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writersblockedx · 10 months ago

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A Rekindled Kind of Love

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer and Y/n hadn't talked since the Summer before college and then he sees her name as the only survivor in their latest serial killer case. Warning - violence, drinking Words - 3.6K

A/n - It's be a while! I've had a surge of inspiration lately since becoming a little obsessed with character ai lol and thought to write this one into a little one-shot.

masterlist

Spencer was lying if he ever called any day at the BAU normal. Between serial killers, sadists, and everything else in between, the boy had a blurred definition of normal. So, he expected anything - or so he thought. When he entered the meeting room that morning, he hadn't expected the name of Y/N Y/L/N to pop up.

"We've got three victims and, weirdly, one survivor." Garcia started to explain, clicking through the victim's dead bodies, the woman squirming at just a glance of the photos. "Whoever this sicko is, he's going after journalists. His latest victim, Y/n Y/l/n, was actually able to get away before he had a chance to kill her."

Spencer stopped. His gaze snapped up as Garcia clicked once more and he caught sight of the girl he once knew. Only now was she older, and her expression was stern. The unsub had left her features tainted, early bruises and several cuts littering over her. "She's pretty distraught says doctors, but she's alive and well."

He couldn't stop staring at her, memories of high school, of that last summer, of their blissfully ignorant friendship fueling his feelings. This was not normal. None of what he felt was normal - not for him away. "He stabs them?" Emily observed, all of the team had yet to clock onto the haze Spencer had suddenly found himself in.

Garcia hummed, "Yep, as many times as it takes before they...you know...die."

"He's aggressive, he's got no remorse for these victims," JJ spoke, glancing between her file at the screen in front of her.

"Not only are they all journalists, but they're female journalists too." Rossi added. "There's got to be some reason for that too."

Hotch nodded, "Either way, we should take Y/n into our care. She's the first to get away, I doubt he's happy about that-"

The shaggy-haired boy couldn't seem to take it. The way Y/n had gotten herself mixed in like she was any other victim, like she wasn't once the most important person in Spencer's life. "Excuse me," The boy stood abruptly, not giving any reasoning to the team before he practically ran out, gasping for breath.

The team were left with nothing. Their expressions moulding into ones of confusion, and puzzlement, "What's up with him?" Morgan was the first to question. But it was only met with the same uncertain expressions and a shrug from Hotch.

Morgan took it upon himself to stand, following Spencer out into the adjacent hallway where Spencer was panic pacing. A hand swooped through his hair as his thoughts raced. "Hey, kid, slow down," Morgan soothed. He hadn't realised the arrival of Derek until he spoke. Spencer turned, swallowing the lump which had since grown in his throat. "The hells going on with you?"

He took a breath. He evened his lungs and took a moment before confiding, "I- erm- I know her, Y/n Y/l/n, the survivor." He explained and that was enough for Morgan to understand. "Well, I suppose I knew her, we lost contact when we went to college, but we had been friends."

Morgan gazed back into the meeting room, "Reid, it's okay. She's okay, you know? She survived."

His head shook, "It doesn't matter. You heard Hotch, she's still a target." She wasn't safe and that fact was only nagging at Spencer.

"Alright, alright, how about I talk to Hotch? We'll go to the hospital, you make sure she's okay yourself?" Reid had barely agreed before Morgan walked back into that meeting room.

Of course, he wanted to make sure she was okay. But that also meant seeing her, after all these years. Spencer didn't know what had changed - if anything had. And he didn't know which option was scarier. Either way, he soon found himself at the hospital, waiting at the reception desk as a doctor went to find her.

His feet were tapping, his nerves obvious to Morgan. "Reid, calm down, she's gonna be alright," He said, but no words from Morgan or a doctor was going to help. He needed to see her.

"It's not just that I'm worried about." What if everything had changed? What if nothing had? What if-

He turned and found his eyes on her. She still had that same look. That same smile, the same soft gaze, the same ease about her that Spencer craved. But this was the very moment he feared.

She wandered up to him, quickening her pace as much as she was able to considering her state. "Spencer," She said his name like a sigh of relief. Before he realised it, her arms were wrapped around his neck, melting into his touch as if no time had passed.

"Hi," He breathed into her ear; she was safe. The hug didn't last long enough. How could it? They had 12 years of missed hugs.

"I can't believe you're here, the doctor said a profiler and then said it was Doctor Reid and I-" She trailed on, "I don't know why I was so surprised. Of course, you made it big."

Spencer shrugged, "I wouldn't call this big." The boy became sheepish, almost flushed and Derek Morgan had certainly taken notice. "I'm sorry I stopped calling and I should have-"

"Oh, Spence, save it," She chuckled lightly, "I could have picked up that phone just as well as you had. I just wish we could have met under different circumstances."

He nodded, "Yeah, well about that," Spencer turned to bring Derek into the conversation, "This is Agent Morgan, he's erm gonna help."

Morgan sent his usual cheeky smirk as he did with any pretty lady, "It's good to meet you, sweetheart. Glad to hear you're feeling better too."

Spencer hadn't expected anything less from the man. "Look, I don't know if the doctor explained it to you, but we're under the belief that this unsub may still be targeting you."

"Unsub?" She reiterated.

"The killer that went after you." Morgan answered, "Unknown subject, unsub for short."

"We erm- we have to take you in, make sure you're safe kind of thing," Spencer explained, fidgeting with his fingers as she glanced between them and the girl in front of her.

Her pupils grew worrisome, "You think I'm still in danger?"

Spencer hated that word. Even the thought of Y/n in danger made his spine shiver. "You're the first to get away, we erm- we don't think he'll be very happy about it. He could lash out, many unsubs, new unsubs especially, a victim getting away could be like a double stressor, he could be on a rampage, he could be doing nothing but think about getting to you." He realised he was rambling and his words were only worrying the girl more, "Sorry, I just, I want to make sure you're safe."

But Y/n understood, "It's alright, Spence. I'll go grab my things."

With that, a rush filled the girl as she turned her back on the two agents, wandering back into the hospital room she had come from. Spencer's eyes hadn't left from where her figure was once standing. This was personal for him - even if he hadn't seen the girl for years now. "She's not just someone from high school, is she?" Morgan realised as he observed Spencer.

He turned to him as if he had just left the trail of thoughts in his mind, "Hm?" He turned back to look at Morgan.

His response had only made Morgan smile, "Y/n, she seems more to you than that."

"It was..." The boy thought back to it, to that Summer, he didn't know how else to describe it, what they had, her. "Complicated."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

12 Years Prior, Las Vegas

Y/n always had something Spener didn't: Popularity. Well, in a way. Spencer was cast away from many of his peers. A social reject. While, Y/n was a social butterfly of sorts. She took to a crowd with ease. The type of girl that could make friends with anyone.

The boy had certainly hit the jackpot when he was assigned to tutor her. Over the course of several sessions, they had bonded over literature, future college plans and, surprisingly, Y/n's distaste to certain 'jocks' - as the social hierarchy liked to describe them as.

She was the only reason Spencer turned up to the end of year house party. Crowds weren't his thing, drinking neither. But she...she was worth it.

"Spencer!" The girl gleamed as he wandered into the house.

He didn't belong at all. His shoulders were stiff, his glasses at the edge of his nose. But, despite such, Y/n still took him into a longing hug. "H- Hi." He greeted, his eyes flickering all over the place. From the demolished kitchen to the living room where drunken teens were dancing on top of couches and coffee tables.

Her brow raised, "Come on, we'll get you a drink." Her hand slipped into his, bringing the boy back to his attention: her. "You do drink right?" She checked as she guided him towards said demolished kitchen.

"Erm, not a heavy drinker but, sure I can have one."

"You sure?" She spoke ever so softly, "You know you don't have to."

"Just one." He offered her a smile.

She grasped a few bottles: vodka, rum, tequila. "Pick your poison."

Spencer had simply shrugged, a chuckle at the tip of his tongue, "I'll have whatever you're having."

"Rum it is!"

She poured the two the same drink - almost half liquor, half mixer. Spencer coughed when he swallowed, causing the girl to giggle, "Too much?"

But Spencer simply shook his head, "Just perfect," He almost joked as he leaned onto the kitchen counter next to the girl, "I almost didn't come," He admitted.

"I don't blame you," He gazed down at her answer, his expression urging her to add some context. "Ashley James puked up after two drinks, Kacy and Liam broke up, now Liam's making out with Polly. It's just...a mess." Her eyes rolled. "But then again, what was I expecting?"

Spencer smiled at her. She was good at knowing like everything. While he was filled with facts and statistics, Y/n knew everything about everyone. Within one look, she knew your secrets. Maybe that's why she was so good with people. "We can go somewhere else if you want?" He suggested.

His question brought along an idea for the girl. With her free hand, she took Spencer's and led him out into the back garden. Whoever lived here was almost rich. Well, rich enough for a pool and a pretty big outdoor area. "Come on," Y/n urged him as she pulled the boy towards the edge of the pool.

She slipped her shoes off, sitting down and letting her legs dangle into the fresh water. Spencer watched her for a moment before joining her, the two sipping on their drinks. "Better?" She asked him.

He nodded, "Much."

"At least we've got Summer now, no more being forced to see them assholes." She joked.

Spencer's brows narrowed in thought, "You mean the assholes that you were friends with until you met me?"

"Well you got me there, Spence." She shrugged, "Social survival, that's what I call it. It's not as if there won't be similar people in college. I mean, fucking sororities, semi-pro football leagues, frats?"

"I'm sure you'll fit in amazingly at Princeton." His smile seemed to falter at his own words.

She gazed at the boy who seemed captivated by the slowly swaying water below them, "We'll still call you know, text, just cause we're in different places, doesn't mean anything, Spencer." Y/n attempted to comfort him.

"That's what everyone says but, I don't know." He shook his head, ignoring a thought.

But she noticed it; she noticed everything, "But what?"

He huffed and stared over at her, his eyes pooling in admiration. "You're one of the best things to have happened to me in a long time you know," He offered her a smile, "I couldn't even imagine losing you."

The girl bit her lip. Something was on her mind and Spencer had noticed. He too noticed everything about her. But he didn't ask. Partly, because he didn't have the chance to. Her eyes flickered to his lips. Then to his eyes. And before Spencer could realise, she had leant in, her lips at his. Without even realising, she had changed everything for the boy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Spencer accompanied the woman towards a private, interview room. He would offer support and comfort but at the same time, he had a job to do. A part of that was questioning. She was the only person to know this unsub. As difficult as it would be for her, he would have to ask them questions.

"Hey," Emily spoke as he entered the room, two coffees in hand: one for Spencer and one for Y/n. "Coffee orders are here," She smiled as she placed them at the table between the two. "I'm Emily, Reid says you're an old friend."

Her eyes flickered to the man before she shook Emily's hand, "Something like that yeah."

"Well, we're here if you need anything, alright?" She said, "You're in good hands here, especially with our Doctor Reid."

With that, Emily left to join the rest of the team who were busy compiling a profile. Which left her and Spencer. This was the part he wasn't looking forward to. "I've erm, I've got to ask you some questions, it'll help us understand this unsub, help us find him." He explained. When she nodded, the boy continued, "I'm going to ask you to close your eyes, alright? And then I'm just going to go through the night you were attacked. Is that okay?"

She swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat, "Yeah," She muttered.

Y/n followed the instructions and let her eyelids close before Spencer started the exercise, "Okay, just go back to that night. You were on 9th Street, correct?"

"Yes."

"It was getting late, but it was summer, think about the air, was it still warm? What sort of things could hear, anything?"

She thought back to it. Y/n had just finished her work week, she was walking home from the Subway. "There's a group of girls on the other side of the road, they're giggling. Drunk, I assume."

"That's good, that's really good." Spencer praised, "Then when did you realise something was off?"

Her brows furrowed and she thought about it, the pit in her stomach growing, "Someone- someone was yelling. A man. I thought he was like bible bashing so I wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying."

"Think." Spencer jumped in, "Listen to him, pick any words, any phrases that stick out to you."

And she did so. Her mind ran through the memory, "Something, something about an agenda, the- the snowflake agenda? It's ruining America it's-" She cut herself off as the memory reached the worst part. "That's when he grabbed me." Her voice quickened, her breaths soon becoming uneven. "He had a knife to my neck- he pulled me to an ally. I- Spencer."

Her hand reached out over the table instinctively, "It's okay," He too had become panicked just seeing her's. "I'm here, it's over, you can open your eyes."

When she finally did, she took one breath. A sigh of relief that she was okay. And then, a single tear dropped from her eyeline. Spencer couldn't take it. He stood and she followed suit, "Come here," He spoke before taking her into a tight hug. "You're safe, I promise."

She pulled away just slightly but never dared to break touch, "The only reason I got away was because I had pepper spray in my bag," She explained.

Spencer thought on that and then an idea came to mind. "Come with me," The boy took a hold of her hand, guiding the girl through the bullpen towards the meeting room where the rest of the team had been.

The round table was scattered with files and papers. Garcia typed away at her laptop while the rest were debriefing. At the entrance of the pair, they glanced up.

Before they could ask any questions, Spencer started rambling, never daring to let go of Y/n's hand. "The unsub was protesting on the street, he's some kind of right-wing enthusiast. He was going on about the left-wing 'agenda', about how it's ruining America." He explained. "Not only that, but Y/n used pepper spray on him."

Like that, they had something, "He would have had to go to the hospital?" JJ thought.

"Or at least bought some kind of medical supplies."

"Yeah, saline wipes or there's a nasal spray that helps the pain." Spencer went on to explain.

From there, Hotch turned to Garcia, "Cross check avid right-wing protesters in the D.C. areas, men with low criminal offences, things like hate crime. Then look at anyone whose been admitted for treatment of pepper spray or has bought any medical supplies to treat it."

Like that, the aggressive typing ensued. The team were all waiting, Y/n still at Spencer's side, anxious for the name of her attacker to be revealed. "I've got it, Tony Jones."

When Hotch stood from his chair, the rest of the team started to follow. "Send us the address, Garcia."

"Already done it, Sir."

Each of the team members stood, one by one walking passed Y/n. That was apart from Garcia who was still glued to her laptop, sending the address to the rest of the team. Spencer was about to turn when Y/n reached for the boy's hand once again. Her eyes filled with nothing but worry. "Do you have to go?"

Her question had made his heart ache. His eyes flickered to Garcia who was already glancing at the two, "I- I probably should but, but Garcia will stay with you." He offered.

Y/n looked back at the extravagant woman who was smiling, "Of course, I've got loads of things I can show you in my office!" She gleamed.

Y/n returned the smile before turning back to Spencer, "You'll be careful, right?"

The boy nodded, "Of course," He replied before taking her in his arms once again. But this time, when he pulled away ever so slightly, it was to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

And like that, a soft smile, a goodbye, was passed between the two before Spencer turned away to join the rest of the team. She stared out the door of the conference room until Spencer slipped away. From there, she turned, a weak smile given to Garcia as she came to join her at the round table.

The other woman had watched the interaction and, while she wasn't a profiler, she wasn't oblivious to the world of loving. "He really cares about you, doesn't he?" She asked. Though, Garcia already knew the answer.

"I care about him just as much," Even after all this time, a piece of her heart still belonged to Spencer Reid - it always would.

"You're not just an old friend, are you?"

Y/n swallowed, glimmers of that high school Summer filling her brain. "It was, complicated." She described. "We erm, only really had a Summer as..." How could she describe it? "More than friends, I guess. And then we were both shipped off to college. And I mean, we lost contact. As a lot of people do." And 12 years later here she was.

Garcia offered her a smile, "You still love him, don't you?"

The girl giggled but gave a nod, "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Well, if my time with Doctor Reid has taught me anything, the way he is with you, I mean it's like no other." Her hand brushed at her shoulder gently, "I don't think your feeling is one-sided."

That would stick in her head for the next hour. While Spencer and the rest of the team were arresting Tony Jones, Garcia was giving the girl a tour of her office. Everything wonderful and weird. And while she tried her best to pay attention, her mind kept being dragged over to Spencer. If he was safe, if he was coming back...if, once again, everything had changed.

She knew one thing: she would make sure they didn't lose contact this time around.

When the boy finally returned, he practically rushed through the BAU to find her. She was at Garcia's side as they exited her office, "Y/n," He called.

The girl's head snapped to him, her pace quickening as she came to reach him, "Did you?"

He nodded, "He's at the station, don't worry." He assured.

"Oh, good, yeah," She spoke before a sigh fell from her lips. "So, I mean, what happens now? Do I just go home?" The idea of such, while stupid to think so, was almost disappointing. Going home meant she wasn't in Spencer's company any longer. And that wasn't something she wasn't to lose just yet.

But Spencer's reaction was a similar one, "I can walk you home, if you want of course."

Her smile grew, "I'd like that."

"I'll just erm," He gestured to his FBI vest, "I'll only be a second."

And so she watched him leave for barely a minute, coming back in his shirt. He took her hand, led her into the lift and pressed for the ground floor. A moment of silence. A moment of thought. One of which was urgring Y/n on.

She glanced over at the boy, "You know I always think everything happens for a reason." Her nerves suddenly flooded her body as she realised what she was about to admit, "And as much as getting jumped was not fun, I'm glad it brought me back to you, Spencer."

Y/n turned to face him, barely any space between them, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Spence."

With that, Y/n made the leap. She closed that gap, their lips meeting every so soft, ever so longing. Like they had both been waiting for this moment for 12 years. And when they pulled away, her hands cupping his face and his placed at her waist, it was like they were 18 again. "Promise we'll keep in contact now?" He almost joked.

And she chuckled, "Promise."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds one shot #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #x reader #fanfic #imagine #oneshot

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wandering-pirate · 3 months ago

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Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

The Crew has a Crush~

You, it's 🫵🏻

Captain Curly

You walk into the control room, and Curly’s full-on beefing with the ship’s voice assistant

Turns out, he programmed it to be more “human” for fun... welp, the AI's definitely having fun roasting the captain

“I’m the captain! You’re supposed to obey me!”

“Obey? Sir, you can’t even obey a map.”

You're struggling to keep it all together because Curly’s already TOMATO RED from embarrassment (and maybe from the fact that you’re watching)

He tries to play it cool, though

“This is just a glitch. Totally fixable.”

“Yes sir, I'm fixable. What’s not is your love life, tho.”

The crew knows he’s into you, and now even a literal system algorithm's joining in on the teasing

The man's not even surprise when the voice assistance turned a 180° on you and treated you like a queen... he ain't complaining tho

Nurse Anya

You came to the med bay for a papercut

You’re expecting, like, a band-aid or maybe some ointment, but what you got was a full medical intervention

“This could get infected. Let’s disinfect, bandage, and monitor it. For safety.”

“…It’s just a papercut.”

She keeps pulling out stuff from the cabinet:

Medical tape, okay so far

Gauze... a bit...much

Wait, is that... surgical gloves?

You’d think you crawled in with a gunshot wound

When she actually started treating your cut, she goes on a call mute, like she’s concentrating way too hard and you can't reach her

You catch her sneaking glances at you...cute

But what makes it more diabetically adorable is with both your slight accidental touches

She’s immediately short-circuiting, mumbling “sorry, does it hurt? wait, why would it hurt?? oh my gos--”

Girl is fighting for her life over brushing your sleeve while she's fully holding your hand with both hands

Meanwhile, Swansea’s strolling past the med bay, just shaking his head like, “Anya, just tell ‘em you like ‘em already."

Co-pilot Jimmy

You’re helping Jimmy with a minor maintenance task (he totally didn’t ask for your help; you just “showed up,” okay?)

He’s being his usual smug self, but you know he’s flustered because he keeps snapping at you for no reason

“Don’t touch that, you’ll mess it up."

“I literally haven’t even touched anything yet.”

“Well, don’t think about touching it either!”

He’s trying to show off and “teach” you, but keeps fumbling because you’re watching him too closely

The crew’s already onto him. Curly literally walked past once and muttered, “Subtle, Jimmy. Real subtle.”

“SHUT UP, CURLY.”

“…Do you want me to leave?”

“No! I mean--just stay over there. Quietly.”

He’s the human equivalent of a malfunctioning toaster, and it’s both annoying and adorable

Mechanic Swansea (Gruff Dad Energy™)

You pranked Swansea by hiding his tools, thinking he’ll just scowl and grumble like usual...huge, BIG mistake

This man plays chess while you’re playing checkers

The next day, everything you own is missing: Shoes? Gone

Favorite mug? Gone

Your bunk? Covered in engine parts

Swansea doesn’t even deny it, just smirks and chuckles, “Don’t start wars you can’t win, kid.”

But here’s the thing: later, you find your stuff neatly returned with a plate of snacks he definitely didn’t make (he asked Curly "what young'ins like these days" and got a canned latte from the vending machine)

He never forgets to remind you that he doesn't care... sure, Swans, the dad energy definitely NOT palpable

Daisuke (Your #1 Fanboy)

Daisuke decides to “help” you cook one day

By “help,” I mean he’s hyping you up like you’re Gordon Ramsey while also lowkey getting in your way

“Y/N, you’re amazing. Look at how you chop those veggies, Bob Ross for foodies. You should open a restauran- no, actually, you should open a chain.”

“...Dai, the stove's literally barbecuing your shirt."

He panics, trips over his own feet and in one catastrophic motion, takes down a pot of soup, a chair, and somehow a shelf that wasn’t even near him

The room is wrecked. But before anyone can process, he just shoots up from the floor, finger guns and grins “DON’T WORRY. THE SOUP'S FINE.”

At this point, you don’t even question when this whole fanclub started. Probably cause you're the only one slipping him some sweets every once in a while (you're aware of the man's sugar addiction)

Having a personal hype man is great, even if he’s one accident away from taking down the whole ship

The whole crew's in pure chaos. What have you done to them??

Jimmy’s crush is LOUD, flustered, dramatic and side-eyeing Curly and Anya when they're standing within a foot of your proximity

Curly’s out here showing his 'captain privileges', but one compliment and he’s short-circuiting, probably off to “check the crew” (aka scream into the void)

Anya? Combusting at the slightest thank-you for the snacks and meds and also avoiding eye contact like it’s a sport

And Daisuke? Man’s your 24/7 cheerleader, yelling “YOU’RE AMAZING!” at 6 AM while trailing you like a puppy. The rest of the crew’s this close to losing it ’cause he’s stealing their thunder

Everything's unfolding while both you and Swansea watch side by side

The man sighed and muttered something under his breath. He’s got the tiniest smirk, though

“Yeah, these idiots are on you now.”

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nanasrkives · 3 days ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "IWAIZUMI HAJIME VS. WEDDING" — iwaizumi hajime

a/n : sorry for being inactive!! finally found motivation to write for haikyuu content : post timeskip. iwa crashing out. pre wedding. he’s so in love. seijoh 4. fluff. crack.

Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t spiral.

He doesn’t pace. Doesn’t panic. Doesn’t start talking just to fill space. He’s the one people lean on. The level-headed one during a crisis.

Which is exactly why the Seijoh 4 are now watching him like he’s a science experiment gone wrong. The groom’s waiting room is too quiet. Tense. The kind of quiet that happens before someone snaps.

Oikawa, back from Argentina just for the wedding, sips sparkling water with the smugness of someone who saw this coming. Matsukawa is filming. Hanamaki looks both entertained and slightly afraid.

And our dear Iwaizumi paces. Mutters something to himself. Then—without warning—drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups in his suit.

Everyone stares.

"Everybody stay calm, he’s spiraling,” Matsukawa says.

“He doesn’t spiral,” Hanamaki replies, blinking. “I’ve never seen him spiral. This feels illegal.”

“I once saw Iwa-chan roll his ankle and tell me to breathe,” Oikawa says, horrified. “This is terrifying.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Iwaizumi mutters, chest nearly kissing the floor. “I’m keeping my heart rate in check.”

Push-up. Push-up. Push-up

“I’m grounding myself. This is tactical. I am not emotionally compromised.”

Push-up.

“She’s gonna look like a goddess and I’m gonna forget how to breathe.”

“What was that?” Oikawa asks.

“I said I’m fine, Shittykawa.” Oikawa blinks. “You haven’t called me that since we were 18. Oh god, he’s malfunctioning.”

Iwaizumi keeps going. “She’s gonna smile. At me. In front of everyone. And I’m gonna cry. I know I’m gonna cry. I can already feel it. It’s sitting right here—” he gestures to his throat, “like a threat.”

He stops and lays flat on the floor. The silence is deafening. “I’ve never seen him like this,” Hanamaki whispers.

“He cried when she said yes, didn’t he?” Matsukawa murmurs. “This is stage two.”

“I didn’t cry,” Iwaizumi says flatly. “I teared up. Briefly.”

“You FaceTimed me,” Oikawa adds. “There were tissues involved.”

“I was sick.”

”You were sniffling,” Oikawa corrects.

“It was February.”

Iwaizumi sits up slowly. “She’s gonna be in a dress. With her hair done. And makeup. She’s gonna walk toward me like she means it and I’m gonna stand there looking like I forgot how knees work. And then I’ll cry. And then she’ll cry. And I’ll ruin everything.”

Oikawa kneels and hands him a water bottle like it’s an offering to a storm god. “You’re in love. That’s not ruining anything.”

“I’m so in love,” Iwaizumi whispers, like a confession. “It’s making me physically ill.”

Hanamaki just nods. “That tracks. We’ve been waiting years for your emotional constipation to catch up.”

“Push-ups aren’t fixing it,” Matsukawa adds. “Try burpees.”

“I will throw up on your shoes.”

There was a knock on the door: “Five minutes.”

Iwaizumi stands. Adjusts his suit. Rolls his shoulders like he’s heading into combat. “I’m marrying my girl. My terrifying, gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He turns to them, solemn.

“If I cry—don’t say anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hanamaki says.

“If I pass out—don’t catch me.”

“You’re gonna cry in, like, thirty seconds,” Matsukawa grins. “But you’re gonna look shredded in the photos.”

“I better.”

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @honeycrispappletree @itsmeaudrieee

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sergeantjessi · 3 months ago

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This also applies to sergeant btw which i think is a hilarious combo

i love going by jester, it has brought joy & whimsy in my life. and i love that it's just a noun. that people use. bc every time someone is talking about jesters i'm sitting here like "hehe they don't know that i'm also jester. :)" IT'S SO SILLY. BEST DECISION OF MY LIFE

#me? looking up in panic bc i didnt pay attention to the vod so when doug's general ai popped up-#- and said his classic ''sergeant'' it caught me off guard? it's more likely than you think!#(especially bc he started with ''sergeant j-'' so i was even more tuned it lmaaooo)#i love that sergeant & jester make me react to the most random things bc those are names i go by & therefore naturally get my attention #own #the sergeant speaks

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fangswbenefits · 2 years ago

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Another Chance

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You go into labour and all you know is that you need Miguel more than ever.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Mentions of childbirth. Dad Miguel. Comfort. Fluff. Happy father’s day to the best of the best!

“I'M GONNA KILL MIGUEL O’HARA!”

Usually, that sort of threat would send everyone that was standing around you into an uproar. But given the extremely specific set of circumstances, they merely exchanged understanding glances, returning their attention to the task at hand.

“Jess… I’m going to kill him.”

The pain of the contractions felt too unbearable and gritting out empty threats was the only relief you could find right now.

“You have my blessing,” she nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But for now, we need to deliver the baby."

It was too early. This wasn't supposed to happen right now... not like this.

A spider-nurse approached you with a fetal heart monitor to strap around your belly. Your already accelarated heart nearly imploded at the sight, fearing what the machine might reveal.

"Jess... I can't do this..." your voice broke.

Where is he...

Where is Miguel?

Your friend glared at you with kind eyes, swipping a piece of cloth along your sweat-drenched forehead. "You can and you will."

As another contraction tore through your body, you barely managed to grab the railings of your bed with a huff of pain. The spider-nurse was done setting the monitor and was now probing your arm for a vein.

"Where is Miguel?" you managed through laboured pants. "Lyla... where is he?"

The AI's hologram appeared from the watch on your wrist, that Jess promptly removed. You gave her a confused look, but it was probably for the better.

"He should be here soon. The anomaly is—" Lyla was cut off immediately by Jess.

The heart monitor was switched on and the room went suddenly eerily too quiet, save for your gasps.

Tense seconds rolled by that felt like excrutiating hours, until the sound of a thudding heart was heard.

"Slightly accelerated heartrate going at 191 beats per minute," spider-doctor informed. "The baby might be in distress."

Panic took over. "Do something! Miguel!"

The team attending you were working relentlessly, but no consolation came. The pain was borderline unbearable and your fear for your child's life.

... and Miguel was not here.

"You need to push," one spider-nurse said.

"Push," Jess urged. "You're doing great," she added with a warm smile.

She kept trying her best to soothe and guide you through the untimely turmoil, but it wasn't until your eyes caught a flash of two sets of claws tearing through the barrier of time and space in the middle of the room that you allowed yourself to slump back into your bed.

A cry of relief broke from deep within you as a fully suited Miguel O'hara emerged through the portal, sprinting to your side. The mask vanished instantly as he framed your face with both hands.

"I'm here."

You started sobbing uncontrollably when he planted a kiss to your forehead.

"Boss, she's fully dilated," spider-doctor spoke. "We really need her to push now."

"Miguel... this wasn't..." you stammered, gritting your teeth as the crescendo of another contraction began. "Where... I—”

He hushed you and anchored you through the pain. "You have to push, okay?"

Compared to a few minutes ago, Miguel's presence was nothing short of absolute comfort. But it wasn't enough the push away the fear that had overtaken you.

Jess was still by your side, whispering encouraging words as the staff worked in between your spread legs. Your vision blurred momentarily and you felt the sudden and overwhelming urge to push.

"This is all your... fault," you seethed at Miguel.

"On that much we can agree," he said softly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that mixed with sweat down your cheeks. "Push."

Blaming him was just a quick way to ease some of the frustration. He wasn't to blame. You had both wanted this.

"I can see the head!" you heard someone announce.

Miguel offered his hand for you to grip as you pushed. "I'll break it," you warned.

"You won't."

"He deserves it," Jess said teasingly.

But Miguel was right. As strong as you were — and the strength that women in labour were capable of mustering — you wouldn't even cause a dent in him. He was strong enough for the both of you.

"What´s taking so long?" his faint voice filled your ears.

"Almost there."

Suddenly, he had cradled your face in his large hands once more, forcing your eyes to fix on his. "You can do this. I'm so proud of you," he said, pecking the tip of your nose.

The air in your lungs was suddenly forced out with a finally throat-ripping grunt.

"It's here!"

You collapsed, feeling Miguel's arm promptly offering support on your back. A screeching sound of distress reverberated through the walls.

"It's a girl," one spider-nurse informed.

Even through your hazy eyes you were able to see Miguel's face, eyes transfixed on the little squirming baby that was being placed on your chest.

She was crying her heart out as someone who has been ripped from all the comfort and security a place could offer.

But now she had you and Miguel.

"She takes after you," you teased with a faint smile. "Already being so dramatic."

He chuckled, eyes permanently glued to the wailing baby. "I'm not dramatic. Just intense."

"Yes. Intensely dramatic.”

Miguel fell silent as he stroked a finger along the back of one soft tiny hand, miniscule fingers wrapping around it reflexively. The cries stopped abruptly.

His face softened and you wondered if he was about to tear up. He had longed for this for such a long time.

"Miguel?" Jessica said, covering your child with a towel.

He seemed too lost in his own thoughts, glaring at his daughter in a way that overwhelmed you. Like it was meant to be.

"I'll be going now," she said, offering you both a warm smile before leaving.

Suddenly, you realised Miguel was inspecting each limb with utmost attention. "What are you doing?"

He cleared his throat, placing a tiny hand on the palm of his. "Oh... uh... just counting how many fingers and toes she has."

"All five?" you offered with a chuckle.

"All five."

"No talons?"

He glared at you as if taken aback, then smiled. "Maybe one day."

"Do you think she'll have your fangs?"

"Oh, I hope not," he said, slowly checking the baby's bare gums. "That would be painful."

You then allowed yourself to take in the sight of your now relaxed daughter that lay on top of you. The wispy beginnings of hair that covered the top of her head were dark. Babies don't tend to resemble either parent when they're born - or so Miguel had once told you - and you couldn't wait to find out.

"What if... she doesn't like me?" he whispered, caressing a puffy cheek.

You almost chuckled, but he was dead serious. "She'll love you."

He leaned to place a kiss to your temple. "Thank you."

"For what?" you asked, feeling your heart bursting with absolute adoration for him.

"For giving me another chance at being a father."

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara drabble #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x oc #spider man x reader

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jyeoulzhu · 1 month ago

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skill issue

summary . y/n, a streamer, gets destroyed in overwatch by karina, a top player. what starts as playful rivalry turns into something more, ending with karina soft-launching their relationship on stream.

pairing . yu jimin (karina) x male reader

note . inspired by someone's work here on tumblr i forgot their user and i can't find it anymore. also a karina oneshot.. so if you know them please tag them 😓🙏

y/n had always been the type to chill at the local comshop with his boys, grinding ranked games and talking shit like it was their second home. it was their routine, their escape from the chaos of school and whatever else life threw at them. but tonight… tonight was different.

the atmosphere was tense as y/n, mingyu, intak, and juyeon locked in their heroes on overwatch. the four of them were known in the comshop—decent players, occasional streamers on twitch, and absolute menaces when it came to voice comms. but this match? this was pure hell.

the opposing widowmaker was untouchable. every peek was met with an instant headshot. every attempt to dive her ended in death. they couldn’t even step out of spawn without getting sniped.

headshot. headshot. headshot.

“who the hell is this guy?” y/n groaned as his character dropped dead for the tenth time.

“nah, bro, this ain’t normal,” mingyu said, visibly stressed.

“i can’t even step out of spawn,” juyeon added.

the chat in their stream was going wild.

—

chat: WHO TF IS KRNXP????

chat: they’re farming y’all like npcs 💀

chat: uninstall, bro

—

y/n leaned into his mic. “yo, if you’re watching this… dm me. i just wanna talk.”

seconds later, the enemy widowmaker hit another headshot.

[krnxp] (widowmaker): stay mad.

y/n stared at his screen, jaw dropped.

“bro. she replied. she fucking replied,” y/n whispered, eyes wide with panic.

mingyu screamed. “SHE??? KRNXP IS A GIRL???”

“wait… no… don’t tell me this is—”

“karina,” juyeon said, dead serious. “top player. undefeated. literal legend.”

y/n sat there in disbelief. he’d been simping for karina for months. and now? he just got farmed by her.

“holy shit… i just got violated by my comfort streamer,” y/n whispered.

mingyu immediately grabbed his phone. “NO WAY. SHE JUST COOKED YOU ON MAIN.”

“nah, you can’t let this slide,” intak said, hyping him up.

“1v1 her,” juyeon added, completely serious.

y/n blinked. “are you guys insane? i’d get smoked.”

“exactly,” juyeon smirked. “get humbled, then bag her.”

—

the 1v1 lobby loaded.

“you nervous?” karina’s voice echoed through the comms, cool and unbothered.

y/n muted his mic and screamed into his hoodie.

“bro, she’s flirting. i’m gonna pass out,” he whispered to his friends.

y/n’s hands were literally trembling on his mouse. this wasn’t just any 1v1. this was karina. the girl who single-handedly destroyed him and had been living rent-free in his head for months.

“you good over there?” karina’s voice echoed through the comms, smooth and low.

y/n choked on air.

“me? yeah. totally fine,” he lied, already spiraling.

the match started.

three seconds in, y/n peeked. instant headshot.

he stared blankly at the killcam.

karina giggled. “cute.”

y/n’s soul officially left his body.

—

chat: LMFAOOOO

chat: HE’S FOLDED ALREADY

chat: nah bro’s in love

—

“oh my god,” y/n muttered, fully spiraling.

karina giggled. “you’re cute when you panic.”

y/n’s brain: system error.

—

after getting absolutely obliterated 20-3, y/n was done.

“you let me get three kills out of pity, huh?” he asked in defeat.

karina smirked. “maybe.”

y/n wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

intak threw his headset. “NAH THIS IS INSANE.”

—

after that night, karina started showing up in y/n’s streams.

“yo, why is krnxp in our game again?” mingyu asked during one match.

“nah, bro… she’s stalking you,” intak teased.

y/n? he was already in love.

—

the slow burn was real.

karina would randomly hop into y/n’s ranked games, casually carrying while y/n tried (and failed) to impress her.

“dude, why do you keep playing genji if you can’t aim?” she teased.

“i’m trying to look cool…” y/n mumbled.

—

one night, y/n was streaming when the door behind him creaked open.

“yo, who just came in?”

everyone expected it to be one of the boys.

but no.

karina casually walked into frame… wearing his hoodie.

chat exploded.

—

chat: HELLO??????

chat: WE WON. WE SOFT LAUNCHED.

chat: Y/N, YOU’RE COOKING.

—

y/n ended stream in pure panic.

“bro, you just exposed us to 10k viewers,” y/n said.

karina smirked, stealing his drink. “should’ve locked your door.”

#daily women #karina x male reader #tbz #karina x reader #karina #yu jimin #aespa #aespa x male reader #aespa karina #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin x male reader #yu jimin x you #karina x you #seventeen #wonwoo #mingyu #intak

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ayumigotabittoolonely · 2 months ago

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Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You

Nerdjo x nerd reader!

Part 1 no next part sorry I lost the motivation 😔 and lost most of my works

Part 3

♡Gojo, the paranoid investigator.He is now on a mission to prove you’re human.He starts stalking (observing is the word he prefers) you, noting down every tiny habit.But every time you catch him staring, you don’t call him out.You just stare back. Unblinking. Unfazed.His brain short-circuits. His soul leaves his body. Suguru finds him sitting in a corner later, mumbling, “She’s not real… she’s not real…”

♡Gojo, the humbled flirt.He’s never failed at flirting before. Ever. So when he dramatically tells you, “I’d bring the moon to you if I could.”He expects something a scoff, an eyeroll, a blush. Instead, you say, “That’s scientifically impossible.” The way you deadpan it makes him rethink his entire existence.Suguru and Shoko witness this and nearly die laughing.

♡Gojo, the desperate competitor.He stays up all night, studying harder than he ever has in his entire life, just to beat you in the rankings. The results come out. You still top. He’s second. But the worst part? You don’t even react. No smile, no satisfaction, no nothing. He’s not mad that he lost he’s mad that you didn’t care. He dramatically flops onto Suguru’s shoulder. “She’s a machine, man… I’m up against a machine…”

♡Gojo, the secret romantic.No one knows, but he loves romance novels. It’s his guilty pleasure.One day, he’s in the library, nose deep in one, when you suddenly sit next to him.He panics. He immediately slams the book shut.You glance at the cover. You say nothing.You just… nod slightly and continue reading your own book.For some reason, that’s way worse than if you had teased him.

♡Gojo, the horror movie victim.He once fell asleep in the library and woke up at 3 AM. Everything is dark. Silent. He feels like he’s in a horror movie.Then he sees you. Sitting at a table, reading, like some paranormal entity that never moves.He has never known fear like this before.He contemplates running, but his legs don’t work.He watches in terror as you slowly… turn the page of your book.He passes out.

♡Gojo, the human experiment conspiracist.He is convinced now. You are not normal. You are not real.He asks Shoko to run a “human test” to confirm.

She plays along and casually tells you, “Hey, mind giving me a blood sample?”Gojo watches you for any sign of panic.You blink. “No.” And walk away.

He gasps. He screams.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY. SUGURU, SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY.”

♡Gojo, the fool in denial. He refuses to admit he finds you interesting.

“I don’t like her, okay? I just wanna know more about my rival.”

Suguru and Shoko exchange looks. “Sure.”

“I MEAN IT.”

“Mhm. Sure. Do your homework.”

He storms off in frustration.

♡Gojo, the dramatic love announcer. One day, out of nowhere, he slams his hands on the lunch table, eyes wide with revelation.

“I THINK I FOUND MY MATCH.”

Suguru and Shoko don’t even look up. “Yeah, we know.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. SHE’S—”

“Yeah, yeah. Do your homework, Gojo.”

He stares at them in betrayal. They’re supposed to be shocked.

He’s suffering, and they don’t even care.

♡Gojo, the haunted. One day, he catches you staring at him.His heart stops. His brain malfunctions.You just tilt your head slightly, as if analyzing him.And then you go back to your book.That moment haunts him to this day.

♡Gojo, the theorist.He starts developing wild theories.Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe you’re a hacker. Maybe you’re an escaped AI prototype from a secret lab.

Suguru literally smacks the back of his head. “Shut up and focus on your work.”

♡Gojo, the secret simp.He doesn’t even realize he’s simping for you.One time, someone called you boring for always studying.

Without hesitation, Gojo fired back, “At least she exists. You just stand around judging people who do.”

The entire room went silent.

He immediately realized what he just said and pretended to choke on air.

♡Gojo, the needy puppy.When he wants something from you, his voice turns softer.

“Show it to me please… send it to me, Y/nnnn.”

He stretches your name out like a whiny kid.

Suguru stares at him in disgust.

♡Gojo, the unshakable, now very shaken.His ultimate goal? Make you react.

First, he starts leaving anonymous cute notes.

You glance at them for two seconds, then toss them in the trash.

His heart shatters.

Then, he tries challenging you. “Bet you can’t solve this.”

You solve it in seconds. He gasps. He didn’t even know the problem had an answer. (He made the question)

As a final resort, he sends you a fake love letter, thinking you’ll finally get flustered.

You read it and say, “It’s technically impossible to climb Everest in three minutes for a girl.”

He wants to scream.

♡Gojo, the ignored.He gets petty. Tries ignoring you for three hours to make you notice his absence.You don’tyHe snaps.

“Missed me?”

You blink. “Oh, I didn’t even know you were here today.”

♡That one physically hurt.

♡ Gojo, the fool who fell.He’s never met someone like you.You challenge him in a way no one ever has.He hates it. He loves it.He’s completely doomed.

@syrooo @hel1nn @ourfinalisation @dekusdante @naomigojo

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yannawayne · 8 months ago

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v. what's up danger?

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

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

"What. The. Fuck."

“Language, kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about Maggie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nice," you mutter, flexing your fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

"What the fuck wrong with you people?"

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

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

“You guys bought a building?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lower than you think,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

“Now, let’s get down to business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tony tenses but doesn’t interrupt her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Starting with this.”

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

“Dude! What the hell?” you exclaim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” you grumble, flushing with embarrassment.

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

A beep sounds as she taps another screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…yes?”

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

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

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

At least you’re not up against dinosaurs.

…

Yet.

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

This? This was awesome.

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

Gotham’s downtown is a far cry from Queens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Think you can get me a gig?”

“Sure. Give me a moment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THWAP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KABOOM!

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

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

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

"WATCH OUT!"

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

A Few Moments Earlier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo.

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

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

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

KABOOM!

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

“WATCH OUT!”

The warning is almost too late.

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

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

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

SNAP!

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously? You’re recording now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s with you and redheads?

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

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

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

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

“Not the time for an interview!”

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

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

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

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

The broadcast returns to the news anchors.

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

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

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

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

Bruce whirls around, eyes wide. “Damian!”

"I'm going to kill them!"

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

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

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

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

“What operations?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not his, he mourned.

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

His daughter—if not truly, then almost.

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

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

Cass steps forward, her hands moving fluidly.

“Sullen,” she signs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s head whips toward Damian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What stereotype?”

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

"Clichés are just classic for a reason!"

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

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

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

"..."

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

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

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

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

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

The accompanying song blasted, with the lyrics:

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

Morgan burst into laughter, practically rolling on the floor.

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

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

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

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

estellea @ abcdfuckyou・1hr

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

jennyjay @ metroboomingpolis・30m

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

harry 🐾☕️ @ blehhidc ・1hr

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

ji ─ nightcrawlers #1 fan @ nightcrawler_updates・1hr

i want nightcrawler to smash that helicopter on my tits

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

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

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

Morgan could barely catch her breath between laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get paid,” you say dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause.

You thought about it for one second, then nodded.

“Gotham Academy it is.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

voomba sorry for the long ass paragraphs i write shit lore

ur like a redhead magnet girlypop

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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gravedwe11er · 4 months ago

Text

My brain's been completely consumed by @keferon 's mecha pilot AU lately, especially all the texaid things, and I just had to add my own two cents to the pile! So, here is Felix/First Aid's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day (followed eventally by a much better one).

cw for gore and violence, as well as the usual things that come with Vortex being Vortex

He’s still scraping out the remains of the latest unlucky bastard, the sharp stench of cleaning agents mingling with the iron-sweet tang of blood and making his nose burn, when the enemy-incoming alarms bathe the whole hangar in red. Immediately, the usual post-battle calm turns into a frenzy of shouts and barked orders, dozens of footsteps rushing to and fro.

It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since they’d come back from the last fight.

Swearing to himself, Felix wills his hands to stop shaking as he finally succeeds in prying out the - god, is that the guy’s finger? – from inside the pilot’s harness. He throws it out of Vortex’s cockpit in the vague direction of the catwalk, not bothering to see if it landed in the glorified body bag they give him for these clean up jobs. Ten pilots ago, they still used to bring a stretcher in a show of, what- misguided optimism, maybe? Now, they can’t even be bothered to pretend.

The floor is still filthy, bodily fluids splattered liberally all over the cockpit, but Felix can hear the next pilot/sacrifice marching up the catwalk and prepares to make himself scarce, content at least in the knowledge that all the more solid bits of the last one have been disposed of. He gets up on unsteady legs, eager to get out of this stinking grave when the blood red plexiglass of the cockpit suddenly slams shut in front of his face. The hydraulics hiss as they complete lockdown procedures, entombing him inside.

His blood runs cold.

There’s frantic banging on the glass, from the outside in, from the inside out. There’s shouting, from the pilot, from control, asking what’s going on, telling him to get out, get out now. There’s a sharp, heavy gaze pressing down on him, with all the suffocating weight of a rockslide, and Felix feels oh so very small.

Beneath his clenched fists, words coalesce into being on the glass screen, white on arterial-blood red; it makes him think of bone shards in an open fracture.

TAKE A SEAT

Felix starts, jumping away from the glass. Stumbling backwards, he gapes, mind reeling, before forcing out, “Please, I don’t- I’m a medic.”

I KNOW

“I’m not- I’m not a pilot,” he whispers, pleading with the cursed thing, shivering like a leaf under the thing’s crimson lights. Something in the machinery around him hisses, a stuttering staccato of a sound, and Felix somehow tenses even further as the screen in front of him changes again.

I DON’T WANT ANOTHER PILOT. I WANT YOU ; )

His heart stutters in his chest. “Why?”

BECAUSE YOU’RE PERFECT

The letters blink out, only to be immediately replaced, bigger than before. More forceful.

TAKE A SEAT

He does. His hands shake like never before as he puts on the pilot’s helmet, still reeking of the previous pilot’s blood and sweat and fear. Dozens of others have died here, at the behest of this deadly war machine, corrupted AI or cursed or whatever the hell is wrong with it. All in the name of humanity’s survival. Felix is sure he’s going to join their ranks today.

Through the haze of oncoming panic, he idly wonders which one of his colleagues is going to be mucking his entrails out of here, when all’s said and done.

The machinery around him comes alive and his head swims, wisps of his-but-not blinding agony and fear and malevolent glee flitting through his mind as the neural connection settles. Felix feels a pressure on the inside of his skull, almost like a greeting, a jaunty knock on the gates to his brain as a voice echoes from inside-outside-everywhere.

“Let’s dance, baby!”

The mech lurches, enormous frame shaking and hydraulics hissing as it disconnects from the docking station, heading for the hangar bay doors with almost a spring in its thundering step. For a moment, Felix considers trying to stop it, grasping at the controls, dragging the cursed thing back into dock and forcing it to spit him out. Then he remembers the bloodied fingers on the floor, or stuck in sharp gaps between internal plating, and shoves his clammy, shaking hands under his thighs.

The stuttering hiss of what’s probably the ventilation system rings through the air, almost like a choked off giggle, as an intrusive presence hums amusement-approval in his head.

The next seconds or minutes or hours are something of a blur, a waking nightmare soaked in adrenaline and cortisol. Vortex walks itself out of the hangar doors, side by side with other mechs, who look like children next to its imposing size. It does so under its own power, without Felix’s input, and this shouldn’t be happening, none of this should even be possible. Felix is no technician, and definitely no pilot, but he knows the mecha aren’t autonomous, can’t be autonomous, but it’s moving anyway and there’s someone else in here, someone else in his head and he’s laughing at him and-

Then he sees them. The world snaps into sudden clarity.

Felix never thought they could really be that big. He’s read reports of the destruction they bring, seen the wrecked cities on TV (and may or may not have taken a good look at a few pieces of them in the labs without permission), but- he didn’t really get it. Not until now. He kind of wishes he could go back to that, honestly.

The monsters, the quintessons, roar as they notice their group of mechs, who suddenly look so terribly small in comparison to the quints’ lumbering, many limbed forms. Almost immediately, their somewhat nonchalant destruction turns into an organized assault as the group of about two dozen charges right at them.

“Oh god,” he wheezes out between short, terrified breaths. “No, no no, get away, get me away from here-“

Suddenly hearing a chuff of laughter from what simultaneously sounds like the inside of his head and behind him, Felix jumps in his seat as he feels the phantom of a breath on his ear. “Aww, are you scared, Felix? Don’t you worry, darling.”

For a moment, everything stills, the mech around him like a coiled spring, a calm before the storm. An overwhelming wave of foreign bloodlust crashes over him, setting his blood ablaze as the war machine leaps into a run, Felix trapped inside and powerless to stop it. With the thrumming wail of integrated weaponry charging up, they meet the quintessons head on.

“We got this.”

As the fighting begins, Felix somehow manages to stray so far into panic he’s almost feeling calm again. Vortex lunges and parries and strikes, the presence in control of the mech clearly a skilled pilot, and Felix watches with a growing fascination as the monsters fall apart into bloody pieces under its – his, Felix thinks - servos. He sees the thoracic cavity of one open up underneath Vortex’s arm-blade, and his mind, conditioned from years of dissections and med school, snaps into action. Oh, looks like a dual cardiovascular system, with the secondary brain here, and the primary would most likely be- Almost immediately, he feelsthe thought being picked up on, examined, and the ghost/mech/whatever it is sends interest-glee-let’s-see-for-ourselves through the neural connection before changing the trajectory of his strike. The sword cuts clean through where Felix thought the primary brain would be, and the thing seizes in Vortex’s grip before going limp.

There’s a near-deafening buzz of mechanisms all around him, crimson light flaring bright. “Ha! That’s what I’m talking about!” sings through his brain, praise-delight humming along his nerves, and Felix can’t help but let a tiny, nervous smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you you’d be perfect, baby,” purrs the voice inside his head, and he could swear he feels two hands, cold and intangible, settle on his shoulders, as the battle rages on.

The alarms flare on the late end of breakfast period, turning Felix’s once slow morning into a mad scramble. He races past other pilots and various personnel, stumbling into his quarters, shoving his uniform on before running out again, already feeling out of breath. All the supplementary pilot training he’s been going through, and, if he’s honest, flunking through, doesn’t seem to have done his physical condition much good. Still, it’s not like it matters much, and both he and his superiors know it, but appearances must be kept up nonetheless. Or so they say, at least. Can’t let the public know their most efficient mech is somehow piloting itself, apparently.

He finally gets to the hangar, his fellow pilots giving him a wide berth as he heads towards Vortex’s cockpit, doing his best not to trip over his feet in his haste. A small smile strays onto his face and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees some of the others stepping further away from him.

Felix is not a very popular man these days, though it’s not like was much of a social butterfly before either - always too awkward, a little too odd for most people to enjoy hanging around. The frequent twelve-hour shifts in the medbay, sneaking off to the research labs and Vortex cleanup duty after he was caught certainly didn’t do him any favors.

Now, though? It’s like he’s got the plague. Most of his former colleagues are dismayed at his sudden reassignment, the sudden changes in their schedules leaving them crankier than usual, though it’s not like he was all that close with them before. The various base personnel keep out of his way, seeming to consider him as cursed as the mech he pilots, his very presence a potential bringer of bad luck. Meanwhile, the actual pilots view him as an intruder into their ranks, exempt from the usual camaraderie that comes with the job.

He can’t deny that it stings a little, even though he’s pretty used to the feeling of rejection. Still, it helps that he's never really alone anymore.

It’s a thing he’s heard about from some earlier tests, from other mech models around the world, those types who tried their hand at connecting two people together to fight as one. How their minds, even when disconnected from their machines, still have a thin little thread connecting them for days, weeks after. He looked it up, after their first mission, when the distant feeling of a presence would linger in the back of his head; gleeful and pointed and anticipatory. It used to unnerve him before, but now, like everything else he sees as he steps into the open cockpit, it’s just- familiar.

Somehow, Vortex has become a balm on his eternally shredded nerves, the capricious, sarcastic bastard comfortably fitting himself into Felix’s life and making it- well. If not better, then definitely more interesting.

The gaze of Tex’s camera eyes never gets any less sharp, or less heavy, but he no longer feels like he’ll buckle under the weight of it. The inside of the mech is as clean as can be, because though he might be a pilot nowadays, he’s still a doctor by trade and he refuses to spend hours at a time sitting in a walking biohazard. The glass clicks shut behind him as he hops in, locking him securely inside as a string of ridiculous little white hearts and smiley faces scrolls across the red screen.

Felix snorts a quiet little laugh, laying a hand on the plexiglass, a building anticipation both his and not making his nerves buzz. “Hey Tex. Ready to go?”

YOU KNOW IT, BABY

“Then let’s dance.” Felix borrows the other man’s usual phrase with a small smile, buckling into the pilot’s harness and putting the helmet on his head in a newly familiar motion.

It takes a few moments to ride out the initial discomfort of the establishing connection, but then Vortex - or Victor, but that name is mostly as dead as the owner of it - is there, their minds snapping together like puzzle pieces. Delight, excitement and the ever-present bloodthirst washes over their shared thoughtscape, and Felix sends greeting-happiness-anticipation in return, feeling, as is usual for him these days, much better with Tex’s dark presence in his head.

“Let’s fucking dance, darling.”

He never would have thought they’d end up here, like this - hell, he didn’t think he’d survive their first battle together. But survive he did. Against all odds, against all previous expectations, Vortex had let him go then, with a winky face and a jaunty ‘come again soon!’, aching and terrified, but alive. And then he survived the next time, once command seized on the obvious opportunity to lessen their losses and sent him back into the jaws of the beast again. And then the next. And the next, until suddenly, he’s got dozens of successful missions under his belt and he’s still not dead.

People have questioned him about it, over and over. He never knows how to answer, to describe the understanding they’ve found with each other, so he simply keeps repeating the same thing – it just sort of works.

Once the bay door opens, orders coming in through the comms in Felix’s helmet and scrolling across his visor, they disembark, long strides taking them out into the foggy morning air. Three other mechs on their heels, they make their way to the coords where the quints were reported to make landfall, anticipation-excitement thrumming through them like an electric current. As always, there’s a thread of anxiety running through Felix’s body, but he doesn’t let that stop them, steadying himself against Tex’s ironclad confidence and working to keep his breathing steady.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully shake that, no matter how many times they do this – it’s a very sensible fear, after all. He’s going right into the heart of danger, protected only by a breakable veil of glass and steel, mind-in-mind with the ghost of a dangerous man.

Perhaps one day, a single missed strike might lead him to bleed out right here in this cockpit, mirroring the fate of the mech’s first and last true pilot. Maybe he’d join Victor in here too, another ghost in the machine. Maybe humanity will lose, and they’ll both be torn apart by the writhing hordes of quints, ground into so much shrapnel along with the rest of their species.

Or, maybe one day, Vortex will get bored of him, splaying Felix’s blood and sinew across the interior of his cockpit like a particularly macabre painting, yet another victim of his moods joining the already sizable collection. It’s definitely a possibility, though he doubts it more and more each passing day. They’re way too tangled up in one another now, and maybe he’s flattering himself, but - he thinks Tex might miss him, if he was gone.

Not today, though. Today, they fight like they’re dancing, perfectly in sync, Tex’s skills made all the more lethal by Felix’s ever-expanding insight into the biological makeup of their enemy. They shoot and hack and slash, aiming for weak spots, quintessons dropping in their wake as they tear through them like wet tissue paper. A well-aimed punch saves a fellow pilot from being skewered, Felix sending a wave of gratitude through their connection – though Vortex himself couldn’t care less about the lives of others, he knows Felix does, and the fact that he’s willing to do this, just for him? Well. It means a lot, to say the least.

Cold, there-but-not arms wrap around him from behind in a ghostly embrace, a chin laying down on top of his head. Felix leans into it as much as he can, a smile on his face, and he feels Vortex’s feral grin in his head as they dive back into the fray. Together.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, endless thanks to my beta @jayden-writes, sorry for putting giant robots on your plate, again. I appreciate you.

#transformers #maccadams #tf vortex #tf first aid #tf mecha au #texaid #tf mecha universe #LastWrites

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captainsophiestark · 4 months ago

Text

Rebound

Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requested by @navyhua! Hope you like it!

Fandom: DC

Summary: Dick and Babs just broke up, on the eve of an undercover mission requiring the cover to be as a couple. Luckily, Dick knows somebody who can step into Babs's place.

Word Count: 4,829

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"It's a three month minimum undercover mission. I completely understand if you're not up for it, but... I was hoping you'd be willing to take it on."

I stared holes in my kitchen wall, immensely grateful that Dick couldn't see my face right now. I kept the phone to my ear even though my good friend and vigilante buddy was finished speaking, now just waiting for my response. I felt more and more awkward with every second that passed, but I just couldn't bring myself to respond.

Dick was set to leave tomorrow morning for a massive, in-depth undercover mission to infiltrate a seriously dangerous group that a few of us had been keeping our eyes on. The cover required Dick and another person to go as a couple, acting completley and perfectly in love for the next few months. Until about a week ago, the plan had been perfectly set for him to go with Barbara Gordon, our mutual friend and his long-time girlfriend.

But then, just over a week ago, he and Barbara had broken up.

They were both fairly mature people, and had been friends long before they started dating, so there hadn't been much drama. Every single member of our group of friends and vigilantes had been relieved about that, not least of all because Dick and Barbara were essential leadership members of our teams, and a messy breakup would've been rough for more than just them. But, understandably, as a result of the breakup, they didn't want to go through with this undercover misison together, pretending to be a happy couple for months when their relationship had just ended.

I'd been part of conversations in passing troubleshooting what to do, but since I hadn't really had a role in the original plan, I hadn't paid much attention to the replanning. Now, it was all I could think about on a loop, since Dick had just asked me to go with him in Barbara's place.

I could tell from Dick's tone when he'd asked that he'd been worried about inconveniencing me on such short notice, especially since a few of our other friends had already tapped out due to scheduling conflicts. I was perfectly able to change my plans to go with him; scheduling was the least of my worries.

Instead, the number one concern dominating my mind was the absolutely gigantic, secret crush I'd been harboring on Dick for years. I'd been head over heels in love with the guy for a long time now, and the thought of spending months faking a relationship barely a week after he'd broken up with his girlfriend, another good friend of mine, made me sick to my stomach with nerves.

"Look, I know it's bad timing," Dick continued, apparently taking my absolute silence as indecision and not panic. "I'll understand if you can't make it work. But... if there's any chance you can get free, it would save the mission. You're just about my last hope of finding somebody who can see this through with me."

I let out a long sigh through my nose. This was a bad, stupid idea. But Dick needed my help, and I didn't want to leave him hanging. Besides, this mission was about more than a stupid crush. We were going after an organization doing legitimate harm to people, and if we didn't take this shot at taking them down, who knew when the next one might come along?

"Alright," I said, forcing the word out before I could second-guess myself anymore. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Really?" The joy and relief in Dick's voice made my heart do a backflip, and I shook my head at myself. "Thank you, so much. I'll come pick you up in the morning so we can head out. Is that enough time for you to pack and get everything in order?"

"Yeah, it should be," I said, fighting to keep the resignation and regret out of my tone. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Perfect! I'll bring your favorite coffee order."

I could practically hear the adorable wink in his voice that I loved to see in person as he hung up the phone. I let out a long, heavy sigh and set my own phone face down on the counter. This was a terrible idea. But it was too late to back out now.

I needed to pack.

****************

True to his word, Dick knocked on my door bright and early the next morning. I'd been pretty unable to sleep last night thanks to my brain overthinking the decision I'd just made, but on the bright side, it meant I'd had plently of time to pull off the perfect packing job. When I opened my door to find Dick grinning, an extra coffee in-hand for me, I was already ready to go.

"Good morning," he said, fixing me with the smile that never failed to make my heart race. "Here's your coffee, as promised."

I did my best to smile back as I took the cup from him, one bag already slung over my shoulder.

"Thanks."

"Thank you. For... probably obvious reasons, Babs and I really weren't in a place to do this mission together. If you hadn't been willing to step in on such short notice, we would've been in serious trouble."

"...Glad I could help."

"Here, let me give you a hand with your bags."

It didn't take more than one trip for Dick and I to get everything loaded in "our" car. For the sake of our cover, we were driving over to the gorgeous resort we'd be staying at together in this rental, in character from the moment we got within a few miles of the place.

I paused for just a second outside the passenger side door before joining Dick. I was not going to let this stupid crush compromise our mission, especially not when I knew Dick was still processing a major breakup. We'd been alone plenty of times before, we'd been friends for years. Sure, it would be a little different to act like a couple, but I made myself a promise then and there that I wouldn't let myself get carried away. For my sake, and for Dick's.

****************

"So, how long have you two been together?"

Dick and I shared a look, and I knew neither of us had to fake the warm smile spreading on both of our faces. For the sake of creating a cover we could stick to easily, Dick and I had kept a lot of truth in our fake story, including things like when we'd met. Dick already had one arm around my waist, but he pulled me in tighter to his side as he answered the question for both of us without breaking my eye contact.

"Almost two years now. Although, we've known each other a lot longer."

"Since we were kids."

Dick's hand gently squeezed my waist, and my heart felt like it was about to burst from the warm glow this man seemed to cause with just a single look. We really had been in each other's lives a long time now; we'd been each other's constants through quite a lot of change and challenge.

Which was why I forced myself to take a deep breath and a half-step back from our cover as a couple as Dick turned away to face the people in front of us. We'd been here for almost two months now, and at first, I'd been doing fine with separating reality from the fake story we were trying to sell everyone else. But in the last few weeks, something just felt... different.

I knew it was in my head, but more recently, when Dick gazed into my eyes to sell that we were deeply in love, it felt like there was an energy and a truth there that hadn't existed before. When he kissed me to maintain our cover, he never lingered, but in the past few weeks the small pecks seemed to stretch out for an extra few milliseconds more than they necessarily needed to, especially when Dick's arms were around me.

I took a careful sip of the drink in my hand as I forced my attention back to the couple in front of us. Dick had been carrying the entire conversation, which wasn't fair to him. He was an outstanding performer, and I needed to stop buying into our own press. It was a fine line to walk while we were quite literally in the belly of the beast, at a massive party with all of the targets we'd been gathering information on for months, but in the back of my head I chanted a little reminder to myself: "friend friend friend friend friend".

"Well, the two of you certainly make a sweet couple," said the woman in front of us with a smile. "We're glad you were able to join us here."

"We are, too," I said, returning her smile. "It's been a wonderful experience, and some great time for the two of us to get to spend together."

"But now, if you'll excuse us," Dick broke in with one of his trademark grins, pulling me a few steps to the side with him, "we're just dying to go dance."

The couple we'd been speaking to waved us away with adoring smiles, and my heart skipped a beat as Dick whirled us onto the dance floor, his arms wrapped tightly around me. We'd spent plenty of Wayne Galas dancing the night away like fools, but never this intimately. The chant in my head died down despite my best efforts.

Dick and I swayed to the music, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist as I rested my hands on his shoulders. Slowly, he leaned in closer, and my heart did a backflip. He brought his mouth right up to my ear, and I swear I was on the verge of cardiac arrest until he spoke.

"I just got a message from Wally. We got all the evidence we need, and they're about to break in here and take down the whole room."

I bit my lip, trying to ignore the pit of disappointment opening in my stomach. We'd done our jobs, and unless something went wrong in the next few moments, we were about to get some very bad people out of a position to do harm. The last thing I should have been feeling was disappointment.

"They're gonna need some kind of distraction while they put the last touches into place, especially for the security guys around the room. I've got an idea, but I need you to go with it, okay?"

I nodded, even though my clenching heart told me this was a bad, bad idea.

"I trust you."

Dick's hands squeezed my waist, and then he was spinning me, out and away from him. I let him lead, trusting him and trusting myself to know what to do when the time came. The music around us swelled to a finale for this song, and Dick had worked us right into the middle of the room. He dipped me, then held my hands tightly once I was standing upright in front of him again. As the last notes faded throughout the room, he dropped to one knee before me.

The gasp I let out was real. Everyone around the room echoed it. If Wally needed a distraction, Dick had found the perfect way to do it.

I quickly threw my hands up to my face, mirroring the normal reaction and also giving myself some room to get in the zone. Dick just smiled up at me, his face practically radiating love and affection.

"My love... I've been waiting for the right time to do this, and I can't think of a better one than now." The phrase was enough to help me get back in the zone, if only slightly. This was the best time for a fake proposal, as a distraction for our friends. "You make me the happiest man alive. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with. So... would you do me the absolute honor of agreeing to marry me?"

I huffed a little laugh, letting a smile creep onto my face as my hands dropped. I knew how to sell the act, and more importantly, I'd managed to keep it straight in my head that we were acting.

"Yes. Baby, a thousand times yes! I love you so much."

Dick grinned, popping a up from where he'd been kneeling and sliding a ring I recognized as one of his own onto my finger. In a pinch, it'd work as a fake engagement ring, especially since if everything went according to plan, no one in the room would get the chance to look at it up close.

Cheers errupted around us as Dick finished giving me the ring. I smiled up at him, expecting that to more or less be the end of things, but then he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tightly into his chest. His other hand came up to cup the back of my neck, and he pulled me into a deep, searing kiss unlike anything we'd ever done for our cover so far.

An absolutely tiny part of my brain argued that this was all part of creating a distraction that would do its job and distract for as long as our team needed to get in here. But the rest of me disagreed. This kiss, the way he held me, felt different. We'd been faking it for two months, I knew what that felt like. But as Dick held me to him and kissed me like the world was ending, there was a spark of something real and wonderful that I knew I wasn't imagining.

In the back of my mind, I recognized the sounds of shouting and glass shattering from the room around us. I blocked out all of them as Dick slowly pulled away from me, his eyes locking onto mine. I just stared back, my mouth slightly open. No doubt, our cover was broken now as our friends descended on the place, and yet the soft look in Dick's eyes didn't fade for an instant. He breathed my name, but then a shout that sounded like Wally came from across the room, and the moment broke. Dick turned to look in the direction of the noise, then dropped his hands from my waist and rushed into the fray with nothing more than a quick glance back at me.

I felt like someone had driven a knife into my heart and was wiggling it around with reckless abandon, but I forced myself to lock down the emotions, at least for a moment. Our friends were fighting to get and keep control of the room, and they needed all the help they could get.

Thankfully, I'd been working with this team as a vigilante for long enough that it came back to me perfectly naturally, even while my emotions were trying to take me out then and there. Gradually, we managed to get control of the room, securing all the bad guys Dick and I had been scouting for months. Once the action calmed down, I searched the room for Dick, intending to pull him aside and talk to him. Honestly, I'd been expecting him to be looking for me to do the same thing. But instead, I found him across the room, his attention completely focused on Barbara.

I bit down on my tongue so hard I almost drew blood. That knife in my heart had dug in deeper than I'd thought possible. I turned away, using the cover of cleaning up the mess in the room to hide my face from my friends, and tried to get a hold of myself. It's not like Dick and I were anything real. He'd just gotten out of a long term relationship, and everything we'd been doing for the past two months was supposed to be fake. Even if I'd thought I felt something different in that last kiss... it might not have meant anything to Dick.

I focused on taking deep breaths as I helped Wally, Dick, and the rest of our team wrap up the last loose threads on our mission. I kept trying to catch Dick's eye, but he refused to even look at me, which hurt about a thousand times worse than seeing him go running to Barbara. I loved both of them, and I didn't want to let my emotions convince me to do something I'd regret, so I took off at the first opportunity, saying I was exhausted and needed to rest. Thankfully, none of my friends called me on it.

Dick barely seemed to notice at all.

****************

After getting some breathing room from Dick and the illusion we'd created for the sake of our mission, I still couldn't shake the feeling that something had been different in that last kiss. Even if it didn't mean anything to Dick, even if he felt it was a mistake and wasn't interested in me the way I'd been interested in him, I knew we needed to talk about it. This radio silence would turn into a friendship-crushing awkwardness that I honestly couldn't take.

I called Dick two days after we got home from our mission to ask him to come over or grab coffee for a conversation, but he'd brushed me off with a lame excuse. I'd tried to set something up with him or else catch him at one of our training bases another dozen times over the next few weeks, but he just kept ducking me. It was incredibly unlike him, but after so many attempts, I took the hint. There really wasn't much else I could do. Whatever was going on with him, whatever had been behind that last kiss on our mission, Dick clearly wanted nothing to do with me now.

I debated talking to one of our other friends about it. If he kept avoiding me for too much longer, maybe I would. But eventually I decided that if he wanted space that badly, then I would give it to him.

I'd gone about three days after making that resolution before I'd broken down. I sat at my kitchen counter, drafting and redrafting a message to send to Dick to hopefully open the door between us again to talk and be friends like normal, before this mission had made things so weird. I didn't even care if he didn't feel the same way about me romantically, or if he wanted to say I'd been hallucinating whatever I'd felt during that last kiss. I just wanted my friend back.

I'd just gotten to a draft of my message that I didn't absolutely hate every word of when a knock came at my door. I frowned. I hadn't been expecting anybody, and honestly, I didn't want to be interrupted in the middle of drafting this stupid message lest I chicken out for another few days.

I stood up with a sigh to check the peep hole, then froze solid when I saw Dick on the other side. Even worse, he had a boquet of flowers in his hand. Whatever that was about, my brain and body were telling me I was way too nervous to ever know.

I was just contemplating whether I could get away with pretending not to be home, all the courage to do with the message draining away at the thought of having to say it to him in person, when he called my name from the other side of the door.

"I know you're home," he continued. "And honestly, I understand if you don't want to talk to me right now, but... I'd really like the chance to explain myself."

That, at least, got my attention. I took a deep breath, then slowly opened the door, revealing Dick on the other side. He gave me a smile as soon as he saw me, but it was much weaker than I was used to. Honestly, he looked more nervous than I'd ever seen him before.

"Thanks for opening the door," he said. He held the flowers out to me, and gingerly I took them. "Do you, uh... do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course not," I said, sighing a little as I stepped aside to make room for Dick. A bit of the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade at my words, and he stepped past me into my apartment. I shut the door, planning to ask if he wanted something to drink before we both settled in for whatever this conversation was going to be, but Dick beat me to the punch.

"Listen, I want to start by saying I'm sorry for disappearing on you." He spoke emphatically, standing in the middle of my entryway, his eyes locked completely on mine. Apparently we were doing this now. "I needed some time and some space to figure things out, but I'm sorry if I hurt you in any way in the process."

I cleared my throat and shrugged, setting the flowers down and then crossing my arms.

"Well, let's see. After spending two months together joined at the hip, you kissed me... like that, and then turned around and disappeared on me with a bunch of lame ass excuses for why you didn't have time to see me. Yeah, Dick, whatever that was, it hurt."

He grimaced, but took a step closer to me all the same.

"I'm sorry. I could've handled myself better. But..." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking away from me for the first time since he'd gotten here. I just raised an eyebrow and waited for whatever he decided to say next. When he met my eyes again, he looked a little at war with himself. "...I need you to promise me something."

I huffed a little laugh. "Seriously? Dick, you said you wanted to come in and explain something, so let's start there."

He just shook his head. "I need you to promise me that our friendship won't be affected. Alright? If I promise you that I won't make it weird, I need you to promise me you'll at least try to do the same."

"Dick, there is only one of us in this room who's made the friendship weird recently, and it's you. But... fine. I promise."

Dick let out a sigh of relief, then straightened up as he met my eyes.

"While we were on our mission... I started to feel like I wanted what we were pretending to do to be real. I realized I liked holding you, and kissing you, and having people look at us and know we were together. And as a result, I let myself get carried away when I kissed you on the last night of our mission. And I'm sorry for that."

I just stared back at him, my brain working overtime to try to process what he'd just said. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but a confession that my long-time friend and crush had spent the two months of our mission wrestling the same feelings I'd been struggling with? That hadn't been it.

Although, it was certainly a nice surprise.

"Dick..." I breathed, trying to decide where to start with what he'd just said. He broke back in before I got the chance to decide.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same way," he said quickly. "I don't mean to put pressure on you. But... I didn't feel like I could keep that secret from you, especially after that kiss."

The smallest hint of a smile pulled its way onto my face despite myself.

"You don't need to apologize," I said. "Not for that, anyway. I... ugh, I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I've had feelings for you for... a long time. I didn't mind that kiss one bit."

Dick's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, really. It's why I was so hesitant to take the mission in the first place. But we didn't really have another option to go get those guys, and I've gotten pretty good at shoving those feelings away and focusing on our friendship instead, so... here we are, I guess."

Now it was Dick's turn for a little smile. His seemed to be incredibly relief-driven, although we weren't totally out of the woods yet.

"That's incredible to hear," he said. "Seriously, I was getting worried I'd crossed a line and destroyed our friendship."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" I asked. "Because if so, Dick, you should've just talked to me-"

"No, that's not why. At least, not entirely." I raised an eyebrow, and Dick took another deep breath before continuing. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you, I just got out of a pretty long relationship with Barbara. When we'd started our mission especially, it'd only been a week."

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep the storm of emotions that memory brought on from showing on my face. "I remember."

Dick gave me a knowing little smile, then continued.

"Well, about halfway through our undercover mission... that's when I started feeling more than the usual friendship feelings about you. It felt real and right and like something I wanted to pursue, but... Barbara was my first long-term relationship. The two have us have known each other forever, and even though we parted on good terms, it still felt a little... weird, to just be moving on like that. And I care about you. A lot. I didn't want to make a mistake and end up hurting you. I wanted to be sure that my feelings were real, and not just a side effect of the breakup or our proximity and cover. I wanted to make sure I didn't treat you like a rebound. So, I ran when the mission finished, to get some space and to think. Maybe I could've handled that part better, but by the end of our two months, I was seriously starting to lose it holding feelings back, so... I couldn't think of a better way to handle things in the moment."

"...And? You took all that time and space, what did you figure out?"

The faint smile returned to Dick's face, along with the usual easy confidence I knew so well. He closed the last of the distance between us, gently taking my hands in his, and I let him.

"I figured out that these feelings I have for you are a lot more than a rebound, or proximity driven, or whatever else. I took some time to process, especially the stuff to do with Babs, and I feel good about why and how we ended. It was the right choice, for both of us, and we're both better for it. And most importantly, I think my next right choice is you. I'm just happier when I'm around you. My heart feels warmer when I get to hold you in my arms. You almost sent me into cardiac arrest with your outfit on the last night of our mission. So, if you feel the same way... I'd really like to be your boyfriend. Or at least take you on a date, if you want to start slower."

"I... I'm not going to lie, I kind of feel like I'm hallucinating right now."

Dick laughed. "I hope you at least feel like it's a positive hallucination?"

"Oh, definitely. Not one that I want to end by any means."

"Good. Then... is that a yes? To a date?"

I smiled, meeting Dick's eyes as my heart did backflips. "That's a yes to dating. Exclusively, if you're at that point, too."

"Absolutely I am. I'm... so happy to hear you say that."

I grinned. "I mean, I do feel like we're a little past first-date territory. Sure, we haven't technically been on one yet, but all the traditional first date activities are relationship markers we passed years ago. I already know all about your hometown, favorite color, and secret vigilante lifestyle."

Dick laughed again, letting go of my hands to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me into his chest instead. My heart was practically beating out of my chest, and when I brought one hand up to rest on Dick's chest, I could feel that his was, too.

"You know, I might not count 'secret vigilante lifestyle reveal' as a first date milestone," he teased. I hummed, pretending to think on the issue.

"I don't know, Dick. I mean, that's a pretty big potential dealbreaker you might want to get out of the way early-"

I stopped my teasing short as Dick moved forward, bringing his lips to mine for a real kiss, no undercover pretense attached. I melted into him, everything else in the world instantly fading to irrelevance. Despite our long history as friends, it really was too early for some things, including using the "L" word. But that didn't mean I didn't feel it, heart and soul. The past few months had been a constant emotional rollercoaster, but no matter what came next, this moment and this budding relationship with Dick made everything else worth it in my book.

****************

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