#*shouting from the rooftops* ITS MID!!!!

[frogfacey]

I'm on that "does this media like women?" poll blog and genuinely the grip that pacific rim has on tumblr users is insane. how the fuck can you say that pacific rim of all movies respects its female cast (consisting of two characters, only one who is relevant)

[bombiikki]

𐙚⋆.˚　────  a blessing in disguise °｡⋆⸜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ – non idol!hanni x spidergirl!reader !!

synopsis: hanni didn’t understand why she began to care for you. maybe, it was because of the mask you wore as you risked your life for others. or maybe, she really had fallen for the cute loser that carried around her camera. but, she knew she loved you and couldn’t help but smile every time she saw her reflection in your soft gaze.

contains: fluff, blood mentioned, wound cleaning, hanni worries a lot, lwk js a lil angst but its js cuz hanni cares, reader is NOT a peter variant, but a lot of spiderman characters exist bc i cant be bothered coming up with new names, hanni is the pepperspray warrior… theres a break up, character death BUT ITS NOT ONE OF THEM, not proofread

wc: 20.8k (again)

a/n: i changed it up a lil from the preview i posted like…. a motnh ago. no longer an enemies to lovers story cuz ik i wouldve dragged it longer than it is alreaedy and also i wtached andrew’s spiderman movies and it changed me. i barely consumed any spiderman content beforehand lowkey… IM A FAKE FAN IM SORRY (itsv and atsv r still my goats tho and im an og TRUST)

♪ ༘⋆ now playing – reflections by the neighbourhood

alright, let’s do this one last time.

you stood at the edge of a twenty-story building, toes curled against the ledge like they didn’t fear gravity. the wind tangled in your suit—cold, sharp, insistent. it clawed at your ribs and whispered through the mask stretched across your face. your fingers twitched, aching to move, to swing, to do something. your brain hadn’t shut up all day, but up here… things finally stilled.

you’d been bitten by a radioactive spider. no, really.

you got sick. nearly died. and when you didn’t, the world cracked open like an egg. suddenly, you were stronger. faster. you stuck to walls. your skin hummed with something just beneath it—something wild, something alive.

and for the past week, you’ve been the one and only spidergirl.

not that anyone called you that. the suit hugged your frame tight, shadows folding over what little curve you had left under the binder strapped to your chest. your voice was low. your silhouette sharper than soft. and to the outside world, that meant one thing: spiderman. same old story.

but it wasn’t. 

it never sat right in your gut, hearing them say it. and when you could, you corrected them. when some guy mid-crime blinked up at you, dazed and breathless, and muttered, “spiderman?”— you always dropped in close, face just inches from theirs, voice low and clear.

“girl. spidergirl. c’mon, man. it’s not that hard.”

they didn’t always listen. but you said it anyway. like the word itself stitched you back together.

you let out a breath through your mask. then stepped off the building like it meant nothing.

the fall only lasted a heartbeat before instinct kicked in. you shot a web toward the nearest billboard, the line catching with a satisfying thwip. you swung wide and fast through the city, the wind slicing past your ears. lights smeared into gold and red—your heart beat somewhere behind your teeth.

you dipped low over a row of rooftops. pigeons scattered in a panic. a guy on a balcony dropped his vape as you somersaulted over his head.

“hey—watch it!”

“don’t vape next time!” you called, mid-air, voice upside down.

then you heard it—sharp and jagged. a scream, somewhere east. not the startled kind. the help me kind.

your body moved before your thoughts caught up. one quick swing toward the sound, a launch off a fire escape, and you landed hard on a brick wall overlooking the scene.

below, two figures stumbled out of a corner store. one carried a crowbar while the other shoved crumpled bills into his jacket. the store clerk shouted after them, desperate and shaken. your hands were already moving. 

you dropped from above like a thrown knife.

your web snagged the crowbar mid-swing and yanked it out of the first guy’s grip. it clanged into a dumpster with a hollow crash. before he could react, your feet slammed into his chest. he hit the pavement with a grunt and you didn’t wait—you pinned him to a car with a web, arms and legs wrapped tight like a burrito of poor life decisions.

the second guy ran for it. you gave him a five-second head start.

then you launched after him, your feet skimming the pavement before you used a light pole to catapult forward. you landed right in front of him, crouched low, arms loose at your sides.

he skidded to a stop, shoes screeching on the sidewalk.

“hi,” you said. “wanna try that again?”

he swung. you ducked. he turned to run—again—and you let him, just until he passed under the next streetlamp. then: thwip.

web snapped tight around his ankle, dragging him face-first to the ground with a wheeze. 

you strolled up to him slowly with your hands on your hips, casually wrapping his arms and legs in webbing like it was a hobby. he wriggled, furious. you crouched beside him, head tilting.

“you know, stuffing money up your jacket just makes you look bloated,” you said. “duffel bags exist. might wanna invest.

he groaned something unintelligible, probably a curse. you patted his head like a dog. 

“language.”

sirens started wailing in the distance—close. you glanced back at your handiwork. two gift-wrapped criminals waiting for pickup. a job well done.

you didn’t stick around. you never did.

a few swings later, you were perched on the lip of another rooftop, higher this time, with the breeze in your face and the adrenaline still prickling your arms. you yanked your mask halfway up, letting the cold night air kiss the sweat on your skin. your breathing slowed, but your thoughts didn’t.

seven days.

you thought maybe it would feel easier by now—this double life thing. but it hadn’t. not really. you still flinched in hallways when someone brushed your arm. still turned your head too fast when someone laughed behind you. still waited for someone to say your name and mean it.

maybe they never would.

you stared down at the sidewalk below, and your breath caught in your throat.

there—walking beneath a flickering streetlamp, phone in one hand, jacket shrugged up against the breeze—was her.

hanni pham.

you knew her from school. everyone did. smart, soft-eyed, warm in a way that lit up rooms without trying. she laughed into her phone, head tilted, dark hair catching the light just so. she had no idea you were up here. had no idea what you’d just done. had no idea you watched her walk past every day and thought: maybe if i wasn’t like this…

but you were. and she didn’t know you.

you pulled your mask back down, quietly. you stood up as the sun began to set, then vanished into the wind once more.

school was the closest thing you had to a buffer.

not a safe space exactly, but a kind of… neutral zone. no explosions, no rooftop chases, just squeaky sneakers, gossip like background static, and a cafeteria that somehow always smelled like burnt pizza and wet cardboard. you blended in just enough to survive. not popular, not invisible—just inconvenient to ignore.

people knew you, kind of. not your name, not really. just camera girl. you’d hear it float down the hall now and then.

“hey, camera girl—yearbook shot?”

“yo, she’s in the AV club, right?”

“ask her, she’s got, like, fifty lenses or something.”

your old canon hung around your neck like a security blanket. clunky and secondhand, the strap fraying, the autofocus laggy. it wheezed when you zoomed too fast, like an old man catching his breath. you loved it anyway. at least it noticed you.

you weren’t much to look at—hoodie too big, jeans cuffed too short, glasses perpetually smudged. people didn’t really talk to you unless they needed a club photo or a new profile picture. but that was fine. you preferred to watch. easier that way.

you liked moments no one else cared about. sunlight catching in someone’s braces. the way people’s faces softened when they thought no one was watching. someone mouthing the words to a song in their headphones. you didn’t want attention. you wanted honesty. and your camera was the only way you knew how to ask for it.

when the lunch bell rang, you drifted outside like a ghost, hoodie pulled over your head, sleeves half-covering your hands. the courtyard buzzed with voices and laughter and the occasional poorly-timed tiktok dance attempt.

you scanned the scene automatically. light, color, movement. then your eyes landed on her.

hanni pham.

alone. again. she sat on a stone bench with her back straight, notebooks lined up like little soldiers. her pen moved in steady, decisive strokes, head tilted just enough to let the sun catch her earrings. she looked like she belonged in a painting. you didn’t even think. you just—click.

the shutter caught her mid-thought—brow furrowed, lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks, ink smudged on her hand. the picture wasn’t perfect. a little crooked, a little harsh on the lighting. but she looked real. soft in a way the rest of the world forgot how to be.

you stared at the preview screen for a second too long. then someone bumped your shoulder hard enough to jolt you back.

“watch it, loser,” someone muttered, already walking past.

typical.

you were about to slink off to your usual lunch spot—behind the vending machines near the gym, where no one cared if you ate with your knees pulled to your chest—but then shouting broke through the air, sharp and sudden. a fight. of course.

you winced, clutching your camera tighter, and followed the noise. not because you wanted to intervene. you just knew someone would ask for pictures later. probably the yearbook team. or that one teacher who treated drama like free content.

you pushed through the crowd slowly, apologising under your breath each time someone elbowed you. someone’s drink sloshed onto your shoe. great. finally, the circle opened up.

flash thompson. again.

he had some poor kid by the collar, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. he shoved the kid closer to a plate of soggy spaghetti, grinning like a cartoon villain.

you sighed.

“hey!” you called, louder than usual. “that’s not funny.”

flash looked up, a smirk already curling at his lips. “look who it is,” he sneered. “camera geek wants a front row seat.”

“take a picture, l/n!” flash barked. “make sure you get my good side.”

you didn’t lift your camera. instead, your eyes narrowed.

you folded your arms. “not here for pictures.”

“then scram.”

you winced. “just let him go.”

“or what? you gonna blind me with your flash?” he snorted. “get it? flash?”

he turned to the crowd like he expected applause. a few chuckles. mostly pity-laughs. you stepped forward anyway. your hands shook a little, but you were too annoyed to care.

“c’mon, eugene. drop the middle school bully act.”

his face darkened. “what did you say?”

“eugene. it’s your name. figured someone should say it like a person.”

his fist came fast. you ducked.

“seriously?” you said. “hitting a girl? real classy.”

“you don’t count,” he snapped.

he lunged again. this time you caught his arm. being spidergirl came with perks, but you had to fake the struggle. couldn’t look too capable. then, one hit landed. right to your face. your glasses cracked straight down the middle. they slid off your nose, hanging lopsided.

“dude,” you groaned. “do you know how expensive glasses are?”

flash snorted. “maybe ask your camera for a refund.”

“maybe stop punching me?”

another swing. you ducked. this time, you tapped his ribs—gentle, barely a warning. still made him stumble.

the fight wasn’t elegant. it was sloppy. more about pride than power. you kept it messy on purpose. couldn’t risk anyone asking too many questions.

finally— “enough!”

a teacher stormed in like an angry tornado. the crowd scattered. you and flash were both grabbed by the collar and dragged off.

you sat side by side in the nurse’s office, arms crossed, bruises blooming quietly. a cold pack squished against your cheek. your cracked glasses sat in your lap like broken wings.

“you’re lucky i didn’t try,” flash muttered.

you glanced at him. “you’re lucky i didn’t. couldn’t have the star football player have his ass handed to him by a girl.”

he glared. you offered a lopsided, smug little smile—the kind you usually saved for mirror practice. he looked away.

you leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping your camera gently. yeah. you were a nerd. a loser. just the weird photo girl.

but today? you were also the one who stood up. not bad for a nobody.

you returned to class with your pride cracked clean down the middle—like your glasses, which were now taped clumsily at the bridge with a strip of scotch tape from the nurse's drawer. your jaw ached, your ribs protested every step, and your backpack felt heavier than usual—like it, too, had taken a punch to the face.

you slid into your seat at the back corner of the classroom, your usual post. tucked far enough from the board that no one asked to copy your notes, but close enough that you could still squint your way through a lecture. not that it helped much today. the left lens of your glasses kept fogging from your breath. you looked like a science fair project someone gave up on halfway.

you let your arms fold over the desk and buried your forehead in them, exhaling slow. the pain in your jaw pulsed gently like a bad song on repeat. the teacher was already droning on—something about the war of 1812, or maybe the war of “i really don’t care.” your brain was a blur.

chairs scraped behind you. someone coughed. a pencil dropped. the world moved like static.

then—soft. feather-light.

“psst.”

you lifted your head, groggy.

hanni pham was turned around in her seat, just a few rows ahead. she tilted her head toward you, dark hair falling over one shoulder, her fingers playing with the zipper of her pencil pouch.

“you’ve got guts,” she whispered. “going toe to toe with flash like that.”

you blinked at her. her voice was low and warm, a secret passed in the space between heartbeats. her lashes fluttered slightly when she spoke, and you could swear there was something teasing behind her eyes. something almost impressed.

your throat tightened. you felt about as cool as a melted popsicle.

“he got me good,” you croaked. it came out two octaves higher than you meant.

her gaze flicked to your face and she winced, just a little. “yeah, no kidding. your eye looks like it’s trying to escape your skull.”

you huffed a laugh, half self-pity, half pride. “you should see him. i got in a solid hit to the ribs. he probably won’t be laughing without wheezing for a week.”

she raised her brows. “wow. humble and violent. a rare combo.”

“i contain multitudes,” you mumbled, then immediately regretted saying something so weird.

a pause. her grin widened.

“are you… bragging about beating up a guy?”

you shrugged, trying to play it off cool even though you were ninety percent sure your ear was bleeding from how hard your heart was pounding. “depends. is it working?”

hanni tilted her head. her earrings caught the light—tiny silver moons that danced when she moved. “working on what?”

your mouth opened. no words came out. your brain was a tv with bad reception. you tried again. “i… uh… like your hair.”

what.

hanni blinked.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

but then—she laughed. not a mean laugh. not the kind that people used when you tripped walking into class or spilled your lunch tray or wore mismatched socks (which you had, incidentally, done today). no, it was soft. genuine. like she wasn’t laughing at you. just… around you. close enough to warm you up.

“you’re funny, y/n.”

your name in her mouth sounded like a melody. you weren’t sure anyone had said it that nicely before. it made your stomach do something unpleasant and fluttery.

“you—you know my name?” you blurted.

she smiled, tilting her head. “do you not know it yourself? did flash give you a concussion or something?”

you snorted—actually snorted—and rubbed the back of your neck. “no, i know it. i just didn’t think you did.”

“why wouldn’t i?”

you didn’t have an answer for that. you were the weird kid with a camera and fraying shoelaces. the one who always ate lunch under the bleachers with a sandwich that smelled vaguely like regret. no one knew your name. you were just camera girl. tolerated, not remembered.

the teacher cleared her throat sharply. “pham. l/n. unless you’re the reincarnation of a certified historian, which i doubt very much, zip it.”

you sat bolt upright. hanni turned forward again, but not before pressing her fist to her mouth to stifle a giggle. you caught it—just barely—and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing too.

when the teacher’s attention turned elsewhere, you risked a glance at hanni again.

she was already looking back.

just a flick of her eyes over her shoulder, quick and quiet, but there. like a camera flash in the dark. and for a moment, time held its breath. nothing loud or dramatic—just her, and you, and the quiet hum of maybe.

you looked away first, heart hammering, ears hot.

your fingers reached down to your bag. your camera was tucked safely inside, and suddenly you wished you’d taken a picture. just one. something to hold the moment still. because the way she looked at you—that softness, that sparkle—you were pretty sure no one had ever looked at you like that before.

not even through your own lens.

it was another school day. another school day that moved like honey. sticky, slow, and sweet in that weird, annoying way. you were running late again—mostly because your backpack had eaten your chemistry notes and refused to give them back until you threatened to reorganise everything.

the science lab was tucked into the far corner of the school like a forgotten thought, but you liked it. it always smelled faintly of graphite and lemon cleaner, and the overhead lights flickered like they were winking at you. comforting. in a strange, broken-down kind of way.

you slipped in just before the bell rang, glasses slipping down your nose, cheeks a little flushed.

and there she was.

hanni.

she was already seated—already grinning.

"you made it," she said, chin propped up on her hand, black hair spilling over her shoulder like ink on a page.

you coughed. "barely."

"did you wrestle a bear on the way here or is your backpack just really angry at you again?"

you blinked. "how’d you know?"

"you mutter to yourself when you're digging through it. kind of like a mad scientist with stage fright."

you gave a weak laugh. “well, it bit me again. stole my notes.”

“poor y/n,” she said with faux sympathy. “defeated by canvas and zippers. truly tragic.”

you groaned and flopped into the seat next to her, tugging out a pen with too much force and accidentally flinging it halfway across the table. hanni giggled.

“you’re cute,” she said, just loud enough for your heart to short-circuit.

you choked on air. “i—what?”

“i said you’re cute,” she repeated with a teasing smile. “when you do awkward little things. it’s charming.”

your ears burned. “i’m not awkward.”

“sure,” she said. “and i’m not flirting.”

you stared at her. she winked.

the teacher cleared her throat and started passing out lab instructions. something about chemical reactions and balancing equations. normally, your brain would light up like a christmas tree. today, it just short-circuited again every time hanni tapped her pen against her lip or leaned a little too close to read your notes.

"so," she whispered as she scribbled something down, "which is cooler—plasma or antimatter?"

you blinked. "...are you trying to distract me or start a nerd fight?"

"why not both?"

you bit your lip, trying not to smile. “plasma.”

“wrong answer. antimatter is literally the coolest.”

“plasma’s literally in stars.”

“and antimatter could destroy the universe.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re adorable when you’re mad.”

you looked at her, stunned silent, pen frozen mid-equation. her grin widened, and your brain might as well have melted into a puddle of caffeine and regret.

the assignment blurred. your handwriting got messier. hanni kept leaning close, brushing shoulders, her perfume soft and citrusy—like sunlight and some kind of spell.

at one point, you knocked your water bottle off the table. she caught it with one hand, smooth as ever.

“thanks,” you mumbled.

“you owe me your life now,” she said solemnly.

“guess i’ll have to pay in lab notes.”

“nah. just sit next to me again tomorrow.”

you looked up, surprised. her expression was easy, light, like it wasn’t a big deal. like it didn’t make your pulse race just hearing it.

“…okay,” you said, way too softly.

she heard it anyway. and she smiled.

it was a moment so small, it could’ve slipped between seconds. but you held onto it like gravity. tightly, quietly. like maybe—just maybe—you were both orbiting something brighter than this classroom.

like maybe she saw something in you.

night poured over the city like ink, slick and heavy. neon signs flickered in and out of existence below you, colors bleeding into puddles on the sidewalk. the rooftop was cold beneath your boots, wind tugging gently at your suit, like the sky itself was trying to pull you away.

you sat crouched, masked and still, watching a man fiddle with the handle of a beat-up sedan down the block. he wasn’t subtle. too twitchy, too nervous. and he had something in his hand—some sort of gadget. probably stolen tech. you tilted your head, curious.

the lock clicked.

you moved.

he slipped into the driver’s seat with the grace of a raccoon in a dumpster. you let him get comfortable, let him think he was safe. the moment he leaned forward to start the car, you were already in the backseat, legs crossed, fingers laced in your lap like you were waiting for a late taxi.

“yo,” you said, voice smooth like silk, a lazy smirk in your tone. “cool gadget. did you forget your keys or something?”

he shrieked, jerking so violently he almost hit the roof of the car with his head. his wide eyes met your lenses through the rearview mirror. “spiderman?!”

you sighed, running a hand through your already messy hair. “really? spiderman? do i sound like a man to you? it’s spidergirl, buddy. get with the program.”

he scrambled for the door handle, but as soon as he pulled it—thwip—a web shot out and sealed it shut. he tried the other one. same result. thwip.

he paused, panicking.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the front seats. “window’s always an option. come on. think outside the box.”

he hesitated. then, with an annoyed grunt, started crawling out the window.

“yes! now you're thinking,” you said brightly, clapping once. “look at you, using your little brain.”

the moment he hit the pavement, he bolted.

it was a short chase. he wasn’t fast. too many donuts, probably. you trailed behind with the ease of a cat stretching after a nap. he didn’t even make it halfway across the car park before you overtook him. honestly, it was kind of pathetic. you almost felt bad. almost.

you dropped from the shadows and landed in front of him like you’d been summoned by embarrassment itself.

he skidded to a stop, panting, sweating, looking like someone’s out-of-shape uncle. then, he pulled out a knife—a small, pocket knife.

you blinked. then gasped—loud and horrified, clutching your chest like you’d been struck by lightning.

“oh no,” you cried, staggering back a step. “a small knife! my only weakness!”

his hand twitched.

you dropped to your knees, still clutching your chest. “i... i can’t... stop... the knife… it’s too powerful…”

you fell dramatically onto your side, legs curling in, one gloved hand reaching weakly toward him like a dying heroine in a soap opera.

he looked confused. like he was trying to figure out if you were mocking him (you were).

and then—thwip.

you shot a clean line of web straight to his wrist, yanking his arm back and slapping it flat against the nearest brick wall with a wet smack. he yelped.

“gotcha,” you said sweetly, chin in your hand now like you were watching your favorite saturday morning cartoon.

he cursed, spitting pure rage at you. but you were already up again, brushing imaginary dust from your hip and strolling over like this was a spa day.

you spun another web around his ankle and yanked it upward, flipping him off his feet. he hit the wall with a grunt, fully pinned now—limbs spread, dignity gone. he cursed, spitting rage. you danced backward, spinning a lazy web with your fingers, your laughter echoing down the street.

“you really thought this was a good idea?” you said, walking a slow semi-circle around him. “like… you couldn’t just—I don’t know—apply for a loan like a normal person?”

he tried to spit at you.

you webbed his mouth shut with one flick of your wrist.

“uh-uh. no rude words,” you tsked, wagging a finger. “you’re in timeout.”

then you hopped up on the hood of the closest car, crouching with a soft click of your heels.

“super serious crime,” you muttered, mock-inspecting your gloves. “honestly? golden felon award material.”

and all the while, he struggled against the webbing, growing more muffled and furious by the second. you just grinned under your mask, the thrill of it buzzing warm in your veins.

he wasn’t going anywhere.

and you were so keeping that award line for later.

then—sirens. your gut twisted.

you didn’t hate the cops. but they sure didn’t love you.

“damn,” you muttered, standing up just as headlights sliced through the alley.

squad cars screeched to a halt, tires screaming against asphalt. doors flung open. guns raised. fast, practiced.

“put your hands up!” one of them shouted.

you raised your hands slowly. “guns? for the one who tied up the bad guy? creative. real creative.”

“who are you?” barked another.

you tilted your head. “people just don’t seem to grasp the concept of the mask. it’s like—what do you think this is? a fashion statement?”

then you leapt, firing a web to the rooftop—only to feel a sharp crack bloom in your shoulder. heat. pain. white-hot.

“ah, shit—” you face-planted into a brick wall with a grunt, one hand gripping your bleeding arm.

you forced yourself up, wobbly but standing, voice shaky but loud. “hey, watch the goods! making this suit was not easy or cheap!”

they aimed again. you didn’t wait.

your other arm—non-dominant—snapped up, webbing you to safety. you swung through the air like a crooked comet, trailing blood and sarcasm. bullets kissed the air behind you, but none found you again.

you didn’t stop until your limbs trembled and the pain in your shoulder blurred the edges of your vision.

finally, a few blocks away, you dropped into an empty alley.

you landed hard.

the world tilted. you gritted your teeth.

“damn,” you breathed, crumpling to the ground, the echo of sirens long gone.

your suit clung tight, stained now with red. the night above was endless. and somewhere out there, the city still breathed, still called for you.

you leaned back against the wall, legs pulled in, head resting on your knees.

funny, you thought. this was the part no one ever saw.

the night was thick with the hush of a sleeping city. windows dim, sky bruised purple, and the occasional flicker of a neon sign blinking like a tired eye.

hanni walked with her hoodie half-zipped and a carton of eggs tucked in one arm, the plastic bag crinkling softly against her wrist. her mom wanted eggs, said something about breakfast and pancakes. but hanni, if she was being honest, just wanted to breathe under the stars for a bit.

dangerous? sure. but she had pepper spray and a healthy distrust of everyone. that had to count for something.

she turned a corner, sneakers brushing against uneven pavement, when she heard it—a loud bang. not like a firework or a car. it sounded like something... someone... falling. she froze.

then, because her survival instincts were garbage and she’d always been too curious for her own good, she stepped toward the alley.

it was dimly lit, just barely kissed by the yellow glow of a distant streetlamp. brick walls boxed the space in. and there—slumped near the edge like a discarded shadow—was someone in red and blue. spiderman?

hanni’s breath caught.

he was curled in on himself, a shaky arm pressed to his shoulder, blood darkening the suit around it. the mask still clung to his  face—but then, with a grunt, fingers tugged it off. curls tumbled out, messy and damp with sweat.

and under the mask— “y/n?!” hanni’s voice cracked into the silence.

you flinched, eyes widening like you hadn’t realised anyone was watching.

“what the hell—” hanni blinked fast. “you’re—no. no way. you’re spiderman? no, spider...girl?! no. that doesn’t even make sense. you're... you. and spidergirl is... not you.”

you squinted through the pain, hair sticking to your forehead. “i’m not—i mean—this isn’t—” you gestured vaguely to your bloodied suit. “costume party. yeah. i just... came from a really intense costume party.”

hanni narrowed her eyes. “you. went to a party.”

you swallowed. “...okay, rude.”

“no offense, but like. you? got invited to a party?”

you sighed, the sound shaky, like it was trying not to fall apart. “fine,” you muttered, pressing a palm to the wall to steady yourself. “i’m spidergirl.”

the silence that followed was thick and disbelieving. hanni took a few slow steps forward, eyes wide, lips parted like she couldn’t figure out whether to laugh or scream.

then her gaze dropped. “you’re bleeding—why are you bleeding—jesus—”

“the whole vigilante thing, it’s not as cool as it looks,” you joked, voice wobbling just a bit. “i mean, does this look cool?” you waved weakly at your shoulder. blood smeared your hand. your arm trembled. “very edgy. very tragic. i know.”

“y/n.”

you forced a grin. “yeah?”

“you’re actually insane.”

you shrugged with one shoulder—the only one that didn’t feel like it’d been stabbed. “thanks.”

she crouched beside you, worry furrowed deep into her brow. then she noticed the backpack at your side, half-zipped. “what’s in that?”

“spare clothes,” you said, like it was obvious. “i can’t go anywhere without this backpack.”

“wait—you carry that everywhere? even when you’re fighting crooks?”

“no. i usually stash it. rooftops. alleys. duct-taped to fire escapes. i always pick it up before heading home.”

“home,” hanni repeated, eyeing you.

you blinked. “...what?”

“do you have one?”

you hesitated. then looked away. “not really.”

she nodded like she already knew that answer. then stood, brushing her hands on her jeans.

“get changed.”

“...why?”

“because,” she said simply, “you’re coming back home with me.”

“what.”

“you heard me.”

“hanni, your dad’s the chief of police.”

“yes. that’s why we’re gonna be very sneaky.”

“your dad. the chief. of police.”

“i’m aware.”

you narrowed your eyes. “hanni.”

she crossed her arms. “y/n.”

the city shimmered behind you like a sleeping beast. neon signs blinked lazily through the mist, casting long reflections in the puddles at your feet. above, the apartment building stretched into the sky, a quiet monolith, its windows like sleepy eyes. you stood with one hand pressed to your side, blood damp and sticky beneath your hoodie, the heat of it sinking through the fabric. hanni stood beside you, clutching a carton of eggs like it was the last piece of normalcy she had left.

“so… how exactly are we doing this?” she asked, her voice low.

you tilted your head. “fire exit?”

“my apartment’s on the twenty-second floor,” she deadpanned.

you shrugged, then winced. “i’ve climbed worse.”

hanni stared at you like you’d just confessed to liking pineapple on pizza. “you’re bleeding out of your shoulder. and the apartment is on the twenty-second floor. you think you can climb that right now?”

“i think i can do a lot of things when i’m in pain. adrenaline is magic.”

she let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “and what? i’m just supposed to wave at you from the window like a confused house cat while you scale the building like some goth tarzan?”

you grinned. “pretty much.”

you stared at each other for a moment, the night stretching long and dramatic between you.

“you’re not doing that,” she finally muttered. “you’ll pass out halfway and fall to your death.”

“woah, i didn’t know you could be dramatic. you should consider working in theatrics or something.”

“as if i could ever let go of science.”

“i hear some crazy nerd behavior,” you teased.

“did you make your own webbing?”

“yep. and my own webshooters. it was a bit difficult but i made it out of an old watch i found and—”

“and you’re calling me the nerd?” she scoffed. “don’t talk to me about being a nerd.”

you leaned against the cool brick wall and shrugged—then immediately winced. “let me climb up the wall. i’ll be fine.”

hanni stepped closer, her gaze searching. her fingers hovered near your arm, not quite touching. “what if you’re not?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes traced the fire escape winding up the side of the building like a metal spine, disappearing into the clouds.

she huffed. “fine. apartment 2207. try to find it from the outside if i’m not waving out the window when you get up there. if you make it up, climb in. don’t be stupid.”

“got it,” you murmured, and then you were gone—vanishing into the night like a shadow with a heartbeat.

she didn’t even have time to stop you.

the metal of the fire escape was cold beneath your fingers. your muscles screamed in protest, but you kept moving. one hand over the other, each step deliberate, your breath shallow and sharp in your chest. the city watched from below, uncaring. the wind whispered past your ears like it was warning you to turn back, but you didn’t listen.

you never did.

twenty-two floors blurred into one long, aching climb. you weren’t sure how long it took. your vision swam. everything smelled like rust and blood. the window was open, just like she promised. you slipped through it with the last of your strength and collapsed onto the carpet of her room, face-down, breathing like someone who’d just outrun death.

meanwhile, hanni pushed open the heavy front doors of the building, blinking as the cool lobby light washed over her. the marble floor was spotless, too clean for how late it was, and the soft hum of the heater filled the silence like a lullaby for the walls. 

mr. kim, the doorman, was half-asleep behind his desk, head bobbing gently like a buoy in calm water. she gave him a small wave, careful not to startle him.

the elevator chimed low as she stepped inside, the mirrored walls catching the curve of her face, the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. she looked tired. or maybe it was just the lighting. or maybe it was the weight of everything she wasn’t ready to name yet.

by the time the doors slid open on the twelfth floor, the scent hit her before she even stepped out. garlic, onion, a hint of sesame oil—home, in every corner of her lungs. she padded quietly down the hall, the paper bag of eggs cradled in her arms like something fragile and secret.

the door to the apartment clicked open with a soft twist of the knob. warmth spilled out like light from a cracked jar. she didn’t say anything at first. just stood there for a second, letting it wrap around her like a blanket.

“hey, mum,” she said at last, voice soft. “i got the eggs.”

her mother looked up from the stove, hair pulled into a bun, glasses perched on her nose. the corners of her eyes crinkled with the kind of tired love that only comes from long days and longer nights.

“thank you, sweetie,” she said, smiling as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “your dad’s still at the station.”

hanni nodded, setting the bag on the counter gently, like it might shatter.

“cool,” she murmured.

but her voice caught just a little. not enough to notice—unless you were listening closely

hanni slipped into her room with quiet urgency, the door clicking shut behind her like a held breath. the soft thud of her footsteps melted into the rug as she moved across the floor, the hum of the hallway fading into the hush of familiar walls. her heart still beat a little too fast—like it hadn't caught up to the safety of home just yet.

she turned, eyes scanning the dim corners of her room, where the pale glow of streetlight spilled in through the open window, slicing the dark into long, silver ribbons. and there, half-shadowed and crouched low by the windowsill, was a figure—still and waiting, like a ghost caught mid-step.

“hi there, spidey.”

you turned, hoodie half-draped over your injured arm. “hey, hanni.”

you both giggled, a little breathless, like the world outside couldn’t quite reach this small, quiet room.

“you’re such a freaking idiot,” she whispered, kneeling beside you.

you cracked one eye open. “but i made it.”

“barely.”

“my dad’s not home yet,” hanni said, “but we should still be quiet. take off your top.”

you gave her a cheeky look. “so you’re telling me to strip already? bold move.”

hanni blushed and threw a pillow at you. “strip the hoodie, dumbass. i need to check your wound.”

her hands were already working. she helped you sit up, fingers brushing your waist as she eased the hoodie off. you obediently helped pull it off with a hiss. 

“what type of wound is it anyway?” she asked.

you hesitated. “um… a bullet wound.”

hanni’s face dropped. “you got shot at?!”

“no, hanni. a cop just stabbed me with a bullet. of course i got shot at. that’s how you get a bullet wound.”

the bullet wound was angry and red, the skin around it dark and sticky. hanni’s breath hitched when she saw it.

“jesus, y/n…”

“hey,” you mumbled, your voice soft and woozy. “don’t look at me like that. it’s not like i got shot on purpose.”

she didn’t say anything. just pressed her lips together and opened the first aid kit from under her bed. the air between you buzzed with something sharp and quiet. 

“are you seriously wearing a binder under the suit?”

you rolled your eyes. “ok, god forbid a girl doesn’t want her tits flying around while fighting crime.”

“y/n, that’s dangerous,” she said, her voice dropping. “it’s really restrictive. especially with how much you move. it could damage your ribs.”

you looked away, quiet for a moment.

then hanni muttered under her breath, “no wonder people think you’re spiderman.”

you snorted. “well, i’m spidergirl. and a binder’s not gonna kill me.”

“yeah, but a bullet might.”

“nah, i’m invincible.”

“says the one with a bullet wound…”

“well—”

“oh shut up,” she said as she gently pressed a hand over your mouth.

you tried not to smile, but failed. she was cleaning the wound with one hand and pinning your nonsense with the other, her brow furrowed in pure concentration. and even though you were in pain, even though your ribs ached, you couldn’t stop the grin from stretching your face.

she felt it.

“why are you smiling?” she asked, confused.

you grinned, dazed. “you’re really pretty when you’re serious.”

“and you’re really annoying when you’re bleeding,” she muttered, dabbing gently around the edges.

you hissed. “ow.”

“sorry,” she said, even softer. her hands trembled a little. “i’m just… you scared me, okay?”

you blinked. “you were worried?”

“of course i was,” she said, exasperated, like it should’ve been obvious. “i find you bloody in an alleyway and then you tried to scale my apartment like a lunatic. what part of that wouldn’t make me worry?”

you chuckled under your breath. “admit it. you were impressed.”

“i was terrified,” she said. “and yeah. maybe a little impressed.”

her fingers lingered as she wrapped your shoulder. you watched her closely, the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, the way her jaw tightened when she focused. the room felt smaller now, quiet in a way that felt like holding your breath before a first kiss.

“just don’t push yourself too hard. i know you like pretending you’re invincible, but you’re still human. you get hurt. i care if you get hurt.”

that last part made something flutter inside you, deep and sudden. you looked away.

she left the room to wash her hands. “change into something else. i’m not letting you bleed all over my sheets. take anything from my closet.”

you slipped into one of her hoodies. it smelled like something warm and familiar—vanilla, fabric softener, and the faintest trace of her shampoo. when she returned, you were curled up on her bed, looking out the window like the night still had something left to offer.

she sat beside you, her legs tucked beneath her. the space between your shoulders hummed with electricity.

“i’m one lucky girl if i’ve got you worrying about me,”you murmured with a lazy smile.

hanni chuckled and sat beside you. “flirting and sleeping in my bed already? i should announce to the public that spidergirl’s got game”

“so,” you said. “me being spidergirl…”

“yeah?”

you turned to face her. “why did you help me?”

“because i like you,” hanni said casually, as if it were the easiest thing to say in the world.

“like, you like like me? or is it ‘cause i’m a vigilante?”

she met your eyes without flinching. “y/n. i like you. the dorky science nerd who tries to be funny and fails half the time but still makes me laugh. spidergirl’s cool but she’s not all that. but y/n—now she’s cute and definitely all that.”

you stared at her, stunned. a little dizzy. you stared.

“you know i’m spidergirl too, right?”

“i’m just saying,” she smiled, “i really like you, y/n. the whole spidergirl thing is just an added bonus.”

she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against yours. “so… if you wanted to ask me out or whatever… you know. i wouldn’t say no.”

you swallowed hard. “noted.”

and in the quiet hum of her room, the city glowed faintly behind the window—your heart finally slowing in your chest.

hanni leaned against the brick wall of the little corner cafe, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. the sky was the color of soft steel, clouds curled like smoke above the rooftops, and the glow of the setting sun painted the sidewalk gold. she glanced at her phone for the third time in five minutes, not really expecting a new message—just needing something to look at that wasn’t the empty space beside her.

in the distance, sirens wailed. sharp, high cries that echoed off glass windows and fire escapes. hanni turned her head, eyes narrowing.

and then—there you were.

a blur of red and navy slicing across the skyline, swinging between buildings with that effortless kind of recklessness only spidergirl could manage. trailing behind you, a small parade of flashing red-and-blue lights raced through the streets like angry toy cars. hanni sighed through a tired smile and shook her head, a soft, amused laugh slipping out as she muttered to herself, “…what the hell have i gotten myself into?”

still, she stayed where she was. she wasn’t really surprised anymore.

her fingers brushed the edge of her purse absentmindedly, eyes drifting up toward the clouds—until someone bumped into her hard, rough and sudden.

“hey—!”

but it wasn’t an accident. the guy grabbed her purse, tried to yank it clean from her shoulder and take off into the street like a coward in sneakers.

unfortunately for him, hanni wasn’t built to freeze. her hand gripped the strap tight, yanking it back so hard the guy stumbled. he turned with a grimace, about to swing at her, maybe thinking she’d flinch.

but she didn’t.

from the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a small canister of pepper spray like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times in a mirror. no hesitation. one quick press.

pshhhhhhhht

“my eyes! fuck, you bitch!!” the man howled, stumbling back, clutching his face like she’d sprayed acid and not just store-bought justice. he staggered around blindly, voice rising to a pathetic pitch.

then—fwip.

a thread of silk zipped through the air and slapped across his mouth. another wrapped around his torso. he was yanked up and left dangling like a wriggling, miserable piñata from a lamppost. muffled curses fizzled through the webs as he kicked uselessly in the air.

you dropped down beside hanni like you’d been summoned by coolness alone. you brushed your palms off against your suit, then clapped once, sharply.

“welp,” you chirped, looking up at the human chandelier above you, “that was easy.”

youturned to hanni with a slight tilt of your head.

“good work, young lady i do not know. very impressive use of civilian weaponry. okay, bye now.”

and with that, you zipped off again into the clouds, cape-less but dramatic as hell.

hanni blinked, then laughed under her breath, soft and bright.

a minute later, someone jogged up the sidewalk, breathless and sweating slightly under her oversized hoodie.

“sorry i’m late,” you huffed, scratching your head sheepishly. “i couldn’t take the binder off.”

hanni gave you a flat look and smacked your non-dominant arm. “i told you not to wear that.”

“what else am i supposed to do with my tits? chop ‘em off?”

“girl,” she said, already exasperated, “just wear a sports bra.”

you paused. blinked. “…oh yeah.”

hanni paused for a second. she looked you up and down then tilted her head slightly.

“…you wore a hoodie,” she said slowly, brows raised. “to our date. at a restaurant.”

you scratched the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of your outfit. “i, uh… yeah. i didn’t know if we were going, like, fancy fancy…”

she stared for a beat longer, then let out a small sigh that dissolved into a chuckle.

“god,” she muttered, lips twitching. “let’s go eat.” 

hanni began to walk off slowly, her hands rested in the pockets of her jacket.

“wait!” you fired a quick web to her wrist and gently reeled her back toward you. she stumbled into your arms, eyes wide and faintly amused.

“i, um…” you stammered, pulling something from behind your back. “i got this… for you.”

a bouquet. a very broken one. some petals were smooshed, a few stems were bent, and one of the roses had given up entirely.

hanni looked at the disaster in your hands and beamed.

“they’re so nice!” she said.

“they were nice,” you muttered. “they were very nice.”

she touched the flowers gently, as if they were the most delicate thing in the world. “i love them. no matter how broken they are.”

you grinned, eyes soft. “…me too.”

and just like that, the tension melted. she laced her fingers through yours and tugged you along, across the street and toward the restaurant she’d picked out two weeks ago. it was warm and cozy with twinkle lights in the windows and everything smelled like fresh bread.

before you reached the door, you paused, held up your old camera.

“wait—just one,” you said.

hanni turned to you with the flowers in her arms, her smile catching the light like it belonged in a photo album.

click.

it was a good picture. the kind you’d look back on months later and still feel the warmth in your chest.

the city was quieter in the mornings. not completely still—never completely still—but soft in a way that made everything feel slower, gentler. the kind of quiet where you could hear the buzz of lights above your head in the hallway, the faint scuff of sneakers on linoleum, and the low hum of voices from classrooms still waiting to be filled. school hadn’t fully woken up yet. neither had hanni, really. but she was awake enough to notice the way her heart jumped when she spotted you standing by your locker.

you were there like always—hood up, eyes half-lidded, fiddling with the zipper of your bag like it owed you something. but when you looked up and saw her, something shifted. your whole face softened, just a bit. it wasn’t a smile, not exactly, but something adjacent. something only hanni seemed to recognise. and maybe that was the strangest part of all—that she could read you now. not fully. not yet. but enough.

she walked over without needing to think twice, her bag bouncing slightly against her hip.

“you’re here early,” she said, leaning casually against the locker beside yours.

“you’re here earlier,” you replied, voice low, words dragging like you’d only just climbed out of bed.

“i like the mornings,” she said, eyes flicking toward the window at the end of the hall, where sunlight was barely peeking through the clouds. “less people. less noise.”

you gave a quiet hum of agreement, zipping your bag closed, your fingers brushing hers as you reached for the same notebook on the side.

neither of you moved for a second.

hanni’s hand pulled back first, like she’d touched something hot. her laugh came out airy. “we’re getting good at this.”

“what, synchronised awkwardness?”

she looked up at you, surprised by the joke—soft and self-aware. and then she smiled, full and unbothered. “yeah. that.”

you both stood there like that, letting silence fill the space between sentences. but it wasn’t awkward. not like it used to be. it felt comfortable now, like an extra layer of air only the two of you existed in. you weren’t dating—not really. there hadn’t been a conversation, no confession, no kiss. just you showing up. just her waiting. just the steady warmth that lingered in her chest when you sat beside her in class, when your shoulders bumped, when she caught you looking and you didn’t look away.

hanni walked with you to class that day. something she usually didn’t do. it wasn’t intentional—it just happened. you both ended up in step, falling into rhythm like it had been rehearsed. your elbow brushed hers again and again, but neither of you pulled away this time.

“so,” she said, halfway down the hall. “that hoodie’s still holding up?”

“barely,” you said. “i think it’s older than i am.”

“you wore it on our date,” she teased, nudging you lightly.

“you said it was casual.”

“i said dinner.”

“...a casual dinner,” you muttered, eyes flicking toward the floor like maybe it’d swallow you whole and save you from her amused smile.

hanni let the laugh escape, soft and bright. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you didn’t reply. but your ears were red.

later, during chemistry, hanni found herself glancing at you more often than her textbook. your face was tucked into your arms, eyes following the words on the page like they were trying to escape you. her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her notes, but her focus was elsewhere—on the little frown between your brows, the way your leg bounced when you were deep in thought, the way you sat a little straighter when you realised she was looking.

you turned your head just slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she said too quickly, smiling at her paper. “you just look like you’re gonna set that textbook on fire with your mind.”

“i wish.”

by the time lunch rolled around, your seats were beside each other again. not across, not diagonal. beside. like it was natural. like it’d always been that way. and it was strange, maybe. how something so simple could feel like a quiet declaration.

she offered you half of her sandwich. you accepted without a word.

you gave her your last piece of chocolate. she took it without asking if you were sure.

and after school, when the bell rang and students spilled out like a flood, hanni didn’t rush. neither did you. you both lingered by the bike racks, talking about nothing. and in that nothing, something bloomed.

you spoke about a science article you read the night before. she listened like every word mattered. she spoke about a dream she’d had—something weird and nonsensical—and you laughed until your eyes crinkled.

and when the wind picked up, brushing her hair into her eyes, you reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. it was so quick, so instinctive, that even you looked surprised.

hanni’s cheeks turned a soft pink. she didn’t say anything. just looked at you with something warm in her eyes.

“sorry,” you mumbled, hand already halfway back in your pocket.

“don’t be,” she said, brushing her hair down again. “i liked it.”

you smiled then, just barely. just enough.

and when you walked off in different directions that afternoon, it felt like something small had shifted again. a slow orbit. a steady pull.

no titles. no confessions. but something.

something that looked a little like love, even if neither of you were ready to call it that.

it had been a month since your bruised knock on hanni’s window—the night your shoulder had been punctured by gunfire and your grin had been crooked with pain. in that time, the city had grown tense, its breath shallow, every siren a jolt in someone’s chest. and on every screen, day and night, flickered the name that scared even the toughest hearts: the lizard.

they said he was an urban legend until you’d seen him tear through concrete with claws like razors. but worse than him was the army he summoned—dozens of smaller lizards, skittering through alleyways at dusk, slipping beneath storm drains like they knew some secret route into the city’s veins. you had seen them too many times to ignore.

so you prepared.

years of late-night reading had taught you how vibrations travel through metal and stone. you replicated the trick with your own science—webbing stretched taut across sewer tunnels, silk threads anchored between pipes and broken brick, all tied to a sensitive web of lines that would hum with the slightest disturbance. you crouched in the darkness, mask on, senses sharpened, waiting for that tremor beneath your fingers.

the stench of rot and diesel oil pressed in on you, the air thick and damp. every drip of water from overhead pipes echoed like a warning. your heart thrummed in your ears louder than any scream.

and then it began—a soft scuttle, dozens of feet pressing against the tunnel floor, claws clicking in unison. you held perfectly still, fingers grazing a web strand.

one. two. three.

the thread buzzed.

you drew a deep breath, testing your muscles for a moment of calm.

then the roar came—low and guttural, a sound you’d dreamed about since your first night on these walls.

out of the gloom he lunged.

the lizard was massive, a hulking nightmare stood too tall for this tunnel. emerald scales glistened under the flickering sodium lamps, claws hooked like broken promises. his jaw unhinged, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and his yellow eyes burned with something ancient and furious.

your first thought was shock—then reflex.

you kicked off the wall, launching a web that snapped across his snout. he roared, a sound that rattled the pipes overhead, and snapped at the silk.

you ducked, rolling across the damp floor, sending water splashing in every direction. your palms found a vertical pipe and you flipped upward, propelling yourself between two broken walls. you fired off another web to a loose support beam, swinging past him like a shadow.

“still trespassing in my domain, spider?” he spat, voice thick as swampwater.

you let your mask absorb his words. the tunnel walls closed in around you, the smell of mold creeping into your throat. you didn’t answer.

a spray of webs flew from your wrists—aimed at his wrists, ankles, tail—trying to slow his advance. for a moment, it looked like you might succeed: his limbs tangled in silk, claws clicking uselessly against the webbing.

but he only growled.

with a rage-fueled yank, he tore free, claws shredding silk like paper. he advanced, each step heavy, jarring the ground beneath you. you backed away, pain blooming in your shoulder where the skin had already been weakened by earlier skirmishes.

you knew you needed a distraction.

your hand dove into a pocket for a small canister of experimental taser fluid—another one of your homemade tricks. you sprayed a quick burst at the wall near him. the fluid hissed, sparks erupted, and the tunnel lit up in a sudden blue glare. the lizard recoiled, momentarily blinded by the electricity.

you seized the moment. two web lines, one to a valve wheel overhead, another to the floor drain. you yanked both, sending a jet of superheated steam roaring down the tunnel. the blast struck him square in the face, steam hissing across scales and drenching your mask in fog.

he roared again, shaking his head, steam rising like smoke around him. you scrambled away, breath ragged. your back throbbed—each heartbeat a burst of white-hot pain. the sludge at your feet fizzled under the steam.

you couldn’t win. you weren’t built to match his raw power. you turned around briefly, keeping your eyes off the lizard for barely a second.

then, you felt a white-hot sting ripple down your spine as the lizard’s claw ripped across your back, tearing flesh under its razor edge. you gasped, the air exploding from your lungs as warm blood seeped through your suit.

so you ran.

you ran up the crawlspace ladder you’d installed weeks ago, muscles screaming in protest. the metal bars scraped your gloves raw, and you could feel your ribs protesting every heave of your breath. half your vision swam red from the blood on your suit. but you climbed.

a final web shot to a grate overhead, you yanked it free and hauled yourself into the dank alley above. the night air hit your lungs like a promise—cold and real. you staggered away from the grate, boots sloshing in a puddle tinted crimson.

you paused, head hung low, chest heaving. the city lights glimmered on rain-slick pavement. distant sirens cut through the quiet.

with a final groan, you forced your legs to carry you toward the nearest fire escape. each step was a gamble—your body trembled, spine a wildfire of pain. but you mounted the ladder anyway, web line to railing, and climbed until the open window you knew so well came into view.

you knocked once—half your strength—hating that you were weak, but too spent to care.

inside, a faint click. curtains rustled. and then, at last, you saw her face. silhouetted against the lamp-light, bright with relief and worry and something you couldn’t name.

in that moment, pain and fear fell away. you were home.

your fists knocked against her bedroom window, weak but urgent. your knock was soft, but hanni heard it instantly. a light flicked on. the curtains pulled back. she blinked, startled, then her face broke into a crooked, sleepy smile—the kind only she could give, the kind that made everything ache in a good way.

she cracked the window open. “you know,” she whispered with a chuckle, “you could just come through the front door like a normal person.”

“could,” you said with a pained smile, pulling yourself through, “but this way’s more romantic.”

you barely landed on the floor before your legs wobbled. her hands steadied you, gentle and fast. 

“what happened?” she asked, eyes already narrowing, already serious. 

then, you turned around and she saw it. the claw mark down your back was deep. red. angry.

her expression dropped. “oh my god,” she muttered. “sit. stay. don’t move.” she was already grabbing the first aid kit, voice rising just a little. “i told you to be careful. you can’t keep doing this.”

“you’re scolding me again,” you said softly.

“someone has to.”

you sat on the edge of her bed, pulling the top half of your suit down to your waist, and there it was—your binder, shredded and blood-stained. she knelt behind you, her hands ghosting the edges of your binder. she paused. 

“you wore it again?” her voice was sharper now. “i told you not to.”

“i know,” you murmured, looking away. “i won’t anymore. kind of hard to wear something when it’s got a lizard-sized rip in it.”

hanni rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. instead, tried finding a way to clean the wound without making things worse.

“can’t clean you up with it on. can you take it off?” she asked quietly.

you winced. “it’s… not gonna come off easy. can you just cut it?”

her scissors hovered by the fabric.

“oh yeah,” you added casually, “i’m not wearing anything under, so, uh—stay behind me if you don’t wanna get flashed.”

a silence. then:

she let out an exasperated sigh, cheeks glowing pink. “i can tell. you’re not supposed to wear stuff under it anyway.”

you grinned. “just reminding you i’m about to be half-naked in your bedroom.”

“shut up,” she muttered, swatting the back of your head gently.

she was quiet as she snipped the binder away, careful not to jostle the wound too much. then came the sting—cold antiseptic over raw skin. you hissed. her hand paused. “sorry,” she whispered, “you know this is going to scar, right?”

“kinda hot, honestly.”

“you’re impossible.”

her hands steady. her eyes weren’t. they were flickering with thoughts she hadn’t said yet. until she finally spoke.

“this… this scares me,” she said softly. “i spent every day of my life wondering if my dad would come home. i mean, he's the chief of police so his life is always in constant danger. and now... now i’m doing the same thing with you. what if you get yourself in trouble? what if… you don’t come back home?”

you turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

“hanni…”

“i know what this means for you. and i know you’re trying to help people. but i’m always gonna be afraid. that one day you won’t come back. just like i used to be with him.”

the silence was thick for a moment. you felt hanni pause with her hands hovering over your open wound. then you reached for her hand.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said. “not if i can help it.”

her fingers squeezed yours. “you better not.”

the silence lingered for a moment longer, but it wasn’t as thick as it was before.

you felt hanni exhale before moving her hands again, continuing her work on your wound.

you clenched your teeth. her hands were steady. every dab of gauze was a whisper, every breath between you was thick with unsaid things. when she wrapped the bandage around your torso, she didn’t move from behind you—just circled it around your body, arm to arm, shoulder to rib, like she was holding you without actually doing it.

you closed your eyes.

“done,” she murmured. “i’m gonna wash my hands. take whatever from the closet again if you need.”

“thanks,” you whispered, and she was gone.

you stood slowly, wincing, and wandered to the closet with one hand on your ribs. you pulled the door open—and there it was.

a hoodie. black. stitched with red and blue, a familiar spider design curling up the chest.

a spidergirl hoodie.

you stared at it, blinking in disbelief. when hanni came back in, you were already wearing it, hands tucked into the sleeves, hood up.

“i didn’t know you were such a fan,” you teased, grinning. “where’d you get this merch?”

she froze in the doorway, lips parting in quiet embarrassment. “i made it,” she admitted. “had to hide it from my dad. you know. chief of police.”

your heart swelled. “it’s spidergirl approved,” you said.

“is it y/n approved?”

you blinked. “well… yeah. i mean, spidergirl approved.”

she stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “but does y/n approve of it?”

you gulped, heat rushing to your face as she stopped just in front of you, close enough that her breath stirred the air between you. you nodded quickly, voice small. “...it’s very y/n approved.”

she smiled. lingered. then flopped back onto her bed and grinned at the ceiling. “that’s good. ‘cause y/n’s just the most amazing person in my world, so her approval means everything to me.”

you blinked. “ok whatever…”

your cheeks were burning. your back still throbbed. but for the first time all night, you forgot the pain.

you forgot the lizard.

you forgot everything but her.

you smoothed the front of your button-up for what felt like the tenth time in the elevator. the fabric clung oddly against your skin—not quite uncomfortable, but definitely unfamiliar. dress pants. a pressed shirt. clean shoes. you felt like you were playing pretend in someone else’s closet. still, it was a fancy dinner, and hanni invited you. so of course, you said yes.

the doorman gave you a nod as you passed—a step up from sneaking in through the fire escape—and now you were patiently going up to the apartment. 

the elevator dinged at the twenty-second floor, and your heart thudded once, hard. the hallway was quiet. carpeted. sterile in the way all upscale apartments were. apartment 2207 stood just ahead, and you knocked with only a second’s hesitation.

the door opened to reveal a tall man in a dress shirt tucked perfectly into his slacks. sharp jaw, tired eyes — the kind of face that had seen far too much for one lifetime. chief pham.

“who are you?” he asked flatly.

you gave a small, nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of your neck. “uh... y/n. hanni invited me.”

his expression didn’t change for a moment. then, with a huff that might’ve been a chuckle or a sigh, he stepped aside. “ah, yes. the famous y/n. come in.”

you stepped inside quietly, trying not to gawk at the place — clean, modern, and warm in the way that told you hanni’s mum probably picked most of the furniture. voices floated in from the kitchen, the clink of plates, soft laughter. it felt like a real home.

“you're early,” came hanni’s voice as she peeked out from the dining room, blinking in surprise.

you offered a sheepish grin. “figured i’d make a good impression.”

her eyes were wide before a slow smile tugged at her lips. “you look…”

you tilted your head. “good?”

“yeah,” she said, cheeks slightly pink. “you look good.”

a smaller figure darted into the room, dark hair bouncing as she rushed past. jasmine, hanni’s younger sister—around thirteen, if you remembered right. she looked at you, then at hanni, then back again with a little smirk.

“so you’re y/n,” jasmine said, crossing her arms. “the one who’s always making hanni blush when she’s on her phone.”

“jasmine,” hanni hissed.

you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “guilty, i guess.”

hanni’s mother joined then, warm and smiling, as she set the table. the table was already half set, bowls and cutlery neatly placed.

“oh good, you’re here!” she beamed. “i’m so glad you could join us. hanni’s been talking about you for weeks.”

you glanced at hanni. she looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

they ushered you to sit, everyone gathered around the table. the dinner began soft—light conversation, clinking utensils, jasmine making little jokes that had her mum giggling and her dad sighing.

the meal was already laid out: braised beef, rice, sautéed greens, and bowls of steaming soup. you murmured your thanks as everyone sat and started to eat.

you knew it would be risky. stupid, even. but you couldn’t help it. you cleared your throat, gaze drifting to mr. pham. 

“so, mr. pham,” you started, stabbing a piece of beef with your chopsticks, “i’ve seen the news. how’s the manhunt for spidey going?”

he looked up from his food, stern eyes narrowing. “don’t call that vigilante ‘spidey’. and we’re getting closer. very close to uncovering his identity.”

you tilted your head, teasing. “well, maybe you should change the posters. it’s not ‘spiderman.’”

he frowned. “what?”

“spidergirl. spidey’s a girl,” you said simply, like correcting someone on the weather.

hanni dropped her chopsticks. “y/n,” she hissed under her breath.

his brow twitched. “spiderman, spidergirl—it doesn’t matter. what matters is that she operates outside the law. and what matters is that we’re very close to identifying who she is.”

your pulse skipped, but you just nodded slowly. “must be tricky. she’s pretty clever.”

hanni lightly kicked your shin beneath the table, her warning glance screaming shut up. you bit back a grin.

mr. pham narrowed his eyes. “clever? maybe. but, what this ‘spidey’ vigilante is doing is reckless. it is dangerous and delusional.” 

mrs. pham interjected quickly. “so, y/n,” she said, cheerfully oblivious or maybe just trying to diffuse the tension, “i hear you and our dear hanni have gotten quite close lately!”

you glanced over at hanni, who was suddenly very interested in her rice. jasmine, however, grinned wickedly.

“they’re always whispering and blushing,” jasmine said. “i think they’re in loooove.”

“jasmine!” hanni hissed.

“what?” she shrugged. “you are.”

you blinked, then smiled, glancing at hanni who was now red from the neck up. “yeah. she’s… really great to be around. i’m lucky to know her.”

mrs. pham looked overjoyed. “that’s so lovely to hear! she works herself to the bone with school and her internship. it’s nice knowing someone’s looking out for her.”

“mum,” hanni muttered, face buried in her hand.

jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “sooo, when’s the wedding?”

you choked on your water, and hanni let out a groan.

“jasmine!”

the rest of dinner passed with small laughs and a lot of teasing, the tension easing into something warm and familiar. hanni’s family was… kind. even mr. pham had softened by dessert, asking about your studies and nodding at your answers.

after the table was cleared and the dishes were washed, hanni nudged your arm. “come on. let’s go to the rooftop.”

you nodded, and together, you slipped out onto the rooftop.

the night air was crisp above the city. you stood at the edge of the rooftop together, side by side, the lights below twinkling like grounded stars.

“some dinner, huh?” you said, nudging her gently.

“you were causing trouble on purpose,” hanni accused, though she was smiling.

“ne? cause trouble? never,” you chuckled. 

you glanced at her, suddenly nervous. you looked at they way her hair slowly swayed in the night’s breeze, your heart catching. “but, uh… i have something to tell you.”

her brows lifted. “okay?”

“i mean, i want to tell you, but it’s—i don’t know. kind of a lot. and i don’t know if—” you paused, flustered.

she turned, already walking away. “if you won’t tell me, i’m leaving.”

“wait—”

you aimed and fired.

the web shot out, sticking to her wrist. hanni turned in surprise just as you tugged, gently pulling her toward you. her breath caught when she stopped barely inches from you — close enough that you could count the lashes framing her wide eyes.

“okay, okay,” you said, heart racing. “i like you, hanni. i love you. i’m—infatuated with you. when i’m with you, i feel like the best version of myself. like i’m finally allowed to just… be.”

hanni’s lips parted. then she tilted her head, a small smile blooming. “oh really?”

you swallowed, eyes not leaving hers. her reflection shimmered in your gaze — the world narrowing to just this moment.

“i think i love you too, y/n,” she said softly, smile growing. “you’re kind of hard not to love.”

your knees wobbled. you laughed, breathless. “you think?”

she winced. “okay, okay. sorry. terrible wording. i’m absolutely in love with you. no thinking. it’s definite.”

a quiet silence stretched between you. not awkward. just full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say out loud. your forehead brushed against hers, and time seemed to still. the wind blew gently across the rooftop, teasing the ends of her hair, but she didn’t flinch. her eyes searched yours—wide, dark, unreadable. you could barely hear anything over the pulse in your ears.

“can i kiss you?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. it came out shakier than you intended, breath warm against her lips.

she didn’t answer with words.

instead, she leaned in—slowly, almost cautiously, as if testing the waters. her nose nudged against yours, soft and tentative, and your breath caught in your throat. then, finally, her lips touched yours.

and it felt like falling into sunlight.

her kiss wasn’t rushed. it was gentle, careful, but full of something real—something that made your knees give just a little beneath you. she kissed like she’d wanted to for a long time but didn’t know if she was allowed. like this moment had been quietly growing between you both, inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.

your hand moved to her waist, fingers curling gently into the fabric of her shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of her. her hands slid up around your neck, hesitant at first, then surer, like she was learning the shape of you all over again. her fingers found the back of your hair and stayed there, gripping just enough to make your heart stutter.

her mouth was soft—slightly sweet, like lychee or strawberry. every part of you was buzzing. the rooftop, the sky, the buildings below—they all faded. it was just her.

her lips moved against yours with quiet intent, slow and tender, as though she was memorising you. and you let her. you kissed her like she was the first breath after drowning. like she was something you’d been aching for without realising it.

when she finally pulled away, it was gradual, her forehead staying pressed against yours, both of you panting lightly. her hands were still tangled behind your neck, and your arms stayed around her like letting go wasn’t an option.

neither of you spoke at first. your eyes stayed closed, your smile stretched wide across your face, dazed and warm.

you opened your eyes to see her grinning, cheeks flushed pink. you blinked, still a little stunned, still catching your breath. “i… wow.”

she giggled. her laughter vibrated softly against your chest.

“yeah,” she said. “wow.”

you felt dizzy in the best way—like you’d just stepped off a rooftop and landed somewhere soft.

and all around you, the city kept moving, unaware that two people had just quietly fallen in love somewhere above it.

“could i have the honor of being your girlfriend?” you asked, dazed.

“okay, fancypants,” she grinned. “yes. we’re dating now. i’m yours.”

and then — the wail of sirens down below.

hanni tightened her grip on you. “don’t go.”

you close your eyes briefly, focusing on keeping hanni in your arms. 

“i have to,” you whispered.

“you didn’t even bring your backpack. how’re you gonna—”

you stepped back, slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt. her eyes widened.

beneath it, the red and blue suit clung to your skin. ready. waiting.

“i never leave home without it.”

hanni blinked. “you have a home?”

you groaned. “shut up, hanni.”

"you're not wearing the binder anymore," hanni murmured, her gaze slipping down, soft and curious.

"why are you looking at my chest, you perv," you gasped in fake outrage, throwing your hands over yourself like some scandalized movie star. hanni blinked, a little startled, a little judging too.

"but yeah," you added with a lopsided smile, "i’m not wearing it anymore. not after the lizard basically shredded the whole back."

she laughed, light and easy, and leaned in to press one last kiss against your cheek. it was quick, but it stayed.

"go save the city again, spidey," she whispered.

you pulled your mask down, heart still buzzing where her lips had been, and gave her a wink she couldn’t see.

"always," you breathed, before diving off the rooftop and into the waiting night.

you were perched high on the roof of some aging apartment building, letting the breeze cool the sweat on your brow. the city hummed softly beneath you, cars dragging their lights across the concrete like lazy fireflies. your suit clung damp to your skin. it was supposed to be a quiet evening. but quiet never stayed long in your city.

then it came—the sharp, guttural screech of twisting metal. and the silence shattered.

your head snapped toward the sound.

smoke was rising.

before you could even process it, your fingers were moving, web-shooters clicking into place. you tugged down on your mask then launched forward, slicing through the dusk with practiced grace. the closer you got, the louder the panic grew—the sirens, the honking, the chorus of terrified voices all blending into a single, chaotic scream.

and then you saw it.

a suspension bridge torn open in the middle. traffic crumpled like paper. flames licking up the hood of an overturned car. and there—massive, reptilian, and snarling—was the lizard.

his scales glistened like armor in the fading light. his tail carved arcs in the air, each swing flinging debris and smoke. he was bigger than before. meaner. wild in the eyes.

he wasn’t attacking anything specific—not yet. but people were scattering. screaming. running in every direction, except the right one.

and then you saw her.

hanni.

she was near the front of the bridge, halfway between safety and disaster, her backpack halfway off her shoulder like she’d been running before she froze. her face was lit with firelight, pale and terrified. too close.

your stomach dropped.

“no, no, no—” you whispered, shooting a web and flinging yourself forward. you zipped between cars, landing hard near her just as the lizard's head snapped in her direction.

you stepped in front of her, crouched low, your body tense like a coiled spring. the mask couldn’t hide the panic surging beneath your skin. your heart hammered like a war drum.

“get back,” you ordered her, voice sharp, trembling.

but she didn’t move. her mouth opened like she was going to say your name—your real one—but it didn’t come out.

and that’s when he charged.

the lizard came crashing forward, each step an earthquake. you leapt up just in time, webbing his jaw shut mid-roar. he thrashed, slamming his claws down where you’d just been. the pavement exploded beneath his weight. you twisted in midair, slinging another web around his wrist and yanking hard, but he was heavy—too heavy. he tore through it like it was nothing.

he lunged again. you ducked under his swing, slid across the bridge, and webbed his legs together. it slowed him for a second. long enough for you to spring toward him, deliver a hard punch to the side of his head. his scales cracked under your knuckles.

but he didn’t fall.

instead, he roared again and swung his tail—it hit you square across the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. you slammed into the side of a bus, cracked the window with your back.

pain seared up your spine, but you pushed yourself up.

you had to keep him away from her.

“you don’t have to do this!” you shouted. “leave her out of it!”

he paused for half a breath. and then—to your horror—his voice, twisted and warbled, came through.

“i need her.”

your eyes widened behind the lenses. “what?”

“she can help me.”

“she’s not part of this,” you growled.

but it wasn’t a threat. it was something else—a plea. you didn’t have time to process that, not now. because he came for her again.

you moved before you could think, firing a web to the side and using it to fling yourself between him and hanni once more. you spun midair, kicked him across the jaw. he staggered. you landed in front of hanni, breathing hard, adrenaline flooding your veins.

“go,” you said, not just an order this time—a desperate whisper. “please, hanni. run.”

she stared at you, trembling, before finally backing away. her eyes were glassy, chest heaving. she turned and ran, disappearing into the thick smoke.

you stayed, squaring your shoulders.

the lizard hissed again, but this time, he didn’t chase. he looked at where she’d gone, then back at you—and there was something new in his expression.

desperation.

then he leapt over the edge of the bridge and disappeared into the shadows below.

the sirens returned, echoing louder now. you didn’t stay to see the response teams.

you swung away—fast, sharp, shaky.

you found her huddled near a stairwell downtown, curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees.

when your feet touched the ground beside her, she looked up, startled.

“spidey,” she breathed, and you weren’t sure if it was a question or a prayer.

you crouched in front of her, chest still rising and falling too fast. “are you hurt?”

she shook her head slowly. “you…you came for me.”

you reached out, fingers gently brushing her wrist. “i always will.”

and for a moment, the smoke and fear fell away. 

she leaned forward slightly, and you didn’t move — just let her come closer, let her rest her forehead against your shoulder. your arms wrapped around her gently, careful not to squeeze too tight.

then, as she pulled back, her gaze caught yours again. her reflection was soft in the curve of your eye lenses — a fragile, beautiful thing. the streetlight lit up her face in gold.

“i’m lucky to have you,” she said, voice barely more than breath. “i don’t say it enough…but i am.”

you swallowed. the words pressed into your chest like a weight, warm and sharp all at once.

“you don’t have to say it,” you said. “i know.”

but even as she smiled and tucked herself into your arms again, something cold settled at the back of your mind — a small, quiet fear.

maybe this wasn’t safe for her. maybe loving you meant danger she couldn’t ever escape from. maybe — just maybe — one day, you wouldn’t be fast enough to save her.

you didn’t say it. you didn’t even think it fully.

but the spark had lit. and it was there now, flickering in the dark.

the sky was gray that afternoon, the kind of overcast that pressed heavy against the windows. outside, the city moved like it always did — horns, voices, and footsteps blending into something vaguely distant. but inside hanni’s bedroom, everything was still.

you sat cross-legged at the edge of her bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, staring down at a spiral notebook filled with scribbles and crossed-out names. next to you, hanni was curled under her blankets, head resting against your shoulder, her body warm against yours like a quiet lighthouse in the fog.

“i still don’t get it,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the page. “he said he needed you. like, actually needed you. not like a hostage thing.”

hanni didn’t answer right away. she’d been quiet ever since that night on the bridge. not withdrawn — just slower in the way she moved, like something had shifted and hadn’t quite returned to place yet.

“there’s something i should probably tell you,” she said softly, her voice muffled slightly by your sleeve. “i wasn’t going to, but… i think it matters now.”

you glanced down, waiting.

“i’ve been interning at oscorp,” she said, eyes flicking to yours. “it’s all official—dad even signed off on it. i was working under dr. curtis connors. he was kind of brilliant. a little weird. really into regenerative biology.”

you blinked. “curtis connors?”

hanni nodded. “he was trying to cure disabilities. like, real big-picture thinking — using reptilian dna to encourage regrowth of limbs. he talked about progress like it was this beautiful, terrifying thing. and he meant it. he believed it. even when everyone else was skeptical.”

you stared at the wall, a pit opening quietly in your chest. “and now he’s missing.”

“yeah.” hanni sat up a little, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “he got let go about a month ago. i think he’d been doing unauthorised experiments, and they didn’t want to be associated with it anymore. after that, no one saw him again.”

“and no one told the police?” you asked.

“oscorp likes to keep things buried,” she said, almost bitterly. “it’s not like i could do anything about it.”

your jaw tensed, thoughts racing. connors. reptilian dna. a disappearance. and the lizard… saying he needed hanni.

you exhaled slowly. it wasn’t confirmation — not yet. but it was something. it was a direction.

“thank you,” you said quietly.

hanni looked at you. “for what?”

“for telling me. for trusting me.”

she smiled, faint but real. “i always trust you.”

there was a pause. not awkward. not uncomfortable. just a hush that settled between you, soft and warm. then hanni tugged the blanket down a little, patting the space beside her. you didn’t hesitate. you climbed under the covers, letting her tuck herself into your side like a puzzle piece that had always been meant to fit.

you stayed like that for a while — her legs tangled with yours, her hand resting lightly on your stomach, the world outside blurred behind raindrops on the window.

your fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, and her thumb traced slow circles against your hip through the fabric of your shirt.

“you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“mmhm,” she hummed. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“how nice this is.” she leaned her head on your shoulder again. “how quiet.”

you tilted your face toward hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo — soft like vanilla and something else you couldn’t name.

“you make the noise stop,” you said. “everything else… disappears.”

hanni turned toward you just enough to kiss your forehead, slow and lingering.

and for a moment, everything truly did disappear.

there was no lizard. no danger. no spiraling thoughts of what might come next.

just her.

just this.

her arms around you. your body tucked safe against hers. two hearts, steady and warm, wrapped in silence and the hum of rain.

and maybe that was enough — even if only for tonight.

the tunnels below the city were a maze of concrete and decay. darkness pressed in, broken only by the flickering light from your flashlight and the occasional reflection from the damp walls. your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear—more from the weight of the discovery that had been pressing on you ever since the bridge encounter. curtis connors. the name echoed in your mind like a drumbeat. the lizard... he was the same man who’d been helping hanni with her internship. it felt like the world was tilting, spinning out of control, and you were stuck in the middle of it.

your spider-senses prickled sharply, warning you before you even heard the footsteps. someone was coming. fast. you didn’t have time to think—only to react.

quickly, you ducked behind a pile of rusted metal pipes and crouched low, holding your breath. your heart raced as you strained to hear, the soft shuffle of boots reverberating off the tunnel walls. not good. the lab, hastily constructed with materials that had no business being used in science, was just a few feet away. it looked like a ghost of what it used to be, cobbled together with desperation. a clutter of half-finished projects, scribbled notes, and vials of unidentifiable liquids scattered across tables.

but none of that mattered now. what mattered was that you had confirmation. the lizard is dr. connors.

the thought was sickening. it felt wrong, like the ground had been pulled out from under you. how had this happened? how had someone so close to hanni—someone who’d been so kind to her—become this monster?

you were still processing when your spider-senses flared again, louder this time. you barely had time to react before you heard footsteps closing in, rapid and steady. too close. you bolted, pushing off the ground with a force that sent you flying through the air, swinging from the pipes above.

you didn’t stop until you were back in hanni’s apartment.

you didn’t even knock.

you had no time for formality. your hand hit the window with a quiet thud, and before hanni even had time to react, you slipped inside, mask still on, heart still pounding. your movements were quick, purposeful, but the mask—it felt suffocating. for the first time in a long while, you just wanted to be y/n. you wanted to shed the weight of spidergirl, if only for a moment.

the moment you removed the mask, you saw hanni’s eyes widen. she took a step back, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eyes like she wasn’t sure she was awake.

“y/n?” she whispered, sounding almost unsure, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“he’s dr. connors,” you said, the words tumbling out with more force than you’d intended. your voice was a little strained, even to you. “the lizard is dr. connors. like, confirmed.”

hanni froze, her eyes wide, the disbelief flickering in them before she quickly masked it with a frown. “you confirmed it? but... but how?”

you felt your shoulders sag, the weight of it all finally hitting you. “i found his lab. it’s a mess, but it's all there. he’s the lizard. i don’t know how, but... that’s him.”

hanni took a slow breath, her eyes narrowing as if trying to process the news, then something clicked. she stepped forward. “what can i do to help?” her voice was steady, even though her face was clouded with concern.

you chuckled lightly, despite the ache in your chest. “unless you have a comically large pepper spray, i don’t think you can do much.” you let the words hang between you, trying to keep the distance, to keep her at arm's reach. you didn’t want her to get involved in this—not yet. not when the danger was this real.

but she wasn’t having it. she frowned at you, the curve of her lips twisting in quiet frustration. “i know i can help more than you think, y/n.”

you looked at her for a moment, your heart tightening in your chest. it wasn’t that you didn’t want her to help. it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt because of you. you hadn’t told her yet, not directly, but you felt it now—the way your world had started to shift when you realized just how dangerous this was. and the more she got involved, the harder it would be to keep her safe.

but instead of saying it, you just smiled and nodded, trying to mask the unease in your eyes. “come on,” you said, stepping inside her room. “i’ve got to change.”

hanni didn’t protest. you grabbed your backpack, the familiar weight of it comforting in your hands. there was something comforting about being here, in her space, even though you were so acutely aware of how dangerous everything was.

you quickly changed into your normal clothes, the fabric of your hoodie feeling like the last semblance of normalcy in your life. you couldn’t help but glance at hanni, still standing by the window, watching you with a quiet intensity. her gaze was searching, like she wanted to know everything. but you didn’t have the words to explain. not yet. not until you could figure it out.

“are you okay?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

you paused, halfway through pulling on your jacket, and turned to her. “yeah. i’m fine,” you said, even though you felt far from it.

but you smiled, and it seemed to make her feel better. she smiled back, the edges of her lips turning up in that gentle way that always made your heart flutter.

“okay, good,” she murmured. she hesitated for a second before adding, “you know... i’m really glad you came to me.”

you felt a warmth in your chest, a small, steady thing. “i’m glad too, hanni.”

the quiet lingered between you for a moment, comfortable and full of meaning. then hanni, with that soft smile still on her face, walked toward you.

“hey,” she said, her voice lower now, as if she was sharing something more private. “can i... do something?”

you looked at her, confusion crossing your features. “what?”

and before you could respond, she kissed you on the forehead, her lips brushing softly against your skin. the action was gentle, full of affection, and it made your chest ache. you closed your eyes at the touch, just a moment of peace amid everything else.

and for a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to forget about the lizard. forget about the danger. forget about the fact that you might not be able to keep her safe. because in this moment, it was just the two of you. just hanni and y/n, standing in the quiet of her room.

it had been a quiet thursday night when it started again. the pattern, the cycle that kept repeating itself over and over. you could feel it—a cold creeping feeling in your chest, the dread that formed like a knot in your stomach. your mind had been restless lately, too full of thoughts of hanni and the danger that seemed to follow you wherever you went. but tonight, it was different. it was worse.

you knew what you had to do.

you couldn’t keep doing this to hanni—letting her get so close, so deep into your world. the closer she got, the more it hurt to think about the dangers she faced just by knowing you. just by being in your orbit. what if someone found out? what if a crook got it into their head that hanni was a way to get to you? it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots. and if they did, hanni would be in danger. she’d be the first target.

you couldn’t let that happen.

so you had to distance yourself. again.

it didn’t come with words. never with words. it was always something subtle—a shift in the way you looked at her, a little more distance when you hugged, your smiles a little less bright. you’d started talking less, responding with fewer words, your mind always somewhere else. it was for her safety. it had to be.

hanni noticed, of course. she always did. but she never said anything right away. she didn’t have to. you could see the way her shoulders would drop slightly, the way her eyes would lose their spark just a bit. and it broke you each time, but you couldn’t let it stop you. not now. not when her safety was on the line.

tonight, you were sitting on the couch in her room, looking out the window at the city lights, pretending they were something less intimidating. you could hear her moving around behind you, the rustle of blankets and the soft click of her phone as she scrolled through something. you hadn’t said much since you arrived. just a quiet “hey” when you came in and a soft smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

she didn’t press you, not yet. but you knew it was coming.

after a long silence, hanni’s voice broke through the stillness, soft but with a little edge. “y/n, what’s going on?”

you didn’t look at her. didn’t dare. because if you did, you’d see the hurt in her eyes, and that would make it harder. “nothing,” you said, your voice quiet, almost too quiet. “just... tired, I guess.”

she was silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out if you were telling the truth. when she spoke again, her voice was soft, but there was something else in it—a tenderness that cut straight through the distance you’d put between you. “you don’t seem tired,” she said. “you seem...” her voice faltered, as if she was searching for the right word. “distant.”

you finally turned your head, just a little. you could see her sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, looking at you with those big, wide eyes that always made your heart ache. she was studying you carefully, like she could see through the mask you put up.

"i’m fine," you said, the lie hanging between you like smoke. "really. i just... i just need some space."

hanni blinked, processing the words, and then something in her face shifted. there was a quiet sadness there, something you couldn’t shake. "y/n," she said, her voice quiet but firm. “please don’t shut me out. not again.”

you hated this. you hated seeing her look at you like that. like you were the one thing she couldn’t understand, the one thing she couldn’t get close to. and yet, you knew it was for her own good. you couldn’t let her get hurt. not because of you.

“it’s not that i want to shut you out,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “it’s just... it’s dangerous. the closer you get, the more danger you’re in. you don’t deserve that, hanni.”

there was a long pause before hanni spoke again, and when she did, her voice was a whisper. “i don’t care about that. i care about you. i don’t want you to push me away just because you’re scared. i’m not scared of you.”

you swallowed hard. it was hard to hold onto the distance when she looked at you like that, when she said things that made your chest ache in the best and worst ways. the longing in her eyes was undeniable, and it made your heart hurt. but the fear was still there—still creeping, still gnawing at you from the inside.

you wanted to reach out to her. wanted to close the gap and pull her close, tell her everything, kiss her like you always wanted to. but you couldn’t. not when the consequences were so real, so dangerous.

"you don’t get it, hanni," you said, voice cracking a little. “if anything ever happened to you because of me—because of us—i couldn’t live with that.”

hanni frowned, but she didn’t push. she didn’t argue. instead, she just stared at you, her eyes soft with something that felt like understanding, but also something much deeper. she wanted to be there, wanted to fix things, but she couldn’t. not like this.

the silence stretched between you again, but this time, it was different. it wasn’t just distance—it was heavy, weighted with the unspoken things that neither of you knew how to say.

then, just as suddenly as the space had opened up between you, you found yourself standing up, crossing the room toward her. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. instead, you dropped down beside her, your hand reaching for hers. it was a quiet plea for connection, a silent surrender. and when you looked at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of the hurt you’d just put her through, she simply looked back, no judgment, no anger—just... love.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing her hand. “i don’t want to hurt you. i never want to hurt you.”

hanni shook her head, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, a soft smile pulling at her lips. "you never will," she said quietly. “i’m not going anywhere.”

it was always this way, the cycle of distancing and pulling back, of pushing and then surrendering. you couldn’t seem to help it—every time you pulled away, it felt like your heart was breaking. and yet, every time you came back to her, every time you found yourself in her arms, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were doing the right thing. maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was love. messy and imperfect, but it was love.

hanni had been sitting at her desk for hours now, the glow of her computer screen casting soft shadows in her room. stacks of papers, old research notes, and forgotten textbooks were scattered around her, some open, others tossed aside in frustration. the weight of everything—of him, of what needed to be done—was heavy on her shoulders. but she couldn’t stop. she couldn’t let herself stop.

she needed to find a solution. for him, for her.

dr. curtis connors had taught her so much over the months she had spent under his internship at oscorp, and now, she was trying to piece together what he had shown her, the lessons that had seemed innocent then, but now held a terrifying weight.

the serum. the one he had once mentioned—a device capable of releasing a genetically-engineered serum across the entire city, one that could combine animal traits with human biology, creating new, dangerous creatures. it was supposed to be a breakthrough in human medicine. supposed to be a way to cure the sick, the damaged. but now... now, it was a weapon.

the lizard—the monstrous, mutated version of dr. connors—wasn’t just a scientist gone wrong. he was someone who had lost control. and it terrified hanni, more than anything, that she might be the only one who could help him. she had to stop him, had to find a way to make an antidote, something that could reverse what he had done—not just to him, but to the people he planned to infect.

and yet, the more she researched, the more she realised how little she truly understood. the experiments, the genetics... it was all too complicated, too dangerous.

the sound of a soft knock at her door broke her focus, and she looked up, a little startled. it was her father.

mr. pham stepped into the room, his face drawn with worry. he’d never looked at her like this before, like she was a delicate thing, like he had to protect her from something far beyond his reach. he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room with a strange intensity.

“can i talk to you for a moment?” he asked, his voice low.

hanni nodded, pushing herself out of the chair. “yeah, sure, what’s up?”

he took a slow breath before speaking again, his tone serious, almost cautious. “i’m worried about you, hanni.” he paused, watching her carefully. “there’s been a lot going on lately. and i... i want to know what your relationship with y/n is.”

the question hung in the air, heavier than she expected. hanni froze, her mind racing, trying to find the right words. she had always known this conversation would come, but now that it was here, she felt caught off guard.

"what do you mean?" she asked, her voice more hesitant than she wanted it to be.

mr. pham’s gaze softened, his eyes searching hers. “i’ve seen the way you two look at each other, hanni. it’s more than just friendship, isn’t it?”

the words caught in her throat. she couldn’t lie to him—not completely. but she didn’t know how to explain it, either. not yet. not like this.

“it’s... complicated,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.

there was a long pause, filled only with the sound of her quickened breath. finally, her father stepped closer, his presence comforting in its quiet strength.

“hanni,” he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you can tell me anything. i’m always going to be here for you, no matter what. but if you love y/n... then so be it. she’s... well, she’s a character, for sure. but if she’s the one you want, i can’t stop you.”

his words—so simple, so sincere—had a way of grounding her, of pulling the fear out of her chest. it was as if the weight of everything, all the tension, all the uncertainty, had suddenly been lifted just a little. she felt her chest tighten, and before she knew it, tears welled in her eyes.

“dad...” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“she seems to care for you a lot,” mr. pham added, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “and if she’s the one who makes you happy, i’m glad for that.”

hanni couldn’t help it. the tears fell, silently, as she nodded, overwhelmed by the unexpected warmth of his words. “yeah,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “she does care for me a lot.”

and just as the moment seemed to settle, the door creaked open again.

hanni turned, surprised to see a figure standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers in their hands. there was an awkward, hesitant smile on their face—y/n.

the moment hung in the air.

“who cares for you a lot?” you asked, your voice teasing, though the smile never quite reached your eyes.

hanni’s gaze flicked from her father to you—and she could almost see the quiet understanding between the two of you. it made her heart skip a beat.

her father, however, didn’t seem to have the same hesitation. he stood up, walking past you with a firm nod. “your girlfriend is very talented in loving you,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “i had to hear all about it before i came in to talk to you.”

hanni’s eyes widened, a look of shock crossing her face. “...so this was a set up?”

mr. pham smiled, giving you a final nod, his hand patting you on the back as he passed by. “i just want what’s best for my daughter,” he said with a wink before he turned to leave the room.

you and hanni stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the flowers still clutched in your hands. you were suddenly feeling a little more self-conscious, but hanni’s soft, surprised smile helped ease the tension.

“so...” you began, glancing down at the bouquet in your hands, “guess that was... all part of the plan?”

hanni nodded, still trying to process everything. “yeah. i guess it was.”

you handed her the flowers, offering an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry for being distant, hanni. i... i just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

hanni’s eyes softened, her fingers brushing over the petals of the flowers. “you don’t need to apologise,” she said, her voice quiet. “but i’m glad you’re here. both of you.”

and in that moment, despite the chaos of everything, she felt a little lighter. maybe things were complicated—maybe they always would be—but at least, for now, everything felt a little bit more... okay.

hanni’s room had become a sanctuary of half-spilled coffee mugs and crumpled notes, the gentle hum of her laptop the only thing louder than your own pounding heartbeat. you two had claimed every flat surface—desk, floor, even the small dresser—piled high with dr. connors’s old journals and oscorp prototype schematics. against the hush of the city night, the soft scratch of pen on paper was almost deafening.

you sat cross-legged on the floor, notebook in your lap, nibbling on the end of your pen as you stared at hanni’s sketches. arrows connected words like “enzyme” and “vector,” little doodles of dna strands winding up the margins. every so often, you tapped a line of text and whispered, “so if we reverse the insertion point here, maybe the cells revert to human sequence?”

hanni leaned over, her hair brushing your shoulder. she tapped the page with a fresh pen, eyes bright behind her glasses. “exactly. he wrote about an inhibitor compound—something he never tested on himself. if we adapt that, we could neutralise the reptile enzyme.”

you glanced toward the window, where distant city lights blinked through the curtains. “and then the device,” you murmured, smoothing your hoodie sleeve over the edge of the sketch. “we have to override connors’s aerosoliser. upload our cure instead of his serum.”

she nodded, voice soft with determination. “i remember the control panel layout. we saw it during the lab tour. if we can hack the override sequence, the reactor will disperse our enzyme payload citywide—and stop him from turning everyone.”

your chest tightened. the idea of an entire city exposed to mutant serum was still too chilling to imagine. but right now, tucked into pillows and surrounded by notebooks, it felt possible.

you shut your eyes for a moment, picturing the bridge attack and hanni’s pale, terrified face. you opened them, resolve hardening inside you. “we’ll break in at dawn. i’ll bypass security cameras. you handle the override code.” you reached out, squeezing her hand.

“together,” hanni whispered, and you nodded.

for the next hour, you pored over every note: refining compound names into casual bullet points, sketching rough diagrams of the reactor’s intake vents, color-coding steps for your midnight heist. sometimes, you caught hanni’s wrist in writing, her knuckles white on the pen. you met her gaze and smiled, and she returned it, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

then, the moment came when hanni slammed her notebook shut and sat back, eyes shining. “we did it,” she said, voice soft with relief. “we found a cure.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “we actually did.”

the desk lamp felt warmer then, as if celebrating with you. you pushed yourself up and wrapped hanni in a fierce hug. she laughed, a bright, tired sound against your chest, and you realised neither of you had moved in hours.

without speaking, you both tumbled onto the bed, papers fluttering like oversized confetti. pillows launched in every direction. blankets pooled at your feet. you landed against hanni’s side, breathless and dizzy, the frantic scribbles of the night swirling overhead like a snowstorm.

for a moment, you lay still, heart thumping in time with hanni’s pulse underneath your ear. you traced the curve of her cheek with your finger, memorising the soft swell of her lips.

“we make a good team,” you said, voice muffled by her hair.

“the best,” she replied, turning to press a light kiss to your temple.

in the hush that followed, the two of you drifted into peaceful silence, heads together, legs tangled. the city noise was a distant murmur—sirens you barely noticed, traffic you couldn’t hear. it felt like you were floating in your own little world, safe in the bubble of her room.

and then—tap, tap—a gentle knock on the door.

you and hanni exchanged sleepy glances. hanni slipped off the bed and padded to the door in bare feet, the hem of her pajama shorts whispering against her legs. you followed, curiosity mingling with the last rush of adrenaline.

mr. pham stood in the hallway, cradling two steaming mugs, the sweet scent of hot chocolate drifting into the hallway. he offered you a shy smile. “thought you might need this.”

hanni’s face lit up like sunrise. “dad!”

you stepped past her, accepting the mug with both hands. warmth spread through your fingers. “thank you.”

he nodded, eyes tired but kind. “i’ll be back in a bit,” he said, before slipping away.

you and hanni closed the door and leaned against it, mugs clutched to your chests. the chocolate was sweet, thick, comforting—just the thing to soothe frayed nerves.

hanni nudged you, creamy mug wobbling. “so… midnight formulas?”

you laughed softly, tapping your mug against hers. “midnight formulas.”

you sipped, the warmth settling in your belly. hanni leaned her head on your shoulder, and you rested yours against hers. together, you watched the steam curl from your mugs, the notes and sketches spread out on her desk.

you didn’t yet know how the dawn raid at oscorp would go. you didn’t know if the cure would work as planned. you didn’t know if dr. connors could be saved, or if he’d punish you for trying.

but for now, in this sliver of time, you had each other—hearts racing, minds alight, and two mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the night.

you wrapped your hands around the mug’s warmth, and hanni leaned in, her head resting against yours. outside, the city’s lights shimmered, but here—surrounded by notes, formulas, and the promise of a cure—it felt like the world had slowed just for you.

and with hot chocolate in hand, you knew you were ready for whatever came next.

the rain began softly, at first, barely a whisper against the city’s hum. but as the storm crept over the rooftops, it turned into something fierce—relentless, angry. thunder split the sky, low and growling, shaking the very bones of the city. the downpour came crashing down in sheets, soaking the asphalt, the metal, and you.

you landed hard on the oscorp rooftop, your heart still hammering in your chest from the battle below. the air felt thick with the weight of everything—of what you’d done, of what had almost been lost. dr. connors lay a few feet away, curled on the cold concrete, his body slowly changing back. the scales were gone, the grotesque features of the lizard vanishing as his skin smoothed back to human flesh. he was breathing—barely—but he was breathing.

the cure had worked.

but then your gaze slid to another form on the ground, and the relief that had surged through you like fire began to choke.

mr. pham.

he was slumped against the edge of the roof, his blood staining the ground around him in dark pools. his shirt was torn, his side ripped open by the lizard’s claws. the steady flow of blood was a cruel reminder of just how close he was to slipping away. you couldn’t think. you couldn’t breathe.

“mr. pham!” you called, panic creeping into your voice, cracking it. without a second thought, you were at his side, your hands trembling as you pressed them against the wound, feeling the warmth of his blood seep through the fabric of his shirt. the rain plastered your suit to your skin, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, like you were drowning in it.

he blinked up at you, eyes glassy, his breath coming in shallow gasps. but his gaze was sharp, unwavering.

“spidergirl…” he rasped, his voice thin like paper, but there was no mistaking the recognition there. your stomach dropped, heart hammering in your chest. he knew. he knew who you were.

you shook your head, pressing harder against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, but there was too much blood. his blood.

“no, no, no,” you whispered, voice shaking as tears blurred your vision. “you can’t— please, stay with me. help’s on the way, just… just hold on. please.”

he let out a wet cough, his hand weakly reaching for yours. the touch was too cold, too unsteady. “it’s… too late, y/n,” he murmured, his voice catching, as though it cost him everything to speak.

your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts. “don’t say that. don’t— don’t say it’s too late. i’m here, mr. pham. i won’t leave you. not like this.”

but he only smiled, a small, broken thing, like he had accepted his fate long before. and then, as if the world itself had come crashing down around you, he spoke again, each word slow and painful, like it took everything he had just to breathe:

“promise me something.”

you barely registered the words. you felt the edges of everything blurring—his words, your tears, the rain soaking through your suit, the blood on your hands.

“what?” you whispered. your voice cracked, thin and trembling.

he didn’t look away. there was a kind of peace in his eyes, a finality that twisted your heart into knots. “promise me you’ll stop seeing hanni. the life you’re living… it’s too dangerous. i don’t want her getting caught up in it. don’t want her life in danger because of you. please.”

your breath hitched, and you pulled your hands back from his wound, even as your body screamed at you to keep trying, to do something, anything.

but it was too late.

“no…” you choked out, shaking your head as if the words would somehow stop the bleeding, stop the truth from sinking in. “i— i can’t. i can’t just… i can’t leave her. i—”

he gripped your wrist, his fingers cold and weak, but he held you there, his gaze never wavering. there was something in his eyes now, something tender and painful. a kind of acceptance, like he was ready for this, like he had already known how it would end.

“promise me,” he repeated, voice hoarse but insistent.

you were shaking now, tears streaming freely down your face. your heart felt like it was shattering, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. you didn’t want to make this promise. you didn’t want to say it, but you knew what was at stake. you knew what would happen if you didn’t.

“i promise,” you whispered, barely a breath, barely audible over the howling storm.

mr. pham’s eyes fluttered closed. the grip on your wrist went limp, and you felt the finality of it all—he was gone. the storm raged on, louder now, as if the heavens themselves were mourning.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that—kneeling in the downpour, your knees aching against the cold rooftop, the rain threading through your hair, mixing with the blood and the quiet stream of tears on your cheeks. time felt distant, like it had stopped altogether, suspended in grief.

then, softly, footsteps. faint. approaching.

you stood slowly, the weight of your soaked suit clinging to your skin, your mask hanging limply in your hands. the city stretched before you—endless, echoing, uncaring. lights flickered through the mist, distant and dull.

you pulled the mask back over your face, fingers trembling, and without looking back, you vanished into the storm.

you didn’t sleep the night after.

even in the stillness of your room, with the city distant and muted behind the windows, everything felt too loud. your ribs ached like they were holding in a scream. your hands shook every time you thought about the way mr. pham had looked at you—eyes dark with pain, voice thin, breath catching on every word.

“promise me.”

his voice lived in your ears now. wouldn’t leave. not even for a moment.

your suit was still damp from the rain. it hung limply over the back of your chair like it had collapsed there too, the red and blue dulled to something quieter, something mournful.

you stared at it for a long time. didn’t move. didn’t blink.

you weren’t sure how long it had been since you'd come home. maybe hours. maybe the entire night. your hair was still tangled and wet against your skin. your eyes burned. you felt hollow, like someone had scooped the soul right out of you and left the shell to sit in the dark.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. none of it was.

you thought about hanni.

her laugh. the way she used to look at you like you were something rare—like you were someone she could believe in. how her eyes always searched for you in a crowd. how her hands had once held your face, so gently, as if you were the most fragile thing she'd ever seen.

you pressed your knuckles against your lips.

you loved her. you still loved her and you were never going to stop.

and that was the worst part.

because loving her meant danger. it meant a bullseye painted on her back just because you cared. meant villains would use her name like a threat. meant hospital beds and apologies and blood on your hands.

mr. pham had seen it before you did.

and in those last seconds—when he was looking at you, not with hatred, but with something like understanding—he’d asked you for one last thing. not for himself, but for her.

“please, promise me you’ll stay away.”

you hadn’t wanted to say yes. every part of you had screamed against it, but you looked in his eyes and nodded. now the promise sat in your throat like poison.

you leaned your head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. you could still feel her fingers in your hair, the way she used to hold you like she was afraid to let go. you could still hear the way she whispered your name.

but that had to end. because loving her meant putting her in danger. and losing her—no matter how much it shattered you—was better than seeing her hurt.

you let out a shaky breath.

this wasn’t about what you wanted anymore. this was about what she deserved. and she deserved a life that didn’t come with sirens and shadows and bleeding hearts.

you closed your eyes. tried to memorise the sound of her laugh in your head before it faded completely.

you were going to break your own heart to protect hers.

and god, that had to mean you loved her. right?

it was raining again. not the soft kind that made windows weep quietly—this rain was heavier. cold, grey, steady. the kind that made the world feel like it was grieving too.

black umbrellas bloomed across the cemetery like mourning flowers. heads bowed. hands trembling with tissues. hanni stood in front of the casket, unmoving. her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and fixed on the polished wood like she could memorise every grain. her mother clutched her hand, and her sister leaned close, but hanni’s mind was miles away. or maybe just a few rooftops.

you watched from afar, body stiff beneath the soaked fabric of your suit. raindrops rolled off your mask, dripping silently from your chin. your fingers curled tight around the ledge of the building you crouched on. you didn’t breathe. you barely blinked. just watched. just stayed.

you’d thought you were doing the right thing. the promise you made still echoed through your bones, heavy like chains. stay away. keep her safe. don’t let her get pulled into the wreckage you always left behind. but seeing her down there, standing alone in the rain, her heart split wide open for the world to see—it broke something in you.

she looked up once, toward the sky. and for a split second, you swore she saw you. like she could feel the weight of your stare through the storm. but she didn’t move. she just turned away.

after the ceremony, people left in clusters. wet shoes slapping mud. umbrellas collapsing. a car door slamming in the distance. you started to back away from the edge, heart twisted in your chest, when you saw her again.

she was alone now, lingering near the stone that bore her father's name. and then her head snapped up. you didn’t know how, but she saw you.

you should’ve left. should’ve vanished into the skyline like you always did. but your feet didn’t move. your heart beat too loud in your ears, and by the time you thought to run, she was already there.

“where have you been?”

her voice hit you harder than any punch you’d ever taken. it was small, cracked around the edges, but sharp.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

“do you know how long it’s been?” she asked, stepping closer. “since you disappeared?”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out. raindrops hit the ground between you like little explosions.

she looked at you, really looked, and whispered, “take off the mask.”

you flinched.

“please,” she said, quieter now. “just take it off. let me see you.”

your hands twitched, but stayed at your sides. silence spread between you, thick as smoke.

hanni stared at your face—no, your lenses. the wide white eyes that always kept her out. she saw herself reflected there. small, soaked, shattered. and she hated it.

“you’re right in front of me,” she whispered, “but i’ve never felt so far away from you.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, tried to speak past it. “i can’t see you anymore.”

she blinked. “what?”

“i’m sorry,” you said. “but i… i can’t.”

her mouth parted like she was about to say something, but then she closed it. her jaw tightened.

“and what, y/n couldn’t tell me this herself?” she snapped. “you couldn't take of the mask in the one moment where it mattered? i mean, did spidergirl seriously telling me my relationship is over?”

you looked away.

“at least look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

you didn’t move.

“well?” she said, louder now, chest rising and falling fast. “say it. tell me you don’t love me.”

“i can’t do that.”

her breath caught. “what, you can’t take off your mask?”

“i can’t tell you i don’t love you.”

the words hit the air like thunder. and then everything went still.

“then why are you doing this to me?” she asked, voice barely a whisper now. “why?”

you hesitated, heart threatening to tear your ribs apart. but then she answered her own question. “it’s my father, isn’t it?” her voice cracked. “he told you to stay away. to keep me safe.”

you didn’t speak. just nodded.

she laughed. short. hollow. “so that’s it? you’re gonna let him decide what’s best for us?”

you shook your head. “no. i’m choosing. i’m choosing what’s best for you.”

“don’t,” she whispered. “don’t do that. don’t act like you know what’s best for me.”

you looked at her, your heart tearing at the seams. “you deserve a life that’s… peaceful. without danger. without me. i’m sorry, hanni.”

she didn’t reply.

you turned, fired a web to the building behind you, and launched yourself into the rain.

she stood there, motionless. her reflection still shimmering in your lenses, even as you disappeared into the clouds.

[xichilie]

hi! could you please make one where brant finds out his partner is pregnant 😋 idk why but it seems like it would be interesting lmao

anyways have a good day/night :3

Brant x (fem)reader

Reader tells brant she's pregnant

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city beyond the window. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves, heart pounding harder than she wished to admit. The weight of the revelation settled in her chest, both thrilling and terrifying.

She wasn’t sure how to tell him.

Brant, ever the dramatist, would surely make a spectacle of it, whether out of joy or sheer disbelief. The thought made her smile, though it did little to calm her nerves.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door swung open with its usual flair, and Brant strolled in, already mid-sentence. “Darling, I was just informed of the most—” He paused, taking one look at her and immediately narrowing his pink eyes. “Y/N, you look as if you’re about to deliver grave news. Tell me, has the world finally decided to punish me for being too charming?”

Y/N huffed a laugh despite herself. “Something like that.”

Brant tilted his head, his usual smirk faltering. That alone told her he was actually paying attention. He stepped closer, kneeling in front of her with uncharacteristic patience. “Talk to me, Stella Mia.”

Y/N inhaled deeply, gripping his hands in hers before finally whispering, “I’m pregnant.”

For the first time since she had met him, Brant was speechless.

His pink eyes widened, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. He blinked once, twice, then finally exhaled a shaky breath. “You’re… with child?”

She nodded, watching him carefully.

Then, in true Brant fashion, he gasped dramatically and threw himself onto the floor. “By the gods! I’ve done it! I’ve created life!”

Y/N groaned. “Brant—”

“Wait!” He sat up suddenly, eyes darting to her stomach as if seeing it for the first time. He reached out but hesitated, almost hesitant for once in his life. “May I?”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand, placing it gently against her stomach. “You won’t feel anything yet, you know.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, his theatrics vanishing in an instant. His palm was warm against her, fingers trembling just slightly. When he looked up at her, there was something reverent in his expression. “This is real?”

Y/N’s heart softened. “Yes.”

Brant swallowed thickly before breaking into a radiant grin. “Stella Mia, you have just given me the greatest role I will ever play.” He cupped her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “And I swear to you, I will be magnificent at it.”

Y/N smiled, resting her forehead against his. “You already are.”

Brant remained on his knees before her, his hands warm against her cheeks as if grounding himself in the moment. For once, he wasn’t filling the air with his usual playful dramatics—he was just Brant, raw and real, his pink eyes shimmering with something indescribable.

Then, as if something clicked in his mind, his hands shot down to her stomach again. “Wait. Does this mean—” He gasped. “I must start writing my memoirs immediately! ‘Brant: The Journey of a Rogue, a Lover, and Now—A Father!’”

Y/N let out a laugh, swatting at him. “Brant, we have months before you start telling the world about this.”

“Months?” He scoffed. “Stella Mia, I should have been shouting it from the rooftops the moment you told me!” He suddenly turned toward the window, as if actually contemplating it, before Y/N grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him back.

“No. Absolutely not.”

He pouted, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You’re cruel to me, my love.”

“You’ll survive.”

Brant sighed, dramatically flopping onto the bed beside her, head resting against her lap. His expression softened again as he gazed up at her. “You’re certain you’re alright?” His fingers traced absentminded patterns along her thigh. “I mean… do you need anything? Are you in pain? Should I fetch a physician? A whole team of them, perhaps?”

Y/N smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I’m fine, Brant. A little tired, maybe.”

His brows furrowed. “Tired? Then rest. Immediately. In fact—” He sat up abruptly, already moving to grab extra pillows. “You should be lying down. You need comfort, softness, the finest blankets we can find—”

“Brant.” She caught his sleeve before he could disappear on a mission for luxury. “Just stay here.”

He froze, eyes searching hers before his expression melted into something tender. “Always, Stella Mia.”

He settled beside her, an arm looping around her waist as she leaned into him. It was rare to see him so quiet, so still, but he held her like she was something precious, something sacred.

After a moment, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“What if… what if they have your eyes?” His voice was almost wistful, as if imagining the idea for the first time.

Y/N smiled. “And what if they have yours?”

He chuckled, squeezing her a little tighter. “Then the world will never stand a chance.”

She laughed softly, closing her eyes as exhaustion started to pull at her. Brant simply held her, his usual chaos set aside for the moment as he let himself marvel at this new chapter of their lives.

And for once, the infamous rogue had no need for theatrics. Because this—this was already the greatest story he would ever be a part of.

Brant had never been good at keeping secrets—especially not ones that filled him with this much joy. It was a miracle he had lasted this long without bursting. But now, the time had come.

The Troupe of Fools was gathered in the Fools’ Elysium, their lively chatter filling the grand hall as they passed around drinks and shared exaggerated tales of their latest antics. The air smelled of wine, roasted meats, and the faintest trace of incense—everything warm and familiar.

Brant stood atop one of the long banquet tables, goblet in hand, his pink eyes practically glowing with excitement. “My friends! My beloved, ridiculous, chaotic family! Lend me your ears!”

The room quieted—well, as much as it ever could in a den of exiled performers and troublemakers. The Fools turned their attention to him, some with curiosity, others with amusement.

“What now, Brant?” One of them called. “Another duel against a noble you’ve insulted?”

“Are we fleeing the city? Blink twice if we should start packing.”

Brant gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me! Can I not call upon you all without accusations of scandal?”

A chorus of doubtful murmurs and laughter rang out, but Brant only grinned, raising his arms dramatically.

“Tonight is not a night of mischief! It is a night of celebration! For I, the incomparable, magnificent Brant, have achieved my greatest performance yet—may, my greatest creation!” He gestured grandly toward Y/N, who stood at the edge of the gathering, watching him with an amused yet knowing smile.

“I—” He paused for effect, savoring the anticipation in the air. “—am going to be a father!”

For a beat, the room was silent.

Then—

Cheers erupted, wild and thunderous. The Troupe of Fools was nothing if not expressive, and this news sent them into a frenzy of whooping and applause. Someone threw their hat into the air. A few musicians immediately broke into a celebratory tune.

Y/N found herself suddenly swept up as various members of the Troupe rushed to congratulate her. Arms wrapped around her in joyous hugs, voices overlapping with excited chatter.

“When were you going to tell us, Y/N?”

“You’re carrying Brant’s child? Saints help you.”

“This calls for a feast! No, a festival! A whole week of celebration!”

Brant basked in the revelry like a king in his court, drinking in the joy around him. Then, as if the sheer energy wasn’t enough, he pulled a lute from one of the musicians and strummed a few dramatic chords.

“A song! A song for the miracle that is my beloved and our future little fool!”

Groans and laughter followed as he launched into a completely improvised ballad about love, destiny, and the trials of raising a child with his unparalleled charm.

Y/N shook her head, laughter spilling from her lips as she watched him. He was over-the-top, ridiculous, and hopelessly dramatic.

And she wouldn’t have him any other way.

[batsovergotham]

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.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

current taglist: @adeptusxia0 / @moonjellyfishie / @ladynoirx321 / @moraxussy / @saturnalya / @the-good-kooshe / @atomspidyr / @iansimpsforeveryone / @luvvcharxo / @jiyeons-closet / @weponxwrites / @xzmickeyzx / @heiankyonoeiyuukun / @edgycatx / @oxymorondemon / @bluerrie / @swtheartz / @maxi-ride / @nightmarewasteland / @hot15936 / @rotinginmybed / @deleted-1-800 / @thehumanradio17 / @mhrasm / @yzzaqczec / @pickledsoda / @qxuanii / @tr3nzit444s / @ketsuekiakane / @jiminie-08 / @thatwaspossesion / @xoyumiqls / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @marinefreaakk / @monaekelis / @woodle-isbae / @simping4l1fe / @wasitforrevenge

[tortillamastersblog]

✐ Drained | Kara Danvers ✎

Pairing: Kara Danvers x spider!reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, fighting, mentions injuries, and violence

Summary: Kara solar flaring and putting herself in danger over and over again puts a strain on your already fragile relationship. . .

_______________________________________________

“Y/N?” Alex’s voice in my ear makes me flinch and if it weren’t for the fact that I can literally stick to ceilings and walls I would have slipped off the edge of the roof I’m currently standing on. “You good?”

I sigh and lift my hand to my ear. “Yes, I’m okay. Just stopped a bank robbery.”

It was a fairly easy job, considering the robbers immediately surrendered when they saw me.

“Yeah, I saw it on the news, so. . .”

“So?” I play with the mask in my hands and close my eyes, enjoying the night breeze on my face.

“Are you coming back to the tower, or are you planning on spending the rest of the night on a rooftop?” she asks, her voice full of concern. She can see where I am because of the giant digital map back at the tower. What she doesn’t know though is why I’m here. Judging by the looks she’s given me lately, she knows that something is up, but she has yet to figure out what it is.

I scoff bitterly and slip my mask back on. “It’s not like it would matter anyway.”

“What?”

I take a deep breath and swallow the hurt clawing its way up my throat. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m heading back now.”

There’s a short pause on the other end of the line before Alex says, “Okay. See you in a bit then. Swing safe, little one.”

“We’re the same age, Alex, and I’m literally taller than you.” I deadpan, leaping off the building.

My stomach flutters at the feeling of the wind rushing by and for a moment I forget all about why I was brooding in the first place.

“I’m four days older than you” Alex corrects with a chuckle and I can’t help but smile under my mask as I swing through the city.

“Pff. . . tomayto, tomahto.” I swing from building to building, keeping my eyes and ears open for anything suspicious while I make my way back to the tower.

Alex laughs again, trying to convince me that four days are a significant amount of time only to stop mid sentence when an explosion across the city captures both our attention.

“What was that?” I pivot and start swinging in the direction of the explosion, my spider-senses tingling ominously. Alex ignores me, cursing under her breath and typing furiously on a computer. “Alex!”

“Y/N?” J’onn’s calm voice does nothing to assuage my worry, especially not when I can hear Alex shouting something unintelligible in the background.

“What’s happening, J’onn? What’s going on?” I shout over the noise of traffic as I swing across a bridge.

“It’s Supergirl,” he says. “She got caught in an ambush. We’ve already sent out some backup.”

Kara. . .

My heart clenches at the thought of anything happening to her and I force myself to go faster. My arms burn and I’m panting in no time, but the only thought on my mind is that I have to get to Kara before anything else happens.

“They’re never going to get there in time, J’onn! Do we know who’s responsible for this?” Caught up in my own worry, I miscalculate on of my swings, coming dangerously close to swinging into oncoming traffic.

“We don’t know any details yet, but Lena and Brainy are working on it.”

I clench my jaw and force myself to go even faster when another explosion goes off. “Any word from Kara?”

The short silence that follows gives me the answer I’m dreading before J’onn even admits that communication with Kara has been cut off.

“Fuck!” I ignore whatever else J’onn says after that and perform two powerful swing before finally getting to the docks by the river. Sweat is running down my body below the suit and my lungs are burning.

I land on top of a crane and let my eyes dart all over the place until I spot what I’m looking for.

Below me, standing in a circle around Kara in her super suit are four goons, dressed in black combat gear. They have have strange looking guns pointed at her and I realize that every time Kara uses her heat vision, the guns absorb it before shooting it back at her.

Why isn’t she flying away?!

“Nala, what’s going on down there? Why isn’t she fighting back properly?” I ask the AI in my suit, trying to figure out how best to approach this situation without putting Kara in any more danger.

Nala scans the surrounding area before reporting her findings. “I have detected traces of Kryptonite in the air.”

“Shit. . . And how many hostiles are there?” I ask, only now noticing the way the veins in Kara’s face and hands glow a faint green.

“There are four hostiles at the moment but I have detected three more incoming human heat signatures in a lead-lined truck half a mile from here. ETA forty seconds.”

I jump off the crane and swing to a nearby container closer to the ground. “Fuck! They’re going to take her!”

My heart is pounding in my ears and I know that if I don’t act right now, it’s going to be too late, but I can’t think of a plan when all I can focus on are the yelps that escape Kara every time she takes a hit.

“Thirty seconds.” Nala’s says, her robotic voice as calm and rational as ever. “If you don’t do something within the next five seconds the chances of Supergirl being taken increase from 43% to 97%”

“I know, Nala! Shut up, I’m trying to think!”

A particularly strong blow hits Kara’s side and she drops to one knee with a whimper while one of the goons pulls a pair of bulky handcuffs from his pockets.

They wouldn’t normally be able to restrain Kara, but because she’s weakened and on the brink of solar flaring right now they’ll work on her just like they do on any other human being.

“Twenty seven seconds.” Nala reminds me.

“Argh, fuck!” I’m shaking uncontrollably, not knowing what to do.

“Your time to act is running out in three—“

My eyes dart around frantically, trying to spot something that could help me distract them.

“Two—“

There’s nothing. No pipe, no crate, or anything I could fling at them.

“One—“

Before Nala can finish, I leap off the container and swing right at the group below me.

I can’t fight those goons because they’d outnumber me, so a quick getaway is my only plan of action.

“Heads up!” I shout which makes all of them look up in surprise.

At the sight of me, Kara lets out a broken sob of relief and lifts her arms like we’ve practiced a hundred times before.

She does it just in time because not even a second later I slam into her, wrapping one arm around her waist and picking her up mid swing.

“Gotcha!” I readjust my grip on her and focus on swinging us away as her arms tighten around my shoulders. “Hold on, I’m getting us out of here!”

Kara doesn’t answer. She only sobs against my neck and wraps her legs around my hips.

Well, that was easier than I thought it would—

A blow to the back of my left leg makes me howl in pain and I almost miss my next swing. I look over my shoulder and see the goons below chasing us with their guns raised and firing.

“Nala! A little help here!” I screech as I see the lead-lined truck the AI detected earlier barreling towards us.

“Calculating alternative routes. . .”

Another blast from below grazes my shoulder, making me grit my teeth. “Oh my God?! What are you? My car’s GPS?! Tell me where to go!”

I take a sharp right turn and head for the city, now finally out of range of the goon’s on foot. The lead-lined truck however has turned down the same way we did and is now hot on our tail.

I can’t get higher because all I can swing off of are these containers and I can’t go any faster because I have Kara in my arms.

That reminds me, since picking her up she hasn’t said a single thing and her grip around me has also loosened considerably.

“Nala, what’s wrong with Supergirl?” I ask, doing my best to dodge the bullets that are being fired at us from below.

“It seems the Kryptonian has passed out.”

Great, she’s solar flared. . .

I grunt and readjust her in my arm. “Is she injured?”

“Yes, but she should make a full recovery as soon as her powers have returned.”

The gunfire from below suddenly stops and when I look down I see that the truck has come to a stop in front of a superficial police barricade.

Officers are swarming the place, ducking behind car doors and aiming their guns at the truck, screaming at the goons to step out with their hands behind their head.

“J’onn.” I breathe in relief when I realize that this is the backup he mentioned earlier.

I try to get my comms device working again, having no idea when it stopped working in the first place, but it doesn’t turn back on, so I just continue making my way into the city toward the tower.

Now that the imminent threat of being shot has been eliminated though, I slow down considerably and focus on keeping my swings as smooth as possible in case Kara wakes up.

Someone squeezing my hand makes me stir in my chair. I groan and open my eyes, feeling a dull ache on my shoulder and the back of my leg where I was hit by the goons.

“Baby. . .” Kara’s soft voice makes me shoot up in my chair and when I look down at her on the bed I find her blue eyes already on me. She smiles softly and squeezes my hand again. “Hey.”

“Hi, how are you feeling?” I ask quietly. I reach forward and push the sun lamps up enough for her to sit up carefully.

“Like shit,” she admits with a small chuckle.

I scoff and let go of her hand, burying it in my lap. If she’d said that three months ago, I would have laughed and kissed the back of her hand playfully, but since then, things have changed.

Three months ago, sitting in the med bay next to Kara was a very rare occurrence. Nowadays though, it’s almost a daily occurrence.

She’s constantly taking unnecessary risks and on the off-chance that she’s not out superheroing, she stays up late at the office to finish an article, or write a news segment.

I can’t remember the last time we slept in the same bed, much less when we shared a meal together. Our relationship is barely even a relationship anymore, and tonight has honestly been my last straw.

Frowning at the way I pulled my hand out of her grasp, Kara sits up straighter. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Tears prick my eyes and I dig my fingernails into my palms. “What’s wrong?! Are you kidding me, Kara? This is the third time you’ve solar flared this week! You were almost kidnapped and I was shot twice saving you!”

“Y-You’re hurt?” She squints, presumably to use her x-ray vision on me, but then she realizes her powers have yet to return. “Are you—“

“This isn’t about me!” I cut in, my voice getting louder. “You keep putting yourself in these situations and I can’t for the life of me understand why. What’s going on with you? Why are you doing this?”

Kara gapes at me, her frown deepening. “Y/N. . .My Love . .”

I shake my head and get up, pacing at the foot of her bed. “No, Kara. I want answers. What’s going on with you? Does it have anything to do with me?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re never home? Are you being reckless to prove something, or—“

“No, you didn’t do anything,” she insists. “I promise. This has nothing to do with you.”

I stop and turn to look at her. Her blue eyes are shining with tears and her chin is quivering.

“Then what is it?” I use the sleeve of the hoodie Alex gave me earlier after cleaning my wounds to wipe away my tears.

Kara clenches and unclenches her jaw as if she’s struggling to admit something. “Y/N, it’s not— I mean, you didn’t— I know things have been a lot lately, but-“ she runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

If that isn’t the biggest lie she’s ever told then I don’t know what is. She’s a horrible liar and even if I didn’t hear the telltale sound of her heart stuttering just now, I’d still know she was lying just by seeing the guilty look on her face.

I stare at her for a moment, wondering when everything started to go this wrong between us before hanging my head low and turning to leave. “Well, I guess you better start figuring it out then because I can’t do this anymore, Kara.”

“W-What?” she stutters. I hear her trying to get up to follow me before groaning and falling back into bed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” I reach for the door handle without looking back.

“Wait!” Her voice falters and when she sniffles I have to force myself not to turn back and comfort her. “Are you. . . Are you breaking up with me?”

I swallow harshly and open the door. “No, not yet anyway.”

I leave before she can say anything else and make my way to the tower’s main room where J’onn, Alex, and Nia are sitting around the coffee table.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nia asks when she sees the distress on my face.

I just shake my head and make my way to the elevator. “No. Alex?”

The older Danvers who’s also watching me with concern gets to her feet. “Yeah?”

“Tell your sister to pull herself together,” I say before stepping onto the elevator.

I see J’onn raise an eyebrow at the interaction and share a glance with Nia before the doors slide closed.

Kara might be the one who solar flared, but I could bet a hundred bucks I’m more drained than she is right now.

This has been quite some time in the making now, and I know it’s no longer up to me how things will turn out from here on out.

It’s in Kara’s hands now and if our relationship is as important to her as it is to me, she will have to prove it.

_______________________________________________

Uh oh. . .

[gojoethereal]

03 | The Heart Beneath the Curse

pairing: fem!reader x gojo. contents: mutual pining, emotionally constipated!gojo, soft angst, slow burn, jealous!gojo (but he’d never admit it), unresolved tension, touches that linger, love in the little things, reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, reader has a backbone, flirty banter, deep-rooted feelings, late-night rooftop talks, lowkey possessive!gojo, protective instincts pairing: fem!reader x gojo. contents: mutual pining, emotionally constipated!gojo, soft angst, slow burn, jealous!gojo (but he’d never admit it), unresolved tension, touches that linger, love in the little things, reader is a jujutsu sorcerer, reader has a backbone, flirty banter, deep-rooted feelings, late-night rooftop talks, lowkey possessive!gojo, protective instincts

Summary- After years away in Kyoto, you're back at Tokyo Jujutsu High—not as a student, but as a teacher. You return to familiar faces, new students, and old wounds you thought you'd left behind.You and Satoru Gojo were never just friends—but never anything more, either. Now that you're back, he's learning that silence has consequences, and you're not sure you have the patience for "almost" anymore.A story about timing, second chances, and the things we never say—until it’s almost too late.

series masterlist. /previous

It lingers, curling at the edges of your thoughts when you wake, clinging to your skin like the humidity that always seems to hang over Tokyo. You’ve tried to shake it off—throw yourself into training, bury yourself in the chaos of teaching—but it’s been a week, and the feeling hasn’t changed.

The students sense it too. Not a single one of them is acting normal. Yuji’s usual enthusiasm is a little quieter. Nobara’s sharp wit has lost some of its bite. Megumi, who never shows his hand, is… off. The flickers of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his hand hovers near his weapon—it’s clear he feels it too.

The curse energy surrounding the training grounds has grown more intense. The faint hum of pressure is now a constant roar in your ears. And, despite everything, it’s still subtle. Too subtle for anyone else to notice.

Except for you.

And for Gojo.

You’re in the middle of running drills when you feel it again. The pressure.

It’s like the ground is buckling beneath you, but you can’t hear it. The air gets thick with the taste of something bitter, electric, and the light shifts. The world doesn’t quite feel right. Like reality itself is bending.

You freeze mid-sentence, your heart pounding.

The students are still moving. Still sparring. But there’s a hesitation in their steps, in their eyes. You look around, but nothing seems wrong—not yet. You want to believe that it’s just your senses, that maybe it’s nothing. But something about the tension in the air feels like the world is holding its breath.

And then—there’s a crack.

A sound that’s not quite a snap, but close enough. A tear in reality.

It happens too fast.

From the corner of your eye, you spot the first sign: a ripple in the shadows, too smooth, too unnatural. You spin, instinctively reaching for the students, but you’re too late.

A figure steps out of the distortion, its shape flickering in and out of focus. You know immediately what it is.

A curse. But not like any curse you’ve faced before. This one feels alive.

It’s aware.

"Get back!" you shout, pushing the students behind you, but Yuji’s already stepping forward, eyes wide, ready to jump into action.

“No—Yuji, stay back!”

But it’s too late.

The curse lunges, faster than you can react. Its blackened limbs shoot toward him like a dark storm, its screech sending a chill down your spine. The cursed energy around it warps the air, distorting space.

You barely have time to form the words before Gojo appears, standing between Yuji and the curse with that cocky grin you can never quite ignore.

“Guess I’m a little late to the party,” he says, voice smooth as silk.

His energy bursts outward in a wave of light so intense it makes the air around you vibrate. The curse recoils, howling in pain, its form briefly revealed in its full grotesque detail. The limbs twist and stretch, its body like a shadow made solid, filled with a chaos that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in this world.

But Gojo’s grin only deepens. “You know, I really hate being interrupted.”

He’s all confidence, all power—but beneath that, you can feel the same tightness you’ve been carrying in your chest.

It’s the same tension that’s been pulling you toward him ever since you returned.

He doesn’t need to say anything. You both feel it.

The curse isn't just a random attack. It’s targeted. It knows you’re here.

You step forward, instinctively pulling a shuriken from your belt. The curse moves again, faster this time, but you’re ready. You launch the weapon, its blade slicing through the air, hitting the cursed form square in the chest.

It stumbles back, its body twisting in an almost liquid motion, but it doesn’t die.

“Not bad,” Gojo says, but his eyes narrow, scanning the cursed energy. “This isn’t a regular curse. It’s… smart.”

“Smart enough to attack us,” you reply, your tone flat.

Yuji, still wide-eyed but trying to be brave, steps forward, fist raised. “Let’s take it down, sensei!”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “Stay back. This is beyond you.”

Nobara’s hand shoots out, grabbing Yuji’s arm. “Yeah, dumbass. Listen.”

She’s not scared, but there’s something more serious in her voice. Megumi, who’s usually silent, watches the curse carefully, his hand near his weapon, his eyes never leaving its form. He’s not afraid either. He’s calculating. And the tension in the air is thick enough that even he can feel it.

The curse snaps toward them, sensing the opening. You move before anyone can react, stepping in front of them, throwing yourself into the fray.

The moment you step closer to the curse, you feel it—an unnatural cold, a pressure so heavy it makes your head spin. There’s something wrong in the way it moves, in the way it reacts to Gojo’s presence.

This curse is feeding off of you, like it knows exactly where to strike.

Gojo’s voice cuts through the heavy air. “I’ve got this. Step back, now.”

But you can’t. You won’t.

“You sure about that?” you challenge, standing firm.

The curse screams again—louder now, angrier—and its form shifts, warping in on itself. There’s no real shape, just a swirling mass of shadows, jagged edges, and open space.

Gojo’s eyes flick to you, a subtle shift in his expression. You don’t need to say another word. He understands what’s happening before you do.

And this time, you’re not standing on opposite sides.

You move as one.

The battle’s a blur. Gojo’s power surges like a wave, clearing the field with a flash of white light. You dart in and out, your shuriken cutting through the curse’s distortion, your movements synchronized with his. The students stand back, watching—waiting.

And then, with one final strike, the curse shatters.

Its form collapses into itself, folding back into the dark void it came from. The energy it leaves behind lingers for a moment before it dissipates into nothing.

You stand there, chest heaving, still feeling the weight of the curse’s presence in the air. Gojo turns to you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“That was fun,” he says, wiping his brow like he just ran a marathon.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fun, huh? You look like you barely broke a sweat.”

His gaze sharpens, and the playful expression fades just enough to let something else in.

“You know I don’t always show it,” he says, his voice quieter now.

You don’t respond, your focus drifting to the students, who are still processing what just happened.

Yuji’s eyes are wide, Megumi looks relieved, and Nobara is already cracking a joke about Yuji’s “heroic” attempt to charge in.

But you can’t shake the feeling.

The curse was smart, too smart. And the fact that it came after you… it’s not just a coincidence. It’s a warning.

The students aren’t ready for this level of fight. But you are. And you won’t let it go until you find out who—or what—is pulling the strings behind it.

The students scatter eventually, reluctant but obedient, off to the showers, off to whisper about what just happened behind half-closed doors. You pretend not to notice the way Megumi lingers, how Nobara glances back over her shoulder, how Yuji opens his mouth—like he wants to ask if you’re okay—but doesn’t.

You’re not okay.

And Gojo knows it.

The training ground is quiet now. Broken pieces of cursed residue still shimmer faintly in the air, but you don’t move. Your heart is still pounding in your chest, slower now, but not calm. Never calm.

He doesn’t leave.

You feel him behind you before you hear him, the press of his cursed energy always just a little too present, like gravity bent toward him. His footsteps are soft, but they still make something in you flinch.

"You’re shaking," he says.

You hadn't realized it. Your fingers twitch at your sides like they’re remembering something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

“I’m not,” you lie.

Gojo laughs under his breath, that low hum that slips under your skin like silk soaked in heat. “Sure. Let’s pretend, if it makes you feel better.”

You turn to face him, finally, and gods—he’s close. The wind lifts his white hair just enough to catch the light, his blindfold pushed up to rest carelessly on his forehead. The exposed blue of his eyes is almost cruel. Too bright. Too clear.

Too knowing.

“That curse—” you start, but he steps closer. Close enough that your breath catches mid-sentence.

His hand doesn’t touch you, but it hovers just shy of your waist, like he’s waiting for permission he never used to ask for. Like he remembers how to hold restraint now. You don’t know whether to be grateful or furious.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” you ask, voice softer than you meant it to be.

He nods, but his gaze doesn’t move. Doesn’t flicker to the remnants of battle or the cursed scars on the field. He’s watching you. Only you.

“It wanted you,” he says. “Specifically.”

You swallow hard. The words shouldn’t mean as much as they do. But the curse had known you. Had recognized something inside you. And now—so does he.

“That’s not all it wanted,” you whisper.

His breath stirs against your skin. You didn’t notice how close he’d gotten. Or maybe you did and chose not to stop him.

Gojo tilts his head, his voice low and dangerous in the charged silence. “You think it wanted to scare me?”

“No,” you murmur. “I think it wanted to see if you’d protect me.”

His lips part slightly, not with words, but with something heavier. You can feel the restraint tightening in him like a dam threatening to burst.

“I didn’t hesitate,” he says, and there’s something sharp in the softness of it.

“No,” you reply. “You didn’t.”

And now—he’s too close.

His fingers ghost along your hip, not quite touching, not quite innocent either. His cursed energy hums against your skin like static, like he’s daring you to move first.

“Say the word,” he murmurs.

You hate him for making it a choice.

You hate yourself for not stepping back.

But gods, you’ve missed this. The weight of his power just beneath the surface, the fire in his gaze when you match him—move for move, heart for heart. The way his voice dips when he’s too honest.

“You still want me,” you say, not asking.

His smile falters. Just for a heartbeat. Just enough.

“I never stopped.”

It’s not a confession. It’s a threat. A promise. A wound ripped back open with velvet gloves.

His hand finally rests against your waist, fingers splayed, firm enough to remind you that Gojo Satoru never does anything halfway.

And neither do you.

The air crackles.

If you move even an inch closer, it won’t just be heat between you—it’ll be fire.

“You’re not going to kiss me,” you say, lips brushing his like a dare.

“I shouldn’t,” he breathes, but his thumb is already tracing the edge of your ribs, and his mouth is so close it hurts.

“You always do what you should, now?” you whisper.

His breath hitches. And then, in a voice that breaks just a little:

“For you? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”

next

[echowithpain]

Its kind of refreshing to see someone else on this website not like the Wicked movie that much, there's so much praise and love that I've been scared to come forward and say I didn't really like it 😭

Happy to help! I'm one of those people who doesn't really care about what others think, especially online

So I'm really not afraid to shout from the rooftops:

I THINK THE WICKED MOVIE WAS MID!!!!

Don't be scared, and if anyone gives you shit for stating your opinion on an open website where people state their opinions everyday

✨ They invented the block button for a reason ✨

And that goes both ways. People if you see something you don't like, instead of wasting time harassing them online, just block them

Except for me, you can "harass" me all you want, I don't give a shit and it's free entertainment

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 3: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 1.8k

an: This is basically a continuation from the last chapter, but I was already 5k words in so I figured I should split it up. The past two chapters were essentially intro chapters, just to help put a few things into perspective. This chapter is where things really start to begin.

---

The sound of your phone buzzing on the coffee table pulled you from the haze of sleep. Your head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that made you wince as you tried to sit up. The world tilted slightly, and you pressed a hand to your temple, feeling the faint stickiness of dried blood beneath your fingers. It took a moment for the events of the night before to filter back in—the pantry, the fall, and then…Bakugo.

Your eyes flicked to the neatly folded note propped against an ice pack, the bold, familiar scrawl of Bakugo’s handwriting catching your attention. You reached for it, unfolding it carefully as if the paper might somehow carry the weight of his presence.

Call me the minute you wake up.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite the lingering pain. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, but the message spoke volumes in its simplicity. Just below, another line caught your eye, and your heart gave an unexpected lurch.

I’m not always gonna be around, so don't go falling again. 

You stared at the words, your chest tightening. For someone like Bakugo, who rarely voiced his feelings outright, this was the equivalent of shouting from the rooftops. It was equal parts comforting and unsettling, a reminder that he was only a friend. 

The phone buzzed again, dragging you out of your thoughts. The screen lit up with Bakugo’s name. You hesitated for a moment before answering, the roughness of his voice filling the silence before you could even get a word in.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, the usual gruffness tinged with something softer. “How’s your head?”

“Still attached,” you replied, trying for levity. “Thanks for the note. And the ice pack.”

There was a pause, just long enough for you to picture him on the other end, probably leaning against some random alley wall mid-patrol.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his tone dropping into something more serious. “Don’t scare me like that again, got it?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected softness in Bakugo’s tone.

“Don’t get soft on me now, Bakugo,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Katsuki,” he corrected, his voice firm but quieter now.

“What?”

“Stop calling me that stupid shit,” he muttered. “I’ve known you for five years. It’s Katsuki.”

You hesitated for a second, the weight of his words sinking in. “Okay…Katsuki,” you said, testing the sound of it on your tongue.

He’d be lying if he said hearing you say his name didn’t do something to him. The way it rolled off your tongue so naturally, so sweetly—it sent a rush of warmth through him, a flutter in his chest that he’d never admit to. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus.

Before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice softer this time. “I’m sorry I scared you. I forgot to eat breakfast, and I think I just got dizzy.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it. The pause on the other end of the line told you as much, but he didn’t call you out on it. Instead, he let out a low grunt.

“Stop skipping breakfast,” he said, his tone gruff but tinged with concern. “Can’t have my favorite training partner weak.”

The line fell into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but heavy with unspoken words. Lately, something has been shifting between you. There was a strange, charged energy in the air whenever you were around him, something that neither of you could quite name.

You and Bakugo had always been close—everyone knew that. Your bond was solid, built on years of trust. But it had always stayed firmly in the realm of friendship, never crossing the invisible line that separated friends from something more. Or so you thought.

But now, your mind couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d cradled you earlier, the tension in his arms as he carried you like you were the most fragile thing in the world. The way his hands, so often rough and unyielding, had been soft as they tended to your injury. And the way his voice, usually sharp and biting, had softened when he spoke to you.

You shook the thoughts away. Your mind was playing tricks on you. Falling for Katsuki Bakugo was a dangerous idea, one that could only end badly—for both of you. It was better to leave things as they were.

“You still there?” his voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just thinking.”

“Get some rest,” he said after a moment. “I’ll check on you later.”

“Okay,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Bye, Katsuki.”

You ended the call before he could respond, the familiar anxiety creeping back into your chest. You couldn’t afford to think about him right now, not when there were bigger issues at hand—like your quirk. What had happened earlier wasn’t normal, and the way it had activated on its own left you shaken.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the pounding in your head intensifying with every step. It felt as though your skull was caught in a vise, the pressure building with each movement. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the edge of the couch before making your way toward the bathroom.

The cool tile beneath your feet was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Flicking on the light, you winced as the harsh glow illuminated your reflection in the mirror. The sight wasn’t pretty—a faint trail of dried blood ran from your temple, cutting through the pale sheen of your skin. Dark circles hung under your eyes, making you look more like a ghost than yourself.

You gripped the edge of the sink, steadying your shaky hands as you splashed cold water on your face. The shock of it jolted you slightly, but it did little to chase away the lingering unease. Your thoughts drifted back to earlier—standing in the kitchen, the box of noodles at your feet, and then...the fall. But it wasn’t the fall that unsettled you most. It was what came before.

Your quirk had activated on its own.

The memory sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t like before, when you had control. This time, it had felt alive, like it had a mind of its own, surging forward without your consent. You didn’t know what triggered it or why it left you feeling so drained. But one thing was certain—this wasn’t normal.

A sharp, deliberate knock shattered the fragile silence, slicing through your thoughts like a blade. You froze, heart pounding, your breath caught in your throat. No one was supposed to be here.

You moved cautiously toward the front door, your steps slow and soundless. Peering through the peephole, you saw nothing. Not a shadow. Not a flicker of movement.

Unease prickled at the back of your neck as you unlocked the door and opened it just enough to glance outside. There, on the doorstep, sat a package—a plain white box, tied with a delicate ribbon of pearly pink. Its quiet elegance felt out of place, an unassuming presence that carried an ominous weight.

You hesitated, the stillness around you deepening as your gaze locked on the box. Time seemed to stretch, your instincts screaming that something wasn’t right.

Taking a slow breath, you knelt and picked it up, its weight deceptively light. You brought it inside, closing the door with a quiet finality.

The package now sat on your kitchen table, an unwelcome guest in your home. You circled it warily, your mind racing. It wasn’t unusual for gym members or grateful parents to leave tokens of appreciation—a box of cookies, a heartfelt note. But this felt different. Too personal. Too precise.

You forced yourself to sit, hands hovering over the box. The ribbon was pristine, tied with a meticulousness that made your skin crawl. There was no card, no return address, no sign of who had left it.

With a deliberate tug, you pulled the ribbon free. It fell away soundlessly, a soft coil of silk on the table. You lifted the lid, your breath catching as the contents revealed themselves.

A single orange lily rested inside, its pink-tipped petals vivid and perfectly preserved. The sight was arresting, almost hypnotic in its beauty. But a cold shiver ran down your spine.

To most, a lily was a symbol of purity, love, or renewal. But to you, it was none of those things.

To you, it was a harbinger of the past you’d worked so hard to bury.

Your stomach churned as memories clawed their way to the surface. The scent of lilies had clung to the air on that day. The day your life had shattered. The day you swore you’d never look back.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table, gripping it tightly as the room seemed to close in around you. This wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t a thoughtful gesture.

It was a message.

Your quirk hummed beneath your skin, a low, warning vibration. Heat prickled at your fingertips, and you clenched your jaw, trying to wrestle your emotions under control.

“Not now,” you muttered, and with surprise, the tingling subsided, your quirk retreating to dormancy.

But the unease refused to dissipate. Your eyes moved to your phone, sitting on the counter. You knew what you had to do. With trembling hands, you picked it up, scrolling through your contacts until you landed on a name you hadn’t dialed in years.

Your thumb hovered for a moment, but the weight of the flower and its silent threat pressed down on you.

You tapped the name.

The phone rang once, twice. Each ring seemed to stretch into eternity, the anticipation twisting your nerves tighter and tighter. Finally, the line clicked, and a voice you hadn’t heard in years answered. It was low, steady, and sharp with recognition.

“I was hoping you’d never call.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “He’s back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And he knows where I am.”

A tense silence stretched between you, the gravity of your words sinking in. Finally, the voice on the other end spoke, calm but charged with urgency.

“I'm on my way.”

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 4: Choke Points

“You know, my room has good choke points, too.” 

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x sometimes Spite??

Summary: Treviso is saved, Minrathous burns, and Rook has a mini-crisis over disappointing Neve. In an attempt to get her to stop moping, Lucanis drags her to spend some quality time with her family.…Link to Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.2k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Blood, injury, the pain and agony of letting down Neve, protective Spite/Lucanis, Illario's snake collection, drunk Rook being a horny little shit. Also some references to plot lines in Tevinter Nights. A highly recommended read, but not necessary to follow the story. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook used the back of her hand to wipe away the blood and sweat from her face, doubling over to catch her breath. 

“I can’t believe we fought it off.” Teia said, her eyes following the receding silhouette of the dragon on the horizon.

Dense soot fell from the sky as flames simmered on distant rooftops. The air carried the scent of wood smoke, reminiscent of All Souls Day, when Treviso would remember its dead, and the Chantry would light fires across the city to mark the burning of Andraste. Tonight, there was no peaceful remembrance of the fallen, no parades marching through the streets. Only fresh death and palpable despair. Despite their half-victory, Treviso remained shrouded in dread of what lay ahead.

“It’ll be back.” Lucanis’ voice held a haunting quality. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…” 

Rook stood up straight. “Next time, it dies.”

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good.” Davrin warned. Behind him, Assan dug holes through the frost coating the governor’s lawn, the remnant of the dragon’s icy attack. No one stopped him - the Crows hated politicians.  

“What happened to Treviso would have been much worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” Teia threw her arms around Rook. “I cannot imagine how much worse…”

“Fiammetta!” 

Rook disentangled herself from the embrace and turned in the direction of her cousin’s voice. Viago, ever calm and collected, looked like an utter wreck as he approached.

“So he does have a soft spot,” Lucanis murmured to Teia.

“He has several.” She said with a wink. The Demon of Vyrantium raised both eyebrows and blinked uncomfortably. 

“You saved our city, Fiamma. Our people. Our home…” Viago’s mouth fell open mid-sentence as his gaze drifted over her shoulder. “Is that…a griffin? ”

Rook nodded emphatically and Viago crept forward, staring at Assan with childlike wonder. The griffin squawked and swished its tail in the air. 

“Never thought I’d see him get excited about anything other than snakes and poisons.” Lucanis mused. 

“Says the guy obsessed with wyverns.” Rook said, squatting to clean her blade on the grass.

Davrin sheathed his sword. “While this is all endearing, don’t we need to check in on-”

“Minrathous...” Rook’s eyes widened as she turned to Lucanis. “Neve!”

Davrin whistled, signaling for Assan. “Maybe there’s still time to help.”

Viago reached for Rook’s shoulder. “Fiamma, don’t go running into-“

Lucanis stopped him mid-sentence, laying his hand on his arm. “She’s got this. And if she doesn’t, I’ve got her back.”

A long moment passed as Viago held his gaze before he acknowledged with a nod. 

“Send word when you’re safe.”

“You worry too much!” Fiamma shouted over her shoulder, taking off after Davrin and Assan.

Lucanis delivered two reassuring pats to Viago’s back and then sprinted after them.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook barely recognized Minrathous, relying on Lucanis to navigate its burning streets. It had been a miracle the Eluvian was even in one piece when they stepped through it.

They spotted Neve on a rooftop, along with Asher, the leader of the Shadow Dragons, and Tarquin, his second in command. Rook, with a dramatic flourish, pitched herself onto the roof from the highest rung of a nearby ladder.

“We’re here! What’s the situation?” 

“Look around.” Neve waved her arms in a display of exasperation. “I don’t know where to start. Is Treviso alright?”

“It’ll pull through. I’m asking about Minrathous.” 

“The Venatori had a clear shot at the palace while we faced a dragon we could barely hurt. The Viper drew it away from the safe house and took a claw to the gut as thanks. A healer could fix the wound, but the blight’s already in him...”

“I know of magic that may slow the corruption. It will give me more time.” Asher rasped. From Rook’s vantage point, the wounds appeared severe. Tarquin lunged at her, forcefully jabbing his finger against her chest. 

“This is all you! The risen gods, the blight, the dragon! Now the city’s lost to the Venatori-”

A low growl emanated from Lucanis, his eyes momentarily tinged with violet as he intervened, positioning himself between them.

“Do NOT. Touch. ROOK! ”

He took a step backward, blinking rapidly.

Asher propped himself up on an elbow, suppressing a cough. “Tarquin, it is what it is. You know Rook isn’t to blame.”

A groan of frustration escaped Tarquin’s lips as he returned to his post alongside the Viper, burying his face in his hands. 

“Tensions are a little high.” Neve said apologetically. “You should go for now. I need to be here a while. See to things.”

“Neve…”

“You had to defend your home. I don’t fault you for that, Rook. But it still doesn’t change what happened to mine.” 

Lucanis, seemingly in control of himself again, laid a hand on Rook’s shoulder and gently pulled her towards the ladder. 

“Come on, let’s give her some time.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Defeated and feeling guilty, Rook paced the halls of the Lighthouse alone. Judging from his snoring in the other room, Varric was asleep, and she didn’t want to interrupt his rest. Solas was an asshole , and confiding in any of the others was only likely to burden them, so Rook summoned her courage and approached the pantry, hoping there’d be at least once person she could commiserate with.

She rapped twice before cracking the door and peeking through. Lucanis lay sprawled on his narrow cot, tossing an apple into the air and catching it over and over again. He turned his head nonchalantly as she stepped inside.

“You know, we have other rooms and plenty of space. I don’t know why you-“

“You don’t know why the trained assassin would choose a room with only one entrance and good choke points?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s worse than I thought. You’ve forgotten all your training, Rook.”  

“Hush. I don’t need to be reminded of any more of my inadequacies today.” 

Lucanis sat up, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.” With her back against the cold stone wall, Rook slid to the floor. “I know Neve doesn’t hold it against me, but…I can’t help but feel like her trust - and faith in me - are fractured.” She confessed grimly. “Just as I earned back Viago’s good graces…”

“Were the tables turned, she would have picked her home. She knows that. That’s why it’s hard for her to work out. She’ll come around. Just like Viago did.”

“I had to fight a dragon to change Viago’s mind.”

“You might have to fight another one to change Neve’s.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Lucanis’ lips as he rose to his feet. “Besides, Viago never really lost faith in you, Rook. You have to know that.”

“I’m not sure how well you know Viago.”

“I know what it’s like to be a big brother - cousin - but I think you know what I mean…” He squatted in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees. “He’s hard on you because he wants you to survive. It’s why Caterina was hard on me. And why I’m hard on Illario.”

“Please don’t compare me to Illario.”

“I would never.” Lucanis said, his grin widening as he rose to his full height. “You’re much more pleasant.” 

“My father was hard on me, too.” Rook said. “Nothing like Caterina, I’m sure, but after my mother died, he changed. He was my protector all my life until he had to teach me to protect myself. I’m grateful, but…”

Lucanis’ expression softened as her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to... comfort you.”

“I just came to strategize. I don’t need comfort .” Rook said coolly. 

“Those are a lot of big emotions for strategizing, De Riva.” He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come on. I think I might know who can help.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Cheer up, Fi. So we didn’t slay the dragon. It flew away! From us! That counts for something, right?”

A trip back to Treviso and a glass of one of her cousin’s best vintages later, Rook found herself on the receiving end of a pep talk from Teia. She sunk deeper into the green velvet cushions of Viago’s couch and glowered across the room at Lucanis. 

“You thought this would make me feel better?” She asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She finished off her wine, the glass clinking softly against the side table as she set it down.

Lucanis, nestled in a plush armchair near the fireplace, shrugged, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Oh, come on, I know you missed us.” Teia extended her wineglass towards Viago as he entered the room with a fresh bottle. He topped her off and filled Rook’s to the brim again.

“You’re in my chair.” He grumbled at Lucanis, who reluctantly pushed himself up with a groan and relocated to the couch.

“I warned you.” Rook said as she made room. “Viago’s very particular about these things.”

Lucanis grunted as he eased himself down beside her.

“Where’s Illario? I thought you invited him?” Teia asked Viago. “Too good to celebrate our victory?” 

“He’s sulking at Caterina’s Villa. I didn’t want to disturb him.” 

“Fine by me,” Rook mumbled, snatching her wine back off the table. As the conversation continued, her gaze wandered towards a large terrarium in the corner of the room. A Death Adder, one of the most venomous snakes in Thedas, was coiled around a twig, flicking its tongue at her.

“So tell me, cousin, what’s up with the new pet?”

“Emil Kortez planted it in my wardrobe at the last Crow summit in Lago di Novo.” 

“It’s bite nearly killed him.” Teia said. “Good thing our Viago takes his morning coffee with dilute poison.” 

“And you let it live?” Lucanis asked. “You really are getting soft, De Riva.”

“That snake came closer to taking me out than any man can say. He deserves my respect and a good home. With all the mice he desires.” He brought his wine to his lips. “Besides, I can extract his venom for Adder’s Kiss.” 

Rook stood, a little unsteadily, and crossed the room. Reaching out to feel the cool glass against her fingertips, she examined the snake, noticing a bulge in its belly, evidence of a recent meal. Its slow blinks seemed content, almost serene. As far as snakes went…it appeared fat and happy.

“Does it have a name?” She asked with a hiccup. 

“Emil.”

Teia raised her glass. “May he rest in pieces.”

Rook flopped back down on the couch beside Lucanis, her wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. He frowned and snatched it from her hand, setting it aside.

“With you off saving the world, I needed a new roommate. Emil’s quieter.” Viago said.

Rook ignored her cousin’s sarcasm, knowing it only veiled his hurt feelings. A heavy silence fell between them before he spoke again. 

“I’m turning in, but this is still your home too, Fiamma. Your room is exactly as you left it. Perhaps you should sleep in your old bed tonight. I’m not sure I can endorse traveling through the Fade under the influence.” He rose from his armchair. “Lucanis, you’re welcome to the couch.”

“What about me?” Teia asked with a wink. 

“I’ll expect to find you where you usually end up.” Viago purred, disappearing into the shadows of the hall. 

Rook knocked her head back against the wooden frame of the couch. “I didn’t want to hear any of that.” 

“You two are…?” Lucanis pointed between Teia and the hall, his wine glass balanced delicately between his ring and index fingers. 

“Happened after your…funeral.”

“Teia!” Rook cried. 

“What? Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac. Besides, with Lucanis back, that means someday we’ll get to grieve for him all over again...”

“I think that’s my cue.” Lucanis said, and pushed himself up from his seat. “I’ll give you two some time to catch up.” 

As he slipped through a pair of glass doors onto the balcony, Rook reclaimed her half of the couch. 

“Alright, we’re only doing this once.” She said, throwing back the rest of her wine. “Spill.”

After Teia went to bed, Rook joined Lucanis outside. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, he leaned over the railing, tracking her out of the corner of his eye as she approached.

With a weary sigh, she sat down on the ground and slotted her legs through the gaps in the rails, dangling them over the ledge.

“I might be back in the Crows’ good graces after saving Treviso.”

“You impressed Viago. That is quite a challenge on its own.” 

“You have no idea…” Rook muttered. 

“Here, not that you need it.” Lucanis picked up a decanter on a nearby table and joined her on the ground, topping off her wine. 

Rook took his offer appreciatively, “Thanks.”

Wordlessly, they sat together while she swung her bare feet in the open air below. A gentle breeze rustled through the night, carrying with it the remnants of the recent chaos. Mist and smoke floated over Treviso, the flames once painting the horizon finally subdued. The city was damaged, but it would come back, as it always did. Stronger. 

“Why do you not mind when Teia calls you by your old name?” Lucanis asked suddenly. “I’ve never heard you correct her.”

Rook sipped her wine. “After everything that happened, nobody used my name to say anything nice to me - or about me. Only to scold me. But Teia…I’ll always be Fi to her. It feels like home when she says it. I think that’s what a name should be.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never scolded you.” Lucanis said, leaning in to bump his shoulder into hers.

“Your grandmother did plenty.” Her voice echoed inside the glass as she took another drink. “And your cousin.”

“Caterina only scolds people she likes.” He said with a smile. “Illario too, but I understand it’s not an honor to be liked by him.” 

Rook laughed bitterly. “No, no, it isn’t.” 

“What happened between you two?”

“It was never that serious, Lucanis. Not for me. I think Illario was more enamored with my father’s legacy than with me.” 

“I mean…your father was an impressive man. He wielded fire with more precision than the best of assassins could wield a blade. The way he could set a politician’s home aflame and make it look like an accident, or cauterize a wound before his victim had the chance to draw the poison out…” Lucanis let out a low whistle. 

Rook groaned. “You’re just as bad as Illario!”

Lucanis laughed. “I’m not, I promise. But I did have a high opinion of him. There aren’t many assassins of his caliber who turn down becoming Talon. I envied him most the day I learned Caterina was grooming me to become First.” 

“The mage killer, idolizing a mage.” 

“The Flame of Treviso wasn’t just a mage - he was a beacon of hope , Rook! He valued justice over titles and riches. He would be proud of you, Crow or no. You are the legacy he left behind. His daughter, his little flame, now a formidable fire…”

Lucanis reached out, crooking a finger under her chin and tilting her head towards him.

“It’s in your eyes. Not just the amber of your irises - your drive to do what is right. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. I don’t just owe you a debt - I think you’re a leader worth following. Fiamma, Fiammetta, Rook…”

His hand fell. “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Warmth spread across Rook’s face as her cheeks flushed, and she tore away her gaze. The balcony spun slightly as she struggled to her feet, the effects of the alcohol pulsing through her body, a gentle buzz at her fingertips. She was a leader, she thought to herself, with some embarrassment. She should be acting like it. 

“Mind if we crash here tonight? I think I’ll fall to my death if I try to venture through the Crossroads like this.” 

“Not at all. I think a break from the Fade would be good for you.” Lucanis glanced at the empty bottle behind them. “Should we clean up?”

“Leave it. Viago’s used to picking up after me.” 

She shuffled through the door and Lucanis followed, ducking under her arm and draping it over his shoulders, one hand encircling her waist as he helped her inside. 

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Rook didn’t protest, allowing him to guide her while the apartment swam around her. He smelled like leather and cardamom, and she suppressed a drunken urge to shove her tongue down his throat. She hadn’t been with anyone since her last assignment in Minrathous several months ago. A one-night stand with a Shadow Dragon. She never bothered to learn his name. After all, he didn’t bother to give her an orgasm.

Down the hall, Teia giggled behind Viago’s closed door. With a grimace, Rook stepped inside her old room as it came into focus, finding it exactly as she remembered. The floor to ceiling windows cast faint lines of light through the panes, falling like stripes upon the furniture. Someone had neatly made her bed, and the vanity remained untouched. On the other side of the room, a thin layer of dust covered her collection of perfumes and poisons on the fireplace mantle. Even her ivy hanging from the ceiling was alive - Viago must have watered it in her absence. Hopefully he didn’t plant another snake in it. 

“You’re okay with the couch?” She asked Lucanis, holding her breath as she waited for his response.

“It will be a slight upgrade from the pantry.” He grinned as he released his hold on her, hands hovering in case she faltered. “But lacking the good choke points.” 

Rook crossed the room, taking a match from her nightstand and lighting a few candles.

“I like the way you say it… Fiammetta.”

Lucanis folded his arms, leaning against the door frame. “Is it so different from the way everyone else says it?” 

“It sounds like poetry when you do it.” She said, a shy smile playing on her lips. The matchstick flickered, and she extinguished the flame with a quick flick of her wrist. “Maybe it would be okay if you used it - just between us.” 

“We’ll see if you change your mind tomorrow. Once the wine has worn off.” 

He let his arms fall to his sides and fell back into the hall. Rook stumbled after him, propping herself up against the wall as she peered around the corner.

“You know, my room has good choke points, too.” 

Lucanis turned slowly, his eyes widening. Eyebrows knitted together, mouth slightly agape, only a quiet sound of surprise left his lips before she retreated inside her room and pressed her weight against the door, shutting it with a soft click.

[insertyourselfhere]

Rivals Part 2

Pairing: Gwen Stacy (Ghost Spider x Reader)

Description: It has been just over a week now and it was getting really competitive, every night you and Ghost Spider met in a clash of heroism. You were even at the moment, 5 for 5 and the night had just started for both of you, as you were heading towards another scene you managed to catch up to the Ghost Spider on her way too. This time though it seemed you were more interested in each other than on making it to the crime currently ongoing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you managed to catch up with the Spider you jumped off your roof onto hers, as you did she turned around and shot her web at your feet you doing the same. Causing both of you to become stuck unable to move.

She sent a smirk towards you under her mask, her voice dripping with playful teasing. "You know, Shadow, it's almost impressive how you keep coming back for more. I'm starting to think you enjoy these encounters a little too much."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at their lips. "Who said I'm here for you, Ghost Spider? Maybe I just like imagining what your face is going to look like when I win this whole charade.” You said gesturing towards her “Why don’t you do us both, unmask yourself, we can go save that citizen and go on our date tonight instead” She scoffed rolling her eyes towards you.

“I think it’s funny that you believe you have a chance at beating me” She said folding her arms. You shot your web towards her head which she ducked and look back at you, your smirk still on your face you knew what was coming and so did shadow.

She jumped towards you, her fist narrowly missing your head, you grabbed her hand and threw her off the building. You dusted off your hands and went to swing away but was met with a fierce kick from the Spider. She landed gracefully next to you and you got into your fighting pose.

“You ready to dance Spider” You said staring her down, she nodded her head in her signature pose. “I hope you can keep up with me” You made the first move running towards her and dodging the webs she shot at you, you went to go slide kick her off her feet and she dodged shooting webs at your face, you pulled them off you throwing your fist towards her but instead of punchin the Spider you grabbed her hand and twirled her around.

“You know Spider-Woman its impressive how fluid your movements are, Im almost mesmerised” You said holding onto her still, she pushed off your chest doing a back flip and landing on her feet a few metres away from you.

“And I have to admit your moves are impressively mediocre. But hey I think its cute that your trying” You shout forward trying to tack her to the ground and narrowly missing, one more leap over you but Shadow’s arm extended from your body grabbing her mid jump, you chuckled at her futile attempts to get away and placed her against the rooftop floor. You put web around her limbs holding her in place and let off another little wave.

“These mediocre moves just took you down princess so what dose that say about you” Your mask retracted up to your nose so your lips were exposed, you sent the Spider a kiss and headed towards the crime scene.

You made it to where all the trouble was and landed just next to the police barricade that was up, the police themselves weren’t fond of you or your actions but they didn’t like the goody two shoes either. As you ignored their loud cries to stop where you were and put your hands up, you looked up to see the building on fire, it was an apartment building at least 50 stories high and the highest ones were on fire from at least floor 40 upwards.

“Okay lets see those mediocre moves again” You ran and jumped towards the building, flying up to the 40th floor, you entered into the blaze, your suit protecting you. You could hear lots of coughing and voices crying for help so you got to work.

You shot a web outside of the floor you were on and made sure it was stable and away from any fire or blaze, you ran through the different rooms on the floor listening out for voices, one by one you would find small groups of people, one of them actually holding a shadow plush.

“Alright guys listen to me, 1 by 1 im going to throw you out of the building, my web is out there as a safety net linked to the next building, head towards it and then head down. I will constantly check on you guys to make sure that nothings happens okay!” they all nodded and one by one you began grabbing people and throwing them out of the building, minus the kid who was holding the plush toy you gave them a personal escort.

Once you were done with the 40th floor you made your way up, making new webs, checking on those around you. You were swinging the last lot of people onto the web when you noticed Ghost Spider was perched up at the top of the opposite building helping those get out, she gave you a thumbs up and you gave her one back. As you dropped off those people the building exploded at the roof and caused your web to snap in half making you fall, you went to shoot your web but there was no where for you to grab as the fiery levels would just cause them to burn, Ghost Spider however didn’t give you the chance to think as she leaped over the nearby building, shot her web towards you to catch you and then threw you towards the top of the building so you could keep your rescue efforts going.

You gave her a big wave and she just went back to ushering people off the nearby building. You made your way to the 48th floor, hearing no other sounds or noises of people coming out around you butt  you had to make sure you got everyone out, you made it close to the roof and then you heard it, the smallest cries and sounds of reassurance.

“It’s okay baby, I know I’m so sorry but we will be okay” Sounded like a family. You pushed your way through the blaze again and managed to find the young family.

“Hey there almost missed you guys”

They gave you a tentative smile, you knowing full well you weren’t the most kid friendly vigilante there was.

“I need to get you guys off this building but we definitely can’t go up so we will have to go through the fire, I can protect you though if you trust me?”

They nodded and you grabbed a hold of them, you knew this was going to hurt but it was important, you managed to wrap shadow’s skin around them inside of a small bubble however there was enough to protect you 3 so it left you very expose, your back, legs and arms were all out but your torso and mask were still on protecting your vitals.

“Okay we just need to make it to that window down on the floor below and I can get Spider-Woman to catch you okay?”

“Thank you Shadow” The mother said and you smiled under your mask. You started walking towards the window slowly to make sure the family was safe, your body could definitely feel the heat now as it was kissing your skin.

“Just a couple of more steps okay! I promise to get you guys out of here” The nodded once again and you started walking a little bit quicker, as you got closer to the window you heard the roof start collapsing above you, the debris that was around you was starting to give way so you looked at them.

“Trust me?” You asked and they nodded once more, you picked them up and ran, your body still exposed to the head and you pushed them out the window into the arms of Spider-Woman who was waiting. As soon as you did the floor above you collapsed onto you and since your back was expose it managed to pierce your body leaving you pinned to the floor. Your vision went hazy as you watched Ghost Spider swing away with them and you fell unconscious.

After awhile your body shook you awake, you woke up staring at the sky, with a very concerned Spider-Woman looking at you. You let out a sigh of relief and sat up, seeing that your body had already healed your would thanks to Shadows share abilities you let out a sigh of relief.

“That was close”

“You don’t say Y/N”

Your eyes widened when she said your name, you touched your face and somehow shadow had not replenished the mask on your face meaning she knew who you were and knows your name.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone” She said sitting back a bit from you to give you space, you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

“So you know who I am hey?” You chuckled at how slack you were with your secret identity.

“I sure do” She said gently, you stood up and looked over to her with a smile.

“It just means we have to make it even then doesn’t it?” You said with a sly smile on your face, She looked over at you and stood up only to make more of a distance between you.

“Nope the only way your going to get to see this face is if you win our bet” She smiled and waved goodbye leaving you alone with your thoughts.

‘Pussy’ Shadow said and you laughed.

‘I almost missed you, hey how come you didn’t save me back there from you know, getting stabbed’

‘I don’t know, you deserved it, what kind of plan is throwing people out a window’

‘One that works thank you’

You suited back up and made your way home thinking about the events that took place tonight smiling.

[hsmtmts-arrows]

when do madlyn say ily for the first time to each other do u think

*cracks knuckles*

its valentines day ashlyn's known since christmas day itself when maddox was waiting at her door with a stack full of presents for her and ej that she loved maddie. maddox never fully realised it though until mid january time when the two went sledging as a date. ashlyn had tripped and maddox being maddox had rushed over to help ash up, holding her hand out for her girlfriend to take but ash being ash pulled her down into the snow with her.

but when the say it is valentines day. ashlyn at this point doesn't have the grandest idea of a gesture to tell maddie, but she wants to say it. a song? no it's too ricky-bowen coded. so it's just a date in the middle of the the caswell's floor in the living area where she dragged ej out from college to help her build a fort. she asks jet to give her the longest list known to mankind of all the foods maddox likes so she gets all of the snacks she loves. MADDOX meanwhile also has plans to tell ashlyn she loves her. she gets ricky, jet and gina in her room, pacing back and forth; "i have to tell her on valentines day. it makes sense right? yeah. it makes sense to tell her that day-" and it goes on AND ON until ricky says that she should write her song. jet gives him a look that reads "ew. really?"

but maddie is all over the idea. until she realises that includes actually writing it. she gets her guitar in the living area and doesn't stop playing it and writing in one of her notepads that night until what felt like four in the morning for jet. it's perfect.

maddie is fiddling with the guitar strap the whole way on her walk to ash's place. jet keeps texting her telling her to stop panicking while he's literally on his date with kourtney (it's fine kourt wants all the gossip and updates on maddie and ashlyn's date). ash plays all of maddie's favourite movies as the two cuddle in the fort before ash asks her why she brough the guitar.

maddie is slightly panicked, and messes up at the beginning, but when she takes another look at ashlyn she just remembers. just like that. she loves ash. she plays her the song. she tells her she loves her so proudly. she wants to shout it from the rooftops itself. and ash is shocked- had her own girlfriend just stolen her OWN plan?

of course ashlyn says it back and the two laugh when it's revealed that the couple very much had similar plans of telling each other ily, and watch more of the movies before falling asleep in each other's arms.

[explorenadore]

Morocco pt. I - Marrakech and the desert

We arrived at Marrakech airport late at night. After a quick discussion with the taxi  driver, we were off to our little Riad. He dropped us off in the heart of Marrakesh and although it’s a city that only really wakes up at night, we found ourselves in a district that was more about small and empty corners than souks and people. After a little confusion and hyper awareness on my behalf, we opened the door to the Riad. The young man working the night shifts showed us to our room and we practically fell right onto our beds. It was around six in the morning when we were standing on the rooftop and brushing our teeth. Even tough we definitely did not catch a good nights sleep - kudos to the nightly prayers being shouted from the roofs at 4:49 am - the morning view over the city was astonishing. It gave me a chance to smell the city, feel its energy. 

We grabbed our luggage and google mapped our way towards the big square, where our bus driver would pick us up for a two day desert tour.

The ride was bumpy and rather uncomfortable, since we stopped every half hour at some sightseeing spots that were not always worthy of their names. On the contrary, the people joining us for the tour were intriguing. We met two girls, Caro and Maddy, late twenties, coworkers, travelers. Seated right next to me, tanned and experienced looking: The mid forties couple Heidi and Michael. Both escaped marriages that they couldn’t take anymore after they’ve met each other and fell in love on the spot. Took them a few years to manage a real relationship but now they’ve built a beautiful patchwork family that has lasted for eight years so far.

We arrived in the desert and after some struggles with the headscarf-wrapping technique, we were helped onto the camels for a ride to the oasis. Unfortunately, that ride made us realize that the tour wasn’t quite what we expected. It felt forced, far from an organic experience. 

The camels dropped us off and we stumbled up the dunes to see the  sunset. That was when we talked about the need to change our travel plans. We felt bad for having to use the camels for transportation and realized that the desert tour was more commercial than educational. Of course, we’re already doing the tour so we might as well finish it. Still, we decided to try and have a more conscious travel experience.

The sun went down and we went into the oasis, surrounded by high-end tents, carpets spread out over the sand and little pavilions where we were served tea. Finally, we got to talk to the workers there. Nomads, who grew up in the desert and then moved to the closest city (Zagora). They’d worked in the oasis on and off for a while and actually enjoyed it. They said that the best thing about the job is meeting so many new people and we not only believed them, but agreed vice versa.

After dinner, we sat around a big campfire and danced to traditional Berber music. Heidi and Michael joined and told us the story on how they met. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t any tears forming in the corner of my eyes. I realized that I am a romantic at heart (don’t tell anyone). Next to me, just as captured by their love story, was Semia. A single mom in her mid thirties that finally got to travel a bit after fourteen years of raising her son. She looked much younger than she was. Her tan skin and the fact that she could speak some Arabic, was fluent in German, English, Spanish and Italian suggested that she wasn’t originally from Switzerland. Her father is Tunisian and her mother French. 

We could hear the people singing in the distance when Linda and I ran up the dunes at around midnight, laughing and then falling onto the sand to watch the shooting stars pass us  by for a while. 

We ended up sitting at the campfire up until 2am, talking to two of the workers. We taught each other cuss words in our native languages and sang along to Akon, Bob Marley and even Justin Bieber.

[reblog4myficsnotesonly]

• Crazy! y/n Hobie saves her •

---

She was perched on the edge of a rooftop, giggling to herself as she swung her baseball bat. Below, Deadpool and Logan were mid-mission, handling things with their usual grace—or lack thereof. She’d been told to stay out of trouble, but when did she ever listen?

The fight below wasn’t her concern anymore. Her attention was fixed on the chaos of the city skyline. A glimmering skyscraper caught her eye, its reflective glass gleaming like a beacon. She hopped up, balancing precariously on the edge, the wind whipping at her mismatched tights.

“Careful, princess,” Deadpool shouted from below. “One wrong move and it’s splat city!”

“Relax, Wade!” she called back, doing a mock curtsey. “I’ve got this under—”

Her foot slipped on the slick surface, and before she knew it, she was plummeting toward the chaos below.

The air rushed past her, her heart pounding, when suddenly a thread of silver webbing shot out of nowhere, snagging her wrist. With a jerk, her fall stopped, and she dangled mid-air like a deranged marionette.

“Gotcha,” came a smooth, accented voice.

She craned her neck to see her rescuer—a lanky figure in a black suit, the spider emblem on his chest stark against the dark fabric. His mask tilted as he regarded her.

“You alright, love?” he asked, pulling her up effortlessly.

Her feet hit the rooftop, and she stumbled slightly before looking up at him. Her eyes, wild with adrenaline and excitement, scanned him up and down.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Spider-Punk. You’re welcome, by the way,” he said with a cocky grin, the British lilt in his voice making her head tilt in curiosity.

She stared at him, a slow, unhinged smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, I like you,” she purred, her fingers twitching toward her bat.

---

### Chapter 2: **A Dangerous Obsession**

After that encounter, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he moved, the way his voice sounded, the way he saved her like some punk rock knight in shining armor—it was maddening.

She spent days scrawling his name on her walls, doodling little hearts around it. “Hobie Brown” was etched into her notebooks, the words “mine” and “forever” scribbled in blood-red marker.

Deadpool walked into her room one day, stopping dead in his tracks. “Uh, kid? Did someone break in and decorate for you, or is this some weird performance art?”

“Shut up, Wade!” she snapped, throwing a shoe at him.

“Okay, jeez. Who’s the unlucky guy?” he teased, picking up a crumpled drawing of Spider-Punk.

“None of your business!” she yelled, snatching the paper back.

Wade smirked. “You’ve got it *bad,* munchkin.”

---

### Chapter 3: **Hobie’s Predicament**

Hobie Brown first noticed something was off when he started finding strange notes stuck to his webbed hideouts. Messages like *“You’re mine”* and *“Let’s carve out your heart”* were scrawled in messy handwriting, often accompanied by crudely drawn hearts.

He wasn’t scared, not exactly. If anything, he was intrigued.

One night, while swinging through the city, he spotted her perched on a rooftop, waiting for him.

“Well, if it isn’t my biggest fan,” he called out, landing gracefully beside her.

She turned slowly, her grin wide and manic. “You’re late, Hobie. I’ve been waiting *all night.*”

“Sorry, love. Traffic was murder,” he quipped, crossing his arms.

She stood, gripping her bat tightly, her mismatched tights catching the moonlight. “Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about you? Dreaming about you?”

Hobie raised an eyebrow behind his mask. “Should I be flattered or terrified?”

“Both,” she said sweetly, stepping closer.

For a moment, he considered stopping her—this girl clearly had a few screws loose. But there was something about her that fascinated him, her chaos balancing out his cool demeanor.

“You’re absolutely mad,” he said finally.

“And you love it,” she shot back, her eyes gleaming.

---

### Chapter 4: **The Chase**

Hobie tried to maintain his distance, but she always found him. Whether it was on rooftops, in back alleys, or even in the middle of his missions, she was there, her presence as chaotic as a storm.

One night, as he swung through the city, she chased him from the rooftops, her manic laughter echoing in the night.

“C’mon, Hobie!” she yelled. “Don’t you wanna play?”

“Not tonight, love,” he called back, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Too bad!” she shouted, hurling her bat at him.

He dodged it effortlessly, catching it mid-air with a flick of his webbing.

“Nice try,” he said, landing on a nearby building and tossing the bat back to her.

She caught it with a delighted laugh, her grin so wide it nearly split her face.

“You’re fun,” she said, twirling her bat.

“You’re insane,” he countered.

“Same thing.”

---

### Chapter 5: **Mutual Fascination**

Despite himself, Hobie started to enjoy her attention. She was unpredictable, chaotic, and absolutely unhinged, but there was a strange honesty to her madness.

“You know,” he said one night as they sat on a rooftop together, the city lights flickering below, “you could use all that crazy energy for something good.”

She tilted her head, her messy pigtails swaying. “Like what? Knitting sweaters for orphans?”

“Maybe not that,” he said with a chuckle. “But you’ve got spirit, love. You just need to point it in the right direction.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her manic grin returning.

“I think I’ll stick to carving smiles,” she whispered.

Hobie shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re a piece of work.”

“And you’re stuck with me now.”

---

**To be continued…**

[starry-storms]

Jason stared down as the cars passed below. He can hear Dick teasing Damian about something. Jason wasn't listening close enough to actually catch the topic. It's friendly, and Damian doesn't seem overly agitated by it yet.

Bruce apparently wants to stop it from becoming too agitating. "Be nice, Nightwing," he hears Batman say.

"I'm being nice!" Dick said, "I'm just being a little annoying."

"You're always a little annoying," Tim said.

"Hey!"

"You should have seen how annoying he was in his emo phase," Jason said as he headed down a fire escape to the street.

"It wasn't an emo phase," Dick said quickly.

"Boys," Bruce said tiredly.

Jason laughed. He could hear his brothers and sister laugh, too. He absently wondered when he started thinking of them all as siblings as he approached a food stand.

"I'm grabbing a chili dog," he said, "anyone want some?"

"Can you get me one?" Cassandra asked, "I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to. I got this one."

"Can I get one too?" Tim piped.

"Only if you pay me back tomorrow," Jason replied.

"She doesn't have to pay you back," Tim said indignantly.

"I like her more," Jason said as he paid for three chili dogs. He actually had no intention of making them pay him back. They'd often buy food during long nights, and money was never exchanged. If the bill was particularly high, the child who bought it would find a $100 bill somewhere in their living space within the next few days.

"I'm going to get Little Bird and I a snack from the vegetarian-friendly pasta place he likes," Dick said.

Jason was already headed back to a nice, secluded rooftop. "Yeah okay. Come get your food Timmy."

"It's Tim."

"No real names," Bruce reminded them.

He grinned to himself at his brother's reaction. He curled himself against a wall. As he ate, his eyelids drooped. This was nice, actually. The little bickering in his ear was nice. It was accompanied by the sharp scent of a storm rolling in. He might call it a night soon.

Or now. Just five minutes. He'd be awake before they noticed.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Tim sighed. He had been too far for his liking. His food would be cold by the time he got there.

"Hood," he announced as his feet hit the rooftop.

Jason's head had fallen to the side, a half eaten chili dog in his lap. Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm going to wake up Hood and tell him to go find an actual bed to sleep in," he announced over the comms. They all dosed off pretty often, considering their schedule. Tim went to shake Jason's shoulder, but stopped short. Something was off about his silhouette. It took him a moment to realize that Jason's chest was not rising and falling.

He narrowed his eyes and pressed two fingers to Jason's neck.

Nothing.

Panic hit him like a tidal wave. "He's dead."

"What?" Multiple people shouted in Tim's ear.

His knees hit the roof as he looked for an injury. He wrestled Jason down onto his back. "Starting compressions now."

He pumps and pumps. He breathes into Jason's mouth, forcing oxygen into him. He feels Jason's ribs start to complain, but he doesn't slow down. He's sweating and it's mixing with the tears flowing out of his domino mask. One of Jason's ribs breaks, and he can feel it give way.

His heart doesn't restart.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Jason wakes up to pain in his left side. A lot of pain. Instinctively, he reaches toward it. Someone catches his wrist, and Jason opens his eyes.

It's Tim. Tim's other hand is on his chest, frozen mid-compression. The kid's domino mask is falling off, as they typically do when too many tears wear off the adhesive.

Dick is kneeling by Tim. There's a broken, breathy noise clawing its way up his throat. It sounds like he would be screaming if he could stop gasping for just a second long enough to get air. His mask is off too. His eyes are reddened, with tears falling down his cheeks. Damian's hand is on Dick's shoulder. The youngest bird is purposefully looking away, hiding his face with his hood.

Bruce is standing nearby. His face is the color of a sheet and there's tears freely flowing from under the cowl. Cassandra seems to helping him stay standing, but she isn't even looking at Jason. She's staring into the distance, eyes glassy.

"What happened?" He manages to stutter out.

All of their miscellaneous noises seem to halt. Tim let's go of Jason's wrist and checks for a pulse in his neck.

"Your... your heart isn't beating," he says, fumbling over the words.

It all clicks into place. "It stops sometimes," he admits, "it'll start again in a few minutes"

"What?" Dick chokes out.

Jason tries to sit up, but the burning pain in his side keeps him on his back. "It happens when I fall asleep sometimes."

"And you didn't think to let us know?" Damian demands, now looking at him. The kid looks angry, but his eyes had tears in them too.

"I kind of forgot about it."

Tim is staring at him, jaw dropped. Dick is staring too, wiping at his own eyes.

"I think I broke your rib," Tim admits.

"Yeah," he groans, "yeah, I can feel that Timmy. You want an award?"

Tim doesn't protest the name this time.

A large hand comes down on Tim's shoulder. He moves out of Bruce's way.

He kneels down and Jason swears that Bruce is the one that looks like a corpse.

The color is slowly returning to his face, but there are streaks where tears were still falling. He's shaking, visibly shaking, as he reaches for Jason.

An armored hand cups his cheek. Bruce's thumb runs along his cheekbone.

"Let's..." Bruce begins but the words seen to fail him. Slowly he leans down and presses a kiss to Jason's head.

Jason wonders if he did die again. Bruce had only ever kissed his head one other time. If hugging the bat was rare, getting kisses was practically a myth.

"Let's get you home," he whispers, his thumb still running back and forth across Jason's face.

Jason is going to pretend that he doesn't feel his heart start again when he hears that sentence.

"Okay."

Getting someone with a broken rib into a car, even the batmobile, is difficult. Tim is helping Bruce, because Dick still looks as though he's going to throw up. He's gone quiet, and is holding Damian like the kid is a teddy bear. Jason wonders if he imagines Damian tolerating it, and telling Dick that it's okay?

Cassandra can barely look at him. Her eyes are haunted by something she doesn't seem to want to say. Her breathing is heavy. Similarly, Tim keeps looking away from him, like he thinks if he stares Jason will disappear. Bruce, however, is staring at him.

He's back at the cave soon. The painkillers help. He closes his eyes on the medical cot. Bruce's calloused thumb is running back and forth over the hand he's holding. Someone puts a soft blanket over him, and when he cracks his eyes open, Dick is tucking the blanket around his shoulders.

"Go to sleep, Jason," Bruce says at some point. His voice is quiet. It's gentle, "I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

Prompt:

After Jason’s resurrection he finds that his body works… wrong somehow.

Some days he forgets to breathe until he wants to say something and finds there’s no air in lungs. Other days his body goes eerily cold until someone points out that his lips are blue and he needs to warm up.

And some days his heart stops beating in his sleeps.

It’s fine, really. It always starts again eventually a short while after he wakes up. And yeah, of course it was a bit scary the first couple times it happened but it’s not like his resurrection and Pit-dip came with an instruction manual, so this is probably pretty normal stuff, all things considered. He is kind of the definition of “undead”.

The real trouble starts when he forgets to mention those little details to the Batfamily when he stays over for the night.

[ghostboyhaunted]

ask game, i'm a match shes kerosine and the life after youth one

characters meeting the first time for each fic. because themes are fun :D

That's when the fight breaks out. Or – Bart thinks a fight breaks out. There's yelling and a bit of cursing. A punch gets thrown –  someone is grabbing Bart by the shirt and pulling him up on his feet. He can’t get a good look at the guy until they stop moving, positioned a little ways away from the mosh pit and, for fucks sake, even father away from Tim. 

“Shit, man, your jackets soaked” He shouts over the music, pointing at the large wet spot on the back of Bart’s jean jacket. Bart pulls it off and a new jacket is being shoved in his hands “Here!” the guy says, grinning, holding out his own leather jacket, decorated with patches and spiked shoulders. 

Bart hesitates. The guy just smiles, pushes it at him again “You can borrow it!” 

There's shouting, someone waving in the crowd, and the stranger looks away. He bounces on his feet, all jittery with excitement “I gotta go!”

“Wait–!” Bart shouts, waving at him “How can I return it?” He asks, holding up the jacket a little. The guy grins, cheshire cat wide, red lipstick still slightly smeared on his front tooth “You’ll see me!” He yells before disappearing into the crowd.

___

He looks around. Its dark in this particular neighborhood, with all the old residents having gone to sleep early in the night. The rain doesn’t help much – thick, heavyset clouds drifting by the skyline, weeping poison onto the world. 

Then theres a blur – bright blue and laughing – swinging by him. A grapple gun’s click whrrr click echoes through the air, and Tim follows in an instant. A race takes off. 

Nightwing lands on one gargoyle; Tim lands on one behind him. Dick takes off, and Tim does too. They used to do this –chase, or tag, or whatever– when Tim was training. Its been so long, Tim practically gets lost in the joy of it. That's how he gets taken down. 

He loses Dick for a second mid swing – and something slams into him, sending him flying, crashing onto a rooftop. He rolls as he lands, back hitting a crumbling wall, coughing. 

Someone stands above him, their chest heaving with effort, eyes sharp and angry, hands trembling. 

Tim looks up at him and frowns. He can feel the gash taken out of his face before he even notices it, because it hurts when he talks “Dick, what the hell?”

Nightwing freezes and takes a step back. “How do you know my name?”

[vatt-world]

Focus/Depth of Field Pg 172 To make some things in focus and rest of background fuzzy. Depth of field yields selective focus. Every lens has a specific depth of field: a range of distances within which objects can be photographed in sharp focus, given a certain exposure setting.

Camera Position Pg 187 Where the camera is placed to setup a close up ,medium, long shot, two shot etc .

Camera Position involves -Angle, Level, Height, and Distance of Framing. Angle The frame positions us at some angle on the subject. Distance The framing of the image stations us relatively close to the subject or farther away. This aspect of framing is usually called camera distance.

Moving Camera/Mobile Frame- Pg 195 The Panning /tilting/moving of the camera.

mobile framing allows the filmmaker to change the camera angle, level, height, or distance during the shot

Duration of the image - Pg 209 Duration of the Image: The amount of time a frame/shot is on the screen,example The Long Take.

Scene 1 This is the scene between Riggan and his daughter when he realizes she is smoking pot.

This scene begins with Riggan returning theatre, He passes by a room where his daughter was he realizes that she was smoking pot which leads to a heated conversation between them

At the beginning of this scene, a Steadicam shot was used as we following Riggan. we almost feel like its a continuous shot, which helps the audience to feel more present with them.

There is one shot in the beginning of the scene where Riggan stood outside the door and spoke to Sam before entering, this shot was framed such that the audiences looked at Sam over the shoulders of Riggan. This generates a feeling where the audiences were separate from Riggan and peeping over his shoulders to look at Sam as he does so. It created a feeling of curiosity and what's about to happen next, And then there was a whip pan when the camera transitions from Riggan to a close up on Sam.

It felt as though the camera was a third person in the room, turning his head from Riggan to Sam consecutively as they took turns to respond to each other.

As it feels like one shot with no obvious cuts, we feel like we are present with them. The switch in point of views using pans was important to get a more complete sense of what was happening and the emotions of the characters. The depth of field (with backgrounds blurry) , camera framing to medium shots and continuous long take engages the audience in the argument in a deeper manner.

Scene 2 This is the scene where Riggan awakens on small staircase in front of building after a drunken night out.

The scene starts out with a short time-lapse accompanied with non-diegetic score, showing us the time that has passed. As the time-lapse passes the camera moves down in one fast movement to reveal sleeping Riggan Thomson at the staircase.

As he gets up and starts walking down the sidewalk his inner voice is talking to him. The camera appears to move with him, making his head the main focus with the close up follow shoot as he is walking . We see medium depth of field as the background is blurry but just enough for us to both focus on Riggan and see some of the background.

As the Birdman (Riggan alter ego) continues to talk ,the camera now moves away into a mid shoot showing both Riggan and the imaginary Birdman character behind him walking along.

When Riggan snaps his fingers and camera moves fast to the left into medium long shoot to show a rocket blowing up a parked car across the street and then we see People are shouting and one of them says “Oh my god there’s somebody up there!”.

As the camera climbs up the building we see Riggan standing there on the edge of the rooftop. He has seemingly gave himself super powers and starts flying.

The camera movements , the camera shots and duration of the frame give context to the mental state of the protagonist.

Scene 3 Birdman Ending scene

It is hard to say exactly when this scene starts because of the fact that the whole movie is shot in the illusion of one continuous long take. Let’s say it starts right when Riggan’s ex-wife leaves his room and Riggan begins to get ready for the final scene.

He puts on his wig, starts doing vocal warm ups, and to the viewers surprise grabs a real gun, All while he is preparing for his final , the camera is floating around him tracking his movements.

After Riggan has cocked the gun he raises his arm to point to the door. The camera turns to where he is pointing and starts to move separately from Riggan.

As the camera begins to move out the door and through the hallway,as the camera moves along with the drums it adds a sense of anxiety of what is about to happen. After a while camera angle changes and we see Riggan walks in front of the camera and then Riggan enters the stage with gun in his hand.

The camera movement, tracking shots, duration of the shots helps us understand the journey of crisis and transformation in which aging actor questions the true worth of