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batsovergotham · 19 days ago

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the unmasking pt2

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: angst, hurt some comfort, murder, cecil is his own warning, mark is such a caring ex bf

w/c: 11k

a/n: next chapter is gonna be so fluffy and smutty since its a flashback chapter. yall deserve a break!!

The wind screams past your ears. The city shrinks beneath your feet. And in front of you, the Guardians land. Bulletproof touches down hard. Concrete craters under his boots. He rises, goggles gleaming.

“You need to stand down.”

You laugh. Not cruel. Not kind. Just done.

‘Let’s show them what we are.’

Your hands curl into fists. And you say, loud enough for them to hear.

“Make me.”

The wind screams over the rooftop like it knows what’s going to happen. It slices through the ruined architecture, through shattered masonry, exposed beams, and the lingering stink of smoke from the last rooftop you tore apart. It rips through your hair, stirs the symbiote over your skin. It moves like warning.

Across the rooftop, they drop. The Guardians.

Not drones. Not GDA nobodies. These aren’t containment squads with tranquilizer guns and naïve hope. This is the highest tier. You’ve battled beside them. You realize just how deadly they are.

Dupli-Kate hits the rooftop first, already tearing apart, four, five, six copies spreading out around her like shadows. Each of them observes you with the same studied attention. Shrinking Rae lands next, a subtle swirl of motion and equipment that lights blue under her fingers. Black Samson comes down heavier, boots hitting concrete, arms crossed like a wall with eyeballs. Judging.

Then Rex. Rex leans out of the Guardian dropship like he’s still playing a game, like he’s not here to bring someone down. Like he’s not here for you.

His hair is wind-tousled and gorgeous. No smile. No concealed gaze. Just that arrogant expression and the weight of everything you used to believe hanging behind his eyes like it never left.

You gaze at him. He glances straight back.

“Well,” Rex replies, throwing a bright charge up and down in his hand. “You gonna come quietly? Or do we get to have some fun first?”

You don’t answer. You merely bend your head, lift your hands slowly, like submission. The another thicker layer of the suit slides up your arms covering the previous one. Black strands extend lazily from your fingertips.

Dupli-Kate’s clones change on impulse. Samson doesn’t flinch.

“Last chance,” Kate shouts, coming forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

You smile behind the mask.

“No,” you say. “But you do.”

You move. The rooftop explodes. You punch the nearest clone with your hand first, cracking her jaw sideways with a wet crunch. Her body flies back, spinning, tumbling, slamming through a corroded air unit with the power of a cannonball. Another charges from your right. You pivot, elbow slashing through her ribs, symbiote-enhanced strength turning bone into mush. She falls, glitching out of existence mid-scream.

You utilize her body as a shield. Just in time.

Rex’s disk charge glides overhead and detonates, BOOM, a blaze of orange and red that tears up the rooftop corner in a spray of sparks and debris. You’re tossed sideways, slide across gravel, catch yourself with a tendril that whips out and pulls you upright.

Another clone rushes. You’re already there. Venom spikes from your forearm and drives through her gut. She gasps, flickers, and leaves. The blood isn’t genuine. But the damage? The harm is yours.

“You’re actually killing,” Dupli-Kate exclaims, appalled. She stands just out of reach now, five more replicas spreading behind her in practiced formation. “They’re copies, but you’re still-”

“Still what?” you snap, unleashing a webline and dragging one of the clones directly into your fist. “Still making a point?”

You fling her into the next one. Both flash out. The real Kate stumbles back.

“She’s gone rogue,” Shrinking Rae calls, voice tense. “We need to incapacitate, now.”

“Trying,” Rex bellows.

You turn just as he hurls a kinetic disc, bright silver and sparkling. You duck. It clips your shoulder. The suit absorbs most of it, but it still burns. You snarl softly in your throat.

‘He believes he can damage us. He feels he is exceptional.’

You lunge. Rex narrowly dodges as your claws slash past his side. He throws another charge. You catch it mid-air and smash it in your fist. The explosion goes off like a firework behind you, searing the sky as you jump over Samson and land in the heart of another group of Kate’s clones.

You don’t hesitate. You rip through them. Tendrils whip out in perfect unison with your hands, gripping, crushing, impaling. Clones explode like glass. One shouts out as your foot smacks into her chest and pushes her right off the building.

You don’t glance down. You’re not even winded. The roofs is starting to crumble. Smoke swirls through the air, mixed with dust and debris. You kneel, fists curled into claws, blood, real and not, slicking your palms. And still, they come.

Shrinking Rae darts at your flank. You swing and miss, she’s already gone tiny, darting beneath your knees and up your back. She sends a shock into the base of your head. You scream, whip her off you, and fling her over the rooftop like an insect. She smashes the wall hard. Doesn’t get up.

“Rae’s down!” Rex barks. “Hold her in place!”

Three more Kates dogpile you. You spin, tossing them off, but the fourth climbs right onto your shoulders, wraps her arms around your neck. You push a spike straight into her chest and tear her off like a leech. Rex scores a hit then, a full blast to your ribs. You stumble, agony cracking through your side. You heal swiftly. Too quick. You should be dizzy.

You’re not.

The suit is singing now. Buzzing like it’s intoxicated on violence.

‘More. Let them come. LET THEM COME.’

Black Samson lunges, fists uplifted. You face him head-on. Fists clash with a bang that vibrates glass six storeys below. Your arm bends, then snaps back with the suit’s aid. You shriek and drive your fist into his stomach.

He grunts, stumbles. You kick him in the chest and send him flying into a billboard. You pause. Breathing hard. Then you straighten. Kate’s clones are diminishing. Rae’s down. Samson’s moaning amid the debris of a steel beam. Rex is the only one still standing, chest heaving, fingertips glowing with new explosives.

He wipes blood off his mouth.

“You are so far gone,” he mutters.

You don’t talk. You just take a step toward him.

The rooftop is a battleground of shattered glass, blood, and remembrance.

Smoke clings to the holes where support beams used to be. Sparks fly from a split generator box near the ledge, sending flickers of gold over people strewn on the rooftop like discarded puppets. Rae is down and not moving. Black Samson moans, barely awake amid the twisted ruins of a vent tower. Dupli-Kate’s clones are gone, torn apart or dissolved into crimson mist. Rex is hobbling, half-dragging himself to cover, his blood creating a trail.

You’re the only one still standing tall. Venom pumps over your skin, writhing across your shoulders like it’s famished, like it needs more blood. You don’t stop it. Not this time. You let the wrath consume the guilt. Let the violence smother the anguish in your chest.

And suddenly the wind shifts. Fast. Sharp. Too sharp.

A sonic boom shakes the air, powerful enough to rattle the windows of the nearby buildings. You turn just as a form bursts down from the clouds, yellow, black, and blue and quick as hell, ripping through smoke and night like a bullet made of light.

He lands hard.

Invincible.

The earth trembles under his weight. The rooftop shakes, scattering loose debris. His boots split the gravel. He straightens slowly, eyes scanning across the scene, hands already tense, jaw set.

And then he sees you. He freezes. Only for a second. But you see it.

In the way his chest tightens, the way his posture falters just slightly. Like something about you strikes him too deep, too fast. Like his head is racing to make sense of what his heart already understands.

“You need to stop,” he says.

You reveal your teeth underneath the symbiote. “Why? You here to take me in?”

He shakes his head once. “I’m here to stop this.”

You take a hesitant step forward, the symbiote moving restlessly with every breath. “That’s not an answer.”

“You’ve done enough,” he replies, calmer now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You snort. “You don’t know me.”

“I might,” he says, and it sounds too near. Too intimate.

Something in your chest twinges. You disregard it.

“You’re not walking away from this,” you warn.

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“Too bad.”

You lunge. Venom whips forth with your assault, claws slashing through smoke. He dodges, barely, your punch smacks into his side and sends him tumbling. He catches himself midway, boots scraping against gravel.

He launches back.

You face him head-on.

Fists clash. The collision splits the air. You sense his strength immediately, unforgiving, unrelenting. But you don’t yield. You twist under his arm, elbow him in the ribs, and slam your knee into his stomach. He moans, then grabs your leg mid-strike and tosses you into the rooftop generator.

Sparks fly. The steel crumples behind your back. You rise, chest heaving, shoulder scorching. He watches you. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t charge.

“You’re stronger than they said,” he mutters.

“You’re softer than I thought.”

You rush him again. The roofing under your feet fractures from the impact. He soars higher and you follow, Venom throwing a tendril like a grappling hook. You catch his ankle mid-air and drag him downward. He slams against the ceiling with a yell.

You’re on him in seconds. He catches your claw mid-swing. Your faces are inches apart now. You freeze. Your breath catches.

Because the sound of his breathing, his heartbeat, his presence, it all hits you like a déjà vu you can’t understand. He doesn’t shove you away. He just stares up at you.

“You feel familiar,” he whispers quietly. “I’ve fought beside you before… haven’t I?”

Your stomach flips. You growl and tear your arm away. “You don’t know me.”

But your voice trembles. And he hears it.

“I think I do.”

You throw your foot into his side, knock him over the rooftop, and scream, not from wrath, but from terror. He recovers, floats aloft, and wipes blood off his lip.

“You don’t have to do this,” he adds again. “Whoever you are, whatever they’ve done, you can stop.”

“You think this is about them?” you yell.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything?!”

Your voice breaks at the corners. The symbiote flickers. Invincible doesn’t answer. But something about his expression breaks. You see it in the way his shoulders droop. The way his jaw softens.

“You sound…” he starts again. “I’ve heard your voice before.”

He landed a few feet away now. Carefully. Slowly. Like approaching something wild.

You step back. “Don’t.”

“I’ve touched you,” he adds, seemingly astonished. “I’ve held you.”

“Stop.”

“I’ve kissed you,” he says. “Haven’t I?”

And the air leaves your lungs. He makes another stride.

“You’re-”

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t say it.”

You charge him one final time. Desperate. Screaming. He lets you hit him. He doesn’t even block it. You slam at him, hands banging into his chest, until your knees give out. He catches your wrists. Gently. Slowly. You struggle to draw away.

Then.

Rex.

You sense him before you see him. Staggering. Half-dead. He smacks something into your ribs. Click. You don’t have time to yell before the heat disk bursts. A white-hot bolt smashes into your side. The ache is instant, unreal.

You drop.

Venom screams. A loud, writhing cacophony within your skull. The suit recoils, pulling off your skin like it’s being pulled from muscle. You struck the rooftop hard. You attempt to move, but you can’t. The flames sears through you. The suit retreats.

Your disguise melts away. You suffocate on smoke. Blood. Air. You’re on your knees. Your face is exposed. And Invincible lands in front of you. Ready to strike. Then he sees you. He stops. Everything goes still.

His breath catches. His mouth opens. And for a long, astonished minute, he doesn’t move. He glances at you like he’s witnessing something that can’t be real. Something inconceivable. You blink through the tears.

And Invincible.

Invincible says your name.

Not Spider-Woman.

Not Venom.

Your name.

Like it breaks him.

You don’t say anything at first. You just kneel there, the gravel digging into your palms, your ribs on fire, the symbiote twitching along your spine like it’s trying to crawl away from the disgrace.

But Invincible shouts your name like he’s bleeding it. And everything inside you tilts. Because you know that voice. That trembling. That breath. You know the way he hesitates right before saying something dumb, like he’s trying to swallow his emotions before they blaze through his tongue.

That’s not Invincible standing in front of you.

That’s Mark.

Mark Grayson.

Your boyfriend.

Your ex.

Your secret-keeping, suit-wearing, late-night-ghost-of-a-boyfriend. And that makes sense. Too much sense.

“…You’re Invincible,” you whisper.

The words taste harsh. Like treachery and irony encased in gravel. Mark flinches. Just barely. His hands sink to his sides.

“I was going to tell you,” he says.

You laugh. It’s not pretty. It’s bitter, biting, and low in your throat.

“I asked you if you were hiding something. Remember? I asked you that so many times.” You stand slowly, jaw clinched. “And every time, you said no.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“You just had to say it, Mark.”

“I was protecting you!”

“From you?!”

Your voice cracks like a whip over the rooftop. Mark looks like he’s been punched. And you want to quit. You want to breathe. To sit down. To scream into your palms like none of this is happening. But you don’t. Because you’ve been waiting for this time. Even if you didn’t know it. Even if it’s shattering something inside of you you’ve been pretending wasn’t still delicate.

You draw the sarcasm around yourself like armor.

“Well. Guess it makes obvious now why you never died on ‘group projects.’”

“Don’t do that,” Mark adds, coming forward.

You lift your eyebrows. “What? Joke? I thought you appreciated that about me.”

He pauses in his tracks.

You smirk, but your eyes hurt. “Oh, I’m sorry. You were expecting me to cry and beg you to fix it? Please. I’ve cried enough. And you were never good at fixing anything, Grayson.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he repeats.

You shrug.

“Guess we both sucked at secrets.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I’m Venom.”

“I know.”

You laugh again. But this time it sounds like it could collapse into a sob. The suit ripples up your back, coiling over your shoulder like a hand attempting to pull you out of yourself.

‘He deserves agony,’ it murmurs. ‘You should make him feel it. All of it.’

Your expression falters. For a time. And then you repair it again. Because that’s what you do.

“You know what the worst part is?” you say.

Mark doesn’t move.

“I broke up with you because I thought I couldn’t trust you. Because you were disappearing. Because you were lying to my face and acting like nothing was wrong.”

“I never stopped loving you,” he adds.

You roll your eyes. “Congratulations. Doesn’t mean anything now.”

He steps closer. Too close. You hold out a hand, but he doesn’t stop. You loathe him for that. You loathe yourself more for not wanting him to.

“I still love you,” Mark adds again, blue eyes beaming.

You can’t help it.

You scoff. “Of course you do. I mean, look at me. I’m everything you like. Stupidly devoted, utterly self-destructive, and wearing a skin-tight black suit. You must be in heaven.”

“Stop it,” he says. “Stop making this a joke.”

You freeze. Something in you snaps.

“Don’t you tell me how to deal with this!” you shout. “I’ve spent the past three days trying to convince myself I did the right thing leaving you. That that was the right call. Because I couldn’t live with someone who looked me in the eye and lied like it was breathing.”

Mark seems like he’s about to say something. So you shut him up.

“I gave you everything,” you remark. “And when it got hard, when I needed you to just show up for me, you put on a mask and flew away.”

His mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The quiet is terrible than anything. Venom crawls over your cheek now, slow and steady. A warning. A threat.

‘He harms us. Let us show him what we’ve become.’

You shake your head. Your voice lowers. Quiet. Sharp.

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore, Mark. I’m not your happy ending.”

His hands shake at his sides. “You’re not a monster.”

You grin, broken and big. “Aren’t I?”

“You’re not!”

You cringe at the volume. At the rawness.

He steps forward again. You let him.

“You’re still you,” he adds. “Even under all that. I felt it when we fought. You pulled punches.”

“You did too.”

He nods. “Because I hoped it wasn’t you.”

You gaze at him. Really look at him. And for just a second, you see the Mark you loved.

The one who made you pancakes at 2 a.m. because you couldn’t sleep. The one who held your glasses before you got your powers like they were something sacred. The one who looked at you like you were everything in a world that took too much.

But that second passes. And you feel it again. The shift. The way your vision narrows. The whisper evolves into a chant.

‘Let go. Let go. Let go.’

The suit lashes out. Tendrils spike from your back and crash against the rooftop beside him. He stumbles back.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’m not asking.”

You slump to your knees with a shriek, gripping your head. It’s louder now. Like it’s within your bloodstream.

‘No more agony. No more heartbreak. No more HIM. Only us.’

Mark runs forward.

You yell, “STAY BACK!”

He stops. But he doesn’t run. The suit falls over your mouth. Your nose. Your eyes. You fight it.

God, you fight it.

But it aches. Because part of you wants it. Wants to cease suffering. Wants to stop bleeding. Wants to quit being the girl who loved someone who never told her the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says again. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve chose you.”

The last thing you see before the black takes over is his face. And it looks precisely as it did the day you first fell in love with him. It makes everything worse.

You scream as the suit closes shut.

And then you ascend. Taller. Heavier. Stronger. Venom seeps through your teeth in a voice that doesn’t belong to you.

“Too late, Grayson.”

Mark backs up, astonished.

“Please,” he says. “Don’t do this.”

But it’s done. Because you’re not you anymore. And he never spoke your name when it mattered. The comm crackles in Mark’s ear, crisp and clinical, cutting through the static like a knife.

“Mark.”

He doesn’t answer. Not yet.

His eyes are still fixated on you, on the shifting black mass of the symbiote snaking over your arms, coiling at your throat like a living noose. You’re not moving. Not yet. But the air around you seems heavy, like the whole rooftop is holding its breath.

Cecil’s voice cuts in again.

“I need a status report.”

Mark swallows. He opens his mouth, then shuts it.

His hands stiffen at his sides.

“…She’s still standing.”

There’s a pause. On the other end of the intercom, Mark can virtually hear Cecil peering at a monitor, trying to measure your pulse from a thousand miles away. Trying to make judgments with numbers on a screen instead of people’s names in his mouth.

“Has the symbiote taken her over?”

Mark stares at you. You haven’t talked in minutes. Not really. Not you.

The suit pulses about your face, lips split into something between a sneer and a grin. Your stance is broader now. Your shoulders rolled back. Not cocky. Not confident. Just hefty. Like the creature inside you is pulling you further into the soil with every second.

He still sees you below it. Even today.

Mark’s voice lowers. “Yeah. It’s got her.”

Cecil doesn’t skip a beat. “Then you know what happens next.”

Mark shuts his eyes for half a second.

“I can talk her down.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“She’s still in there.”

“She was in there,” Cecil corrects. “You’re not talking to her anymore. You’re talking to something else.”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“No!”

His yell booms over the rooftop, shocking even you. Your head tilts, the symbiote twitching along your jawline, but you don’t fight. Not yet. Not even with Cecil’s words droning in his ear like a countdown.

“I’m not doing this your way,” Mark says.

Cecil’s voice flattens.

“She’s already lost.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She’s a threat now.”

Mark’s voice drops, harsher than it’s been all night.

“So am I.”

Another pause. Cecil exhales softly on the other end of the line. When he talks, it’s cold, determined.

“You are ordered to apprehend.”

Mark shakes his head. “Don’t do this.”

“If she resists, take her down.”

“She’s not a damn target-!”

“If she turns violent, you neutralize. Do you understand?”

Mark goes still. The comm buzzes with quiet. He looks away from you for half a second, hands clenched into fists so hard that nails dig into his palms. And then, softly, barely audible.

“I’m not losing her again.”

Cecil says nothing. Then the comm goes dead. Mark turns back to face you. The rooftop is quiet again. But not still. You’re watching him.

The mask is half-formed now, breaking at the edges, rippling like liquid armor. Your fingers twitch. Your spine straightens. You bend your head like something inside you is assessing his weakest point.

But your eyes. They’re yours. For now.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” Mark says.

His voice is low. Hollow. You don’t react.

“Cecil wants me to take you in.”

Still, you don’t speak.

“Or kill you.”

A gentle smile sweeps over your face. Venom’s voice slithers out.

“You should try.”

Mark doesn’t move.

“She’s not yours anymore.”

And for a second, he nearly believes that. But then you blink. And he sees it. A flicker. A wince. Something beneath the mask. You’re still there. Buried under a mile of sorrow and dark tendrils and bitterness, but alive.

“I know you’re still fighting it,” he adds.

“We are not.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

Your body jerks. Like something inside you pulls tight, like wires cracking in a stretched machine. Mark takes a step forward.

“I know this isn’t who you are.”

“You don’t know me,” you hiss.

“I do.”

“You lied to me for years.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Your lip curls. “Good.”

Mark flinches like that actually impacts harder than your claws would’ve.

“I tried to do the right thing,” he continues, voice raw. “I thought if I told you, I’d lose you. But I lost you anyway.”

Your hands tighten. The suit twitches. The earth cracks beneath your feet.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“You should’ve picked me.”

“I did! Every day I didn’t die, I chose you.”

You take a step forward. So does he.

“You can’t fix this, Mark.”

“I’m not trying to fix it.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer for a second.

“I’m not letting that thing turn you into something you’re not.”

You laugh. It’s harsh. Bitter. So unlike you, yet so exactly like the version of you that’s still clinging to what little self-worth left behind all the damage.

“They already did.”

“You’re still in there,” Mark adds.

“Then maybe that’s the problem.”

‘He’s lying. They all lie. Let us burn him down and move away.’

You tilt your head to the side, attempting to shake the voice out. You hold your cranium like it’s too full. Mark steps forward again, gently.

“You’re stronger than this.”

You snort. “Says the guy who can’t keep a girlfriend alive.”

Mark’s breath catches. And you regret it the second it leaves your mouth. But you don’t apologize. Because that’s who you are today. That’s who the outfit allows you be. Ugly. Petty. Hurtful. Venom thrives on it. Mark lowers his head.

“You didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t I?”

A long pause. And then, gently.

“I miss you.”

You hate how your chest aches at that. Hate the way it echoes through your bones. Your breath trembles. The suit moves like it’s trying to decide whether to let you collapse or strike.

“I miss your stupid coffee orders,” he says.

“Shut up.”

“I miss watching you get mad at horror movies for being unrealistic.”

“Shut up.”

“I miss you looking at me like I was worth something.”

You turn your back on him. Because it hurts. Because it’s working.

‘He undermines us. We should quiet him.’

You scream and pound your hands into the pavement, breaking a crater beneath you. The rooftop trembles. Mark holds his ground.

“Let me in,” he says.

“No.”

“Please.”

“I can’t.”

You turn. Your eyes blaze white. The mask wraps back into place over your face like a second skin.And this time, when you speak, it’s not your voice.

“Then you’ll die with her.”

The wind up here always sounded like it had something to say. You used to find comfort in that, the way it rustled rooftops and carried far-off city noise up to your ears, made you feel less alone when the sky got too big.

Tonight, it just sounds like it’s mocking you. There’s glass crunching underfoot, the twisted frame of a busted vent groaning in the wind, the low creak of a rooftop that’s seen too many fists slammed into it in the last hour. And above all of that?

Silence. From him. Mark.

He's right there, ten feet away. No mask, no swagger, no excuses left between you. Just Mark Grayson. Looking like someone threw him into a wall and then asked him to apologize for it.

He hasn’t said your name again. You’re not sure if you want him to.

Your arms hang at your sides. The black suit crawls along your shoulders, pulsing, twitching like it’s waiting for the signal. Your fingers curl, then relax again. The weight of the symbiote is familiar now, like gravity. You can’t remember what it felt like to move without it.

Mark swallows. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then you’re wasting both our time.”

Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours. It’s too calm. Too practiced. You used to trip over your words when you were nervous. Now they slide off your tongue like razors. That should scare you.

It doesn’t.

He takes a step forward. Just one. “You don’t have to do this.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“You sure? Because from where I’m standing, I think I do.”

“Come on,” he says, a little breathless, a little angry. “You know I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You didn’t stop it either.”

His jaw tightens. You watch the way his hands flex like he’s not sure whether to reach for you or keep them down.

You turn your back on him. You walk to the edge of the roof, let the wind hit your face, let your hair whip around your skin. You try to remember what this city looked like when it made you feel safe. It doesn't come to you.

“You remember that first week we started dating?” you say without looking at him. “I was too nervous to text you first. I waited until two in the morning to ask if you wanted to hang out, and you said you were already outside my building.”

A pause.

“I remember,” he says.

You nod once. “Back then, I thought if someone loved me, they’d show up.”

“I did.”

“Not when it counted.”

You turn back around. He’s closer now. Not by much. But enough that you can see the guilt in his eyes.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says.

“I think you wanted me to stay soft,” you reply. “I think it made it easier.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was lying to me for years.”

Silence again. The suit coils tighter. It doesn't like this. It never does. Conversation makes it restless. Vulnerability makes it worse.

You take a step forward. “Do you know what it’s like to feel yourself disappearing? Not because of a monster, or a fight, or some world-ending bullshit but just… slowly. Day by day. To watch everyone around you become something bigger, stronger, louder, while you keep folding yourself smaller so no one notices? Uncle Ben used to tell me I was meant for more. That I had this light in me. Something that didn’t need powers or a costume or headlines to matter. Just me. The way I see people. The way I care. He made it sound like that was enough. But then he died. And somewhere along the way, that version of me died with him. And now I don’t know who I’m supposed to be, or if any of that even matters anymore. Because no matter how hard I try, I’m not enough, not for the world, not for May or Ben, not even for me. And if I say that out loud, if I admit that I feel small and useless and like I’m wasting the life he believed in… then it’s like I’m failing him all over again.”

Mark looks like he’s trying not to flinch.

“That’s who I was,” you say. “And I was okay with it. Because you made me feel like that was enough.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“But then I started noticing,” you continue. “The way your eyes got distant. The missed calls. The bruises. The half-excuses. And I waited. I waited for you to say something real. And you didn’t.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Mark says, quiet. “Every day, I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He looks up at you, eyes sharp, voice sharper. “Because I was scared.”

That catches you off guard.

You blink. “What?”

“I thought if you knew, you’d leave. I thought… if you knew what I really was, what I was doing, it would ruin everything.”

You cross your arms, more to feel like you’re holding yourself together than anything else.

“You were the one good thing in my life that felt normal. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

The silence sits thick between you.

Finally, you exhale. “Then maybe you should’ve dated someone who didn’t want the truth.”

“I didn’t want someone else,” he says. “I want you.”

That breaks something in you. And you hate it. You’ve built so many layers between who you were and who you are now. Layers of anger. Layers of control. Layers of something cruel that talks like you but doesn’t feel the same way. The kind of voice that throws barbs so you don’t have to sit still long enough to cry.

You close your eyes. The suit stirs again.

‘He lies. Like before. We keep you strong.’

You take a breath. Then another. When you open your eyes, Mark hasn’t moved. But his expression has changed. He looks at you like he’s seeing you again. Not the suit. Not the voice you use to keep people out.

Just you.

And it hurts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m still someone you can save.”

“I don’t think you need saving.”

You laugh. It’s not a good laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I think you need to know you’re still in there,” he says.

You shake your head. “No. The girl you knew? She’s gone.”

“She’s not.”

“She’s quiet,” you admit. “Too quiet. And I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.”

Mark steps forward again. “I think she already is.”

You don’t move this time.

“I still love you,” he says.

The words don’t knock you over. They don’t surprise you. But they land heavy all the same.

“I know,” you whisper.

“I was a coward. I should’ve told you the truth from the start.”

You meet his eyes. And finally, something in your chest cracks open.

“I should’ve stayed,” you say. “I should’ve fought for you to tell me the truth instead of just walking away.”

His hand lifts slowly. And you don’t stop him when he touches your face. Your skin feels too hot. Too sensitive. Too wrong. But his hand is warm. Steady. For a second, the suit doesn’t react. For a second, you remember what it felt like to be kissed like a secret.

And then it snarls. The tendrils lash out violently. You scream, not because of pain, but because of the sudden clarity. You don’t want this thing to win. But it’s stronger. Louder. It always is when you’re vulnerable. Mark catches you as your knees buckle.

“Hey. Hey. Stay with me.”

You clutch at his suit. “I’m trying.”

“You’re doing great.”

“No I’m not,” you whisper. “It’s coming back.”

“Fight it.”

You nod. But you can already feel it climbing your spine like smoke. You try to tell him something else, maybe that you forgive him. Maybe that you love him. Maybe just his name.

But you never get the words out. The black pours over your face like water, drags you under, closes the door. And when your body rises again, It’s not yours anymore. The eyes glow white. The jaw splits open. The voice that comes out isn’t yours.

“She is gone.”

Mark doesn’t flinch. He just steps back. Arms at his sides. Eyes still fixed on the place your face used to be. Because he doesn’t believe it. And maybe, deep down, neither do you. The plunge off the rooftop is higher than your body can manage. But the symbiote doesn’t care.

It grips the ledge with a lashing tendril, pivots midair, and smacks both feet into the side of the opposite structure. You bounce, jump, twist, your body lurching like a puppet on a string. You’re traveling too quickly. You can’t tell if you’re falling or soaring. You can’t even tell where you are anymore.

You’re gone before Mark can blink. Not that he chases. You feel it. Somewhere behind you, beneath the dense, rapid-fire motions of the suit, behind the pressure of wind and increasing heat from the city, you feel the absence of him. He doesn’t come after you. He doesn’t even try.

And the first thing you think, the part of you that still feels like you, is ‘He let me go.’ The second half, the sharper, colder part that’s grown louder over the previous two weeks, says ‘Of course he did.’ But the third voice, the one that wears your face when you dream and only murmurs in your most frail moments, knows the truth.

He didn’t follow you because he’s trying to protect you. Not from himself. Not from the symbiote. But from the man in his ear. Cecil.

You saw it on his face just before the black took over again. That glimmer of worry, not for himself, but for what would happen if they caught you first. If the GDA had eyes on you. If your disappearance from the rooftop entailed a detectable trail.

You recall the sound of his voice ‘She’s still in there.’

You recall what followed after that.

Silence.

Because he knew if he spoke one more word, the comms would capture it. And if they caught it, if they caught that you weren’t lost, but buried, they’d come for you. Like they did with others. With threats. With creatures they swore weren’t people anymore.

So he stood there. And let you run. To save your life. Even if it meant losing you in the process.

‘He gave up. Weak. Predictable. Just like before.’

The symbiote travels quicker now. It senses your thoughts. Always does.

It heard the minute you softened. The instant Mark’s name slid through your chest like breath instead of flames. It sensed the part of you that still wants to go back. Still believes in him, in the boy who sat up all night holding your hair when you were sick, who once skipped a GDA call simply to watch an old comic book show you liked.

It dislikes that part of you.

‘You think he loves you? He hesitates. He compromises. He works for them. He will hand you to them if you hesitate, too.’

You bang into a billboard mid-swing, knocking over a rusting scaffold. The suit doesn’t slow. It smashes through a brick wall like it’s paper, sending your body into the subterranean sector, down into the blackness.

You smash into shadow like a meteor. The tunnel swallows you altogether. Your body smacks to the pavement, skidding across the floor. Sparks fly. Gravel embeds in your palms. The suit wraps around you quickly, drawing you upright like a marionette.

‘We keep you protected. They never did.’

You attempt to breathe.

It tastes like ash.

You stagger, palms pushed to the wall, and the memory hits you like a hammer.

Mark holding your hand for the first time. His thumb touching your knuckles. How warm it was. How lightly he caressed you like he was worried he’d destroy it. You laughed at him, but inwardly, it made your ribs ache.

The suit feeds off it. Replays it. And then warps it.

Mark glancing at you that night, his fingers twitching, his lips open like he was about to say something but didn’t.

He almost told you what he was. But he didn’t. You see it now. Every lost chance. Every lie he swallowed behind his gorgeous, frightened smile. He didn’t trust you. He lied to you. You collapse to your knees.

The suit hisses across your flesh, building armor where you don’t need it. It’s attempting to distract you. Give you something to focus on. It doesn’t want you to think too hard. Because it knows what happens when you do.

When you remember. You’re not the mask. You’re not confident. You’re not the monster. You’re the girl who cried when your comic books got soaked in a storm. The girl who worried when you thought Mark might cancel your first date because you forgot to bring cash. The girl who wanted to be better, not stronger, not harder, just better because of her Uncle. You claw at your face.

The black peels back for a fleeting second. Air strikes your flesh. You gasp like someone bursting through water. It aches. But it’s you.

“I’m still here,” you mumble.

The suit recoils.

‘No. You’re weak when you’re alone.’

“I was alone before you.”

Your fingers clench into fists. The air burns in your lungs. You force yourself upright, every muscle trembling. The ceiling above you leaks. An aging fluorescent light flickers once, then dies.

The stillness is worse than the noise. You want to cry. But you don’t. Not yet. Because sobbing still belongs to the part of you that’s alive. And the symbiote is learning how to shut her off.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

Mark sits on the rooftop long after you’re gone. Cecil’s voice comes through the earpieceeventually.

“Do you have eyes on her?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

“Grayson?”

“She’s gone,” he says.

A pause.

“Do you mean she escaped, or she’s compromised?”

Mark wipes the blood from his mouth.

“I mean she’s gone.”

Cecil sighs. “So you let her go.”

“She wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“She took out over fifty GDA personnel today.”

“She didn’t kill all of them.”

“She could have.”

“But she didn’t.”

Cecil’s voice hardens. “You’re not her boyfriend anymore, Mark. You’re a soldier. Act like one.”

Mark grinds his teeth.

“I’m not bringing her in.”

“Then I’ll send someone else.”

Mark’s stomach twists. He doesn’t let it show.

“I said she’s gone,” he answers. “You won’t find her.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” Mark responds. “It’s a promise.”

He rips the comm out of his ear. Stares into the dark where you disappeared. And says nothing else.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You’re not sure how long you’ve been down here.

The concrete is chilly under you. Not just under you, inside you. The type of cold that gets into your bones and remains there. The kind that makes your fingers twitch even when they’re motionless.

You’ve been curled in the same position for hours. Days. Years, maybe. Knees pulled up, face pushed on Mark’s sweatshirt. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. It’s been moist too long. Too buried.

But your flesh remembers. Your heart does too. And that’s the problem. Because the past is louder than the voice that’s been residing in your brain. And the voice, the symbiote, has gone quiet. Not gone. Not sleeping. Just waiting.

Letting you break yourself. Memory from memory. You clench your eyes shut. But it doesn’t stop.

You’re seventeen again.

It’s raining.

You’re standing outside the school lab, drenched through, carrying a stack of notebooks and trying very hard not to cry since your circuit board shorted during the final test and your project partner bolted to go smoke behind the gym.

You’d told yourself you could handle it.

But now your shoes are squishing with every step and you can’t feel your fingers and your presentation is tomorrow and-

“Need help?” he asks.

You glance up.

Mark’s clutching an umbrella. One of those cheap, folding ones that barely covers him. His hair’s pouring, his backpack’s falling off one shoulder, and he’s smiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world to offer.

You blink at him. “Why are you here?”

He shrugs. “I heard something explode. Figured it was you.”

You want to laugh. Or yell. Instead, you offer him a notepad and say, “Do you know how to fix a microcontroller in under twenty-four hours?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” he answers. “But I’ll hold the umbrella while you do.”

You’re back in the tunnel. You bite your lip. Hard.

Because that was one of the first times you allowed someone to see you like that.

Not when you were polished. Not when you were confident. But when you were chilly, scared, wet, and ready to give up. And he didn’t flinch. He stayed.

You remember that night so well today.

Back at your place, wiring strewn over the floor, textbooks open to dog-eared pages, your soldering equipment kept together with tape. He didn’t know what he was doing. But he remained up anyhow. Holding tools. Holding light. Holding you together as you started to crack.

And when it finally worked, when the LED lighted up and your sensor really activated as it was meant to, you put your arms around him without thinking.

He froze. Then hugged you back.

“I knew you could do it,” he remarked.

“I didn’t,” you muttered.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll believe for both of us.”

The tears come without notice. Your chest tightens. You dig your fingers into the sleeves of the hoodie. Because it wasn’t about the project. It never was. It was about being enough. About being worth it. About him seeing you when you didn’t even want to be noticed.

You recall the day you sat on his bed with your legs tangled together, reading him a comic as he stroked lazy patterns into the back of your knee. He wasn’t even paying attention to the words. He just liked your voice. You came to the moment when Superman sacrifices himself, and your throat caught.

He glanced up. Noticed instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured, pushing your thigh with his. “You okay?”

You nodded. Lied. He didn’t press.

Just snatched the book out of your hand and said, “Let’s take a break.”

You didn’t talk about it. But you still remember how safe his hands felt. How warm. The symbiote alters at the border of your thoughts.

A pulse. A flicker.

You feel it now, not only inside your body, but under your memories. Coiled. Tight. Jealous. It doesn’t like this. It doesn’t like that you miss him.

‘He’s not here.’

The voice cuts in, quietly. Deliberate.

‘He let you go.’

“I know,” you whisper.

‘He won’t wait forever.’

“I wouldn’t ask him to.”

Silence.

‘So why do you keep thinking about him?’

You close your eyes. Because it’s not just memory. It’s survival.

Because if you forget this, if you forget him, you forget yourself. You forget who you were before the rage, before the armor, before the black threads started saying words that sounded like comfort and tasted like blood.

Another recollection slips in.

You’re at his kitchen table.

Debbie’s preparing something on the stove. You’re sitting on one knee, gnawing on a pencil, attempting to finish a calculation for extra credit. Mark steps in with a smoothie and a granola bar.

You don’t even glance up. He lays them down near you.

Then leans near and adds, “Don’t forget to eat, supergenius.”

You murmur something sarcastic. He touches your hair and snatches your pencil. You tried to act upset. But you’re smiling. Because he’s never looked at you like you were too much. Not once.

Back in the tunnel, you put your forehead to your legs.

“I miss him,” you whisper.

And you detest how much you mean it. You think of the night you almost told him the truth. About how you felt something altering in you before the symbiote ever touched your skin. About how your temper was growing shorter. About the way terror started feeling like static behind your teeth.

You’d climbed into his bed that night shivering. He dragged you beneath the covers. Didn’t ask questions. Just held you, his hand pushed to your spine like he was anchoring you in place. You wanted to say it.

“I think something’s wrong with me.”

But the words wouldn’t come.

So instead, you said, “Promise you won’t leave?”

He kissed your temple.

And said, “I’ll be here. Even if you can’t be.”

You didn’t believe him. But he meant it. You know he did. You saw it on that rooftop, his face, torn between anguish and constraint. Wanting to reach for you. Knowing he couldn’t.

Because of them. Because of Cecil. Because if he touched you now, he wouldn’t be able to let go. And they’d use it against him. So he stayed back. And it broke something in you. But it wasn’t his fault.

The voice presses harder.

‘He’s not coming.’

“I know.”

‘Then quit waiting.’

“I’m not.”

‘Then what are you holding on to?’

You don’t answer right away.

Then, slowly.

“Hope.”

You wipe your face with your sleeve. Sit up straighter. You’re still here. The version of you that kissed him on a rooftop. The one that stressed over lab work and grieved when Barry Allen died. The one who believed in goodness before the world taught you to weaponize it.

She’s still here.

Battered. Bent. Buried.

But breathing.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

You don’t glance back while you leave.

The last thing Mark sees of you is the way your body folds into shadow, fluid, too quick, too silent, like you were intended to disappear. You vanish into the skyline, no pause, no sound, nothing left behind except blood, smoke, and the awful stillness of a battle he didn’t realize he’d already lost.

Three GDA agents lie dead in the wreckage below. Their faces don’t leave his thoughts.

One had freckles. One had a crooked mouth that made him appear like he was always half-smiling, even in the field. The youngest hardly appeared older than high school. He wore his badge too low on his chest, like he hadn’t worked out how to adjust the armor yet.

You didn’t give them a chance. And for the first time since this all began, Mark doesn't have the luxury of pretending. The flight back to base is a haze.

He moves on muscle memory, too fast for thought, too slow for comfort. The sky feels thicker than usual. Like it knows what he’s holding. He doesn't recall how he landed or who opened the hangar doors. His eyesight only sharpens when he hears Cecil’s voice.

“You let her go.”

Mark doesn’t answer. He moves by the guards without glancing at them. Past the terminals. Past Donald, who doesn’t even bother to speak. The corridor leading to the control room feels longer tonight, like it’s pushing him to go through every single second he waited too long. Every time he hesitated.

Because he did. He hesitated. And many died. Cecil doesn’t say anything as Mark enters the debrief room. Not at first. There’s a file resting on the table. A physical one.

That’s how you know it’s bad, when Cecil wants anything to feel genuine enough to touch. Mark doesn’t sit. He doesn’t need to. He already knows what’s inside.

“Three agents,” Cecil adds finally. “Confirmed dead. A fourth in critical condition. We don’t expect him to endure the night.”

Mark glances straight forward.

“I saw,” he says.

“You didn’t intervene.”

“I didn’t have the chance.”

“You had the chance,” Cecil adds, voice harsh. “You stood there. You let her tear through them.”

“I wasn’t trying to get her killed.”

“No,” Cecil says. “You were trying to protect her. And people died because of it.”

Mark’s hands are trembling. He twists them into fists. Tight. Controlled.

You’re in his brain again, your voice, your hands, your hoodie balled up in his duffel bag like a heart he hasn’t let stop pounding. The way you gazed at him, just for a second, before the black took over again. Like you were still there. Like you were sorry.

Like you needed help.

He wants to yell. Wants to punch something. Wants to think that love is enough to repair this. But right now? He’s not even convinced he gets to say your name out loud.

“You knew she was compromised,” Cecil adds, pacing now. “You saw what she was capable of. And you still took her to the midst of a city.”

“She wasn’t attacking civilians.”

“That’s your defense?”

“She was fighting us.”

“You think that makes it better?”

“I think it makes it complicated.”

Cecil smacks his fist down on the table. “This isn’t complicated. She killed three people in less than an hour.”

Mark flinches. Not noticeably. But inside? It lands. Hard.

“She’s still in there,” Mark replies, quieter now. “I saw her.”

“I don’t care what you saw. I care what she did.”

“She didn’t want to.”

“You think that matters?”

Mark breathes out through his teeth. “It has to.”

“Why?”

Mark’s mouth opens, then shuts. Because he loves you. Because he still believes in you. Because if he lets go of it, he has nothing. But he can’t say it. Not here. Not with Cecil scrutinizing him like he’s one bad statement away from being placed in a jail next to the demons he’s been battling since he was seventeen.

“You’re benched,” Cecil adds.

“I figured.”

“Until we figure out how much of you is still working for us.”

Mark raises his head. His eyes are weary. But they’re not soft.

“Don’t test me.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

There’s a pause.

“We have to bring her in.”

Mark’s chuckle is brief, harsh. “You think she’s just going to come with me?”

“You said she’s still in there. Prove it.”

Mark’s jaw tightens.

“And if I don’t?”

“You already know.”

Mark turns away. But they don’t let him leave the base. Not this time. He’s not restricted. Not even technically grounded. But the lockdown is slight. A progressive tightening of movement permits. A peaceful absence of shuttle access. The way Donald avoids eye contact as Mark advances toward the hangar bay and finds the doors momentarily locked for “calibration.”

He doesn’t resist it. Not yet. Because they’re watching him. Waiting. And if he makes one bad move? They’ll send someone else.

Someone who doesn’t care that you used to snore in your sleep. That you cried during Star Wars. That you trembled at thunder even if you claimed not to. That your favorite mug said “Woman of Steel” in peeling red glitter lettering and that you once told him you were terrified of forgetting who you were.

They’ll perceive you as an asset turned liability. He still sees you as you. Even today. Even after the blood.

He winds up back in the debriefing room.

Cecil leaves him there. Alone. The lights buzz overhead. The room smells like steel and sanitizer. Your voice doesn’t echo here. But it does in his chest. He pushes his palms to his face. Tries to breathe. Tries to recall the last time things made sense.

When you weren’t a threat. When your biggest concern was failing your chemistry midterm and upsetting your lab buddy. When he held you during one of your panic attacks and murmured, “You’re okay.”

When you believed him. He thinks about going after you anyhow. Breaking protocol. Tracking you underground. Tearing through every inch of concrete and sewage and forgotten tunnel if it means getting you back in one piece.

But he doesn’t move. Because if he tries? He won’t be the one who discovers you. They will. And if they discover you? They’ll murder you. He knows it. They’ll say it’s containment. They’ll claim it’s mercy. And then they’ll clean the floor and file the papers. And you’ll be gone.

Just another footnote in a secret files.

His eyes burn. He doesn't weep. But something close. The type of sadness that doesn’t need tears. Just stillness. He crushes his head against the wall. He murmurs your name once. Just enough to recall how it feels on his tongue. Just enough to remember you’re real. Still out there. Somewhere.

Then he hears it. A voice in the corridor. Muffled. Familiar. Not GDA. Not Guardian. Something else. Someone else. Mark lifts his head. The talk becomes closer. The tone is sharper now. Firm. Confident. A little haughty. And suddenly he hears it clearly.

“Tell Cecil I’m not leaving until he speaks to me directly.”

Mark’s heart skips. Because he recognizes that voice. He hasn’t heard it in days. But it’s clear. Measured. Cut from glass and silk. Harry Osborn. Cecil doesn’t glance up when the door hisses open. He doesn’t have to.

The override alone tells him everything. Whoever just strolled through circumvented two levels of protection and activated none of the alarms. That needs clearance, real clearance. Or someone affluent, smart, and reckless enough to fake it.

And just one individual ticks all three boxes.

“Osborn,” he mutters.

Harry strides in like he owns the place, but it’s not swagger. Not today. His posture’s stiff. Coiled. Like he’s been keeping something in for too long and finally finds the opportunity to let it split open. He wears a sleek jacket, sneakers sprinkled with ash, and electronic cuffs shining faintly around his wrists. He’s not here to make an entrance.

He’s coming to make it stop.

“I want a word,” Harry says, voice pinched.

“You’re not cleared for this.”

“I didn’t come for permission.”

Cecil raises an eyebrow. “This is a closed environment.”

“Then open it.”

Mark hears it from the next room.

He’s still in the debriefing hall, silent, unmoving, hands laying uselessly on his lap. But the second Harry’s voice rips through the air, he sits up straighter.

They haven’t talked since the fallout. SInce the day you misunderstood his relationship with Eve. Since you went into smoke and shadow and blood.

But he recalls the look on Harry’s face the last time you talked. Something was amiss even then. And now? Now it’s worse.

Harry sets a tablet on the table. Cecil doesn’t move. Harry’s fingers fly across the screen.

“Three weeks ago, I started picking up low-frequency emissions from beneath New York, oscillations, patterns too structured to be tectonic. At first, I thought it was residue from a dimensional breach after what happened with Angstrom. But suddenly the waveforms stabilized.”

He glances up.

“Living matter.”

Cecil frowns.

“You’re tracking her.”

“I was tracking it. Before I even realized it bonded.”

Cecil narrows his gaze. “Explain.”

Harry turns the screen so the projection strikes the table. A 3D model develops itself out of light, black sinew winding through muscle, synapses crackling with fake electricity.The structure pulses like a heartbeat.

“It’s a symbiote,” Harry explains. “A sentient, adaptive parasite. Subcellular in origin. Carbon-based, yet it behaves like something older than our planet. Possibly interstellar.”

The room darkens slightly as the model zooms in.

“The organism operates by integrating with a host’s nervous system. At first, it resembles behavior. It learns. Then it begins reinforcing neuronal pathways, rewarding some ideas, punishing others. Eventually, it doesn’t need to replicate anything.”

“It controls,” Cecil explains.

“No,” Harry responds, and his voice is harsher than before. “It convinces. It makes the host feel such decisions are theirs.”

He glances over the simulation again. The lattice pulses with sickly light.

“It heightens aggression, lowers inhibition, exploits trauma responses. And then it builds emotional dependency…”

He meets Cecil’s gaze.

“It doesn’t let go.”

Mark stands in the corridor, frozen. Every phrase smacks him like a memory. The way you snapped at him that night for anything petty. The way your eyes stopped focussing occasionally. The way you used to apologize for everything, and then, one day, stopped totally.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t violent. It was crawling. Like a fog.

“It picked her,” Harry adds, voice low. “It found her when she was vulnerable. When she felt she’d lost everything. And it didn’t attack. It didn’t consume.”

“It offered comfort.”

He swipes to another panel. Brain scans, real ones, annotated with timestamps and biometric ID numbers.

“These are from her last visit to Oscorp.”

Cecil’s eyes dart toward the data.

“She was already showing signs of cognitive destabilization,” Harry recalls. “Split impulses. Memory deterioration. Heightened fear response, mixed with irresponsible external risk tolerance.”

“She came to you,” Cecil adds.

Harry nods once. “She didn’t even know what she was asking.”

Mark takes a hesitant breath. Because that night, you returned home shaking.You assured him it was just the city. That you were OK. You lied. But maybe you didn’t even realize it.

“She’s not possessed,” Harry replies. “It’s worse than that.”

Cecil folds his arms.

“She’s bonded.”

Mark enters inside the room suddenly, quiet, eyes fixated on the projection. Harry pauses. Doesn’t look away from Cecil.

“Say it,” he tells him.

Cecil is silent. Harry doesn’t let up.

“It’s a symbiote.”

Mark's voice fills the area before anybody else can move.

“And it chose her.”

Cecil turns. Mark’s face is inscrutable. But his voice isn’t. It’s full with sadness. And rage. And the type of hurting loyalty that doesn’t know where to go anymore.

“I was with her when she changed,” Mark explains. “I watched her fight it. And then I saw her lose.”

He stares down at the model.

“I’ve seen what she is now. What it made her.”

Harry exhales. “But that’s not all she is.”

“She killed people.”

“I know.”

“She didn’t stop.”

“I know that too.”

Mark shuts his eyes. “Then why the hell do I still believe-”

“Because you remember who she was,” Harry adds gently. “And so does she.”

Cecil observes them. Two people who lost the same person in different ways. Two humans standing in the same fire, reluctant to let the other burn alone. Finally, Cecil speaks.

“What do you want?”

Harry straightens.

“I want access to every piece of GDA data you have on the subject. I want a lab. I want to do brain overlays on past sightings, cross-reference stress responses.”

“And?”

“And I want to be the one who speaks to her when you bring her in.”

Mark lifts his head. “We’re not bringing her in.”

Cecil narrows his gaze. Harry doesn’t blink.

“She’s not a prisoner,” he says. “She’s a host. And if we use her like a weapon, we lose her.”

Mark talks without thinking.

“We already might’ve.”

“No,” Harry says.

And for the first time, he stares at Mark directly.

“She’s still in there.”

Cecil doesn’t reply. Not right away. But the tension shifts. Like the room itself is holding its breath.

“You’ve got forty-eight hours,” he adds.

“To what?” Mark asks.

“To prove she can come back.”

“And if she can’t?”

Cecil stares at them both. Flat. Final.

“Then she doesn’t.”

Mark doesn’t argue. He merely breathes. Then turns to Harry. And nods. The lab they offer Harry isn’t much. Just a frigid, modular area two levels below the GDA surveillance bay. White light, steel countertops, one reinforced door, and a full wall of equipment that hasn’t been touched in weeks.

But it’s silent. And right now, that’s what matters.

Mark stands with his back to the distant window, arms crossed, eyes fixated on the display Harry is producing in real-time, a simulation of your neurological system overlaid with the throbbing weave of the symbiote’s tendrils. It vibrates like a live map. The black veins flow deeper than before. More complicated. More certain.

“You’ve been working on this for a while,” Mark says.

Harry doesn’t glance up. “Since the night she came to me.”

Mark swallows. “You knew something was wrong.”

“I knew she wasn’t okay. And I knew it wasn’t just her.” He adjusts the magnification, honing in on the brain cortex. “But I didn’t know it was a symbiote until the scans came back. The connection had already started by then.”

Mark doesn’t speak. Because he recalls that day. Remembers the way you flinched at startling noises. The way your sentences drifted off. The way you didn’t laugh as much. Didn’t smile. The way you’d look out the window like you were trying to recollect something you’d already lost.

Harry straightens. “It targets the brain first.”

Mark’s jaw tightens. “How?”

Harry taps the projection. “It latches to the base of the spine, then spreads through the nervous system like a virus. But it’s not just physical. It’s emotional. Psychological. It learns the host’s discomfort. The gaps. The cracks. Then it fills them.”

Mark doesn’t move.

“Everything she hated about herself?” Harry continues. “It used that. Everything she was terrified of? It vowed to protect her against it. It made her feel strong.”

Mark exhales, leisurely. “Because it never says no.”

Harry nods. “Exactly.”

“It doesn’t fight her.”

“It affirms her. Until she can’t tell where she stops and it begins.”

Mark shuts his eyes. Because you told him once, quietly, in the dark, that you didn’t know whether you were someone worth loving. And he hugged you harder and whispered yes. Over and over. Like that might make it true.

“So how do we get it off her?” he says finally.

Harry hesitates. And that’s when Mark understands it’s not a straightforward response.

“It’s not about ripping it off,” Harry explains. “This isn’t an infection. It’s a partnership.”

Mark glances up.

“Then we kill it.”

“No,” Harry says. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s her.”

Mark’s stomach twists.

“It’s inside her thoughts now. Her recollections. Her intuition. If we kill it by force, we’ll lose her with it.”

“So what are you saying?”

Harry turns, slowly, to face him.

“To separate them,” he argues, “she has to reject it.”

The room goes still. Mark stares at him.

“She has to want to let it go,” Harry continues. “Completely. Consciously. It needs to come from her.”

Mark doesn’t speak. Because he understands what that entails. You’re not simply lost. You’re trapped. And only you can unlock the door.

“The symbiote can’t exist without consent,” Harry explains. “Even if it twists that consent into something it feeds from, the bond starts with a yes. Even a silent one.”

Mark shakes his head. “So all we can do is wait?”

“No,” Harry says. “We can try to reach her. We may try to show her what it’s stolen from her. Try to remind her of what’s real.”

“Do you think that’ll be enough?”

Harry’s eyes are fatigued. But steady.

“I think if anyone can break through to her,” he continues, “it’s you.”

Mark turns away. His hand finds the edge of the table. He holds it like it may save him from coming apart.

“I can’t even picture her without it anymore,” he says.

“She’s still in there.”

“I know. But every time I close my eyes, I see the blood.”

Harry doesn’t answer. Not right away.

Then, softly. “So does she.”

They both go silent. The simulation keeps operating. The dark tendrils pulse like they’re breathing.

“She’s going to fight us,” Mark says finally.

“She’ll fight everything. Especially what hurts.”

“She won’t believe me.”

“She doesn’t have to believe you,” Harry replies. “She just has to remember.”

Mark pushes his hands to his face. The weight of it, of you, of this creature snaking its claws down your spine and whispering safety while the world falls around you, it’s too much.

But he can’t stop now. He can’t stop till you’re free. Or till you quit breathing. And it can’t happen. He won’t allow it.

Harry returns to the simulation.

“There’s one more thing,” he says. “If we can trigger enough neurological stress, if we can cause the bond to destabilize without breaking her completely, it might be enough to weaken its hold.”

“You mean hurt her.”

“I mean scare it.”

Mark’s expression darkens. But he understands. Symbiotes don’t sense fear the way humans do. They only flee when they’re outmatched. Which implies their survival instinct can be harnessed.

If they can create the appearance that the host is no longer viable… The symbiote could try to retreat. Or run. But even that is a gamble.

“She has to be the one to say no,” Harry adds again, more forcefully this time. “That’s the only way it works.”

Mark nods slowly. Then murmurs your name. Like a prayer. Like a weapon. Like a hand reached out in the dark.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

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Hiiiii, I have a request for the newly arrived Indigo Disk-

A really happy ending for Kiki where after the whole DLC, he then starts to make amends with the BB Elite 4, his sister and protag which eventually gains him Ogerpon's recognition, prompting her to wanna go with him as an extra treat after all his angst (quq)

Yessss we gotta give him the happy end he deserves <3

.........

Setting up a small picnic within the Terarium, you brought your current Pokémon team out to play, deciding to take in the beautiful coastal biome and its warmth.

Even though you knew it was all artificial, it didn't make much of a difference to your companions. They happily frolicked in the sand and grass, although some opted to take a nap under the sun after a hard day of battling.

Meanwhile, you were fixing up a sandwich for everyone to share, deciding to add a little bit of spice to it (at Crispin's suggestion, of course). You didn't want it to be too flaming-hot for your Pokémon--or at least none that were fire types who could handle the heat.

However one in particular just seemed to be hungry for anything, as upon hearing a crystalline trill, you looked down to see Terapagos at your feet. It was gently pawing on your leg, eyes sparkling as it wondered what you were cooking up.

"Hey, little guy." You cooed, reaching down to pat its head before you scooped it up, allowing it to climb into your lap. "Smells tasty, huh? I bet you're super hungry after sleeping all those years."

It only responded with another happy trill, and you just sighed.

Who would've known this would be the legendary "Hidden Treasure" of Area Zero Heath and [Turo/Sada] sought after, the creator of the Terastal Phenomenon...

And the Pokémon that put up one hell of a fight against you, Carmine, and Kieran?

Speaking of whom...

It's been roughly a month since those events down in the Underdepths, and for the most part things have been looking up for both you and him. You were just happy to see that spark return to his eyes...

The spark he had once lost...mainly because of you.

Part of you would always remain guilty over unknowingly setting him down such a dark path--obsessing over defeating you in battle to the point where he didn't care who got hurt in the process.

He didn't wanna be that weak little kid you kept beating back in Kitakami anymore, always bragging about how much he's changed and demanding you to never hold back.

But after being humbled in front of the entire school, he was willing to do anything to have at least one victory against you.

Even if it meant utilizing a dangerous legendary Pokémon he had little understanding of....

He tried to control it, and as punishment it attacked him directly.

Arceus only knows what could've happened if your 'raidon didn't absorb the blast in time, and that selfless act made him feel all the more guilty for the way he acted towards you.

He idolized you, hated you, and yet.....you saved his life when you could have just saved yourself, his sister, and Briar instead.

He cried like a baby the whole way home, overwhelmed by everything that's happened from last year up to now, yet you comforted him and didn't tease him once.

After returning to Unova, he made a promise to fix things between you and everyone else he hurt, finally letting go of his envy and deciding to start fresh with you. His request to be your friend again had you laughing, much to his confusion..and a little worried you were making fun of him.

Then he almost sobbed after you explained that you've never considered him an enemy at all.

Despite everything, you never stopped seeing him as a friend.

Sometime later you went home to Paldea, although not without exchanging rotomphone information with him so you could have more chats.

Yep. Kieran finally got his own phone, but being from the countryside made him only somewhat familiar with the basics. You and Carmine helped him with that, of course. He loved the camera function and would often send you photos of his Hydrapple doing something cute.

They're mostly blurry, but he's getting the hang of it.

You eventually went back to the BB Academy to further your studies of the biomes, and winded up taking a small picnic break within the Terarium. No rules said you couldn't, and Drayton did insist that you didn't overwork yourself...

Which is funny coming from the guy who had to repeat classes, although you took his advice.

"Roto-to-to-to~"

Your eyes lit up as you received an incoming call from Kieran, and you greeted him with a smile, waving. "Kiki! How's it going?"

"Hey, [y/n]." He smiled back, and then he blinked upon realizing how familiar the background behind you was. "Wait..you're back in Unova? In the Terarium?"

"Uh..yeah! I was gonna surprise you, but I guess it's too late for that now." You awkwardly chuckled. "How are things going with the League?"

"Better than..I thought, actually." He sat back in his chair, tying his hair up. "Drayton and I are finally on speaking terms again."

"Oh that's great!"

"Mhm. We both felt kinda bad about how we treated each other with the whole "ex-champion" thing...said some stuff we didn't mean. Last week we were avoiding each other, and now we're having casual Pokémon battles to ease the tension between us."

"I'm glad to hear that." You nodded, taking a bite out of your sandwich.

"I..really do owe you one for bringing the club back together. I've been so bitter and didn't realize how much it was hurting Lacey and the others...not to mention how many people I wrongfully kicked out. I promise I'm gonna get all of them back into the club. I swear."

"I fully believe you. Just don't run yourself dry trying to patch up everything with everyone, okay?"

Kieran nodded in understanding, although he suddenly went quiet. You wondered why until you realized he could see Terapagos, who was currently climbing onto the table trying to get some lettuce.

"Heyyyy that's not for you, you little scamp." Teasingly, you scooped it up again, keeping a gentle grip on its belly and shell before you looked back at your friend, bashful. "Don't mind Terapagos. It's always hungry."

"I see." He chuckled. "You've been taking care of it well?"

"Yep, but have you been taking care of yourself, too?"

"...yeah." He muttered. "Carmine's been getting on my case about properly eating and sleeping again. Don't tell her this, but I appreciate it more than she realizes. And..I'll admit I was turning into a jerk like she used to be, and that's not something I want..."

"Well sounds like you're doing much better now..don't beat yourself up over it." You reassured him.

His shoulders relaxed. "I'm..trying not to....so [y/n], do you think we could meet up in person? Like at your dorm? I...feel like we haven't talked face-to-face in a while."

"Sure! I got nothing planned later so....see you in a few hours?"

"Sounds good." He smiled. "See ya."

The call ended as your rotomphone dropped back onto the table. You picked it up and stared at the case, feeling giddy about seeing him again after so long.

And to think when you first arrived here..you felt nothing but tension whenever he was in the same room as you, feeling the negative vibes rolling off of him like an aura of Bitter Malice.

You were glad those days were gone and he was your friend again.

"Pon?"

"Huh? Ogerpon..? You were here the whole time??" Surprised, you glanced over to see the grass legendary sitting on the ground beside you, being sure to stay clear of the camera view. She lowered her mask and looked at you with a knowing smile.

Considering the way Kieran freaked out when you brought her into the championship battle (not to mention him doing everything in his power to knock her out)...you would've thought she'd never wanna see or hear from him again--especially since her "betrayal" was still a fresh wound.

Yet apparently she was listening to your entire conversation with him, and had this understanding look to her starry eyes.

"Pon, ponnn?"

"Huh?" You blinked. "You wanna..see him, too? Are you sure?"

She hopped to her feet, nodding eagerly before pointing in the direction of the academy.

"Okay. Maybe..it'll be a good thing." A smile appeared on your face, although in the back of your mind you hoped that seeing her again won't scare Kieran too much.

...........

"Okay, so the Golurk congregate here....and they're usually guarding the Goletts.."

Back in your dorm room, you were just jotting down notes about recent Pokémon outbreak sightings. Ogerpon was sitting on your countertop, swinging her legs while munching on a bowl of her favorite berries you've found for her throughout Kitakami.

Right as she finished the last one, there was a knock at the door, and you both immediately knew who it was. She was a little nervous, but you reassured her that things will be okay before you went to answer it.

Sure enough Kieran was on the other side. He's never been to your dorm until now, and as he walked in was surprised and intrigued by all the stuff you had hung up on the wall.

"Excuse the mess." You chuckled, closing the door.

"Don't worry, my dorm's worse." He shyly smiled back at you, although his expression faltered as his gaze went to a certain legendary..

He immediately tensed up, not out of anger.....but like he was expecting her to use Ivy Cudgel at any given moment. "What's the Ogre doing here--wait, no..that sounded rude. I'm sorry."

"No, no. It's fine. There's actually something we've been meaning to talk to you about."

"..oh?" Turning back to you, he tilted his head.

"So Ogerpon overheard our little chat earlier, and she wanted to see you."

"She did?"

"Yeah," you nodded, feeling your heart start to race with anticipation. "And..um...maybe it's easier if she explains."

Kieran was confused as you gestured to Ogerpon, but his eyes went wide when she approached him. With no mask on, she wore a confident expression as she handed him...

A pokeball?

No..

It was the pokeball you caught her in.

"What is this? Some new trick you taught her?" Looking to you for an explanation, all he could see was your smile. "Why isn't she...afraid of me?"

"Because she knew you were trying to make amends with everybody." You patted her head, beaming. "I think she finally recognizes you as a strong Pokémon trainer, and...she wants to be yours."

".....huh?"

"She wants to be yours." You repeated, watching as he tried to process this information. And his jaw damn near dropped to the floor, but he closed his mouth and shook his head.

"Y-You're joking, right?"

"Nope. We both decided that she's ready for a new partner. Someone who's believed in her side of the story since-"

"No, no, no..I..I-I can't do that.." He shook his head frantically, backing away from Ogerpon. "I'm sorry. But she's yours, [y/n]. She chose to go with you. You passed her test and...I didn't. I was being stupid and selfish and-"

"I think I was being more selfish."

Looking up at you, he blinked a few times.

"Listen, I know everyone likes to say such great things about me...but I'm not some perfect angel." You frowned slightly. "I lied to you, I stole the Pokémon you've idolized for years...and I hurt someone who considered me a friend. You called me out on that and you had every right to."

"........"

"If anybody here needs to apologize..it's me." Bowing your head, you sighed softly. "So I'm truly sorry for the way I treated you, Kieran. I'm sorry for never considering your feelings before. I wasn't a good friend, and I wanna be a better one. So I'm gonna make this right...both of us will."

You looked back up at him, seeing the shock written all over his face. Then you glanced at Ogerpon, taking the pokeball and instructing her to get her masks off the wall. She nodded and did just that.

"You deserve to know what her power is like. The masks, the TMs I taught her...you can have them all. No trades. No strings attached..except for us staying friends, of course."

Finally, Kieran found his ability to speak again, but he was already getting choked up. "[Y/n], the apology is...th-that's more than enough for me." His eyes watered. "I forgive you. There's no way I can take her from-"

"You're not taking her away. I'm giving her to you, silly." You chuckled.

"....I..I still don't know if I can accept that. I'm not worthy of her even looking my way anymore. I was disrespectful to her wishes, I stole her mask..a-and you're saying...she forgives me?"

"I think she's gonna let bygones be bygones. Isn't that right, 'pon?"

"Ponio! Pon!" With her masks together, Ogerpon gazed at you, nodding confidently. You could only smile back as you patted her head again, seeing that she was ready for a new adventure.

You've trained her well, helping her grow stronger than ever before as you've mastered her abilities with all four masks.

But now it's time that someone else had the chance to bond with her...

Someone like Kieran.

After sending her into the pokeball for the last time, you gazed at the purple-haired boy. His whole body refused to move, so you approached him and took his gloved hand, placing the device snuggly into his palm.

For the longest time, he stared at it, and then he looked back at you. "A-Are you sure I can't just...keep her for a day and then give her back?" He began to sniffle, face growing bright red. "Because if...wh-what if she doesn't-?"

"I want you to have her permanently." Knowing what was coming, you brought him into a tight hug, feeling him wrap his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. "Don't worry. She's gonna love you, Kiki." You rubbed his back. "She trusts you now. She's all yours."

All he could do was nod, your shirt getting soaked by his tears as he hiccupped, thanking you over and over again. He wasn't bawling loudly like before, but he still had a tough time keeping himself together; so you led him to your bed where he was more comfortable.

You're 99% certain this poor guy's never received a hug in his life, given how he refused to let you go. So you allowed him to hold onto you for as long as he needed or wanted.

At last you got out all of the things you've been meaning to say to him...and even Ogerpon got to apologize in her own special way by wanting to be his partner Pokémon.

You thought this would have been too much for Kieran to handle, but you could see he's grown a lot and that he was ready to accept this huge responsibility.

Terapagos will remain with you, and Ogerpon will be his forever.

After everything that's happened, it's what he deserves.

#clanask #anonymous #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokemon kieran #pokemon kieran x reader #kieran x reader #ogerpon #terapagos #indigo disk spoilers #indigo disk x reader #platonic

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