mask, he’s making big moves, yes? Big tech deals coming soon.”

Another voice, sharper and edged with a typical Gothamite drawl, chimes in. “Yeah, I heard. Looks like he’s tryin’ to offload some high-end stuff. Somethin’ to do with the Octavius project.”

A third voice, younger and nasally, adds, “Octavius? Isn’t he locked up in Blackgate? Why would he be involved in any of this?”

"Money," the Russian explains, "Black Mask, he uses connections, push deals forward. Octavius, he is in prison, yes, but influence, it is not gone. We get in on this... payout could be very big."

Damian’s eyes narrow as he tries to move closer, but something tugs at him from behind. He glances over his shoulder and freezes when he sees a thin, webbed strand clinging to the edge of his cape. It’s almost invisible in the dim light of the alley but stands out starkly against the dark fabric of his cape.

Spidersilk.

Scowling, Damian tugs at his cape, attempting to peel away the stubborn webbing. It clings tenaciously, resisting his efforts with an almost defiant grip. Frustration flares as he yanks harder, the strained fabric slapping against the nearby wall with a loud snap.

The voices in the alley fall silent, replaced by the shuffle of feet and urgent whispers. Damian curses under his breath

Damian curses under his breath. He quickly snaps off the cape, leaving it behind in the shadows, and just as he does, a gang member swings a crude metal pipe toward him. Damian reacts instinctively, raising his forearm to block the attack, the clang of metal echoing through the alley.

Snarling, Damian wrenches the pipe from the thug’s grip and drives it into the man’s ribs with brutal force. There’s a sickening crack as bone gives way, and the thug emits a sharp, agonized wail before crumpling to the ground, clutching his side in pain.

Standing tall, Damian slowly steps out of the shadows, the darkness sweeping across his face like a shroud. The white of his mask catches what little light there is, giving it an eerie, spectral glow.

With a deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness, he draws his katana from its sheath. The blade catches and distorts the scant light, gleaming with a sinister, predatory sheen. As he spins the weapon with precise, practiced ease, the razor-sharp edge slices through the darkness, emitting a soft, chilling hiss.

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Damian sneers, his voice distorted into a menacing growl by his modulator. “You’re all out of your league. I suggest you leave now, before you make this any worse for yourselves.”

One of the gang members, either too reckless or too foolish to retreat, lunges at Damian with a rusty knife. The blade catches the scant light, its edge glinting menacingly as it arcs toward Damian’s side.

With a fluid, practiced motion, Damian sidesteps the attack, his hand shooting out to grasp the thug’s wrist and wrench it sharply. The knife clatters to the grimy ground as the thug lets out a pained cry. In a seamless follow-up, Damian flicks his katana, slicing across the thug’s torso with a precise cut that wounds but doesn’t kill.

Damian follows up with a brutal strike to the thug’s face, slamming him against the alley wall. Blood spatters onto the cracked pavement as Damian’s punch leaves the thug’s face a bruised, bloody mess.

“Had enough?” Damian growls, his voice a chilling rasp. The thug, dazed and barely able to stand, makes a feeble attempt to swing at Damian.

Damian easily deflects the pitiful attack, then brings the hilt of his katana down with a sharp crack against the thug’s temple. The thug crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even hits the pavement.

“Let this be a lesson, Damian calls out to the other men. He twists his wrist, adjusting his grip on the katana, letting blood drip from the blade in a slow, deliberate descent. As he advances towards the remaining gang members, the metal scrapes against the ground with a harsh, grating sound.

“That next time, you won’t be so lucky,” he continues, his carved jade eyes darkened with flecks of shadow, swirling like wisps of smoke.

The thugs, now visibly terrified, back away slowly, their bravado gone. The oldest of them, a burly man with a scar that cuts through his rugged face, steps forward.

“Alright, alright, we’re done here,” he growls, his voice betraying a tremor of fear. “We’ll leave. Just... just don’t kill us.”

Damian flicks his sword back. “Smart choice. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”

The men scramble to their feet, their panicked retreat echoing off the narrow walls as they disappear into the shadows. The sound of their hurried footsteps gradually fades, leaving Damian alone in the quiet aftermath.

He sheaths his katana, the blade slipping into its scabbard with a soft, final click. His breathing is steady, but the adrenaline still buzzes beneath his skin. He scans the alley, taking in the mess left behind—smears of blood painting the pavement

His comm link crackles to life again, Oracle’s voice cutting through the silence. “Robin, report. What’s the status?”

“I recorded the conversation for you,” Damian replies, his voice steady as he turns. His boots crunch on the asphalt, the sound piercing the quiet as he kneels down to retrieve his discarded cape. He scowls at the stubborn webbing still clinging to his cape.

“That, and I’m starting a personal case,” he adds. He moves closer to examine the webbing, his gloved fingers deftly tearing away part of the fabric. The strands of webbing glint faintly in the dim light.

“A personal case?”

“Yes,” Damian confirms. He tugs his torn cape back into place, the frayed edges fluttering slightly as he smooths the fabric over his shoulders. He takes a moment to scan the alley one last time, the glinting remnants of webbing still catching his eye.

“I'm going on a hunt."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you trudge up the creaky, worn stairs of your apartment building, your footsteps pounding against the wood. Your muscles protest with every step, body aching from the lack of sleep.

Both you and Morgan were up all night setting up communication devices and sketching out possible upgrades for weapons and gadgets. Your mind is a foggy mess of blueprints and circuitry, making it hard to focus on anything but the thought of finally collapsing into your beloved bed.

Reaching your door, you fumble with the keys, and push the door open. The familiar scent of home—a mix of Selina's favorite lavender incense and the lingering aroma of last night's takeout—hits you, momentarily soothing your tired mind.

Inside, the windows are drawn open, and sunlight illuminates the living room, casting warm, golden beams across the worn-out furniture. Selina is sitting on the couch, engaged in an animated conversation with someone. You blink in confusion, your brain still foggy from sleep. Since when did you guys have guests?

You squint, then do a double-take.

Tony Stark. The Tony Stark is lounging on your couch, looking like he belonged there.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

You blink again, but he’s still there, looking impossibly real with his feet propped up and an easy smile on his face. It’s not a hallucination. This is real.

“Uh, Mom?” you manage to stammer out.

Selina turns and gives you a warm smile. “Look who finally decided to join us. Honey, you didn’t tell me you topped the rankings for their program!”

You… did?

“Uh, I did?” you ask, bewildered. You have no recollection of even applying for anything. The only time Tony knew about your existence was yesterday when you were literally shirtless at his apartment.

Tony chuckles, standing up and extending his hand. “You sure did, kid. Impressive work. I’ve been keeping an eye on the top candidates, and your projects really stood out. Thought I’d come by personally to congratulate you and talk about the next steps.”

You shake his hand, still in shock. His grip is firm, and his presence is undeniably magnetic. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’m… honored?”

“Honored, impressed—whatever you want to call it,” Tony says with a smirk, nodding at Selina before clapping a hand on your back. “Just know I’ve got big plans for you.”

Something feels off.

Your spider senses are buzzing like a live wire, setting your nerves on edge.

You force a smile, trying to mask the unease gnawing at you. The room feels too small, the air too thick. The sunlight streaming in from the window seems blindingly bright, almost as if it's glaring through a veil of distorted reality, making everything feel unreal.

As everything whirls into tunnel vision, the only thing you can focus on is Tony Stark, who seems too calm, too composed.

“Mom, would it be alright if I talked to Mr. Stark outside? We’ll be back,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

Without waiting for a response, you yank Tony toward the door. The latch clicks shut behind you with an ominous echo, and you steer him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The corridor feels tight and constricted, with the flickering lightbulbs casting uneven shadows that dance along the peeling wallpaper.

Once you reach the corner and are out of earshot, you turn to Tony. “Okay, what’s really going on?” you ask.

Tony raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that. I needed to talk to you about something important, and this seemed like the best way to get your attention without causing a scene.”

You furrow your brow, struggling to piece together what’s happening. “I don’t even remember applying for any program. Morgan just mentioned it to me. Are you sure you have the right person, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s expression turns serious as he pulls out his phone. With a few swipes, he activates a holographic screen. A video begins to play, and your heart sinks as you recognize the scene.

The video shows you from months ago, in your Spidey suit, captured by a bystander's shaky phone camera. The camera focuses on the moment when a car, careening out of control, crashes through the guardrail of a bridge. A web is shot, the thread catching the car just before it plunged into the river below. There's a grunt from you as you strain to pull the car back onto the bridge, the muscles in your arms and shoulders visibly taut under the suit. Onlookers gasp and cheer when you succeed, landing lightly on the bridge beside the car.

Tony’s eyes bore into yours. "That's you, isn't it?"

Your heart skips a beat. The hallway seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your back as you stammer, "What? I—I don't... No?"

Tony's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "Come on, kid. Don't try to play me. I know it's you. Holy shit. What a catch! 4,100 pounds?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," you lie and swallow hard. "That's probably fake you know right? It's probably some edit on Youtube."

"Oh, sure," Tony purses his lips and pulls up another screen. Your eyes scan it and you wince. "Guess this is fake too, huh?"

The screen displays medical records of your injury from yesterday—a gunshot wound that healed unusually fast. The data outlines the severity of the wound and highlights the rapid recovery process. Tony’s finger traces the timeline, pointing out the abnormal speed of your healing.

"Wowie," Tony gasps in mock-surprise. "Not exactly a normal recovery rate for a regular teenager, wouldn't you say? What the hell does your mom feed you, kid? Magic beans? And this—"

He pulls up another screen. It's a scan of your DNA. The image is a dense matrix of colorful strands and data points.

“Would you look at that,” Tony continues, crossing his arms. "You got some Spider DNA on you, kid. This is some next-level genetic crossover."

You exhale deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety. “Did Morgan tell you about this?”

Tony shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nope. I have access to the records and all data from the bot. Guess she forgot to clear it.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “And before you ask, I don’t just dig through people’s private stuff for fun.”

He points a finger at you, a self-assured smile growing on his face. "So. I’m right? You’re the... Spiderling. Crime-fighting Spider?"

"Spidey," you correct, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. "Look. Mr. Stark. What do you want?"

Tony adjusts his glasses, peering down at you with a look of genuine appreciation. "Well, first, I want to thank you for saving my girl. I owe you one for that."

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

"Second," Tony continues, his tone shifting to business, "I’m here with a proposition. I’ve seen what you can do, and let’s just say I’ve got some big plans that could use a spider-shaped wrench in the works. Plus, I’ve got some nifty gadgets to keep you happy.”

You wince and shake your head. “Mr. Stark, I’m not looking to upgrade.”

"Well, you’re in dire need of an upgrade," Tony says, pulling up a picture of you in your suit and making a gagging face. He adjusts his glasses with a look of disdain. "Systemic. Top to bottom."

You roll your eyes.

"But before we get into that," Tony adds, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful, "I’ve got to ask: why do this? Why play the hero? Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? Or just a really bad habit? What's your emo backstory, kid?"

You shift uncomfortably against the wall, the cool, rough surface pressing against your back.

"It’s... complicated," you finally say, your voice low. "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t just stand by and act helpless."

"So, you’re playing the hero for the little guys, huh? Who else knows about this gig of yours?" Tony mutters

You exhale a heavy sigh, rolling your neck to ease the tension. "Morgan knows, and... Selina. And now, you."

Tony nods slowly, his fingers idly peeling back a section of wallpaper. "How’d would you like to spend a month at Stark Industries, kid?"

You sputter, "I can't just... What? Start living with you?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not exactly down to make the three-hour commute to your place."

"Okay, who said I was agreeing to this?"

"I did," Tony whistles and starts to move toward your apartment door. "Unless you want me to tell your ridiculously hot aunt that her kid got shot—"

THWIP.

Tony freezes, his foot now stuck as the sharp sound of the web echoes through the corridor. He looks down, eyes widening slightly as the web wraps around his ankle.

You stand with your hand outstretched. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Tony raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “So, what’s it going to be? Make a decision now, or do I need to start spilling secrets to get your attention?”

You groan, your head thudding against the wall as you wrestle with the decision. After a moment, you exhale sharply, pushing the doubt aside. “Alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if we’re doing this, I need to be in the loop on everything. No surprises.”

Tony’s smirk widens as he extends his hand.

“Deal. Welcome to Stark Industries. You’re going to fit right in.”

"..."

"Now. Can you... get me out of this?"

 ༻⊰───⋅

The dining room at Wayne Manor was unusually lively this morning, a rare and welcome shift from the usual quiet. Bruce, seated at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, was partially hidden behind the day’s newspaper, only the top of his head visible as he read. The rustle of paper was the only sound he made as Alfred moved around his chair, silently refilling his coffee cup with a fresh, steaming brew.

To Bruce’s right, Dick and Jason were engaged in conversation. Every so often, their banter would erupt into laughter, the sound warm and familiar. Tim sat across from them, his laptop balanced precariously beside his plate, its glow reflecting off the food he barely touched. His eyes darted between the screen and the table, more absorbed in whatever was on his laptop than the breakfast laid out in front of him. At the far end, Cass cradled her latte in both hands, taking slow, thoughtful sips as her gaze wandered out to the gardens, lost in some distant thought.

Amidst the calm, Damian was anything but. His face was locked in a deep scowl as he hacked away at his breakfast, the knife in his hand scraping harshly against the plate, leaving deep, jagged scratches. Each slice seemed to require more effort than the last, the grating sound of metal against porcelain cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you trying to eat your plate?"

"Die."

Bruce peered over the top of his newspaper, his brow furrowed in concern. The rustle of the paper paused as he glanced at his son, his gaze shifting from the newspaper to Damian. "Is something wrong, son?"

Damian’s grip tightened around his knife, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked like it might crack. "The burger is insufficiently cut."

Tim, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, barely looked up from the screen. He let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "He’s mad because his girlfriend hasn’t been replying to his messages."

Damian’s eyes shot a sharp glare at Tim, but the anger in his gaze softened just enough to betray the truth in his brother’s words. His jaw twitched as he tried to maintain his scowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow, his concern now tinged with curiosity.

"Damn," Jason said, pausing mid-bite of his eggs. He leaned back in his chair, waving his fork around with a smirk. "What did you do? Did she finally get tired of you?"

"Don’t start, Todd," Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Jason. "My relationship status is none of your concern."

Dick leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. "Busy, or just avoiding you? There’s a difference."

"She might just be busy," Tim chimed in, taking a leisurely sip from his coffee cup. He set it down with a deliberate clink and met Dick's gaze with a knowing look. "Did you know she topped the Stark Industries Young Innovators Program?"

The table fell silent for a moment, the hum of conversation abruptly cut off.

The newspaper, now forgotten, slipped from Bruce's fingers and landed on the table with a soft thud. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line, fighting to control the storm of emotions churning beneath his otherwise stoic facade. He looked as though he were struggling to choose between bursting into laughter, breaking down in tears, or punching a hole in the wall.

“Repeat that,” he said, his voice tight.

“Wayne-Stark Feud Escalates: Damian Wayne’s Girlfriend Takes Top Honors in Stark Industries’ Prestigious Young Innovators Program”

Dick’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jason whistled again, this time in genuine admiration.

“Well, damn. She really knocked it out of the park.”

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

“Of course, I had already known she was impressive,” Bruce said slowly, his voice dripping with a hint of petty resentment. “It’s just… wonderful to see someone finally acknowledging it. Stark finally catching up.”

“Looks like he’s stealing your kid,” Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who do you guys think is going to win the custody battle?"

“Tony,” Tim said with a laugh.

Bruce’s head snapped up, betrayed. “Tim—”

“Tony,” Tim repeated, scrolling through the article. “She accepted. She’ll be spending a month in Stark Tower’s living quarters. All expenses covered.”

“What.”

“Yep,” Tim said, not looking up from his screen. “All the perks of the job. Stark’s rolling out the red carpet.”

Damian’s scowl deepened, his frustration now entirely focused on his offending meal. He resumed his aggressive cutting, the knife scraping furiously against the porcelain, each slice resonating with his irritation.

Bruce slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a sharp clink.

“Stark,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with bitter resignation. “Of course, Stark.”

Stares and knowing grins were exchanged around the table.

“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by that billionaire showboat,” Bruce grumbled. “Not a drop of responsibility in that man. How on earth is he going to handle being a… mentor to her? Stark’s idea of responsibility is throwing money at a problem and hoping it magically solves itself. He’ll probably just have her parading around his tech labs, showing off to his high-profile friends while she’s supposed to be learning. It’s all a game to him. He’s just going to pat her on the back and call her a genius while he takes all the credit.”

“Oh my god,” Dick grimaced, trying to stifle a laugh. “The adoption senses are tingling.”

Bruce shot him a withering glance but was interrupted by Alfred’s calm, yet pointed voice. “You’re taking this a bit personally,” Alfred said. “If I were you, I’d be congratulating the young miss for her accomplishment. It’s a remarkable achievement, and it reflects well on her character.”

Bruce’s scowl didn’t fade, but his expression softened slightly. “I’m not questioning her achievement,” he muttered, his tone begrudging.

“She’ll be fine. If she can handle you, she can handle Stark,” Alfred snapped.

Bruce gasped in offense.

Alfred continued to move around the table, placing a pitcher of water in the center. As he wiped his hands with a cloth, he hummed thoughtfully. “Young Miss Kyle is more than equipped to manage whatever Sir Stark throws at her. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate her success and perhaps focus less on the competition.”

He glanced at Bruce with a hint of a smile. “We can invite them for a celebratory dinner, Master Bruce. It would be a fitting way to honor her achievement and show our support.”

CLANG!

A sudden, explosive smash shattered the calm of the room, followed by a harsh metallic scrape. Damian’s knife came down with such violent force that the plate beneath it cracked audibly, sending shards skittering across the table.

Alfred’s weary sigh broke the tension, and he glided over to collect the shattered remnants of the plate, his practiced hands carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

“I hope you enjoy cereal, Master Damian."

༻⊰───⋅

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

im a hoe for comments/reblogs/asks/kudos

it fuels me <3 pls send more

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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im-sleepdeprived · 11 months ago

Note

Your page says requests are open, so I'm sorry if I missed something 🙏🏻 Could you possibly do Peter Parker (preferably TASM) and friend reader who has a pet jumping spider that she named after him (bc she's crushing bad)? I think it would be funny if she didn't know he was Spider-man. ❤️

this is actually the cutest thing ever i loved writing this😭 hope you enjoy the little blurb !! no warnings just tooth rotting fluff and some deep, deep pining !!

“Look!” You exclaimed, holding up a see-through container filled with dirt, grass, and twigs, housing your newly acquired pet.

Peter leaned down to peer into it. “He’s adorable.”

You beamed. “I know right!” You’d always had a fascination for critters, but especially arachnids. Hence the tiny jumping spider in your hands right now. Peter found it precious when you rambled on about your love for spiders, not knowing that your very best friend (and long time admirer) was, in part, one. He always felt a little special.

He knew it was stupid, you were never talking about him. Hell, you had no clue he was Spider-Man. But still. Usually everyone was freaked out about spiders, people hated them, even him (before the bite) and yet you managed to see the beauty in them. What other people found gross and freaky you found intriguing.

You’d been over the moon this past week since you found out there were jumping spiders finally available (he never would’ve guessed it, but apparently they were popular pets) at your local reptile store, (you were also adamant about not getting one from a big chain store).

“I named him after you,” you admitted a little bashfully.

“Oh?” Peter could feel his heart speed up. Maybe his secret wasn’t as well protected as he thought it was.

“His eyes, see?” You moved the container closer to him and placed your index finger on it, tapping gently. “He’s got those two big ones in the front and these ones on the side.” More tapping from your finger. “He reminded me of you when you wear glasses,” you giggled sweetly.

Peter felt his heart soar. “Yeah?” He smiled wide. “Well I’ve gotta say I’m honored, I know how long you’ve wanted one.”

“Yeah,” you beamed. You always appreciated that Peter let you ramble on about your favorite things, no matter how weird they were. You knew it was an unconventional interest, and yet he never made you feel different or odd they were. It only made you fall that much more in love with him.

“Did you know that the males perform special dances for the females to get them to mate with them?”

You side-eyed Peter, impressed with his knowledge. Usually you were the one hitting him with random facts. “No, actually, I didn’t know that. Could you imagine if humans did that?” You laughed.

“Well isn’t that whats going online these days? With all those dance trends and ‘thirst traps’.” He made quotation marks with his fingers on that last part, making you laugh again.

“I wonder if Spider-Man does that,” you pondered.

“What do you mean?” Peter’s brows furrowed.

“I mean, isn’t he part spider or something? That’s how he can climb walls and stuff, right? And isn’t it why his name is literally Spider-Man. I just wonder how many spider traits he actually possesses.”

“Not the webs, the webs are artificial.” He answered you simply, eyes going wide when he noted the curious look you gave him. “Oh! I mean—I think I heard it—READ IT! Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I read it somewhere.” Everyday it was getting harder and harder to keep this secret from you.

“Okay weirdo,” you chuckled. “It was between you and him.” You said suddenly.

“Me and who?” Peter asked.

“You and Spider-Man,” you said as if it made all the sense in the world. You tapped the small box in your hands again. “I almost named little Petey here Spider-Man cause I thought it was cute.”

Peter crossed his arms and smirked at you. “Really?” He thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. If you weren’t careful, he was going to pull out his suit right now and tell you everything. Well, either that or kiss the living daylights out of you. He reallyyy wanted that last one to happen. “And why didn’t you?”

“Well Spider-Man great and all, don’t get me wrong, saving the city and all,” you made a gesture with your hands, “but you’re my best friend Pete. Of course I’d pick you.”

Peter stood shocked. Honestly, he didn’t deserve you and all your kindness. Everyone loved Spider-Man, no one really cared about Peter. No one but you apparently.

“Now,” you grinned wickedly, “wanna take Peter 2.0 out the box and see how far he can jump?”

He scoffed, “Can’t believe you even have to ask sweetheart.”

“Great,” you handed him the container,” you go first. I wanna get a picture of you and your name twin!”

Peter laughed sweetly and looked down at his ‘name twin’ lounging leisurely on his little twig. Slowly, Peter lifted the lid and placed his finger beside Peter 2.0, allowing the spider, about the size of his fingernail, to crawl onto the tip of his finger.

He slowly lifted his wrist out the box and looked over to where you stood, camera in hand, grinning wide. “I took your camera, hope that’s okay.” You said sweetly.

“Yeah, it fine.” he wanted to tell you you could anything of his you wanted.

“Cool,” you held the camera up and positioned the viewfinder so it was in front of your eye. “Okay…Smile in 1…2…” you squealed.

Peter hadn’t noticed, too busy ogling at you and how beautiful you looked using his camera like that, but your jumping spider had, well….jumped.

“Peter!” You yelled.

“Me or him?”

You burst into giggles, Peter (human) following suit.

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

Text

Within Arm's Reach

Zayne x male!Reader

IT'S FINALLY HERE. Yeah not having wifi atm sucks so hopefully no one walks in on me writing this at school

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: fluff, smut, pwp, aftercare, anal sex, hand job, kissing, biting, nipple play, praise kink, swearing, first time topping, first time bottoming, references to proposing, banter, teasing, creampie, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 2,157

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADS Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form (taking a short break from updating my list rn but I will update it again soon when I have time <333)

Zayne groans something beautiful, lodged in his throat as he strains to keep his head up to watch you slowly push your cock into him. His own dick twitches prettily against his stomach, leaking precum onto his pale skin.

Your head spins, eyes stuck staring at the sight of his body sucking you in, squeezing around you. It's hot and slick from lube, and you think you could cum right then and there. Zayne reaches out to hold your hip. His fingers press deliciously into your skin as he draws you closer, drawing you deeper into him.

"Good," he breathes. "Just like that." He sighs a shuddering breath when you've bottomed out. "Give me a moment."

You'd wait to the end of time for him, truly. And this sight - his hair disheveled from your make out session on the couch, his ears bright red, his lips parted and swollen, his chest rising and falling, his pupils blown wide - well, you could admire it beyond the end of time. You wonder if he feels this way when he fucks you. If he relishes in being able to look down and see you in such a mess, dribbling precum on yourself as you look back up at him, pleas falling from your lips like prayers, begging him to move. When he leans his head back to look at you, you think he just might.

"Go ahead," he says. You begin to pull out and he gasps, closing his eyes to center himself again. "Start slow."

You pull back until just the tip remains inside. It's your first time fucking him, but it's also his first time being fucked. You try to draw on that experience. Rub circles into his hip with your thumb to soothe him. His eyes crack open to look at you. You grin softly at him, and slowly push back in.

It's addicting, watching your put-together doctor fray at the edges. He's always had the habit of "losing himself" to your pleasure when you two are intimate, doing everything in his power to please you as much as possible, even getting off when he sees you enjoy yourself. He chases after it. He loves it. In those instances, he gets almost desperate. But no matter what, he is in control. He has his finger on the pulse.

Now that he's beneath you, even as he guides you along, you are the one in control. He could tell you to go faster and you could slow down. Tease you just like he does some nights, when you're being difficult and he quirks his eyebrow and smirks and tells you to be patient. You understand why he loves it so much.

You speed up gradually. Sweat glistens in a light sheen across both of your bodies. With each thrust, his dick bounces, drawing with it webs of sticky spend. Zayne's cheeks are flushed now, quiet sounds pulled more readily from him. You can't help the sounds that escape you either, slowly losing yourself to the feel of your partner's tight walls hugging your cock, engulfing you in ways you can't begin to emulate with your hand, but that you'll wish you could replicate when you're alone.

You lean down over him, supporting yourself with a hand beside his head, and he wastes no time pulling you close. One hand tangles in your hair, drawing your lips to his, mouths parting and coming together with wet sounds and hot breaths. He tastes faintly sweet. His other arm wraps around your shoulders, hugging you to his chest. Slick skin rubs against each other. When you grind your hips into his, you feel his cock brush against your stomach. He groans, breathless as he tilts his head the other way and kisses you again.

Between kisses, he speaks into your mouth. "Put your knee up on the bed," he tells you. You follow his instruction without contest. With the added leverage, you fuck into him easier, moaning as you find a new angle to rut into him. He draws you even closer with a broken sound. "Yes~ So obedient. Such a good boy."

Whether it's the angle or the praise, you're not sure. But something snaps. You cry out his name as your hips stutter, pressing hard up against him as though you can possibly reach any deeper. Your dick twitches and hot spurts of cum paint his insides white. The odd feeling, the heat of it, has Zayne's back arching, stomach, chest and cock pressing against your front as he gasps and sighs against the corner of your mouth. His knees squeeze your hips encouragingly, silently telling you to stay there until you've recovered. He presses light kisses against your jaw.

"You did so good," he praises beside your ear. You roll your hips and his breath hitches. "Take your time, my love. Just breathe."

You drop your face into his neck, bowing into him. "Fuck, Zayne, I-" You take a deep shuddering breath. He scratches soothingly at your scalp. He smells like mint and pine, like a cold winter, but his body is so warm, his hand on your back running along your spine to give you chills. You sigh shakily against him. "I-I'm still hard," you admit with a wet swallow. "Feels so good. You feel so good."

He cups your face to draw you from his neck, to kiss your lips lightly. "It's okay," he says softly. "Keep going. I've got you."

Your eyes are bleary as you pull back to see his face. "Are you sure?"

He nods, face flushed as he guides your hand from his hip to his still achingly hard dick, still twitching with the need to cum. He's so hot as you wrap your hand around him, weighty. You thoughtlessly lick your lips, imagining the taste and feel of him on your tongue. You dream for a moment of pulling out and just settling between his legs, taking him down your throat or licking his stomach clean. But he shifts his hips up against yours and the shock it sends through your system wakes you from the thought. Another time.

You're so sensitive when you pull out again. Your own cum acts as lubricant as you thrust back in. Some dribbles out, following the cleft of his ass to stain the towel he laid down prior. His chest moves in choppy breaths, your sweet doctor taken in once more by the euphoria of it all.

He guides your hand along his shaft. The dual feeling of your cock fucking into him as you jerk him off sends his head spinning. He tips his head back against the pillows, Adam's apple made prominent as he mindlessly tells you to take what you need from him.

Neck so open and exposed, you can't resist putting your mouth on it. Wet, open-mouth kisses trailing along his artery, lips sucking on the smooth skin to form light bruises, teeth lightly nipping over the jut of his collarbones. You settle back on your knee for support as you go further down. Tongue circling his pretty pink nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of your mouth. He tangles his fingers in your hair again with a moan of your name. Holds you to his chest to keep you there, devoting attention to his nipple as it hardens within your mouth. The salt of his sweat tastes so sweet when you have him like this under you.

His hand falls from yours as you take control over the rate you stroke him. You do short, quick pumps around the head of his cock, over the ridge. Your thumb presses against his leaking slit, spreading the slick precum around, staining your hand in it to lubricate your ministrations. Zayne grips onto the towel to ground himself, as though he could float away at any second from the high of his approaching orgasm. "'M close. So close. Hng- Don't stop. Fuck, don't stop."

You push your tired body to go faster. The slap of skin against skin fills the air. The wet pop as you tear your mouth from his nipple to lean back up to his neck, kissing messily along his jaw. The tension in your abdomen builds, muscles tensing as you prepare for the fall. It almost burns, so overstimulated from your first orgasm that it nearly hurts to chase after this one. But you don't dare shy away from it now, even as your breaths choke up and you're pressing down desperately into Zayne for support.

His hips buck up, fucking his dick in your hand just as hot ropes of his cum shoot out over your hand, onto his stomach, even sticking to your own. The vein pulses against your palm, cock twitching, as it forces out every last drop he can offer. Your name falls from his lips in breathless whispers, choked and drawn out and so fucking beautiful.

You don't stop stroking him. Don't slow your rapid pace. Not until your own cock pulses with its release. Hot cum fills him once more, coating your dick as you helplessly thrust into him, messy and off rhythm. When you finally feel the ache fade, you stop, buried to the hilt inside of him, hand releasing his flaccid cock to hold his hip with a sticky hand. It's hot on his sweaty skin.

He lets out a quiet sound as his body relaxes back into the bed. Satisfied and tired, he strokes a hand lazily through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp as you catch your breath. You can't help laying your weight on him, but he doesn't complain at all. Just turns his head to kiss your temple.

"You were perfect, my love," he whispers, voice shaking ever so slightly. He strokes odd patterns up your back, occasionally massaging into the muscles to coax out any remaining tension.

You hiss softly as you pull out. His breath hitches, but he otherwise seems unaffected, pressing another kiss against your head. You press a kiss to his neck in return. "You were, too," you hum. "Thank you for agreeing to try this."

You feel his lips curve into a slight grin against you. "Which do you prefer?"

"Hmm, right now?"

"Mm."

"... I didn't realize how addicting being... inside you would be."

He huffs a soft laugh. "I underestimated how good it would feel to have you inside me." His fingers grab hold of your chin, tilting your head up so he can kiss your lips. The kiss is reverent, delicate. Barely a brushing of lips. "We need to clean up."

You grin against his lips, eyes half-lidded and sleepy as you crack them open to look at him. "I guess that's my job tonight, huh?"

He grins in return. His thumb mindlessly strokes your jaw. "Shall I show you how to do that, too?"

You pinch his side playfully. His body jolts slightly as he shoots you a look. Your arms shake as you push yourself back up, standing on wobbly legs. You wipe your hand on the towel beside his leg. Your traitorous eyes look at the mess that's been made. You do your best not to drool, flushing with heat as you disappear off into the bathroom. "I've seen you do it enough times." You run the water on the shower, starting up the towel heater in the meantime before stepping back out to disappear down the hall. "It's your turn to watch now!" you call from the kitchen, fetching your beloved a glass of water.

Zayne stares down the hall after you, though you can't see him, nor he you. A content smile paints his lips, timid but insistent. The spray of the shower hits the tile wall. Glasses clinking in the kitchen barely sound over it. He's hot and sweaty and sticky, uncomfortable with the dripping mess leaking out of him and how sore he is. He sees your face, tired but smiling, as you come back to the bedroom with two glasses in hand, condensation gathering on the sides, and he thinks of the box in his office drawer where you can't accidentally stumble upon it before he's ready. He wishes now, when you help him sit up and sit on the edge beside him, drinking your waters together, that it had been hidden in his nightstand, an arm's reach away.

Because he is ready. He knows that now more than ever. He finds himself lost staring at you. You tilt your head at him. "Something wrong?" you ask.

He shakes his head and hides his embarrassment at being caught behind a sip of water. "No, nothing's wrong."

He can see the sliver of worry fall from your shoulders as you smile. You set your glass aside and stand up, bending down to kiss his cheek. "C'mon, sugar, the water's getting cold."

Yes, he is ready. Tomorrow. Maybe tonight. Soon. Soon.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @leiakitty

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #male reader #x male reader #smut

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luckyartdrawer · 5 months ago

Text

100 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE!!! MER AU!!!

Y'all chose the MER AU to celebrate, and so say hello to some fishy boys! They are all quite happy to see you, though some seem to show it more than others!

Cookie cutter shark Sun can't wait to take a bite- I mean- erm- rather a hug out of you! Either way he's quite excited!

Threadfin Eclipse would rather all eyes be on him, but he would settle for just yours! His colors shifts in every way, he's hoping your eyes won't stray!

Jellyfish Moon doesn't mean to be so imposing -- towards you anyways. He just wants to see you and everyone happens to be in the way!

This is technically a PT 1 to the celebration, as we have a Royal AU to roll out the red carpet for as well due to a tie in the poll!

PT 2 is made!

vvv Sketch/line art and yapping below!!! vvv

Sketch/Line art

Hehehe I just had to share. I am so proud of how the lines came out. Sketch cleaned up as lineart method my beloved.

Uagh I keep looking back and seeing so many things I could do. I might update the images secretly one day, but for now I think I need to let it be free in the world before I just never finish lol

Welcome to my yap sesh! Thank you all for being here, I hope the wait was worth it! <3 I am very proud of this and spent soooo so long rendering it. (What was i thinking doing 3 characters end my suffering /J)

Here's some random factoids about these sillies!

Sun: Born in the depths. He is a dime of dozen of cookie cutter sharks, all of them insistent of taking chunks out of anything and anyone they can find. Sun at least has some restraint when it comes to mers he likes, but he always wants just one nibble! Sun tends to warm up fast to mers that give him a speck of attention and care. Cookie cutter shark mers are known to link up with mates as soon as possible, but Sun insists that he hasn't found the perfect fit yet. No one is tasty enough for it! Everyone needs to compliment the other! Sun is the fastest of the 3, relying solely on his speed and jumping out of hiding spots to catch prey. His sharp claws pierces easily and the long webbing between his fingers makes it really easy to ensnare prey in his grasp!

Moon: Born in the depths. Jellyfish mers are rather uncommon, being known as a mostly solitary species. Unlike their animal counterparts, Jellyfish mer go alone after maturing, not even inclined to search for a mate, though they can if they so desire. They live the longest of any mer species. Their transparent bodies keep their form hidden from prey as their bioluminescence lures them in. Moon is the slowest of the 3, but it does not matter to him. To hunt, he floats in a comfortable spot, amping up his bioluminescence and fanning out his ribbons to attract prey. If a victim gets within his vicinity, his ribbons will quickly wrap and tangle around them, sending painful stings and intense damage to the prey. While effective, there are times the mer will sit in one spot for days having not attracted any food. He can hunt directly like other mers, but he'd have to rely on his transparency over speed in order to get close enough to catch them, his melded fingers make it even harder to grasp prey directly.

Eclipse: Isn't actually born a deep sea mer but spent most of his life in the depths after finding out how delicious specific creatures are and how much attention his looks get him. His skin and scales are iridescent and he loves to flaunt them when he can. Eclipse tends to be very carefree, though also the most gentle when interacting with other mers. He is inclined to view anyone as a potential friend or more due to being omnivorous, though no many has caught his full, dedicated attention. He's not territorial, not competitive, and doesn't care where he goes as he can eat just about anything. Hunting wise he is the most tactical, using his colors and thick ribbons to lure and confuse prey. He isn't the fastest nor the slowest, but his long hands increase his likelihood of catching prey he otherwise would have been a little too slow to grasp.

Yeah i.... I ended up having a lot of fun coming up with these guys

Especially moon, those of you who know KNOW, but man... my moon bias is so strong.

I even have this cute expression idea where he can control how his cap looks and uses it for his own protection. When sometimes when sleeping or defensive, he will tuck in his tail, arms, and sometimes his ribbons within the cap and then, like a string bag, it closes off his entire body from the world. He's in his own cap bubble!!! When embarrassed or trying to physically interact with someone without fear of hurting them, he'll tuck in his ribbons and scrunch his cap around his head. He'll look a bit silly, and you can't touch his face, but you can hug him safely and play with the soft round cap that now encases his head. (His tail/neck ribbons have no stinging abilities, they're just glowy for lure purposes!) his coloration is mostly inspired by the Man-O-War but his species is more fantasy then based off only that like the other two are with their respective fish, so that's why I just call him simply a Jellyfish for now :3

Sorry about that... I still love all 3 of these goobas and have ideas for them though! Maybe one day I'll get a fic going for them, not saying anytime soon because I have TOO MANY to work on rn, but just know they are swimming in my head.

So many ideas, so little time......

Once again THANK YOU ALL!!! It is so lovely to see y'all here despite my whacky upload schedules. I always tell myself I should make more simple things sometimes just so I can get the ideas out faster, but then my hands always do something else smh. Hope you all find this art and my future works quite delectable! <333

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riaki · 2 years ago

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nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader

wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends

i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!

satoru hates arguing with you.

it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.

it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.

of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.

but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.

it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.

it was small. barely worth fussing over.

he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.

a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.

"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.

his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.

you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.

"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.

(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)

you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.

he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.

you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.

you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.

"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.

he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.

then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.

"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.

his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.

(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)

but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.

"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.

the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.

and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).

a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.

but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.

you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.

"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"

"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”

...

he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.

maybe.

a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.

it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.

"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.

"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)

his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.

you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.

he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.

the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.

what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.

eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.

wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.

despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.

and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.

"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.

"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."

you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.

"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.

(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)

"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.

"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.

you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.

he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.

you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.

you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.

you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.

you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.

"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.

even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.

its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

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alittlewhelmed · 24 days ago

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Imagine how Spider!Reader joins the Team

Notes: gn!reader, not proofread, kind of like an origin story. Enjoy!

You met the team through Artemis and Zatanna.

You were in Manhattan for a field trip when your spidey-senses led you to the two heroes running away from harm.

You had swung in and webbed Harm to a wall, nodding at the girls like you practiced in the mirror, "Sup?"

Then Harm got free and was all like: "The its called for backup, the its should know mere webs cannot stop Harm."

"My pronouns are actually they/them, thanks."

While following the Secret Girl across rooftops, you introduced yourself as the friendly neighbourhood Spider, at least in Queens that is.

After hearing their brief explanation of who they were and why they were in Manhattan fighting crime on Halloween night, you looked at Artemis and was like: "Boy trouble, huh?"

She almost fell off the roof at that.

Luckily for Artemis, you were interrupted by Harm taking you guys hostage.

You escape with the help of the Secret Girl, who turns out to be the ghost of Harm's sister, Greta.

"An actual ghost." Artemis breathed, staring wide-eyed at Greta.

"Ok, even for New York that's weird." You added, the lens of your mask wide.

With the help of Greta you guys defeat Harm and turned him into the police.

You said goodbye to Artemis and Zatanna, making them promise to come hang out if they were ever in Queens.

You never really expected anything more to come from that mission.

Until you return home and find Bruce Wayne in your living room having tea with your Aunt May.

He offered you an internship at the Wayne Enterprises in Queens, and charmed your Aunt with compliments about her cooking.

The internship was going to be in Wayne Enterprise’s R&D department, where he said your chemistry skills would be needed.

Huh, so apparently Bruce Wayne has seen your report card.

Aunt May was thrilled for you, and couldn’t stop smiling.

When Aunt May said she was going to get more cookies from the kitchen, Bruce Wayne turns serious and says that he has a friend who wants to meet you on your roof later that night.

Weirded out by the billionaire playboy, your curiosity still won out, and later that night you went to the roof.

After a few minutes of nothing you decided that Bruce Wayne was crazy and you should probably not accept his internship, no matter how well it pays.

Just as you turned around, a dark shadow dropped in front of you.

You weren't shocked, cause again, spidey-sense, but Batman is tall and doesn't smile, so you were nervous.

Cue the nervous explaining because you thought he was here for you for that one time you didn’t actually read the book assigned for your book report.

"I swear Mr. Batman, I was going to read the actual book, but Lord of the Flies is really boring and SparkNotes was really helpful - "

“This is about Spider.”

Turns out when Artemis and Zatanna reported about that maniac Harm, they also mentioned you to Batman, who sent his friend Bruce Wayne to come scope you out.

“So do vigilantes just have billionaires on speed-dial? Or are you guys roommates?”

Batman actually paused at that, and his features shifted to a dark glare, “What are you suggesting?”

Now you were really glad you said roommates instead of boyfriends.

Anyways, Batman offered you a position on his covert team of young heroes, and said that his “friend” Bruce Wayne was willing to let you use the internship as a cover story, and pay you for your time on the team.

It was a good deal, so you accepted.

“You might need this.” Batman hands you a sleek briefcase before grappling away.

You don’t watch him go, instead choosing to open the briefcase (definitely Batman’s intentions).

And inside is a suit, with the same colour and design as your homemade suit.

You look in the direction Batman swung off in, “Thanks, Batman.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your thanks.” Robin pipes up.

It’s a good thing Robin had his grapple on hand when you judo-flipped him off the roof.

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

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Ensnared in lies. // Cult Leader!Bsf!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader || MODERN AU.

Summary: Returning to your old town after many years to settle down posed many difficulties, luckily your childhood best friend was willing to help you out, surely he doesn't have any ulterior motives, right?

WARNINGS: dubcon, cult, narcissism, brainwashed neighborhood, coercion, somnophilia(?), unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, body worshipping, cunnilingus, brainwashing(?), gaslighting, manipulation, extremely gullible reader, unknowingly being involved with a cult, yandere!aemond(?), + plus not proof read, lmk if there's anymore warnings I should add.

WC: 7.3k

A/N: I finally go to finish this, it's insane how long it took. // divider creds to @cafekitsune

You rolled down your window as you drove your car, allowing the breeze to hit you gently and flow through your hair, the smell of fresh air was something you weren't used to since you had lived in the city for a few years— having gotten to the pollution there, you had forgotten that air could even be this fresh.

Moving places was a hassle, especially from the city to a town, but it did not matter to you since you had told yourself that you'd come back here no matter what, after all it was your childhood town, where you grew up in.

As you drove, the town's sept came into view, and the moment you glanced at it, the sept made you feel an overwhelming amount of nostalgia, remembering how you and your childhood best friend would sneak off the Sunday preachings to play in the fields. They were fun memories.

But for an odd reason, you felt a sense of deep dread along with the feelings of nostalgia, you felt your gut wrench as you passed by it, the big seven pointed star loomed eerily, making shivers run down your spine.

You shrugged it off and stepped on the accelerator, speeding past it, the blanket of dread, which the sept engulfed you in, was lifted the moment the towns houses came into view, their architecture had developed but still remained their original structure, you felt nostalgic once again, memories springing up in your mind.

You quickly drove to the house you grew up in, parking the car in the front of it before getting out, the house had been abandoned for a few years after you and your parents had moved out of the town, it looked shabby, spider webs decorating the corners, you pulled the key out of your pocket before pushing the fence gate open and moving towards the door.

The door handle was rusted, and the key didn't fit into the hole at first, but you somehow managed to push it inside and twisted as much as you could, the noise of metal clunking against each other as you desperately tried to get it open, and by pure luck, it opened.

The door creaked open, revealing the insides of the house, it was empty, and you stepped inside — immediately coughing because of the dust particles in the air, the floor was covered in dust, abandoned spider webs clung onto the walls. You walked further inside, the sound of your boots echoing through the empty house, your feet took you to your childhood bedroom, which you opened to see if it was the same.

Of course it was, the walls were painted your favourite colour at that time, you giggled as you thought of a funny memory, when you had thrown a tantrum and asked your parents to get it painted because your best friend had his room painted too.

Ah yes, your best friend.

You wondered if he still lived here, though knowing him, he probably did. You both had kept in touch from time to time but never really went into details of your life, however he was still a main part of your life, after all, you spent most of your childhood with him, doing random stuff and messing around like kids and teenagers did.

The thought of him brought a smile to your face.

You continue to take in the sight of your bedroom, stepping inside to further examine the room, to check if it needs any cleaning, You go to the window before looking outside and then something catches your eye.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, just another spider web, weaved outside of it, unlike all the spider webs you came across in this house, it wasn't abandoned. A spider crawled on it, still seemed as if it was weaving it carefully, placing every microfiber in its place whilst moving to the centre, you watched as the silk came out of its spinnerets, awed by the process of how it made its web, with so much precision.

Just then, you spotted a butterfly making its way towards it, you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering if the butterfly knew that it was making its way towards its own trap, but you couldn't do anything except watch.

And alas, the butterfly got caught in the web, its wings sticking to the silks as it struggled to get out, ruining the web in process but the more it struggled, the more the web stuck to its wings, weighing it down further, the spider seemed to be watching ominously as the butterfly struggled, and then, it attacked.

It jumped on the butterfly, and you sighed heavily, knowing it was a lost battle for the butterfly, you had hoped it would escape but it didn't, the spider had already caught it, you watched as the butterfly eventually stopped struggling, indicating that it has met its own death.

You looked at it in horror before shaking your head and making your way out of your bedroom, mind still on the incident you had witnessed, trying to understand why it would ever willingly fly into the trap?

‘Perhaps it didn't see the trap’ is the reason you came up with, which made more sense, ��What a naive creature’ you thought as you walked into the middle of the living room.

Just then your phone starts ringing, you smile when you read the name and immediately answer the call.

“Hello? Y/N? Is it actually true?” the voice on the other line questioned and you cheekily giggled before answering, “Yes Aemond!” You replied enthusiastically.

You had texted Aemond that you were moving back into town right before you reached.

It wasn't too long before Aemond reached your house, your guess was correct, he still lived here, you waited outside by your car patiently for him, scrolling through your phone when you heard the wheels of a vehicle squeaking as it stopped, you lifted your head up to take a look.

The car door opened and a familiar figure stepped out, you couldn't control the amount of happiness you felt when you finally saw him, your best friend. He had matured quite a lot, his hair grew in length, his features became more sharper as the baby fat was lost with age, and what you found surprising was that he now seemed to have stopped wearing that eyepatch.

You remembered how insecure he was about it, he lost it in a mishap that involved his nephews and was very insecure since then, yet now he doesn't seem so insecure anymore, in fact, you took note of the sapphire placed in the empty socket of his eye.

He shut the car door and made his way to you, and you immediately pounced on him, making him stumble back a little bit as you hugged him tightly, his hands rested gently on the back of your waist and he let you hug him, “Oh gods Aemond, I missed you so much! You've changed a lot.” You exclaim to which he gives you a small smile, “You too.” He replies, alluding to the fact that you have also changed.

You pulled back and gave him a big smile.

You expected him to let go of you, but he didn't, his grip on your waist tightened and he pulled you into for another hug again, this time, he bent down to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, you didn't think much of it, and instead caressed his hair in a comforting way.

He lets go after a minute or two, before smiling at you, and then addressing the situation at hand, “You moved back here? So suddenly?” He asks you, and you nod, “It wasn't sudden, I had always said that I'd come back.” You shrugged and he nodded, then he looked behind you, spotting your house, and furrowed his brows, “You'll be staying there? That place has not been touched in years.” He questions and you turn back to look at it.

“There's nothing I can do about it, I'm gonna clean it up as much as I can and sleep on the floor until my furniture from the city arrives here, they said that it will take time, about a week or so, because my decision was last minute, I haven't booked them in advance.” You explain your situation and he raises an eyebrow, “No.” He simply asserts and you stare at him in confusion.

“I cannot allow it, how about you stay over at my place until your house is all cleaned up and ready to be moved in?” He suggests and you pout, “I don't want to be a burden to you.” You mutter.

You are taken aback when he grabs your sides and pulls you close, “You are never a burden to me, Y/N.” He tells you and you chuckle awkwardly at the weird situation but you agree nonetheless, “—Oh I forgot to tell you, my boyfriend will also be moving here.” You tell him.

“Boyfriend?” He questions, through gritted teeth, and you nod, oblivious to the emotions he's feeling, “Can he stay over too?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him, and he swallows thickly, expression darkening before he agrees.

“Thank you Aem! But on the other hand, I guess I'll be busy for this entire week, trying to clean up the house.” You sigh, wincing at the thought of cleaning everything, and the renovations you'll have to make, which will also cost money.

“No need, I know a few people… who will be more than willing to help with it, I'd only have to ask them.” He tells you and you furrow your brows, “Wouldn't that be burderning them? Is that alright?” You question and he shakes his head, “Of course it's alright, they are obligated to.” He states and you are even more confused but Aemond quickly switches up the topic and asks you if you want to go to his house now, and you nod.

“Sure, let me lock the house up real quick.” You tell him and you go to the front door, shutting it and locking it. Of course, you struggled because the lock was bad as before but still managed to lock it.

“We can go now.” You say, getting into your car but Aemond tuts, which makes you halt, “Why bother taking two cars there? Just leave yours here, I'll drive you there.” He suggests and you were about to protest but immediately stopped the moment you realise how it wasn't a suggestion, but rather a statement.

So you agree, he's your best friend after all, someone you can blindly trust, he's extremely trustworthy.

And so, you get into the passenger seat and watch Aemond get into the driver's seat and start the engine, he steps on the accelerator, moving the car forward slowly. You stare out of the window as he turns around the corner.

Your eyes spot the same web from earlier, still the same as the spider feasts on the remains of the butterfly in its trap, a sense of dread forming in the pit of your stomach; but just then you feel Aemond place his hand on your thigh and you turn your head to him, “You're nervous.” He comments and you didn't notice but you looked down, to see your own leg bouncing up and down, so you try to stop it but you can't.

Aemond rubs up and down your thigh reassuringly, trying to provide you with comfort, you should tell him to take his hand away, cause it wasn't appropriate but you don't, because it actually made you calm down, something about his touch was strangely soothing.

So you remained quiet.

You both reach his home in twenty minutes, you open the car door and step outside, taking in the view of his house, “Still the same as ever huh?” You question, the house had remained the same even after all those years, Aemond hums in response.

“Where is your family?” You enquire when you step inside, finding the house empty, with no other human presence, “They moved out, they wanted me to come too, but I refused.” He answers your question curtly and you nod in understanding.

Your phone rings with a notification and you open it to see a text from your boyfriend; ‘i’ll be there by tomorrow’ it reads and you smile widely, immediately telling Aemond about it and he gives you a tight lipped smile before rolling his eye when you face away from him.

“You can use the room located down the hallway—” He points to the door “—all essentials should be there since it is Helaena's room.”

You thank him quickly before carrying your luggage towards the room, immediately plopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, minding rewinding through the events of today, the sept, the spider and everything, you yawned, shaking those thoughts off and drifting slowly into slumber.

Aemond stood in the living room, tapping his foot anxiously against the floor as he dialled a number, each ring making him impatient, but the call was quickly answered and Aemond breathed heavily, “Hello? Floris?” He checks for the person on the other line, “Yes sir?” She replies, “I need you to do something.” He begins to explain his predicaments.

After his call with Floris, he makes his way over to Helaena's room and checks in on you, noticing your sleeping form, you were laying on your back, his eye softens at your peaceful expression as soft snores left you, he made his way inside the room, before standing right in front of you, hand steadily raising up to caress your cheek.

His thumb brushes over your cheek, before it outlines the bridge of your nose to your lips, slowly making its way down to your chin, he shifts in his place, mind racing with many thoughts of kissing you and wondering if he should fully commit to it.

And so he does, leaning over and kissing your lips as his hand cups your breast, he stops for a moment when he hears you whine, thinking you woke up, but you didn't, you instead turn to the side, exposing more of your neck, which Aemond, in his fucked up mind, takes it as invitation to leave kisses on it.

He slowly lifts your shirt up, revealing your flesh which makes the cock in his pants begin to stir as he feels a wave of sick arousal. He pulls your shirt up further, your tits beginning to get exposed, he pulls your bra down, fully freeing them.

He licks his lip before leaning, taking one breast into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it before suckling on your nipple, his hands begin to undo his pants, quickly pushing his underwear aside and grabbing a hold of it, before stroking it up and down.

He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't help himself, maybe you'd actually sleep with him if you're convinced enough, but he feels that your mentality isn't that easy to break, because he knew you from your childhood, you always stuck to your own beliefs and did not let anyone sway you.

He could have you under his fingertips if he tries, but you were smart.

Too smart.

You'd figure out what he was trying to do immediately.

So he needs to break you first.

Make you completely rely on him, make you feel like he is your one and only salvation, and only then can he finally achieve what he wants.

He's upset over the fact that you have a boyfriend, — a hindrance, he deems — didn't you promise to marry him after twenty five? He sighs, he was waiting for you all these years, yet when you come back, you're in a relationship? He saw you as a traitor.

However, that was far from the truth, You never really promised him anything, the pact that was made had a condition, you and Aemond would marry each other if you didn't find a right partner by twenty five, which Aemond twisted in his own favour to justify his actions, a delusion that he believes to be his truth.

His tongue flicks up and down your bud, sucking noises echoing through the room as he stroked his cock even fast, he lets go of your breast with a wet pop before he completely pulled his pants down and straddled your face, so his cock was directly above your chest and his tip ghosting over your lips.

He taps it against your lips, once, twice, and thrice, grunting at the feeling of your soft lips, he sighs heavily, speeding up the pace of his hand, imagining how your mouth would feel. Would you kiss the tip before taking him whole? Would you tease him? He knew you would, you were a cheeky little thing after all, and soon enough; before he can process it— he is spurting his cum all over your pretty face. He guides his cock and presses the tip to your lips, so his essence oozes onto it too.

He breathes heavily, taking in the sight of your face covered with his cum, still sleeping soundly, he searches for his phone, opening the camera and quickly taking a picture of you in this state, keeping it for later, and now, he's cleaning you up, pushing your bra back on your again, pulling down your shirt and wiping your face with the sleeve of his hand, you furrow your brows and he immediately gets off you, heart beating fast as you blink your eyes open, adjusting to the view in front of you.

“Aemond?” You question groggily, “Sorry, did I wake you?” He apologises and you hum, “Why are you here?” You ask, confused, “I just wanted to ask what you wanted for dinner, but then I realised you were sleeping, so I was about to leave just now.”

Those lies leave him naturally. You hum again, stretching in the bed before shifting positions, laying on your stomach this time. “So?” He asks, referring to his earlier question, “I'll eat anything, you're a good cook Aemond.” you give him a sweet smile and he smiles back, nodding before going out of the room. You fall back asleep, not suspecting Aemond of anything.

He walks out into the kitchen, sighing relief that he did not get caught, he isn't the type to be impulsive like this, he's much more calculative yet his desire was too strong to resist, but in the end; you did not suspect him of anything. Which he is thankful for. He opens his phone to take a look at the picture he took before smiling to himself.

Maybe you wouldn't be so easy to fool after all.

Aemond hates your boyfriend.

He hates the way he makes you laugh, the way you giggle at his unfunny jokes pisses him off, he didn't know why he even agreed to let your boyfriend stay here, he was extremely annoyed, yet he did not show it.

But he knew he shouldn't be worried, after all, his plan was now set in motion with the arrival of your boyfriend in town, he had asked one of his devout followers to seduce your boyfriend, which will be set in motion once he goes out alone.

It's like the gods were listening to him, after all, whatever he wished for came true, or maybe he was the god himself, somehow making miracles like this happening.

Your boyfriend had gone out to take a look at your old house, you didn't go with him because your periods decided to hit you right on that day, Aemond took great care of you, letting you lay down all day, and pampering you with kindness.

Over the course of the week, your boyfriend would go out on the excuse of looking at the house, you believed him that he was just doing only that, but his returns became late, and often so, he smelled like a woman's perfume. Aemond was disgusted by him, sure he had set up the plan but the fact that it took your boyfriend barely two meetings with Floris to begin to fall for her showed his wavering loyalty.

You didn't suspect him, which made Aemond scoff, realising that you're way too trusting and he had to take matters into his own hand.

He came back one day from ‘work’ which you still had no idea on what he did and told you that he spotted your boyfriend with a woman. You raised your eyebrow.

“Are you sure you aren't mistaken?” You ask him, “I knew you'd ask that, so I took a picture to prove it.” He shows you the picture and you are shocked, it was a picture of your boyfriend close to a woman, and it looked quite intimate.

Your eyes begin to tear up, “Surely it's nothing right? I mean, he probably got close to her to say something maybe? Right, Aemond? He wouldn't betray me like that right—?” Your voice begins to crack and your eyes frantically search for reassurance in Aemond's eye, but he just swallows thickly and looks down, and that's when you break down.

Legs giving out as you crumble to the floor, feeling your world shatter, Aemond is quick to react, trying to raise you back up but you wouldn't budge so kneels beside you as well, “I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have revealed that.” He mutters and you look at him before shaking your head, “No no no, it isn't your fault Aemond, I just— I just didn't think he'd be willing to throw away our relationship of 2 years.” You cover your face as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

Aemond spreads his arms as if he's about to hug you, but he hesitates, not sure if you want to be hugged, but you lean into his chest for comfort and he immediately wraps his arms around you protectively. He rubs your shoulders as you cry your heart out to him, tears and snot staining his shirt, but he doesn't say anything.

A few moments later you calm down, and stare at Aemond, “What do I do now?” You ask him, eyes void of any light, and he wants to smirk but he can't, knowing that he has you where he wants, you to depend on him, it may just be a momentary dependence but he'll make it permanent soon.

“Leave him.” He says sternly and you nod, “He doesn't deserve you, you're such an amazing person, I cannot believe how he can leave you for another woman, who isn't isn't half as amazing as you.” He adds, and you nod once again, “You're right Aemond, I should leave him.” You tell him and get up off the floor, going to your room and thrashing around, separating your boyfriend's things from yours and throwing them in the living room.

Aemond smirks when you face away from him.

He's finally achieving what he wants.

The moment your boyfriend returns home, you begin screaming at him, telling him to get out and he argues back as well, before finally admitting that he cheated and apologising for it. Aemond was worried that you'd accept the apology, but you didn't and scoffed instead, slapping your now ex boyfriend across the face and throwing his things out and shutting the door in his face.

You rolled your eyes when he began yelling at you, calling you derogatory names but you ignored him, and Aemond sent a quick text to someone regarding your boyfriend.

You expected your boyfriend to still be there outside in the morning, but he isn't there anymore, he vanished. You didn't know why you hoped to see him there, but you were more relieved that he wasn't there.

Aemond was making breakfast and you decided to help him with it by preparing coffee for both of you and setting it down on the table, he places your plate in front of you and you thank him before he sits opposite to you, you stare off into the distance as you mindlessly chew.

“So what are you planning to do now?” He queries and you snap out of your daze to answer, “I don't know, I'll still probably live here, just not with a partner I guess.” You reply and he hums, “You can stay at my house as long as you want.” He interjects and you are about to protest but Aemond grabs your hand, thumb caressing your knuckles. You stare into his eye.

“Only for a few more days, to get your mind off, you know— I know you'll overthink when you're isolated, you always do.” He expresses his concern for you and you think for a moment, knowing that he is right. You sigh heavily before agreeing that you'd stay with him for a few more days.

Except it won't only be a few days.

Do you know how spiders devour their prey once it's trapped? Sinking their claws into their prey before injecting venom which destroys the prey from the inside and then; its ready to be devoured. Just like a spider; Aemond slowly injected his venom into you, manipulating you ever so slightly, till you are completely broken on the inside and dependent on him, he would play mind games with you, often talk to you about his beliefs— no, goad you into his beliefs.

You were left vulnerable after that incident, and Aemond had convinced you to join a ‘community’ where everyone gets together to help each other out and live in harmony, he talked about all the benefits of it, and at first you were reluctant, he knew you'd be, but at the end, you were convinced.

He was happy, telling you all the positive things about joining the said ‘community’, how the people were so welcoming and friendly, he said they all gather around the town’s sept every Sunday to pray, he tells you how most of the neighbours are in that community, they're selfless and kind.

He was making it seep into your brain.

Then he reveals that it's run by him.

Maybe he should've mentioned that earlier, because you looked at him shocked and you smiled, “It's run by you? Then I have no issue joining it! I was reluctant but for an odd reason, but knowing that it's run by you makes it more comforting.” You tell him and he smirks, knowing he had achieved his goal.

Well only half of it.

Aemond had a vision since he was young, to change the world for the better, he knew the world he lived in was beyond repair and so he decided to turn to the faith of the seven to find hope in religion, then, he had read about the ‘messengers’ of the gods, who are blessed by them.

Aemond believed himself to be one of them.

He did everything in the name of the seven, he just acted as a messenger, or so he thought himself.

Anyone one with common sense could that this community is clearly a cult, with its leader being Aemond, it wasn't a protestant group of the faith of the seven, no, it was entirely different, his community commits sin that the gods are against, incest, polygamy, etc yet Aemond doesn't think so. He believes that by committing these sins, they are repenting.

A flawed logic.

Aemond would often torture the community members who misbehaved, those who dared question his methods had their tongues cut off, and those that spread rumours that he was sleeping around with the cult women for pleasure was found and brutally tortured for hours on the end, he was more offended that they had claimed that he was doing it for ‘pleasure’ when in reality, he believes it to be a way of repenting. He never denied the accusations of sleeping with other women.

Amidst all of this he had almost forgotten about you.

Almost.

How can he ever forget you? His first love, the one that stayed together with him for a long time, helping him with everything. You were his star. A star that shone brightly, a star that he promised to seize.

And he had almost achieved that.

He just needed to push more, until you're finally his, he'll prove to you why you don't need anyone else, and neither does he, you'll be the goddess of the community, he will make sure everyone treats you with utmost respect.

It all started off slow, Aemond had introduced you to one of the members, who was very warm and cheerful which made you feel welcomed and you immediately began getting along with everyone slowly.

Aemond would introduce more and more people, and since then you started to wonder how many people are actually in the said community, the strength likely being in four digits.

You had tried to move out several times, but Aemond always had an excuse to make you stay, sometimes he'd fake being sick, and other times he'd guilt trip you — without you realising of course. So you stayed, a week turned into a month, and a month turned into two. Eventually you forgot all about moving out together and lived with Aemond.

You'd often cook dinner for him when he was out, coming back home late night, one time he had come back with a splash on blood on his clothes and you were worried for him, thinking he got hurt but he told you it was nothing and that he just helped a hurt animal on the road that was bleeding which got unto his shirt.

That was a far fetched lie.

He murdered your boyfriend that night.

After days, no, weeks of torturing him.

But you were none the wiser.

He'd make sure you'd never find out about his cruel side, he'd hope so that he doesn't have to act that way to get you to behave, after all he'd hate wanting to hurt someone he cherishes.

So he shows you all the love in the world, slowly indoctrinating you with his words that were sweet and having you falling for him, they weren't lies, but the tone was manipulative, he'd convince you sometimes that you need no one other than him, and you'd disagree at first but then you slowly began to agree, because you truly did feel that way.

The two of you got closer as time passed on, and Aemond had fully started to invade your personal space now, touching you for longer moments, hugging you from behind while you cooked, kissing your neck, while he fondled the flesh of your stomach and slowly tracing it up towards your breasts.

You didn't say anything about it, but you just leaned into his touch, it was comforting, warm and euphoric, so you didn't mind it. There was a blaring alarm at the back of your mind that tried warning you about everything that was occurring, but you didn't realise what it was warning you about.

And soon your twenty fifth birthday passed by, it was celebrated grandly, with the community members, everything seemed so fun.

A week had passed since then; life didn't change much except for the tension between you and Aemond increasing day by day, he especially seemed on edge ever since you turned twenty five. It seemed like a normal day, Aemond had gone out and returned, while you prepared a meal for the both of you.

He helped you set down the dishes on the table, and you thanked him for it. The food was burning hot, so you both decided to let it cool down a little before eating.

“There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about since your birthday…” Aemond is the first one to speak and you hum in question, “Do you remember the promise we made?” He asks and you furrow your eyebrows; trying to remember, and then it clicks.

“Ah yes! The promise about marrying each other if we don't have a partner after twenty five right?” You ask and he nods, “That was so silly, we were just kids!” You chuckle, “What?” His tone dropped an octave and the atmosphere suddenly turned ominous, “I mean—”

“So you're a liar.” He interrupts you, “You don't keep your promises.” He continues, “No Aemond- I did not mean-” “Shut up.” He grits his teeth and you immediately do.

“The conditions fit, do they not? What is so silly about it?” He gets up, chair screeching against the floor, he grabs your wrist and pulls you up too. “Aemond— marriage is a lot.” You try to be sensible, but he just furrowed his brows in anger, “Do you not feel anything between us? Do you not love me?” He asks, his eye frantically searching for an answer in yours, “Aemond, I do love you, but marriage is a lot.” You confess, looking directly at him.

You haven't fully broken down yet.

Your defiance tells him that.

The submissiveness that he once tried indoctrinating into you was gone in mere moments at the mention of marriage.

You were talking back to him.

“Marriage is a union of souls, if you love me, why do you not accept it?” He questions, his grip on your wrist tightening, You remain silent feeling a sense of doom in your gut, you did not want to disappoint Aemond.

Conflicted feelings arise in you, your rationality fighting against your own thoughts, Aemond can see it, “Y/N, I love you so much, I want you to marry me.” He says softly, voice laced with honey, you look him in the eye. ‘Maybe marriage to him isn't that bad, I love him too.’ you think, something about the eye contact was so intimate and hypnotising to the point that the voice screaming no in the back of your mind had begun to fade and soon disappeared.

His face softens when you look away, knowing he has you where he wanted, “Y/N?” He mutters and you do not respond, lost in your own thoughts. You felt as if your rational thoughts had been drained from you, and before you knew it, your brain had already made the decision.

“I will marry you, Aemond.” you reply.

Aemond wanted to jump in ecstasy, everything he ever wanted was right in his hands, the cult, the people, the power and now, you. He couldn't contain his joy and hugged you tightly, face buried in the crook of your neck, the scent of the fresh shampoo in your hair was subtle but it drove him insane, combined with the smell of soap on your skin.

You hugged him back, kissing his shoulder.

Something in this feels very wrong, yet you cannot put your finger on it, the rational voice has been drowned out from your thoughts, your skin feels prickly, your gut was warning you about something you cannot understand, because on the surface you don't notice anything wrong.

Aemond's hands trail up your back with carefulness, his fingers drew patterns as he pulled you closer into the hug wanting you impossibly close to him, he tried so hard to maintain his calm demeanour but it was difficult.

Because his prey is finally caught now.

The venom he injected into you worked, you weren't resisting anymore.

He could finally feast on you now.

He pulls away from the hug to stare into your eye before he tilts his head to connect your lips with his, he licks the bottom of your lip before capturing them fully, you take a deep breath of air before you lean into the kiss, arms circling around his shoulders, connected at the back of his neck.

His left hand holds the back of your head, pushing you further into the kiss while his free hand moves towards your breast, giving it a slight squeeze.

He plays with the nipple through the fabric with his thumb, his touch was electrifying, shooting current up your spine everytime he grazes his thumb against your nipple.

His hand leaves your breast resting on your waist instead, pulling your body close to his and holding you tightly.

He pulled your bottom lip with his teeth as he stared at you with hunger before he let it go gently, you breathed heavily, staring at him intensely, waiting for his next action.

He immediately pushed you against the table, lifting you up and placing you on it, he wasted no time in kneeling in between your legs while spreading them wide. He pushed your skirt upwards and hooked his fingers under the band of your panty before pulling them.

You watched in anticipation as he completely took them off before he positioned himself properly once again, he teased you, peppering kisses on your thighs and giving kisses to your intimate flesh.

You caressed his hair gently and it drove him insane; so he wasted no time and immediately latched himself on your bud, which made you gasp at the sudden movement.

Your grip on his hair only tightened further when you felt him swipe his tongue through your folds, lapping at them like a thirsty man, you couldn't help but grind yourself against his mouth, his hands were wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you.

“O-oh Aemond.” You moaned, face distorted with pleasure when you felt him bite your clitoris before licking it as a way to soothe it, his tongue soon prodded at the entrance of your cunt, licking up all the juices your cunt wept.

He flicked his tongue against your clit, nibbling on it slowly, taking his own time savouring his sweet, he licked and licked and still couldn't get enough, he felt like he was in heaven.

He pulled away to get some air and in that moment you caught a glimpse of his wet lips, covered in your juices, which made you clench around nothing, making you even more hot. You pulled his face into your cunt which he didn't protest against, taking your bud into his mouth once again.

You felt tingly all over your body and you knew your orgasm was approaching soon, so you began to hump his face desperately, gripping his hair tighter and moving your hips up and down.

You moaned in pleasure when you felt your high hit, your body trembled from overwhelming surge of pleasure.

You breathed heavily, panting and gasping for air as Aemond slowly let go with his lips glossed with your essence, he licked his lip wanting to taste you more and you blushed at the sight.

Aemond stared at you from below as you gave him a gentle smile, and he realised one thing.

He had never knelt for anyone.

Yet he's kneeling for you now.

And it doesn't bother him, he wants to serve you, as his everything but he also wants to keep you in control, and he shall do exactly that.

He immediately got up, and picked you up, carrying you towards his bedroom, his dick was throbbing in his pants, he opened the door quickly, kicking it shut with his feet and throwing you on the bed.

He took his shirt off; wasting no time, and immediately worked on pulling off his pants, he pushed them down and stepped out of them, leaving him fully naked while you removed your own clothes.

He pounced on you like an animal in head, holding your legs together up in the air and lining his cock up against your entrance, you groaned when you felt him enter you.

Feeling every little inch of him occupy you from the inside, you placed both your legs on his shoulders as he thrusted forward slowly.

He was visibly shaking, trying to not to be rough with you, he wanted to let go of himself fully and fuck you senseless, yet he retained himself, trying to stay calm as to not scare you off.

You involuntarily clench around him— which makes him lose the control he had on himself, the way your gummy walls felt around his shaft made him feral, and so he tightened his grip on your legs and immediately began ramming himself into you.

He thrusted ferociously, growling like a beast in heat with every movement, his hair growing messier and sweatier as he stared down at you, your body moved up and down the bed at the speed he was plunging himself into you, making the bed shake and creak.

You arched your back in pleasure when felt his tip kiss the sweet spot inside you, hands gripping the sheets below tightly. Your moans couldn't help but get louder and louder.

Your mind became hazy as you slurred out words, “H-harder, Aemond please..” you let out, wanting him to get even more rough on you, you were enjoying his cruelty which made him even more ecstatic.

He obeyed you, giving you what you wanted, you threw your head back against the bed, feeling him go faster, mind spinning with pleasure as his cock is making you feel unbelievably full.

Aemond could feel that he was close to his release, his abdominal muscles clenched in preparation for his orgasm but he did not want to finish before you do, so his hand travelled to your clit and rubbed fast circled onto it.

You whined at the combined pleasure and choked on your own words when you felt your orgasm hit you suddenly— the band in your abdomen snapping harshly, you let out a scream-like moan as your juices gushed down your thighs.

Aemond smirked at the sight, and picked up his pace, “I'm gonna cum inside you okay?” He tells you and you look at him, vision hazy, “But-” You couldn't finish your sentence as he had already cum inside you, shooting his load inside your cunt, painting your gummy walls white.

“Fuck oh fuck—” he slowly rides his orgasm out, “Can't wait to see you carrying my children around.” He rambles, and you stay silent, “Look at me.” You look at him, “You're gonna be the best mother, the mother of my children, aren't you excited?” He asks and you don't have time to think when your head moves by itself, you give him an eager nod.

“Yes Aemond, I am.” You were speaking, yet it didn't feel like you.

“Good girl.” Yet that one compliment made you giddy with excitement, so you pulled him into a kiss, dropping your legs off his shoulders.

“I can't believe this.” He starts

“Believe what?” You question.

“That I have everything I've ever dreamed of, especially you.” He kisses your forehead, and you smile. “Of course.” you reply.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, Aemond has completely infiltrated your brain, and at the wedding altar, the entire community cheered as you exchanged your vows, Aemond smiled mischievously, knowing you are his forever now.

He announced you as his ‘Queen’ and ‘Goddess’ which had everyone worshipping you. You would've found this odd had it been your old self, but you got accustomed to it, believing it to be normal, yet ignorant to your mental state.

But you had no time to ponder as you felt the babe in your belly kick which filled you with happiness, you grabbed Aemond's hand immediately which caught him off guard and placed it on your belly.

His face held confusion up until he felt the baby inside you kick again which made his eye widen and lips spread into a smile, he pulled you into a hug.

Your life was good and domestic or so you continue to believe. Unaware of what you're truly involved with. Yet Aemond never cared to reveal the truth to you.

As he believes ‘ignorance is bliss’

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

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