#soaring through the void | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nialovessatoru · 12 days ago

Text

Redline Hearts

streetracer!gojo x mechanic!reader

ft. rival!sukuna

mdni!

content: smut, fast and furious!au, gojo x reader, tension, teasing & flirting, jealous!sukuna, slight angst, illegal street races, fluff, explicit sexual descriptions, piv sex, dry humping, oral m & f recieving, car sex

synopsis: Retired from street racing, you opted to tuning cars, only test driving them all by yourself, in peace and safety. Until the star of the streets crashes straight into your heart. You can’t help but keep meeting him, despite the danger of him finding out you work for his biggest rival. And god forbid the chaos that would ensue, if said rival found out you like to sneak around behind his back with the Gojo Satoru. And if it came down to it, were you able to sever ties with with an old friend to pursue the one who makes your heart race?

word count: 12k

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It is a few minutes past midnight in Tokyo when the streets are almost entirely empty, save for people occasionally heading to the train station to catch the last train for the night. That aside, the streets felt alive regardless of their desolateness as you were sitting in the dark red Mazda rx-7 that you had finished modifying by 2pm and decided to take a nap before you took his new weapon on a test drive.

Which is what you are doing right now, as your foot presses down on the gas pedal and the monster of a car you had brought to life, speeds through the streets of Tokyo. Racing past all the brightly coloured neon lights that make the city feel alive, you can feel the adrenaline soaring through every vein of your body. Spreading out from your hands on the steering wheel and up from your feet at the pedals, lighting up every artery which carried the rush through your body, reaching your heart and filling a void that had been infesting your body long enough so you had become almost entirely numb to it.

This was merely a test run. Just you and the car you’d spend over the past month on, dedicated for it to turn out perfect. No flags, no stakes, no crew, no bets.

You drive fast, able to see what’s in front of you just fine, but if you’d look out of the windows at the side of the car, you’d only see a blurr of colors. Yes, this is the way you liked it best, only you and the car, alone and in peace.

Or at least, so you thought.

A few streets away, driving into your direction, is an almost equally fast white Nissan gt-r. Inside of it, a driver with a spiky head of hair in the same, pure, bright shade.

He didn’t plan on racing tonight. Only bothering to drive through the city at this hour to scope out a rival build. And it’s not just any rival’s build. It’s the one that never plays fair, the only one who could challenge him enough to try and sneak a peek into his garage at night, the only one he’d lost to in the past 3 years. Ever since he was 25, he’d won any race he participated in and even before that, he rarely lost.

Until he raced Sukuna.

They always seemed to be eye to eye on races, one winning over the other, just to have the results turned around in the next race. But he was an adrenaline seeker at heart, so it’s not a surprise that when he sees your car speeding through the brightly illuminated streets of Tokyo under the dark night sky, he accelerates the speed of his car to catch up with you.

You hear the faint sound of another vehicle approaching yours from behind at rapid speed. Looking through the rearview mirror, you see the the icy white gt-r coming up right behind you, threatening to overtake. Your eyes narrow, you know this car— who it belongs to.

Satoru Gojo. The star of the streets, so they say. His name circles around like the smoke in every lane with each drift. He is the reason you sometimes have to spend day and night, listening to Sukuna rage, while you tune the fuck out of his car, convincing you to implement dangerous mechanisms in order to reach the car’s highest potential.

You did with this car. He insisted despite all your concerns. You weren’t too keen to try it out yourself. You’d quit street racing for a reason.

And yet, when you see the white gt-r approaching, you can feel the thrill of a real race come back. You love tuning and are content with only test driving all on your own, in peace, at least you kept telling yourself you didn’t miss racing that much.

And you don’t, for the most part. But he is a real challenge. The star of the streets racing you completely unprompted? You couldn’t turn away from this unspoken race, even if you wanted to. So you accelerate your car’s speed even more. A silent battle between your cars begins, with him almost overtaking multiple times, he kept you chasing him and you let him chase you. You both are playing a game. Racing through the streets, fully aware that you both are teasing eachother.

Until he speeds up significantly, rounding corners with an incredible trust in his abilities and his car. Your drifts are clean and precise, though your car isn’t as fast as his. It could be. Due to the mechanism you installed. As much as your rational mind tried to hold you back, you use it to almost it’s fullest potential, racing past him, engine roaring. After having proved to yourself and him that you still got it, you brake behind an old supermarket and bring your car to a stand. Getting out and leaning your back against the cold surface of the car to calm your racing heart. Of course, he’s right behind you, pulling up a few seconds later and getting out of his car. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He’s freakishly tall and relaxed. With a cocky grin on his face despite having lost to you, although it wasn’t a real race.

“Didn’t think i’d find somebody else dumb enough to hit those turns at that speed, with nothing but risks at stake at that.”

“Especially not someone so gorgeous.”

You half scoff half laugh at that. Turning to look at him. You’d known he was hot, seen him from afar at races before. But standing here before you, you truly notices just how much of a pretty man he was. His light eyes and hair shining under the low streetlights as he walks up to you. And then there was his voice, that carefree, cocky and somehow gentle tone that soothed the racing thrill in your mind that made you tilt your head at him and ask,“You always chase someone halfway through the city then?” His voice although still teasing is more intense, like his gaze that’s fixed on you. “Only when they’re worth chasing.”

Repressing a smile as you seize up his car to avoid eye contact, you decide to add “You’d be even faster on your right turns, if you got your suspension rebalanced and dropped a few pounds off the front end.”

Eyes widening slightly in awe he steps closer to you, “Oh? You tune?” and inquiring more when you nod, gesturing to the rx-7 “That’s also your work?” Which you confirm and he steps closer to admire it further, although his admiration for the car is short lived as he focuses his pretty eyes on you. One hand that was trailing over the hood of your car stopping dangerously close to where your hip rests, standing right before you, voice deeper and measured but it keeps it’s teasing edge. “Wanna take a look at mine next?” Somehow, with the unsubtle way he is checking you out, you get the feeling he isn’t talking about his car.

Any other day you probably would have just brushed him off, he’s the biggest rival of Sukuna and his crew. The people you usually tune for, if Sukuna knew you are even entertaining the idea… you don’t even want to think about what he’s do, much less risk finding out by chance.But with fresh adrenaline still running through your veins and the way his warm hand rests just a little too close to the hem of your skirt overrides all rational thought. “I guess maybe you could come by sometime.”

“Maybe? You need some convincing?” And his fingers trail over your hip at the hem of your skirt. His touch is light but it ignites a fire within you. Still, you don’t let your guard down and gently take his hand from your hip, though with hesitation, your warm hands lingering on his cold, soft but strong ones for a few seconds too long. “Bring your car, and cash. Not your hands. And you can come by.” The sound of his laugh followed you all the way back home, after you’d given him your number and said, you’d give him a date (one where you knew neither Sukuna nor one of his acquaintances would be around).

You are ripped from your sleep the next day by your door slamming open and a gruff voice, “Why the fuck are you still asleep?”.

Better question. Why the fuck had you given him the spare keys to your house again??? It may have been around 2pm, but you didn’t appreciate being woken up like this, no matter the time. Opening your eyes, you see his pink head of hair and as usual, a scowl tugging at his face. “I need my car.” Hurling a pillow at him, which he catches effortlessly with an amused scoff, you turn your head back into your spare pillow and muffledly respond something about five more minutes.

Your phone kept ringing as you explained the car’s mechanics next to him, until it got on his nerves and he went to grab it. “Can you tell whoever that is to fuck off?”. Quickly, you snatch it out of his grasp before he can look at your screen, snapping back “Can you mind your fucking business?” He grunts irritably, the glare on his face deepening and turning back to the car. You repress letting out a sigh of relief as you notice the messages you prevented him from seeing. It was Gojo. The very same man he was bragging about beating with this car not even five minutes later.

Really, you don’t know why he bothers to act this way over you when he’s literally the one taking another girl home every race—scratch that. He probably doesn’t even wait until they’re home and just fucks them in the car that you tuned. It’s not like you care who he sleeps with but his hypocrisy gets on your nerves. You’d already explained to him multiple times you were cool with whatever he’s doing, but you want no part of it, if he’s not all for you. He didn’t understand that. Not that you expected him to. But there was this weird tension whenever you two were alone and the focus wasn’t soely on cars or tactics. Or when a guy would hit on you and Sukuna would go intimidate him, but every time you asked what that was about, he’d just tell you they’re all shitty assholes.

Like he isn’t one himself.

Safe to say, you feel like a weight is lifted off your shoulders the moment he gets into -your- his newly tuned car and drives off.

You’d been ignoring Gojo while he was here, too scared of the risk of Sukuna seeing who texted you. He was already weirdly angry everytime a guy would even hint at flirting with you— you don’t want to know experience the way he’d act up if he found out you were meeting up with his biggest rival behind his back, while driving his car.

Oh, and he was ecstatic when he saw your name on his screen. He’d expected a snarky text back but your call was a nice surprise. “Heyy sweetheart. Already miss me?”

“I’m free now. If you wanna come over and have me check out your car.”, you try to sound indifferent to seeing him again.

There’s a pause on the line, not because he’s caught off guard but because he’s savouring it. Leaning his head back and cheesing, you can hear the grin in his voice. “Ahh, didn’t think i would hear from you so soon. And so eager too— should i be flattered or worried?”

“Don’t read too much into it. I just don’t have any other plans today.”

He grabs his keys and you can hear them jingling faintly over the line. “Guess i should just count myself lucky you decided you want me to fill your time.”

Letting out a sigh, you don’t know if you’re going to regret this or have a fun time with -him- his car that you’d dreamt about working on. “See you then.” Hanging up before he can answer, you text him your address and decide to put on an outfit that’s cuter than your oversized, stained shirt. Twenty minutes later, you can hear tires screeching on the street in front of your garage. You walk outside and wave him into your garage. Inside he gets out of his car, whistling as he looks you up and down. “Heyy gorgeous.”

“You don’t need to call me all that.”, you turn around to hide your blush, fumbling with some tools, but he walks up behind you, his voice vibrating in your ear. “You haven’t even told me your name. What am i supposed to call you?”

You turn around to face him and almost blush again at his closeness. You… hadn’t?

“Weren’t you bothered you that you don’t have a name to put to this handsome face? I know i was— am.”

“You think really highly of yourself.”, you look back into his eyes and give him your name, which he repeats a few times as if savouring it, then leans closer, chuckling. “The name’s Gojo Satoru, but you can call me Satoru.”

“I know.” Fuck. You and your big fucking mouth. You had a reasonable explanation that he seems to already be piecing together, but…

“Ahh i see, my name precedes me, as a mechanic, you’d know the name of one of Tokyo’s biggest street racers. Well, now i’m really flattered.” …you really don’t need to inflate any man’s ego.

“It’s not a big deal. People talk a lot all the time.” Putting a hand on his chest, and letting it linger on him for longer than it needs to because— damn he’s ripped as fuck, you shove him away to escape the hot, suffocating distance.

You let go and turn to his car, it really was a beautiful car -beautiful car belonging to a beautiful man-.

One of your hands trails over the hood of his nissan gt-r, crouching down to examine the front bumper, you try to focus, shuddering as you remember how solid his chest had just felt under your palm.

“Looks clean for the most part, but your left tire is under inflated, you’re loosing speed on your right turns and risk delaying them if it deflates even more.” You absentmindedly speak, while examining his car, adding, “and if you really wanted it to gain speed, you could switch the bumper to a lighter one, but that’s really just me being petty.”

Gojo is utterly impressed by your meticulousness, his mouth slightly agape, stunned as he watches you examine his car, it doesn’t help that your skirt had ridden up just the slightest bit. He swallows hard, regaining his composure before laughing, “So you’re saying i’m a pretty amazing driver for winning left and right, despite being handicapped?”

Well, yes, pretty much exactly that. But it’s not like you’re going to give him the satisfaction of saying that aloud. Glancing back at him over your shoulder with a raised brow, you reply, “I’m saying, you need to take better care of your car and run your mouth less, if you don’t want to crash into a ditch in your next sharp turn at high speed.”

When you stand back up and fully look at him, he almost looks like he’s… pouting? With his bottom lip pushed out, pretty and glossy from him probably running his tongue over it. It made you wonder what else he could do with it, if he would kiss you gently and slowly run his tongue along your mouth, or if he would plunge it right in, kissing messy and needy. -You could bet a hundred dollars that you could make him beg.-

“I’m treating her veryyyyy well.”

You snap out of wherever your imagination was running and tilt your head at his insistence in full confusion. “What? Who?”

He nods his head towards his car. “Her.”

“Her..?” you sceptically raise one of your eyebrows. “You really refer to your car like it’s a woman?” Not being able to bite back the urge to tease him, you stifle a giggle with one hand. “So desperate you need to project your lack of a love life onto your car? Do you kiss her goodnight too?”

Unashamed, he walks closer to you, winking. “Only if she’s been good.”

“Oh, so your love is conditional? Tsk tsk… she deserves better.”

He rests his hand against the side of his car, caging you in, just like when you first met. He gives you space to move away— you don’t. “No, my love is unconditional but I believe in… performance based rewards.”

You force out a chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice your blush. “Wow. Lucky her.”

He leans down, his face hovering only inches away from yours, “Jealous?”

A scoff escapes your mouth, it’s weaker than you want it to be, “Of your car? You’re ridiculous…” And yet, you lean in too, only slightly but it gives him enough confidence to place the hand that was on his car on your waist. Barely, but enough to let you know that the desire in his eyes was burning just for you.

“Are you sure? You’ve been eyeing me like you want me to take you for a ride instead.”

Your breath hitches, his lips brush yours and his low voice sends an evil flutter down your stomach, making you core spasm and coat your panties with sticky arousal, when he adds “Or would you prefer i leave the riding to you, princess?”

This time, he’s definitely not talking about cars. And you’re glad he isn’t. You lean in, your hands fisting his shirt as your lips lock onto his and he deepens the kiss almost immediately. His lips are soft and the kiss is slow, but passionate. He tightens his grip on your waist, pushing your back against the surface of his car. You gasp when he shoves one knee between your legs, putting friction on your aching clit, “Gojo—“

“—Satoru, baby. Call me Satoru.” He’d been teasing you with nicknames, but the way he called you baby so naturally, so confident, made your head spin. “Fuck, okay. Satoru.”

He humms against your jaw, between kisses he plants on it, “Hm?”

“W-what about your car?”

Chuckling, he picks you up, both hands on your hips as your legs wrap around his waist and he places you on the hood of his car.

“My car? She’s not going anywhere.”

Rolling your eyes at the female connotation he forces onto his car, you pull away a bit, “No, seriously. Didn’t you come to let me tune it?”

“That can wait.” And he’s kissing you again, more hungrily, hands on your thighs, kneading them and pulling you flush against him. His clothed, hardening cock brushing against your core and he lets out a soft moan as he starts grinding against you—a loud crash and the metal echoing from the fall breaks the moment.

He pulls away and you do too, standing up but holding onto the side of his car, knees still weakened. You let out a sigh of relief as you see that it was just a wrench, you’d placed carelessly on the edge of your table. Meanwhile Satoru lets out a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he stands behind you, “Not your shop trying to cockblock you.”

Not being able to repress a small laugh, you push his head off of you and pat his cheek, stepping away to pick up the wrench and put it where it belongs. “Good. Maybe it has better judgement than we do.”

After mutually agreeing that he’d come back in a few days where he’d get lighter bumper for his car, since you had none that specifically fit his car, you fixed his tires and tell him goodbye.

He’s lingering on the outside of his car door, fumbling with the keys in his hand as if he’s nervous. “Um. I’ll see you.”

Your eyes narrow a bit at his behavior but you shrug it off, “…Yeah, just make sure you tell me before you plan to come ov—“

And he hugs you goodbye, his strong arms only encircling your body for a short moment before he slips into his car and drives off.

You’re left dumbfounded, with heated cheeks and a racing heart.

Suguru is leaned under the hood of his black ccxr, the garage smelling like burnt rubber and metal as Satoru walks in, sunglasses pushed back on into his soft hair.

“Thought you wanted to go for a drive?”, Suguru’s voice echoes from beneah his car.

“I am.” Satoru circles his car and taps the front bumper just in time for Suguru to see as he slides out from under his car. “Figured i should swap this to a lighter one though.”

Raising an eyebrow, the raven haired man questions, “Lighter? Seriously?”

The former shrugs, “Every millisecond counts, right?”

With a sigh, Suguru gets up and wipes his hands on a rag, muttering, “Overambitious but sure. I’ve got time right now. I’ll help you put it on.”

Twirling his keys around his finger, Satoru’s

already opening his car door and shaking his head, “Nah, i’m good.” He grins. “I’m taking it to an actual professional.”

Suguru’s brows knit together in confusion. They always tune their cars together. Always have.

“Seriously?”

“Yup. She’s a real professional— real pretty too.”, Satoru leans against his car with one arm, internally swooning over you.

“Uh-huh.” Assuming he’s trying to find a euphemism for a hookup because why else would he suddenly get his car tuned by someone else, when they’ve been doing it together for years. “…so…. it’s not actually about cars?”

Confused, Satoru’s nose scrunches up. “Ehhh? No no no, it is. She rebalanced my suspension last time, my car runs smooth as hell now.”

Now that makes Suguru deadpan. “I’ve been telling you to get your tires fixed for weeks, Satoru.” And he’d always brush him off.

With a silly pink flush on his pale cheeks, Satoru just sheepishly chuckles, making Suguru prod further. “Are you gonna tell me who this actual professional is?”

Satoru only grins and gets into his car, waving at him cheekily, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

After he drove outside, Suguru was left standing there, staring at the empty space where his car had been. And then his lips curl into a sly smile as he recalls the times he’d caught him smiling at his phone or sneaking away to make a call…

You’re currently stirring the pasta you’d made yourself for dinner and were very much looking forward to eating. It’s been three days and you haven’t received a single text from Satoru. Maybe he just had a lot to do, or maybe he hasn’t been able to get a lighter bumper yet. There are other possibilities you don’t want to consider because you realize that you really barely know him. You suppose, maybe it’s different because you’ve known of him beforehand, while he’s met you for the first time a few weeks ago. Still, it felt weird. He’d been spamming you with texts and calls before he’d been to your garage, but now? Does it have something to do with what you did—or almost did, in your garage? Maybe it was about that awkward goodbye you’d had. You shake your head vehemently. Stupid stupid stupid stupid thoughts. It really isn’t that serious.

Or maybe it is, because the doorbell rings only a few seconds after and instead of your fear of Sukuna coming over becoming reality, It’s the white haired fool.

“I thought i told you to call, or text me before you come over!”

God, you don’t even want to think about what if Sukuna actually was here, if he’d been the one to open the door… A shudder runs down your spine but you snap out of it when you see his eyes on you, and instead of the usual teasing, carefree look, he seems concerned. About you? Why?

“Hey… Sorry about that.” He slowly steps inside when you automatically move to the side. “Are you okay?”

Luckily, you recover quickly from your overthinking habits and are able to smile, “Yeah yeah, just…” you smack the back of his head with your palm, “don’t show up unannounced. Do you even know that you look like a major creep?” You also wondered why he didn’t bother texting you, but you weren’t about to bring that up, when you just decided that it isn’t that serious.

He ruffles his head where you smacked him, not because it hurts because he’s grinning like that just made his day. “Sorry, sorry. I promise, i won’t forget again.” adding a quieter, “Are you gonna kick me out?”

You did contemplate it for a moment but you don’t actually want him to leave.

“Depends. Are you hungry?”

He blinks, confused. “Huh? Like what— like, for you? Hell yeah! You know, i’ve actually been dreaming about—“

You interrupt him with another smack to his head, before he can finish that sentence. “I mean actual food, dumbass. I made pasta.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh.” For a moment, he’s actually flustered but that quickly switches back to his usual attitude, “So we’re eating together? Like a married couple? Are you going to feed me too?”

You grimace as you turn off the stove. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Chuckling with that casual tone of his, he leans against your fridge, “so… you’ve been thinking about me?”

Your hands pause, hovering over the pots. “What?”

“Weeellll, earlier, when you opened the door, you looked like you’ve seen a ghost. But not in the bad kind, more like ‘oh wow, i’ve been totally imagining this moment but i’m not prepared for it’ kind of way.”

You snort a laugh. He wasn’t all that wrong, you were thinking about him more than you wanted to but this scenario was just so ridiculous and outright cocky.

“Have you ever considered that i just wasn’t expecting anyone? Don’t flatter yourself too much.”

He shrugs, “Ehh, yeah, sure. But of course i prefer the version where you’ve been fantasising about me.”

You’d definitely put double chilli powder in his portion sauce.

After deciding you’ve felt enough satisfaction from seeing him suffer and squirm, lips red and puffy from the spice, you even told him and agreed to switch plates because you can handle spicy food. And then he was actually able to enjoy the food you made.

For a while, you two eat in comfortable silence, but then he asks a question that’s been on his mind ever since he first met you.

“You know, you’ve got hella skills behind the wheel. But i’ve never seen you in a proper race, or heard of you and i sure as hell know you’d be talked about if you’d participate in bigger events.”

“Not everyone cares for that.”

He pouts, with his slightly reddened and plumped lips from the spice, he looks cute. “Sure but… i guess i’m wondering. Why don’t you race?”

To which you pause, stirring the pasta on your plate around, “Ah… long story, i guess.”

Satoru rests his head on his palm, “Not like i’ve got somewhere to be.”

Placing your fork down with a sigh you relent, “Okay, it’s not actually a long story.”

He nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I kinda had an accident.”, you mumble almost under your breath.

“Like a bad one?”

You shrug, “I dunno. Don’t remember.”

Leaning forward on the table, he prods, his blue eyes soft but seemingly piercing right through you, “So you’re afraid?”

“No.” Your answer comes out a little too quickly, more like a reflex, so you add, “I mean, maybe, a little. But mainly… someone else sort of made me.”

His eyes widen, “Someone made you?“

Shaking your head you exhale deeply, “Not really but kind of. He just kept saying that i’ll get myself killed and made a fuss, so i just…”

Satoru stays quiet for a moment, not judging you but thinking, trying to understand. “And you let him tell you what to do?”

“I wouldn’t say that… i just-“ you trail off, fixing your thoughts for a second. “since i can’t remember the accident… i guess he wasn’t too far off, i may have been reckless, i was younger. So after i recovered, i stuck to tuning and as you know, occasionally test drive, but not real races… it’s just safer that way.”

Putting your last tools away after having attached the lighter bumper to his car and checked all of his tires again, which were fine now, curtesy to you, you lean back on your workbench and face Satoru— who’s eyes are surprisingly trained on you instead of the car you’d tuned. You were explaining something about his car, rambling even. Showing your nerdy tendencies when it came to cars and their mechanics, though when you notice the way he is staring, you trail off and your cheeks flush the tiniest bit. “What?”

He smiles, looking at you the same way he had after he realized you were seriously asking him to eat dinner with you earlier. It wasn’t a cocky, relaxed smile, it was soft and genuine, his eyes fixed on you in a way that makes you feel seen. You weren’t used to this… gentleness, to someone being so attentive of you.

“Nothing, nothing… i just think you’re really cute like this.”

Yous stomach flutters dangerously, the way it has been with him. He keeps getting to you in a way no one ever has before. It scares the shit out of you because you’re not used to being vulnerable. But you find yourself not wanting to run. You aren’t sure if you want to take the risk of being hurt for him, although deep down you know that you do. You let him in time and time again, almost involuntarily because it just came so easy, so naturally with him.

“Cute..? Really?” Brushing hair out of your face that was messy, sticking up and to your forehead, desperately needing a shower, stains on your shirt and you were rambling about car mechanics—and he thinks you’re cute??

He nods, looking unfazed on the surface but in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him pick on his nails and the redness that was more intense than usual while he stepped forward also doesn’t escape your attention. Until the teasing edge in his voice comes back and he grins boyishly, “Yeah, i mean, you were so focused, putting your all into my car and then you’re nerding off about mechanics… Like whew, are you trying to seduce me?”

You bite your lip, returning his grin, “So it’s working?”

You don’t notice that he pulled a stack of cash out of his pocket until he takes your hand and places it in your palm, eyes widening at the fact that it’s far more than you’d ever charge for exchanging the bumper and fixing his tires, you were about to protest but he winks at you and reassures you before you can. “A bit extra. Consider it a thank you for uh… everything. Dinner too, it was great. Though, i’ll take you out properly next time. I mean… if you want?”

Almost immediately, without even thinking about it, you reply, “Yeah. Of course.”

He squeezes your hand with both of his. “Great. And don’t worry about the Cash, it’s fine, really.” Then he adds, in a confident, cocky tone, “I’ll get it back in at the next race anyways. I’ll go all out, i promise, it’d be a disservice to the work you put into my car.”

He says it as if you did anything special. You barely did anything at all to his car but he’s so appreciative, it’s heartwarming.

Though it doesn’t last long because internally, your mind is screaming. The race in a week. He told you about it while you were working on his car earlier but you were too focused on what you were doing to put the pieces together until now. And you feel like an idiot. The race. The stupid race. It’s the same one Sukuna’s been telling you about. The one for which he convinced you to install a multi staged nitrous kit for and rid the car of all limitations that were there for safety. Thinking about the monster you’d created in doing so, made you nauseous already. But realizing that Satoru will be there, racing against that? The possibilities of everything that could happen make your throat close up.

You don’t even notice that your breathing has slowed and you are trembling until warm, strong, calloused hands squeeze yours and you look up to see blue eyes piercing through you, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He says your name a few times and you blink. At his hands on your trembling ones, the door to your garage, the ceiling lights, his car and at him. He’s saying your name, with a softness that makes you want to curl up into his chest and cry.

But why are you so vulnerable now? It’s fine. It’s okay. Whatever happened at races had never been your business. You never cared. Never cared that Sukuna would be racing against Satoru, until you got to know him and he was everything. Offered you everything Sukuna never could in his wildest dreams. Seeing you— caring about what he sees in a way Sukuna would never even dare try.

He places one hand on your shoulder, and rubs your back comfortingly, his voice so assured and kind, “I’ll be safe. I promise you. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

He interprets your reaction as a sign of the lingering fear of your accident you’d mentioned earlier.

“That’s not what i’m worried about.” You reply, steadying your voice.

It isn’t the car you are worried about, your tuning is, despite the mechanism, safe and secure enough to last. Neither are you worried about Sukuna playing dirty. He is too cocky for tricks.

Satoru tilts his head, still rubbing your back, “You sure? Because it’s totally fine if you are. I get it, it’s scary. You may not remember the accident but that doesn’t mean you can’t be scared.”

Taking a deep breath, you silently wrap your arms around him. Hoping that he’ll remain this sweet to you after the race. Hoping that nothing will change.

You’re worried because essentially, you’re betraying him. Betraying both of them.

And you don’t think Satoru will see it that way, you know he’ll try his best to reason and be understanding the same way he is now. But Sukuna? He’s a ticking time bomb and it makes you sick thinking about what he might do when he finds out. He’s big on loyalty. Incredibly so.

Pushing these thoughts away, you are grounded to the present moment by Satoru’s warmth. The way his chin rests on the top of your head, his strong arms around you and tones chest against your cheek. Inhaling his scent, you’re calming down. In this moment, everything is alright. So you stop worrying and focus on the now.

Eventually, both of you pull away and you’re calm again. At peace and safe, as you always seem to be with him.

After he is sure you’re safe he says his goodbye, opening his car door, but before he can get in, you grab his chin and kiss him. It’s a messy kiss when your lips meet and you pour all of your worries and affection for him in it. He tugs you closer by the waist, fingers digging into your skin beneath the shirt and moans breathily when you bite his lower lip, sucking on it.

He pulls back slightly, eyes darkened and wide with need, his voice rough and low,

“If you keep kissing me like that, i might have to drop down on one knee and put a ring on your pretty fingers.”

Gently swatting his chest, you gasp, cheeks flushed, “Don’t… don’t just say stuff like that.”

He nuzzles his forehead against yours, “You’re right, by the time i actually do, i won’t spoil the surprise like this.”

“You’re insane.”, you breathe out as your hands slide from his cheeks to the back of his head, closing your eyes for a second.

“Do you know what’s actually insane?”, he pulls his forehead away to look down at you, hands gripping your hips and pulling your body closer against the hard, hot planes of his chest. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to continue.

“That i haven’t properly tasted you yet.”

Before you can properly react he lifts you up with his hands grabbing your ass, making you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist.

“You’re so beautiful.” He places you down on the hood of his car. The sleek metal of the car cools the heated skin of your bare legs beneath your shorts.

Your hands are still clutching his shoulders, head spinning as you reply to him, “Wait, but i’m all gross after working on your car—“

His hands caress your thighs almost reverently, “No- god, no. I swear you’re the sexiest woman ever. You could never be gross to me.”

His hands on your thighs slide dangerously high, barely slipping beneath your shorts but so so close to where you need him most as he keeps talking with a low, breathy voice, his eyes almost hungry. “Please, just let me eat you out. Right now. You don’t need to do anything. I’ll take care of you if you’ll let me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, frozen for a moment as your legs wrap around his waist tighter to keep him close.

“I need to taste you, just this once… —or maybe a hundred times more but please let me do this right now.”

He keeps mumbling, planting soft, deliberate kisses over your neck.

And fuck, you need him probably just as much. So you cup his face and kiss him again, whispering against his lips, “Just shut up and do it.”

That’s all he needs because he immediately drops to his knees in front of you, tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere neither of you care to look.

He spreads your legs and places them on his shoulders, his face between your thighs, which he places messy, wet kisses all over.

You’re about to tell him to hurry, tugging your hands in his fluffy white hair to pull him closer, when his tongue licks a long stripe over your already wet folds.

A strangled gasp escapes you when he sinks his tongue into your pussy immediately after. His hands are gripping your thighs, as he thrusts his tongue into you. “Fuckkkk, you taste so good…”, he mutters against your skin, his low voice vibrating against your core.

Breathlessly, you whine, “Satoru, please… more…”

And you don’t need to tell him twice because he’s eating you out, licking, kissing, sucking on your clit like a starved man.

You keep him in place as he sucks on your clit, his teeth gently pulling on it, making your legs tremble around his head as you feel the pressure building up even further in your lower stomach. “Oh, fuck! I’m so close.”

That only makes him suck on your clit harder, more desperately. By the time he slides two fingers inside of you, you’re falling apart in his mouth, over his hand, on his car. He gently places kisses around your cunt, looking up at your glazed over expression through white lashes, while he slowly thrusts his fingers inside for a few more times to prolong your high.

He pulls them out after a bit, sucking your slick off of them, but instead of getting up, he stays on his knees for a bit, rubbing your thighs while looking up at you.

You tiredly tug on his hair, wanting him closer, so he stands up and wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and kissing you softly. You can taste yourself on his lips and it makes you hum into the kiss.

He carries you into your house, letting you point the way to the bathroom and he showers together with you, his hands all over you, caressing your body sensually, keeping his eyes on you as if he’s admiring you.

Later in bed, he’s laying next to you, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and you can feel him hesitate— see the question forming in his head as he speaks, “Do you want me to leave?”, his voice is gentle and low. He’s not asking out of insecurity but out of respect for you, giving you the space to pull away if you wanted to.

Your brows furrow and you shake your head, taking his hand and placing it on your waist, shifting closer to him, “What? Don’t be stupid.”, you pull him into a kiss, slow and needy, tongues meeting and you suck on his bottom lip to hear that whiney sound he makes when you do.

He pulls you closer by your waist and deepens the kiss. One of your hands trails over his bare chest, taking in the hard planes of his muscles under your fingertips, sliding down over his v-line, to the hem of his pants. He trails his hands upwards to tug off your shirt, his lips trailing down from your jaw to your neck, to your collarbones and now exposed breats. “God, baby, you’re so gorgeous.” And you feel him shift to hover above you, his hands kneading the flesh of your breasts, popping one nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, tongue flicking over the bud, making surges of pleasure shoot through you.

Your own hand tugs down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Wrapping your hand around him and stroking slowly, you feel just how big he is. He gasps and releases your nipple, going back up to kiss you, wet and sloppy, whining into your mouth as you stroke him.

One of his hands slides down into your panties, running his fingers over your already dripping cunt, “You’re so wet for me”, he mumbles into your skin, sinking two fingers knuckle deep into you. You squeeze his cock harder in your hand when he scissors his fingers just right and both of you moan in unison.

You release his cock to take off your panties but he’s already pulling them down with your free hand, tossing them into a corner for the second time that day.

His hands grip your thighs and he lines himself up with your cunt, sliding his tip through your wet folds, making you whine,

“Satoru, fuck me already.”

He chuckles breathlessly against the skin of your neck, tingling you there.

“So impatient… i’m on it, sweetheart, don’t worry.” A loud moan falls from your lips when he finally sinks his entire length inside of you, pausing and gripping your thighs as if to compose himself.

He starts thrusting in slowly, shallowly, one hand cupping your breast and squeezing. When he sees your pretty eyes looking up at him with need, he picks up the pace, bottoming out until only the tip remains inside of you and slamming back in. His hips snapping against yours, stretching you out so good. Your legs wrap around his waist but he takes one and lifts it up over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to reach even deeper. “Fuck, you’re so tight..”

Your nails rake over his back, leaving red lines all over, and that only seems to turn him on more because he rubs your clit with one hand in response. “Oh yes, just like that!” You moan and clench tighter around him, his own hips stutter slightly but he holds himself back, pushing you over the edge first. Your eyes are locked on his, mouth open in silent, breathy moans as the tsunami of pleasure crashes over you, clinging onto him.

He keeps thrusting into you, hand releasing your clit and tangling in your hair, lightly pulling on it, “I’m gonna— shit— Should i pull out?”

Your arms only wrap around his back tighter in response, shaking your head, “Want it inside.”

He looks at you with need and keeps rutting into you, replying with a breathy voice, “Fuck, okay.”

And he thrusts deeply inside of you, hips staggering, pressing against yours as you feel his warm cum fill your belly.

He rides out his high by shallowly thrusting into you a few more times, stuffing his cum inside of your cunt, his forehead resting against yours, savouring the moment of being connected to you physically.

After a moment of letting you both catch your breath, he pulls his head away to look at you, his hands cupping your face and capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

He rolls his softening cock for a few more times, still nestled inside of your cum filled cunt, whispering your name against your lips.

When he pulls out, he lays his head down on your chest and you caress his hair. You’re both silent for a moment until he looks up and places another kiss on your lips, like he can’t get enough of you, “You’re so perfect.”

He says it so earnestly, like it’s nothing, it makes your stomach flutter and cheeks heat up.

“And you’re ridiculous..”

“Ridiculously hot.” He smirks and you giggle tiredly, “Sure sure.”

You settle properly into bed, nuzzling against eachother after he cleaned you up, tiredness overcoming both of you, he sleepily rubs your back, your eyes closing and you only nod against his chest when he speaks, “I meant everything i said.”

And you believe him.

A few days pass and the time span leading up to the race gets shorter. Satoru and you stay in contact, calling sometimes but often texting eachother. It’s easy with him, you can feel your affection and care grow for him day by day, no matter how much you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach whenever you see his name light up your screen. You barely even think about the conflict that you knew was bound to come when they— especially Sukuna, find out about you having been tangled up in them both.

Until reality snaps back in.

Currently, you’re eating dinner with Sukuna and his crew after coming over and doing some last check-ups to ensure his car was flawless for the upcoming race. And you’d stayed over to eat dinner, like you always did before a bigger race. Just with the difference that earlier, when you and him were closer—when he wasn’t a complete asshole towards you—you’d stay the night and he’d often fuck you till sunrise.

But ever since he started entertaining more and more women, while you were around and he’d see you less whenever you said you didn’t feel like warming his bed, you broke it off, the entire weird-whatever-exactly-it-was friends with benefits thing. You didn’t have feelings for him like that, but it sucked being treated the way you were and okayyy, maybe you liked him a little more than you’d wanted to admit, or else you wouldn’t have longed for him to be all over you outside of bed too.

You are over it though. Have been.

Shots are being passed around, which you refuse, you’re more in your head than usually. Sukuna is an asshole but he’d been your friend… or something… for years. Did he really deserve that you fucked his biggest rival, one that he’s told you countless times that he despises, behind his back?

When you bring your plate to the kitchen after dinner, he’s there. Studying you with his usual scowl, but his eyes seemed more brooding than sharp. Before you can ask him what his problem is, he asks, “You good?”

You blink. Since when did he care?

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Hm.” He tilts his head at you, his voice so… unusually gentle. “Stay the night.”

Not a question, a demand. Just how you knew him. And so casually too— you don’t know if you want to yell at him or pretend you’re nor fazed at all. You don’t have the chance to do either, when your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. A call. If this wasn’t some insurance scam, then it could only be one other person calling you after the sun had long set. Sukuna glances at it, and your hand moves quickly as you grab it, scared he’d see. “Give me a sec.”

You step away and try to keep your voice down, hushedly talking into the speaker, “Hey… you know, you probably picked the worst possible time to call.”

“You in trouble or something? Everything okay?”

Biting your lip and glancing back over the shoulder, hoping Sukuna is far enough away to overhear anything and exhaling when you notice that he probably is. “All good, just bad timing, as i said. But i am glad you called. I’ll call you back?”

You can hear the grin in his voice, “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

To which you lightheartedly roll your eyes, repressing a smile and ultimately hang up. It’s funny how quickly you can go from almost spiraling in the pain you’d been through due to Sukuna, to feeling wanted. With Satoru you feel grounded, like you’re not just an afterthought or there out of convenience. He makes you feel like you’re his priority in a way that seems so natural that it’s easy to forget how little time you’ve actually known him, if you don’t keep reminding yourself. Despite all the adrenaline and thrill he brings, it just feels easy with him, comfortable and reliable.

Stepping back into the kitchen, it feels as if the balloon of bliss was popped with only a snarl. “Who the fuck was that?”

“Mind your business. Don’t you have a ton of women to call back instead of bothering me?”

He sighs, exhausted, as if you’ve been the one who was pushing his limits. “Just answer the question.”

His tone, which seems genuine enough catches you off-guard, but it’s not enough to undermine the fact that you’re over his antics. “I don’t owe you shit.”

Instead of getting angry, he seems to try to figure you out, “You don’t. But you’ve never hid anything.”

Yeah, maybe. But you don’t reply. You don’t want to yell at him. You want to give into him even less. You’re over it. You want Satoru, even if it made you feel guilty.

“Don’t tell me this is about a guy.”, he scoffs a disbelieving laugh, almost as if the notion was too ridiculous to be true. But when you still don’t respond, he looks conflicted between repulsed and… offended? “You’re kidding. And i always thought you were too cold for some shit like that.”, he mutters, the insult sliding out because he’s confronted with something he doesn’t want to face. A defense you’d witnessed and experienced more times than you can count.

Too cold? Does that asshole even know you?? Too fucking cold???

No. You were loyal, unwaveringly so. Available too. To warm his bed and cool his temper like— and you were there.

Until it started to feel like standing in traffic, waiting to get hit.

You inhale sharply, you’re too tired to argue and you know it’s meaningless too. “Just drop it, Sukuna. I’m going home.”

Grabbing your things, you walk towards his front door, he doesn’t follow. You turn around, eyes softening the slightest bit. Even you don’t know why, you suppose you’ve known his hardened shell enough to be able to tell when something managed to get through. And somehow you also knew, that you not screaming at him, cut through him harder than any yell or hit ever could.

“Get some sleep. And don’t be reckless.”

Then you’re out of the door.

Almost instinctively, you call Satoru after driving a few metres away from Sukuna’s house. He picks up after the second ring, voice light and happy, “Heyy, gorgeous. That was quick. You missed me so much?”

“Yeah yeah…” you swallow, “um, are you home and have some time by chance?”

You try to keep your voice even but he picks up the tightnessin it and his own tone gets more serious, worrying.

“Yeah. Always for you.” he says quickly, “Are you okay? Do you need me to come pick you up from somewhere or something?”

“No, no, i’m in my car.” You hesitate, you didn’t only call him because you said you would, it was like an instinct, a subconscious gesture because you know he’d comfort you. “Do… do you think i could come over?” Biting your lip, you almost regret asking, feeling vulnerable and weak but his response is— as it always is, safe, assured, comforting and natural. “Of course. I just have a friend over right now but if you need space i can tell him to—“

You shake your head as if he can see it and interrupt him, “It’s fine. I don’t want you to send him away for me or anything, that’s really not necessary.”

A small pause and your phone vibrates, “Okay, if you’re sure. I sent you my address. See you soon, sweetheart.”

When you arrive, his garage is open and you see a tall man with silky, long, black hair tied into a half up half down, turning around to look at your car as you park it in Satoru’s driveway.

Satoru is already walking towards you as you step out of your car, his expression softens as soon as he sees you.

“Hey.” You murmur, looking at him, your hands fiddling with your keys.

He doesn’t hesitate, opening his arms for a hug with a soft, “Come here.”

And you let him embrace you, wrapping your arms around his waist, his firm, warm muscles surrounding you, inhaling his cologne.

“Bad day?”

You shrug in his hold, already having calmed down, “Something like that.”

Both of you pull away and look eachother into the eyes for a moment, until Satoru clears his throat and gestures to the man in his garage, “This is Suguru, he’s an old friend, the oldest, really.” Then he gestures to you, “And this is…” he hesitates before grinning, “the best and prettiest mechanic i know.”

The raven haired man’s lips curl into a sly, knowing smile, “Ahhh, so this is her.”

“Her?” You tilt your head questioningly at Satoru, but before he can respond, his friend clarifies, “Nothing. Just didn’t know who he kept running off to see or smile at his phone.”

Satoru chuckles and pushes you towards the door that connects his garage to his house, chuckling sheepishly, “Yeah yeah. Come in, i’ll make you— uh, whatever you want.”

The evening passes comfortably and the atmosphere is relaxed, harmonic. Despite Suguru being a stranger, conversation over dinner flows smoothly between you three. You didn’t feel excluded, despite them being best friends since elementary school and you… just being there, essentially. You found out that Suguru also races and that they’ve been into cars since forever, started racing in high school and gotten into tuning together.

You were surprised, “So you’ve known eachother for that long and were friends the entire time?”

“Unfortunately”, Suguru said with a small smirk.

Satoru threw a dish towel at him in response.

Eventually, Suguru said his goodbye, told you it was nice to meet you and teased Satoru about behaving around you.

Now, you’re laying in his bed, in his shirt, next to him in only loose sweats. He absentmindedly plays with your hair and pulls your head onto his chest, you drape your leg over his in response.

“You’re okay?” he murmurs for the nth time today, to which you nod against him.

A comfortable silence stretches over you. There’s so much you could say.

So much you probably should say.

But for now, it feels easier to just be with him. You’d like to think he feels the same, nothing indicates that he doesn’t and almost everything indicates that he does. You’re still cautious.

But you do want him to know at the same time, “I liked today.”

His hand keeps caressing your hair, more deliberate now, “Me too.”

You’re stirred awake by the slow, rhythmic brush of a warm chest behind you and soft breaths on your neck. You feel something hard press insistently against your ass. Blinking your eyes open, you shift a little under Satoru’s arm that’s hugging you close to him by your waist.

The movement earns a low groan from him, his arm pulling you closer and his hips twitching forwards just slightly, but enough for you to feel the entirety of his hard length.

“Morning, gorgeous.” He mumbles with his raspy, sleepy voice.

“You’re hard.”

He humms against your neck, keeping you close, “Mhm. Can’t help it. You’re so warm and soft.”

You try to turn around to face him but he’s holding you tighter, only making you rub your ass against his erection. “Stay.” He rolls his hips against your ass, burying his face in your neck, “Just a little.”

“Satoru…”, you mumble and press your ass against him harder, making him hiss, “Fuck, you feel so good… just stay like this…”

The friction of his hard cock grinding into you from behind makes you clench your thighs together and you whisper, “You’re unbelievable..”

“You make me like this.”

One of his hands slides under your shirt, warm against your skin, splaying out over your stomach. The other hand on your hip, keeping you close against him. He rolls his hips against you in slow, firm grinds, breath hitching against your neck.

The friction of it sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you ache for more.

“Satoru, more…” Impatiently, you try to turn around in his hold again, “Let me on top.”

He stills his movements, letting out a groan against your neck. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just say that and expect me to stay sane.”

You manage to turn around, thighs sliding over his hips to straddle him, His hands immediately flying to your hips as he shifts his own, bucking up slightly to adjust.

“God, look at you.” His eyes are trained on you, filled with want. “Prettiest thing i’ve ever woken up to.”

And so is he, with his white hair sticking up, messy from sleep, cheeks flushed and looking at you, with his beautiful blue eyes like you’re the only girl in the world.

You grind your hips down over his, feeling the friction of his hard, clothes cock against your clit. Every slow roll of your hips, every impatient thrust of his, sends shivers down your spine and pleasure up your core. Soaking through your panties and his boxers as both of you keep moving against eachother.

It doesn’t take long for your dizzy, sleepy selves to come, simultaneously finishing in your underwear as you keep rolling your hips, more desperately now.

He pulls you down to his chest, “I don’t think i can wake up any other way from now on.”

If it was up to you, he wouldn’t have to.

You settle for kissing him sweetly and falling back into his arms instead.

A breeze of wind cools Satoru’s face as he rolls own the window of his car, eyes narrowing as he looks out to assess the other contestants, looking for someone who can challenge him, looking for Sukuna, with whom he had an ongoing rivalry and who never failed to put up a good race.

When the next car pulls up, his head turns towards the sound and he has to do a double take at the car in question.

It’s not just a car. It’s the car, a dark red Mazda rx-7.

The car that you drove when he first met you and raced him through Tokyo’s streets with.

But instead of you being inside your car, it’s a pink haired man with face tattoos and permanent scowl. Sukuna.

Something in his head clicks into place.

Leaning his elbow out of the window as he drives up next to him, he whistles, “Nice car. Where’d you get that tuned?”, His lips turn into a dark, smug smile, “Looks like whoever worked on it must really know what she’s doing. Must be a pretty amazing mechanic you got.”

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snap to him, jaw tightening. He hates that tone, all too cocky, all too knowing. Knowing about you. You know Satoru. Is he the reason for your distant behavior? Is he the one behind the calls and texts you’ve been hiding? His hand tightens on his steering wheel, forcing his eyes back onto the road. He can’t afford to snap before the race, it could start any minute now. “Watch your mouth and worry about yourself.”

He rolls up his window and focuses onto the guy giving the signal for the start of the race. But the tension hangs thick between them.

This rivalry isn’t just about who crosses the finish line first anymore.

Now it’s about you.

The start signal is given shortly after.

Engines roar and they’re off in the blink of an eye.

Tires screech, rubber burns against pavement.

The other contestants far behind, Sukuna and Satoru racing for first head on.

The world blurs past in streaks of light and sound. Every turn is precise, brutal. Every second is a battle. Sukuna gains on the straight. Satoru steals it back on the curve. They’re neck and neck, barely a breath between them.

And in the end, a millisecond decides.

The difference between fury and victory.

Satoru won. Sukuna came in second.

You didn’t even want to come here today, but Sukuna had insisted on stringing you along, in case he needs your skills.

But now he lost, came in second, barely missing first place and makes snarky side comments like you intended for this.

You don’t know why he is so pissed off at you like it was your fault he only came in second.

Snapping at you over something you didn’t care to listen to, again. you’ve seriously had enough of his attitude.

“Sukuna, what the fuck is your problem?”

His eyes snap to you and he walks closer, towering over you as his voice sharpens, “What’s my problem? Do you think i’m stupid? You’re really fucking around with that bastard behind my back like it’s nothing, like i—“

A familiar voice cuts through the tension.

“Back the fuck off of her!”

It’s Satoru. Striding over to you with determination and a fierce look of disgust in his eyes, but not directed at you.

That’s all the confirmation Sukuna needs. You really know that bastard. Had been meeting him behind his back— probably fucking him too. It’s not his business but you were apart of his crew. You tuned his cars, helped him strategize for years. All of that just to turn to his biggest fucking rival of all people? That’s a betrayal he’d never expected from you.

His glare snaps from Satoru to you, “You’re such a disloyal little whore, playing for both sides like you didn’t belong to me— my crew for all this time.” voice lowering, he adds, “for a moment, i thought something was genuinely going on with you, was worried too,” he laughs cruelly, leaning closer with a patronising tone, “but apparently it is about someone else. you really just can’t keep your legs closed like a—“

The seething tone makes your stomach turn, but before you can respond, can defend yourself, can explain to him how he treated you like shit for this to happen and you just got too tired to tolerate it for longer, that you never fucking belonged to anyone—

A sharp sound cuts through the air as Satoru’s fist collides with Sukuna’s jaw before he can even finish his sentence.

The force of it sends him stumbling backwards, Satoru now standing right next to you, eyes narrowed in disgust, “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

You’re frozen in place, staring at Satoru not hesitating to step in to defend you, until Sukuna charges at him, “You’re really going to fight for her? As if she’s worth it?”

His fist swings back at Satoru, who doesn’t flinch but meet his advances. “Oh, she’s worth far more than that, even you know that she is. Or else, why are you swinging back?”

A commotion starts to form from the remaining people who’d came to watch the race, now intrigued by the fight between the notorious rivals, surprisingly not about the race, but about you.

“You don’t know shit about her. She was mine—“

But you’ve seriously had enough, throwing your shoe, hitting Sukuna’s head with it, you snap, “I was never yours. I was never anyone’s. I never belonged to you nor your crew, not the scene. I stuck by you but i got too fucking tired of you treating me like shit. And i’m not sorry for choosing me first this time.”

You feel like you’re in some stupid tv-show with the people having formed a circle around you. The fight has died down and Satoru gently puts his hand om your lower back in concern for you.

Sukuna scoffs harshly and turns away, “You made your choice, picked a side. Just hope he’s worth it.”

Satoru leads you away from the people, who started to dissolve when the fight ended, some disappointed, some still curious. His voice is soft, nothing like the angry tone he had moments ago, “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t need anyone to fight for me, you know.” You nod and get in as he opens his car door for you, “but thank you for doing it anyways.”

He gets in on the other side, “Of course not. I just couldn’t listen to that bastard speaking to you that way.”

You nod, placing a hand on his thigh as he starts driving, asking you if you want to go with him to his place or if he should drive you to yours, to which you agree to go with him.

Unable to keep your eyes off of him, you assess the way he looks, hair ruffles and partly sticking to his forehead, light bruises forming on his jaw, some on his arm, and his knuckles split.

You can’t help but think the way he swung at Sukuna for disrespecting you, without a second thought, was incredibly hot and he looks so sexy like this too.

“You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.” You shrug, caressing his thigh with your hand, “It’s unfair how hot you look right now.”

He chuckles, glancing over at you, “Yeah? Didn’t know you were into beat up men.”

Placing a small kiss on his cheek, you shift your hand upwards, “You didn’t get beat up. You did the punching. For me.”

He exhales sharply, glancing down at your hand that’s creeping dangerously close to his zipper. “Are you trying to make me crash the car?”

Unzipping his jeans slowly, you shake your head sweetly. “Just wanna show you my appreciation properly. You’re a great driver, you know, you’ll be fine.”

His breath hitches when you pull his cock out and lean down to lick a stripe up against it. You can feel it harden as you wrap one hand around him and swirl your tongue over his tip. Above you, he’s muttering curses under his breath, eyes focused on the road, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel.

You take his cock into your mouth, slowly taking him in, inch by inch and hear a low groan from him.

Bobbing your head up and down around his shaft, you can feel him twitch inside your mouth already. “Fuck, fuck, baby, you’re killing me.”

You’re swirling your tongue around him, feeling every vein against it.

When you hollow your cheeks and suck him off faster, you feel his car swerve to the side, stopping on a secluded area of the road. “Oh, fuck… C’mere.”

He pulls you up by your hair and crashes his lips against yours fervently. His eyes are lidded, voice thick with need, “Backseat?”

And you nod, climbing into the back of the car, he follows and pulls you right into his lap there.

You’re both breathing heavily when he pulls your panties to the side and lines himself up with you, letting you sink onto his length.

But you need him too much to go slow.

You bounce up and down on his thick shaft, to which he grabs your hips tighter and bucks his own up into yours, meeting your thrusts.

The windows of the car fog up as both of you moan and pant in pleasure. your hands tangled in his soft white hair, tugging on the strands as he kisses all over your neck, mumbling curses and praises under his breath, “Fuck, you’re so unreal. Making me feel so good, baby.”

You keep up the pace, your hips stuttering as he rubs your clit with his fingers, messy and fast. Your vision goes blurry and you feel him twitch inside of you as you clench around him, falling apart over him. He’s spilling inside of you, gripping your hips tightly and letting out a loud moan into your ear before stilling entirely.

A few minutes of sitting in his lap, basking in his comforting warmth pass and now you’re both gathering your clothes, so you can drive back to his home. While doing so, you notice something missing. “My shoe…”, you’d left it where you threw it at Sukuna.

Satoru laughs, full of genuine mirth and something akin to pride for you as he remembers the moment and ruffles your already messy hair. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He pulls you into him with an arm on your waist, his voice shifting to something more serious. “I want to. I’ll buy you anything else you need or want too. Because you’re the most amazing woman i’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

You blush, stomach fluttering with joy and he cups your face, “I know it may sound crazy but when i’m with you, everything just makes sense and feels right.”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re silent for a moment, hesitating slightly. But it just feels right— exactly like he said, here in his car under the nightly lit streets of Tokyo, and most importantly with him.

“What he said isn’t true, by the way.”

“Huh?”, his brows furrow in confusion for a second, before he nods, taking your hand in his reassuringly. “Oh, no of course not. I never thought you were any of these things—“

You squeeze his hand and shake your head, “I mean, about you, that you don’t know me. I feel seen with you. Really seen. Like you get me.”

There’s a pause and you steady your breath, mustering up the courage to confess, “I think i’m falling in love with you. Maybe i already have.”

His pupils are blown as he looks at you, his hand still cupping your cheek, gently stroking it. “I’m glad. Because i already have.”

You lean into his hand, looking at him with your lips slightly parted and he chuckles lightly.

“Don’t be surprised. How could i not love you?”

For the first time since you stopped racing, the growing hole that has been eating away at your heart has been fixed. Patched and filled with Satoru.

You aren’t numb to it anymore. You feel everything, you feel him.

And you allow yourself to.

art by _3aem & divider by @bernardsbendystraws

173 notes · View notes

saintsanddevils · 1 month ago

Text

Void & Omen - pt 3

Bob Reynolds/Void x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, canon typical violence & swearing, brief mentions of blood, fluff, angst, overprotective & possessive reader (& Bob)

Author’s Note: This is my FAV chapter I’ve written for this series so far! Enjoy!

Word Count: 5K

Masterlist

Part Two • Part Four

————

Arms locked and legs trembling, we barely make it to the closed elevator door hundreds of feet above the ground level. It must’ve been hours of exerting ourselves to get here. Sweat clings to my skin as heaving breaths saw through my lungs. I cling to Bob and Ava as tight as possible as we climb further, back to back.

“I see the door!” John gasps, startling our progress. “We’re almost there!”

Hope soars through us as we gasp out a mutual sigh of relief, until… Silence reigns as realization slices through the air like the blade of a guillotine.

“Now what?” Yelena huffs.

“Maybe one of us should go up first?” Ava suggests, shifting on my left side. Her weight drags me for a second as I shift my legs, stabilizing myself. I cling harder to my right side, to Bob, who also stabilizes himself, pushing his weight into me to keep me centered.

Yelena groans. “Then the other four immediately fall!”

“Ahh, shit,” John hisses.

“Yeah, sorry,” Bob sighs, voice quivering with uncertainty. “I guess I didn’t really think this far ahead.”

I turn my head towards Bob, finding him staring at the wall in front of himself in defeat as John berates him for this idea. My heart sinks at the way his shoulders sag, eyes losing that small bit of innocent, playful light they normally carry.

“Always making things worse,” he whispers under his breath. He says it like a mantra. As if he’s been told this for most of his life and he believes it.

Something protective stirs in my chest.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, ignoring John’s tirade. “This was a great idea.”

Bob scoffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t respond. He only stares at the wall, that light continuing to fade in his eyes.

“Maybe if we didn’t have two extra people, this would be much easier—“

I stop John before he can continue. “If you didn’t have Bob & I, you’d never make it this far.”

John scoffs. “Yeah, but at least we wouldn’t have you guys around, being a burden—“

I flinch. Bob tenses.

“Hey, I don’t think I can do this for much longer!” Ava complains loudly.

“Hand me your baton, I can reach it!” John calls to Yelena.

She gasps and they continue to bicker, but my eyes haven’t left Bob. That stirring in my chest hasn’t left and it’s telling me to help him. To be there for him. To protect him.

“Bob—“

Suddenly, he shakes his head, whipping it around frantically.

“Bob?”

“C-cucumber! Cucumber!”

“What the hell is happening?!” Yelena questions.

Bob tosses his head around. “Growing up, someone t-told me that you can stop sneezing if you c-can confuse your brain,” he stutters. “I always just yell cucumber.”

“Okay?”

“I have to sneeze, but if I sneeze, I can lose control and if that happens—“

John groans in annoyance. “This is insane! I can get us all out of here. I just need to go first—“

“No!” I yell, trying to grip tightly to Bob who keeps jostling us with his sharp movements.

“No way!” Ava joins in.

Bob suddenly stills. “Oh no.”

Fear drops in my stomach like a heavy stone. If he loses his grip, we’re all dead.

“Cucumber!” We yell in varied unison. “Cucumber!”

We continue to yell as John shifts, grabbing Yelena’s baton from her back.

“No!” I scream just as his arm whips it back before throwing it towards the closed elevator door.

Our screams echo as we fall like dominos. Bob reaches out to me, as if by instinct, and holds on for dear life as we plummet. Bob jolts from my grip as a thin rope suddenly ties around his ankle, stopping him. I scream before Bob grabs on to my hand, gripping me tightly.

My body slams into the wall of the elevator before stilling, hovering mid-air with Bob’s hand securely around mine. When I look up at him, he smiles sheepishly before finally sneezing.

“What the fuck, Walker!” Yelena screams.

“You’re welcome!” He yells back, helping Ava up through the elevator door.

“You selfish prick!” She spits at him.

“Yeah, well, you’re all safe,” he shrugs. “I made a tactical decision. Secure my own safety, which in turn, ensured all of yours.”

Yelena is pulled up next, swearing like a sailor as she shoves past him, grabbing her baton from him with a heavy glare.

“Pretty ungrateful, if you ask me.” John huffs.

“What an asshole,” I mutter as Bob pulls himself up, bending to hang on to the rope attached to him. At the same time, he pulls me up with one hand, helping me to reach the same rope he’s hanging on to. I stare up at him as he holds me close, gripping my waist.

“Thanks,” I breathe heavily. “That was some crazy upper-body strength.”

He smiles, red spotting his cheeks. “Uh yeah. It’s nothing.”

I shake my head. “No seriously, thank you. I could’ve died.”

Bob’s face grows serious, his hand tensing around my waist. “I wouldn’t have let you fall.”

Something hums in my chest at that.

“You gonna make it, Bobby?!”

Bob flinches at John’s shout. Sharp annoyance towards the super soldier sparks in my chest at the sight. John pulls us up by the rope before extending his hand to us. A smug grin crosses his lips and I glare up at him before accepting his help.

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” I grumble.

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Hey, at least you’re breathing.” He looks over at Bob, who breathes heavily as he pulls himself up to the door. “Looks like you might’ve missed arm, leg, and chest day.”

Bob glares up at him. I see something in his eyes. Something dark and shining as he holds his hand up to John. When they clasp hands, John pulls him the rest of the way.

Something under my skin rises to the surface. Feeling a strange spark of energy in the air, my skin pebbles with goosebumps. I furrow my brows, staring at Bob as he shoves past Walker, making his way over to me. His eyes—

“You alright?” He nods to me.

But his eyes… there’s a strange sheen of gold in them. Like a fire lit from within.

“Are you?” I ask.

He stills, eyes jumping from me to Walker, who’s dangerously close to the edge of the elevator shaft, staring at nothing.

“Yeah, fine. Great.”

I can sense the lie and it stings.

“Bob?” I step closer. “What’s wrong?”

When I reach out to touch him, he steps back. I stare at him, hoping the hurt isn’t written on my face as it pinches my insides.

The action of stepping back from me shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Memories of my mother, my sister, my friends, all stepping far from me. Fear filling their eyes as they backed away. As if I would hurt them. As if I wanted to hurt them.

My hand falls to my side.

“Walker?” Yelena calls out, drawing my attention.

John stands barely a step away from the edge, his body swaying slightly forward. The hair rises on the back of my neck at the sight. How his body seems suspended in a moment, lost in thought.

Yelena steps forward, reaching out towards him. “Are you crazy?!”

John jumps when Yelena’s hand touches his shoulder. He steps back from the ledge, eyes unfocused as he whirls towards the rest of us.

“What?” John questions, clearly confused.

Yelena shakes her head. “What the hell were you going to do?”

John furrows his brows. “What are you talking about?”

I stare at the ledge, dread filling my stomach at the thought of watching John plummet down the shaft, to his death. How could he not notice what he was doing?

Bob shifts in my peripheral.

Ava rolls her eyes. “Ugh, we don’t have time for this. Can we finally get out of here?”

When we follow her to the only door in the room, she presses a button and it lifts up, revealing a walkway to the outside world. A chill night breeze soars through the open door and the smell of sun-bleached earth fills the air. It reminds me of waking up in the middle of the night when I camped out in the desert years ago.

“Where exactly are we?” I ask.

Yelena shrugs. “Utah.”

We file closer to the door as the sound of marching and harsh voices echo from outside. The five of us lean against the corner of the wall, peering out to see what’s going on.

Large groups of men and women armed in tactical gear and various weapons run around the entrance. They shout and march, readying themselves for some sort of assault.

“Shit,” Ava shakes her head. “This isn’t looking good for us.”

“Fucking Valentina,” Yelena murmurs.

Backing away from the entrance, we gather around, trying to plan a way out of here that doesn’t result in getting shot in the head the second any of us step out of the building.

Bob is twitching and shifting from foot to foot again, nervously. I step closer to him on instinct, forcing myself not to reach out to him. Not since he stepped out of my touch earlier. The sting of it still hurts.

“I’m thinking I might just surrender,” Bob says, drawing everyone’s attention. “They don’t know me, I’m just some random guy.”

The thought of him going out there, alone and vulnerable, has my gut twisting.

John throws his hands in the air in frustration. “So, every man for himself, then.”

Yelena cocks her head to the side. “Who said you’re in charge?”

John, Yelena, and Ava continue to bicker, once again. I shift closer to Bob as they argue.

“You think they won’t hurt you?” I ask.

Bob shrugs. “I’m not who they’re after. I’m no one.”

I bite my lip. “Where would you go once you’re out?”

“If they let me go free,” he forces a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the states.”

“Me too.”

Bob turns to look at me, hundreds of questions drifting across his features. I resist the sudden urge to smooth my fingers over his face to reassure him.

Instead of touching him, I give him a glimpse of my past. “After my parents died, I didn’t want to stick around. Everything felt haunted. Once I left, I couldn’t stop running.”

I stare off into the distance, lost in memories of hitchhiking, sleeping on park benches, and doing odd jobs to pay for food and getting me as far from home as possible.

Bob shifts closer, head tilted as his eyes take me in. In this clearer lighting, I can finally make out how his eyes are a deep, dark blue. The color of the night sky right before dawn.

“I was running, too,” he confesses.

I give him a small smile, something secret and shared. “Looks like we’re just two runaways looking for somewhere to go.”

“For somewhere to belong.”

My breath hitches, watching as he steps closer, towering over me.

“Come with me.”

My heart beats rapidly in my throat at his boldness. “What?”

Bob hesitates, breathing in. “I mean, you don’t have to, it’s entirely your choice, after all. I just thought since I feel like I know you and we both went through the same thing with O.X.E., maybe it’s a sign we should stick together? I don’t know. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I get it. Completely. I just—“

“Bob,” I laugh, raising my hand to his mouth, stopping him.

No one has ever been so flustered with kindness towards me. It’s both refreshing and daunting. I feel as though I don’t deserve it.

Maybe you do.

The thought fills me with liquid sunshine.

I let my small smile grow, giving him some reassurance. “If we survive this and we’re somehow able to walk free,” I shrug. “Maybe I will come with you. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

I feel him smile beneath my fingertips and only then do I realize how close we’re standing. How his skin pleasantly burns my own at the contact.

“Earth to the love-birds!” John shouts, clapping his hands together. It startles us badly enough that we jump apart. “Jesus Christ. Any second longer and you’ll be making-out when we’re trying to get the fuck out of here.”

Heat creeps up my chest and neck, filling my cheeks as I look down at my feet. I see Bob’s hands clench tightly at his sides as he stares at Walker.

“We were just talking—“

“Looked like way more than talking,” John scoffs.

Yelena steps forward. “Let’s focus on the task at hand, okay? If we want this to work, we have to do it together.”

Ava suddenly phases out, startling everyone as she disappears from view.

Yelena curses. “We can only hope she’ll grab a car for us to get out of here.”

Walker shakes his head. “That’s a lot to hope for.”

Yelena glares at him before turning to both Bob and I. “Now, let’s get to work.”

————

Gunfire echoes down the dark halls as we run. Yelena put Walker in charge of keeping the guards occupied and taking them out while she turned off the lights. Needless to say, the plan went to shit.

She had both Bob and I trailing after her earlier into the breaker room when we heard the first round of gunfire. She swore colorfully as she tried and failed to turn out the lights. Once she did, it was too late.

Now, we’re running towards the fight.

“Stay here,” she calls behind to us. “You’ll be safe.”

Bob shakes his head. “I can help you.”

She stops, turning to him. “You want to help? Fine, help me by watching over her.”

She nods to me and I startle. “What?”

“Watch over each other while I scout ahead. I don’t need you both getting shot while I’m trying to deal with these men and get us out of here. Alive.”

“But I don’t need—“ Yelena disappears around the corner towards the gunfire before I can finish.

Bob rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, shifting his weight. “Well, guess we just… wait here.”

I sigh, leaning against the wall. “Guess so.”

Silence fills the space between us. Bob begins to pace the longer Yelena is gone. More shouts and gunfire echo down the hall. I flinch at the sound, pressing against the wall and breathing deep. Something stirs under my skin as fear beats like a constant drum in my chest.

Bob must see or sense my distress since he drifts closer, concern etching his features. “W-what’s your favorite color?”

I pause, meeting his gaze. A short laugh escapes me at the randomness of his question. “My favorite color?”

He nods encouragingly.

“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bob’s eyes widen. “You don’t know your favorite color?”

I shrug, thinking. “I mean, I probably don’t have just one favorite. Like I love the way this one tree looked outside my house when I was a kid and how it was always this golden orange. I also love how the sky looks just before the sun rises, a mix of light purples and blues.”

Bob still looks like he’s in shock, but he seems more placated now. “Wow, that’s… Those are some really good ones. I was just going to say blue.”

I laugh hard enough that it echoes off the walls. Bob smiles openly now.

“Favorite movie?” I ask.

“That’s a hard one.”

“I told you it’s hard to pick just one!”

He holds out his hands, as if in surrender. “Okay, yes, you’re right. But if I had to pick one, I’d probably say The Princess Bride.”

I raise my brows. “Really?”

“Hey, it’s a good movie. It’s got action, adventure, comedy, romance,” he counts each one off his fingers to emphasize his point. “It has everything. I’m also just a sucker for a damsel in distress and a happy ending.”

Smiling this much hurts my cheeks as I tilt my head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the happily ever after type.”

“Well,” His gaze lowers to the floor. “When you live in a nightmare, you just hope everything will turn out in the end. That all that suffering was worth it.”

His smile has faded, eyes dark and lost.

I pause, studying him. From what I’ve come to know in the last few hours, Bob is sweet, kind, and selfless. Something broken and soft. Something complex from a past of deep hurt.

A part of me sings to that melancholic tune, wanting to step forward and hold him. I hold back, remembering how he stepped out of my touch earlier.

I say softly, “I think it’s a wonderful thing to believe in happy endings. When we get out of here, I hope you find yours.”

Bob meets my eyes and there’s something shared there. It’s familiar and warm.

But then more gunfire sounds down the labyrinthine halls, disturbing the peace of our corner of the world. It sounds closer now.

“What made you choose O.X.E.?” He asks, his voice no longer burdened by the past.

A glimpse at his innocent big eyes and small, curious, trusting smile has me letting down my guard a little more. Allowing for him to continue distracting me.

“It didn’t really feel like a choice. It was more that I was desperate and had no other options.” I shrug. “I’ve been on the run for a long time. I eventually got tired of running.”

Something hollow and desperate claws its way up my throat as memories threaten to overwhelm me, but I try to hold it back. Shoving it down, down, down, far from the surface. There’s a burning in my eyes, but I blink it away.

Bob is suddenly closer and his concern is heavy on my skin as he boldly takes my hand in his. “We’re both just two runaways, yeah?”

I smile sadly at the reminder of my words from earlier. “Two runaways who woke up barefoot in an incinerator with trained killers.”

Bob laughs.

The thing in my chest stirs, warming at the sound of his laughter. It simmers in my veins. When he jostles our clasped hands, I feel a pull in my ribs. Something that tugs and brightens when he smiles down at me. If I squint, I can almost see it, like a shining, silver tether. It glows, flowing from my chest to—

I swiftly close my eyes, breathing deep. I’m just imagining things.

“There’s two down this way!” A shout rings out down the hall, making us both jump.

We turn to find three people in tactical gear heading our way, guns trained on us.

Bob immediately shoves me behind him, hand still tightly gripping mine.

“Don’t move.” A command under his breath. The tone of his voice reminds me eerily of the one from my dream.

“Surrender or we will use force!” The group is closer now and their weapons haven’t lowered.

“H-hey!” Bob calls out. “Uh, we were totally on our way to do just that—“

“Step away from each other and show us your hands, now!”

Bob tenses under my touch. “Sure, if you just lower your guns, that would be great.”

“I said STEP AWAY!”

Their shout makes me flinch. Bob must’ve felt it cause he stops, standing straighter.

“And I said lower your guns.” His voice is low and harsh, again. Cruel and dangerous.

The group move closer and the one shouting orders points their gun right towards Bob’s head.

Mine! That thing inside of me, inside my head, growls.

My hands shake, veins bulging as they start to shift darker and darker. I stare in wide-eyed horror.

No, no, no, no—

I immediately let go of Bob, but he holds my hand captive in his. “Bob,” I whisper, hoping I don’t sound as panicked as I feel. “I need you to let go—“

“STEP AWAY! HANDS UP!”

Bob is trembling under my hand, but he stands tall, unflinching as he stares down the armed men. I would admire his bravery if I weren’t so terrified of hurting him on accident with whatever is stirring beneath my skin.

Yanking my hand forcefully out of Bob’s, I step to the side, in sight of the armed men, hoping the heated situation will cool down now.

It doesn’t.

“GET YOUR HANDS UP!”

“STOP POINTING THAT AT HER!” Bob shouts, startling me bad enough that I look at him instead of the guns aimed at me.

That’s when I see it. The reflective gold lining his dark blue irises, shining brighter with each second.

Mine.

I flinch at the animalistic claiming in my head.

“Whatever happens, don’t move.” Bob’s voice is commanding and dark in my head. All too familiar.

Bob steps forward and all three guns are trained on him. He takes another step.

“STOP OR WE WILL USE FORCE!”

Whatever sleeps under my skin, watching with lazy attention, now is fully awake and gnawing at my bones. My heart beats rapidly against my ribs like a panicked bird in a cage. With each beat, two words pulse through my blood.

Free me. Free me. Free me!

Bob takes another step and the men click the safety off their guns. The sound echoes in my head like an omen and it sparks something inside of me that causes true fear and anger to rise to the surface.

That sound is all I need to hear. The imminent danger hanging in the air like a tight thread about to snap. And something happens.

Within the span of a breath, a heartbeat, I’m changed. Something else takes over. Something primal and hungry. Something cold and deadly. Like a wave washing over my skin, I drown beneath the surface as my body is no longer mine to control.

It’s hers.

My hand raises, skin slowly blackening at the fingertips as my veins bulge and writhe with black coursing through them, like poison. My eyes have shifted from one blink to the next, now dark and depthless voids. With the change, I see the world differently. The men before us, armed and ready to shoot Bob, the center of their chests begin to glow. A small silver light that steadily beats to the cadence of their hearts.

“What the fuck?!”

“Holy shit!”

“STAND DOWN!”

Their voices of panic and surprise don’t phase me as they turn their attention to me. But it’s too late.

I raise my hand higher, like a conductor of an orchestra. I guide the music no one else can hear.

Their gear hides what’s happening to them, but I can see it all nonetheless. The skin beneath their tactical gear begins to tighten, veins bulging as poisonous black slowly spreads up through their blood. They cough and stagger back, blood leaking from their mouths and eyes as they choke on the toxic air lodged in their lungs.

My name whispered from his lips has me stilling, like an animal caught in headlights. I turn my head to him. He staggers back in shock upon seeing my face. I frown at the action.

When one of the soldiers grips their gun and aims it at us, I cock my head at them. It’s strange to watch the last dredges of humanity and fragile hope fight to live. Especially at the end.

I snap my fingers.

And the lights in their chest, that steady glow… It snuffs out like a candle flame.

Their bodies drop to the floor like marionettes, their strings cut.

More.

It’s voice— her voice, rings through my skull.

We need more.

He steps in front of me, eyes wide. I can smell the terror coursing through his blood, but I would never harm him. Never him. Not when I recognize what lies in waiting beneath his skin. How it reflects my own.

“Hey,” he says, voice shaking, as his hands reach out to me, but not touching me. “Come back to me.”

I furrow my brows. My voice is raspy, deep, and hungry as I say, “More.”

Bob’s eyes widen. I step closer, his scent entirely intoxicating and delicious. I’ve been without him for so long, I can’t bear to part from him. Now that I’ve found him. Now that he has found me.

I raise my palm to his chest. He flinches. I press into him, eyes focused on his. On the gold that reflects back. The power rattling inside of him, begging to be released.

I gesture with my head towards the three bodies. “They threatened what is mine. What belongs to me.”

Bob swallows, eyes scanning my features as if he’s searching for something. “You did that for me?”

I nod.

His body trembles under my touch. “C-can, uh, can you, I mean, can Y/N come back now?” I stare at him and he rushes to continue. “I’m safe now. Thanks to you. You-you took care of them.”

“Safe,” I repeat, hesitant.

He nods. “I’m safe. Thank you.”

When I blink, my eyes are back to normal. The ink-black of my veins and tips of my fingers is gone. I rise to the surface, gasping before my knees give out beneath me.

Bob catches me, hands wrapping tightly around my waist. “Hey, hey,” he cautions, voice reassuring. “You’re okay, you’re alright.”

I blink, slowly and heavily, up at him. “W-what? What happened?” I wince, pain pounding a steady beat in my head. “Why do I feel so…”

Exhaustion grips me, weighing down on my limbs heavily as darkness begins to cloud my vision. I hear Bob calling my name but I fall into that dark, allowing it to cradle me like his arms around my body.

The last thing I see are the bodies, lying limp and stiff on the floor. Their mouths agape, skin hollow, bloody, and cracked.

————

Bob hears someone running around the corner. He can sense it’s Yelena before she bursts into the hall, gasping when she sees the bodies on the floor.

“What the hell happened here?!”

Bob doesn’t turn to her. He’s too focused on the woman cradled in his arms. How her breathing has finally settled and her skin is paler than usual.

She killed them to save me.

The thought should scare him. It doesn’t. Not when what lies beneath his skin hums in approval.

Bob shifts his hold on her, heaving her off the floor as he stands, cradling her body to his chest. He finally looks at Yelena, who watches with raised brows.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Yelena pauses, staring at Bob before shifting her eyes to Y/N. “Is she alright?”

Bob nods, feeling her steady pulse against the skin of his arms, the slow breaths on his neck. “She’ll be okay.”

He strides past Yelena, not caring what she does or how she stands frozen, looking over the bodies on the floor. His focus is on Y/N.

She saved me. She saved me. She saved me.

The words echo in his head like a mantra. When he woke earlier that day to find himself confused and cornered by strangers in an incinerator, she was the one thing that made sense. Every part of him, every follicle and atom, knew her. Recognized her.

He didn’t know why or how, but he knew her and trusted her. The second he laid eyes on her, something stirred in him. Something claiming and new. It scared him, at first. But now, seeing what she was capable of, what he was capable of, he knows for certain this is something he can’t lose.

He holds her tighter as he turns down the hall. That thing inside of him, stirring in his chest, purring at her touch- it whispers in his blood.

Mine.

————

Valentina sits in the van outside of the Vault watching the monitors with rapt attention. Her hands grip tightly to the leather of the chair as she hovers inches from the screen. Her eyes glued to the last recordings from the dead soldiers body cams.

“Play it again,” she commands.

The tech rewinds it.

Valentina watches, a slow smile inching its way across her lips.

Mel appears at her side, startling at what she sees on the screen. “What is that?”

A young woman stands with her hand stretched out towards the screen, towards the soldiers. Her skin blackened at the fingertips, veins pulsing dark and menacing. But it’s her eyes that have Mel wide eyed and terrified.

Valentina turns to Mel, a gleam in her eye. “Isn’t she stunning?” She nods to the screen. “She is our solution. Maybe even our salvation.”

Mel purses her lips, staring at the screen with hesitancy. “She doesn’t look like a solution, more like a problem.”

Valentina rolls her eyes. “You don’t see the potential for what she can become.”

“A super villain killing hundreds of thousands of people with just the wave of her hand?”

Valentina laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “No, no, no,” she shakes her head. “You’re being too critical, too cryptic. You don’t see her potential.” She turns back to the screen. “She could be so much more.”

Part Four

————

Taglist: @eywas-heir @babybabygrogu @theadharablack @jsprien213 @mysticdelusionengineer @accidentpronedork @qardasngan @groovycass @magnificentmoonpersona

Anyone can be added to the taglist🫶

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limethefirst · 11 months ago

Note

PART 2 OF VOID RUNNERS PLEASEE😭🙏

Void Runners Pt.2

pairings: Deadpool x Wolverine x teen!reader

warnings: contains heavy spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, swearing, crude humor, Deadpool

summary: After escaping Cassandra's lair you find yourself tagging along with Deadpool and Wolverine in hopes of saving their universe as well as getting out of the void

Part 1 / Part 3

a/n: Ask and you shall receive! This is a continuation of Void Runners since people seemed to really enjoy it! I hope it lives up to what you guys were expecting, I was thinking of ways to involve the reader a bit more! Request are open

You had no idea what was happening. One moment you were watching as Cassandra was about to let the giant monster known as Alioth eat you, the next you were being squished by Deadpool on some type of rocket soaring through the sky escaping the close clutches of death itself.

There wasn't much time to process anything because you were already about to crash, and were flung straight into the hard, dusty ground you've come to know as the Void.

A groan escaped you lips as you sat up, looking towards your new companion's, Deadpool and Wolverine; noticing how Deadpool was on top of him, your brows raised a bit.

"What cha' thinking 'bout?" Deadpool asked him, his voice laced with an innocent tone.

Logan wasn't fond of this at all, "Get the fuck off of me," he said, almost growling at the man.

"Shh shh, almost done"

"Almost done what?!" he look up at Deadpool, concerned about what he meant by that.

Deadpool now changed his tone to a more annoyed one, "Getting my knife out of your buttock, you pervert! Get your bind out of my pants!" Both men were now getting up, "I'm telling Blake!"

Deadpool looked over to you and grabbed your arm pulling you up next to him. Then he gave you a silly thumbs up, which you didn't understand why but just gave him a smile in return as a thank you for the gesture.

"New rule!" Logan began again, "I talk now" this time he looked at you as well.

"I haven't even said anything?!" You looked at him confused. Throwing your arms up a bit, and looking at Deadpool as well.

"Hush little one, Papa is talking right now" Deadpool looked over to you, holding up one finger to signal you to be quiet as he talked to Logan. You threw your arms up again now looking at Logan as he groaned at whatever was going on, obviously exhausted.

"Shut the fuck up!" Logan had now turned around, "Let me fucking think, we gotta get back to paradox right? Right?"

"Am I allowed to speak now?" Deadpool asked him sarcastically, you could tell he was smiling.

"Just nod asshole" Logan was fed up at this point.

Deadpool gave in and gave Logan a slight up and down, letting his buddy say what he needed to. Logan then looked at you as if something in his brain clicked.

"Johnny said something about others before you got him killed!"

"Poor kid? He was like fifty!" Deadpool shoots back, insulted by the comment.

Logan looked back at you, "You've been here longer then any of us have, do you know where we can find these guys?"

You hesitated before speaking to him, "I have an idea," you said, Logan looked back at Deadpool and nodded.

"You're gonna help us find them and get us out of here," Logan told you. He wasn't willing to listen to any protest, but you didn't care to argue, this was your chance at escape and by God you were gonna take it.

"Alright, I'll do my best then." You nodded at him, jumping on the bandwagon of opportunity.

"Oh I knew it was a good idea to bring you along sugar sprinkles!" Deadpool said as he patted your back, which honestly felt more like a hard slap, that lightly pushed you forward.

"You better fix my shit like you fucking promised," Logan pointed his finger at Deadpool's chest as you stepped to the side, look straight ahead noticing something in the distance.

"I smell a quest!"

"I smell food,"

This caused both men to look at what you were looking at.

A little restaurant not to far from here.

Logan was turning the place upside, you were unsure what he was looking for as he'd already found you guys some unopened spam to eat.

Deadpool finally had his mask off and you noticed what he looked like without it, you couldn't help but feel bad for him, even with the way he is, something tragic must have happened for his face to be all scarred the way it was.

"So what made you finally wear an honest to God costume?" He asked in between bites, "Mines red so they can't see me bleed." This time he turned to you and gave you a strange smile as he took yet another bite. "I can see how yellow can be useful too!"

Logan turned around and stared him down, "Have you been checked for ADHD?"

"Nu uh," Deadpool answered, mouth full with a big smile.

"You should," This time you answered as you finally tried the spam, it wasn't too bad for God knows how old it could've been.

You could hear a chuckle come from Logan as he continued his search.

"Though I've had several STD's, probably caused by ADHD" Deadpool told you guys.

You just rolled your eyes at him, wondering where he gets these ideas from. You guys both sat there longer watching Logan. Deadpool sat on one side of the booth, you sat on the edge of the table a bit, and Logan was still searching.

"What are you even looking for?" You asked the bigger man, curious what was making him more frustrated then the red masked fellow next to you.

All you heard was a mumble before you saw him grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"No no no no no, that's rubbing alcohol, you don't want to-" Before he could even finish his sentence Logan had already chugged most of it down, you turned a bit to him and sat yourself next to Deadpool watching Logan come towards the table, "Oh yup there you go, there you go, fuck that liver."

"Don't come to me when you need a liver transplant," Deadpool gave an amused snuff at your comment and turned back to the big fellow.

"What the fuck are those?" Logan was looking at, staples in Deadpool's head? You turned to look at it and you stared a little too hard that you could see the little strands of most likely fake hair pinched in between it.

"Oh, back in civilian life I wore a toupee, but nobody knows," Deadpool gave a little smile as he looked at you guys, touching his phantom hair.

Both you and Logan began to laugh a little at this, "They fucking know" you told him.

Logan joined in on the teasing, "Everybody knows," Logan gave you a smile, being glad someone else is there to help him tease the annoying red suited vigilante.

"Wanna talk about what's haunting you, or are we gonna wait for a third act flashback?"

"Ughh go fuck yourself," this was all it took for Logan to go back to the bar stools as he sat there, drinking his rubbing alcohol.

You gave Deadpool and annoyed look at elbowed him a bit, trying to get him to lay off the man a bit; it seemed to get through to him, as he rolled his eyes and began to talk again, "In my world, you're uh, well regarded."

"Not in mine," Logan didn't look back, he just took another sip.

"Well they don't like me much in my world," Deadpool said trying to lighten the mood.

"We couldn't tell.." You told him, as you stood up and threw away your empty spam cup.

"I wanted to be something, you know? Shit, I wanted to be an Avenger!"

"Fuck the Avengers,"

"I didn't make the cut though, same with the X-men," Deadpool paused, picking his next words wisely. "My girlfriend left me,"

"You had a girlfriend?" Logan asked, with genuine curiosity.

"Yea, Vanessa, when we met she was a dancer, made a whole life, it was good, but oh boy I just, uh"

You stood by the trash, leaning against the wall, not wanting to intrude on their moment.

"But fuck, you were an X-men, fuck that you were the X-man. You, uh the Wolverine, you were a hero in my world."

"Yea well, he ain't shit in mine." Logan finished his drink, if that's what you could even call it.

Deadpool turned to you, as if asking you to say something too. You let out a bit of a sigh before speaking.

"You saved me in my world."

Logan turned his head a little bit, and Deadpool gave you a somber look, unlike his normal self.

"I was in an accident, but I saw this man with metal claws, he helped me, he got me out." You closed your eyes and breathed.

"It inspired me to become who I am today, every Wolverine, is a hero in every universe, no matter what." You looked up at the both of them, "Well it's what I think at least. I didn't recognize you at first, but when I heard your name, I knew who you were, even if you aren't from my universe."

Logan looked back down at his empty hands, he began to think. The silence was killing you. Deadpool could tell and so he went back to his normal demeanor. "Alright sugar tits," Deadpool looks at Logan, "Time to go!"

It was time to continue your adventure in finding the people who would help you escape this place.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #wade wilson #deadpool x reader #deadpoolxteen!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverinexteen!reader #logan howlett #x men #x reader

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le-dormeur-du-val · 1 year ago

Note

I hear you Australians have a gaytime bar

…HUH

#soaring through the void #spiral’s asks

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suntoru · 1 year ago

Text

─ ✰ HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY.

─ SYNOPSIS: rin misses you. he wonders if breaking up with you was really worth it.

─ WARNINGS: 1.2k words!! angst, regret, pining, exes, perhaps ooc rin, probably bland but!! it’s here

─ AUTHOR’S NOTE: RIN GIRLIES HERE IS UR MAN <3

— rin’s eyes anxiously dart around, scanning for your face somewhere in the stands, an unconscious habit he hasn’t been able to drop. the roar of thousands of fans cheering him on, yet strangely, the absence of satisfaction lingers within him.

it’s weird, even he knows it, that he still hopes his ex comes to his soccer matches. he’s fully aware that you are unlikely to be present, but even so, a lingering sliver of hope refuses to fade. and it’s strange, because he was the one who broke up with you to pursue his career, he was the one who broke your heart, he was the one who'd made you cry... so why does his heart feel so damn empty when you aren’t there to watch him soar?

fuck. this isn’t the time to be thinking about this. so with an annoyed huff, he pushes his feelings aside, and plays ball.

as the final whistle blows, everybody in the stadium erupts into cheers, confetti cascading down to honor the exceptional achievement. japan won nationals, rin scoring the winning goal by himself, marking tokyo's historic first-ever victory. his eyes widen with disbelief, puffing from the exertion of the intense match. the weight of the moment settles on his shoulders, and he couldn't help but look up, expecting to see the familiar sight of your proud face in the crowd, your pretty eyes catching onto his— oh. that’s right. you won’t be there anymore.

his smile falls the slightest bit. the sensation of pride and joy seems to snap almost instantly, and he doesn’t know why. this… this was his goal, his dream. the thing he wanted most in the world, in the palm of his hand. and really, he should be more happy, but he can’t seem to shake off the sinking feeling in his stomach.

his radiant smile begins to falter, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the waves of pride and joy that had enveloped him seemed to snap abruptly. this achievement, this culmination of his dreams and aspirations, now lays within his grasp. one would expect satisfaction and happiness to course through his veins, yet an inexplicable unease settled in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow over the moment. ignoring all his teammates’ cheers and screams, he speeds towards the locker room to get changed and go home.

his house really isn’t any better. (he questions if it’s really ‘home’ without you.) the concept of "home" now feels strangely foreign, a place that should be comforting but is instead tinged with an undeniable sense of absence. it's as if the essence of warmth has been drained away.

the once-inviting space lacks the comforting sprawl of your giant stuffed animals overtaking the bed or the mountains of your clothes taking over the closet. a peculiar emptiness lingers, a void that cannot be filled by mere physical belongings. the silence within the familiar walls is unsettling.

rin finds it quite odd not feeling your arms wrap around his torso, giving him a peck as you asked about his day. it’s strangely… quiet as well. there’s no you singing along to some laufey song completely out of tune, no alarm going off because you burnt the takoyaki, or the constant hum of the tv playing in the background. it's a quietude that, rather than offering solace, only accentuates the hollowness of the space. he’s not so sure he likes it.

he stares at the shiny, gold metal he had received. his mind, despite receiving a sparkly, golden-hued award— an emblem of achievement— stubbornly fixates his thoughts of you. he finds himself gazing at the metallic surface, a token of success that pales in comparison to the vibrant memories of your presence. he recalls your playful curiosity, imagining how you would have marveled at the gold medal, playfully testing its authenticity with an endearing chomp. he misses it. he misses you.

and he wonders what you might've changed his contact to. stupid ex, maybe? loser bitch? he deserves it. but he can't help but wonder, is there a possibility he'd still be 'rinnie', or 'my love' with a heart that never made sense because it looked more like a cheeky smile to him? (he wishes he had treasured you just a little bit more.) is he blocked? or is he just another number in your phone now? do you reread the messages he sent to you?

because he does. your contact name is still ‘loml’. he has every single photo you sent saved. he stares at the old "i love you" texts night after night after night. it's pathetic, really, but his heart aches for those moments when you'd scold him for overexerting himself, when you'd sleepily wake up at two am just to make him a hot meal when he came back late, when you'd stick those tacky hello kitty bandaids on top of the scrapes he got from soccer. he misses your good luck kisses, the ones where you'd pull his face down to your height and let out a big dramatic 'mwah!' in front of all his teammates— where he'd grumble and complain but his cheeks were undeniably a bright rosy red.

but above all, the vivid memory etched in his mind is the pain he inflicted upon you. your voice trembling, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you desperately clung to his arm, seeking an explanation. "what do you mean, rin? i don't understand. did i do something wrong?" your words quivered, on the verge of shattering, yet he callously shrugged you off, meeting your tear-filled eyes with a chilling glare.

"you're just a distraction. sorry, but soccer's more important to me."

he recalls the way your hand slowly fell away, the slow nod of comprehension, and the sight of your trembling bottom lip as you fought valiantly not to crumble. he was stupid. so, so stupid. he wishes he had pulled you into the shelter of his arms, confessed his foolishness, and reassured you that he didn't mean those hurtful words. or better yet, he wishes he didn’t say them at all. and he wants to ask, have you moved on? do you find your heart fluttering for somebody else, threatening to beat out of your chest like you once made him feel?

to be loved is to be seen. you saw him beyond the carefully constructed mask, piercing through the layers of the egoist the world molded him to be. in your gaze, he wasn't just the world's best striker or sae's little brother; he was itoshi rin. and that was enough for you.

oh, how utterly foolish he was to let you go. are you still as pretty as ever? (of course you are. you’ve never not looked absolutely stunning to him.) do you still smile as brightly as you once shone, his precious shooting star? he hopes you still find a reason to break into a grin every day.

but the question that is constantly on his mind like a broken record player. if he were to grovel and beg, surrendering his pride on his hands and knees, would you accept him back?

for a moment, he considers it. calling you. his finger hovers tentatively over the ‘audio’ call button, mere millimeters away from hearing you again. rin so desperately wishes to hear your sweet voice, see your angelic face, to be able to bask in your presence once more. would you be shocked? happy shocked, or enraged shocked, or maybe you wouldn’t pick up at all. would he go to voicemail? if he left one, would you listen? do you miss him as much as he has missed you all this time? (it’s been a month, but to him it felt like years.) yet, as the gravity of his past actions weighs heavily in his heart, an inexplicable hesitation ensnares him. you… don’t deserve this. you’re healing right now, he’s already chosen himself once, it would be utterly selfish to do it again. with a heavy exhale, he gingerly sets down his phone, fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above.

and suddenly, soccer doesn't feel like his passion after all. he wonders if it was really you.

his bed feels a little bit too cold now.

#bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #rin x reader #rin x y/n #rin x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x you #bllk angst #bllk #blue lock #itoshi rin #itoshi x reader #itoshi x y/n #itoshi x you

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yannawayne · 11 months ago

Text

iii. what's up danger?

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

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's all it takes."

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

A leap of fate.

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

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

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

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

THWIP.

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

You were flying.

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

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

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

 ༻⊰───⋅

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

A Few Months Later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort, shaking your head with a small chuckle. “You'd go broke trying to pay for my therapy. Gotham’s therapists charge extra for dealing with our kind of crazy. Hell. One of them literally became a villain herself.”

“Oh, come on," Morgan’s grin widens as she leans closer. "You’ve already got a sugar daddy anyway, don’t you? Damian’s practically a walking trust fund.”

“Had to secure my future,” you grin back, leaning over her side of the table. You point to one problem on her worksheet, circling a mistake with your pencil. “By the way, you got that wrong.”

Morgan looks down, eyes widening in surprise. “Damn. I thought I had that down. You’re really good at this.”

“Weeks of practice and 3AM cramming sessions,” you say with a shrug, leaning back in your seat. “It’s nothing.”

Morgan seems to think for a moment before glancing back at you. “Speaking of securing your future, have you ever thought about applying for an internship? I know a spot at Stark Industries that’s opening up soon.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in your tone. “Stark Industries? Your dad's company? Why would I want to go there? Isn’t that where all the corporate rivalries come into play?”

“Not all of them," Morgan laughs, shaking her head. "I get it, though. There’s definitely some bad blood between the Waynes and the Starks. But this internship could be a game-changer for you. You’d get real experience, and it’d look impressive on your CV.”

You hum, your fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t know. Damian might maul me.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and nudged you playfully. "Come on, just think about it. It's a great opportunity, and I'd be there to make sure you don't get lost in the corporate jungle. If you're going to be Damian's trophy wife, you need to get used to dealing with this stuff. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it."

You sigh, considering her offer. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But no promises. Things are a bit... chaotic right now.”

Morgan nods, clearly understanding. “Fair enough. Just keep it in mind. It could be a real game-changer for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it on the list,” you say, managing a small smile.

Class ends and you both gather your things, making your way into the hallway. The corridor is a chaotic swirl of students, their chatter and footsteps echoing off the lockers and tiled floors. Damian is leaning against your locker, his usual stony expression slightly marred by an air of impatience as he waits for you.

Morgan, walking beside you, suddenly reaches out and gives your ass a playful slap. You yelp in surprise, causing Damian to straighten up and cast a sharp, puzzled look at Morgan, who just grins mischievously.

“What the fuck,” you laugh, shoving Morgan lightly.

“Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t keep me waiting too long,” Morgan smirks. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, then shifts to Damian, who’s watching her with a fiery, barely disguised jealousy. She turns and strolls away, Damian glaring daggers into the back of her head like he’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“Later!” she calls over her shoulder with a wave, her grin as smug as a cat who’s just pissed in your shoe.

You walk up towards Damian, moving a hand to squeeze at his bicep. “Dames, are you okay?”

“She’s quite forward, isn’t she?” he murmurs, placing a hand over yours.

“She’s my best friend. Just loves to mess with me,” you snort. Standing on your tiptoes, you lean in and press a quick, affectionate kiss against his cheek. “And don’t worry, I’m all yours—no matter how much she tries to steal me away.”

Damian’s scowl softens slightly, though a trace of irritation still lingers in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today."

He pushes himself off your locker with a subtle sigh. His gaze flickers with a hint of hesitation before he clears his throat and turns his full attention to you.

“Would you care to join my family for dinner tonight?” he asks, shifting on his feet. “I’m planning to take the night off from patrol. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time together. You could stay the weekend if you’d like.”

You hesitate, your mind occupied with your own plans. “Thanks for the offer, Damian, but I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. I’m really looking forward to a quiet night there.”

Home being the safehouse. Quiet being patrol. You wanted to kick some ass tonight.

Damian’s face visibly falls, his nose scrunching up in disappointment.

“Oh,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “I see. I guess I should have expected that,” he adds, his attempt at indifference coming off as strained.

He shifts his stance, straightening as if to regain his composure, but a subtle downturn of his lips betrays his frustration. “Are you sure you can’t spare a moment? I thought we might enjoy some uninterrupted time together.”

You shake your head gently and smile as you smooth your hand through his hair, fixing the few stray strands that have gone askew. “I really have to go. There’s too much on my plate right now, and Mom wants me back early.”

Damian turns his head to the side, gently batting your hand away before reaching up to fix his own hair, running his fingers through it. His shoulders slump, and he clenches his jaw, clearly struggling to hide his disappointment. “Fine. If you have to put other things ahead of spending time with me, I guess there’s nothing more to be said.”

You notice the strain in his posture and chuckle, reaching out to squeeze his arms. “I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

Damian’s eyes soften a little as you lean in and press a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. His eyes close momentarily, long lashes brushing against his cheeks.

When you pull back, Damian’s gaze meets yours, a touch warmer than before.

“Very well,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more tender tone. “I’ll be waiting for your call tonight.”

You offer a reassuring smile, then turn and head off, feeling his gaze on you until you blend into the crowd. Damian watches you go, the tension in his posture easing as he takes a deep breath. With a frustrated huff, he reaches for his car keys and makes his way to the parking lot, grumbling to himself.

He'll make sure to lift extra hard tonight.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:32PM - Personal Gym, Wayne Manor.

The gym at Wayne Manor is bathed in a subdued, moody light that stretches long shadows across the polished floors and sleek, high-tech equipment. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat, mingling with the low hum of an overworked air conditioner trying—and failing—to keep up with the rising heat.

Damian stands in front of the deadlift bar, wrapping straps around his wrists with a practiced grip. His rough hands pull the straps tight, the material digging into his skin as he secures them. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles.

Please could you stop the noise? I'm tryna get some rest From all the unborn chicken Voices in my head What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android) What's that? (I may be paranoid, but not an android)

Music thunders through his headphones, creating a personal soundscape that drowns out the rest of the world. He's dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie, both soaked through with sweat.

Bending down, he grips the bar, his knuckles turning white. With a powerful grunt, he starts the lift. The barbell, loaded with an impressive weight, rises steadily. Damian’s face contorts with the effort as he concentrates on keeping his breathing steady and controlled.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and damp strands of hair fall over his molten eyes, clinging to his skin. Normally, Damian keeps his hair cut short, maintained to match his routine. But lately, his schedule has been packed, and his bangs have grown longer than usual. He grits his teeth, pushing through the lift, doing his best to ignore the annoying feel of hair brushing against his sweat-slicked face.

CLANG!

After a few seconds, Damian drops the bar with a resounding crash that echoes through the gym, the metal slamming against the floor and ringing off the walls. His headphones slip off his ears, falling onto the floor. With a sharp, frustrated snap, he flings his weight belt aside; the leather slaps the ground with a solid thud. Letting out an irritated scoff, he breathes heavily, his anger evident in each exhale.

In another corner of the gym, Tim is deep into his calisthenics routine, his body moving fluidly as he pulls himself up on the bar. His back muscles ripple with each movement, sweat glistening on his skin. He casts a curious glance toward Damian, his eyebrow arching at the loud crash.

“Not joining Bruce for patrol tonight?” Tim calls out.

Damian, clearly irked, casts a sidelong glance at Tim. “Grayson and Todd are out, as is Batwoman. They are more than capable of handling themselves. Unlike certain individuals I could name.”

Tim, ignoring the jab, looks at him with wide-eyed disbelief. “Seriously?”

“I have a life outside of Robin,” Damian retorts. “Unlike you, who seems to think that withering in front of the Batcomputer is the epitome of existence.”

Tim, rolling his eyes, sneers, “You’re just being a jackass because you’re stuck here sulking. It’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Damian’s scowl deepens. “It’s about clearing my head. Sometimes pushing myself physically helps with... other stuff.”

For most of them, working out is just a way to blow off steam or handle their emotions. Damian’s go-to routines are cardio and weights—anything that lets him channel his inner rage and frustration into something productive. Tonight, though, he’s taking it to another level.

Tim heads over to the water dispenser, his footsteps light as he moves. As he passes Damian, he delivers a playful but firm punch to Damian’s arm—not hard enough to cause real pain, but definitely with some intent. Damian scowls, rubbing his arm and shooting Tim a sharp look.

“Whatever works, I guess,” Tim shrugs, taking a chug from his water bottle. His Adam's apple bobs with the effort as he swallows.

“Patrols have been a washout the past few days,” Damian murmurs, wrapping his knuckles as he prepares for a boxing session. “I doubt anything of importance is going to happen.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:04 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

"WOO!"

The night breeze rushes past you, a cool whisper against your face as you spin through the Gotham skyline. Below, the city sprawls in a chaotic mosaic of flickering lights and deep shadows. You glide through the air, the fabric of your suit rustling softly in the wind. Beneath you, the streets are a patchwork of cobblestones and cracked asphalt, each corner a reminder of where you’ve fought, protected, and survived.

Tonight is unusually slow. A surprise considering the area you patrol is a district near Crime Alley.

The vicinity around Queens in rundown Gotham, urbanized but not as bustling as the busier business districts, usually teems with activity. The area, close to the docks, is a maze of clustered buildings and the occasional factory, their smokestacks cutting dark silhouettes against the night sky.

The distant hum of machinery from the factories blends with the occasional sound of waves lapping against the docked ships. From your vantage point, you can see the bridge stretching out in the distance, its lights twinkling against the darkness.

Just as you start to think the night might pass without incident, you hear a distant commotion—a series of hollers and shouts echoing through the narrow streets. Your eyes narrow as you scan the area, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Then you spot her: a woman sprinting frantically down the street, her cries of terror slicing through the night air. Her short-cut hair whips around her face, and her wide eyes reflect sheer panic. Hot on her heels, a group of men give chase, their grotesque laughter bubbling up from their throats like a pack of pigs rooting through garbage.

Your heart skips a beat as recognition slams into you.

It’s Morgan.

Wait—what the hell is she doing here?

Morgan, who has no business being anywhere near this part of town—especially not at this hour—stands out like a sore thumb. She lives miles away in the heart of the city, far removed from this grim neighborhood near Crime Alley. Queens Street feels like a different world compared to her usual haunts.

Without hesitation, you dive down from the rooftop, landing with a thud that cuts through the night’s tension like a knife. The sudden appearance of your figure causes an immediate hush.

"Hey, kid! Stay behind me," you call out, changing your voice to sound deeper. "I’ve got this covered."

Morgan, clearly relieved but still visibly shaken, nods and takes a step back, her trust in you evident despite the fear in her eyes.

Cracking your knuckles, you address the would-be assailants.

"Gentlemen," you say, “Shall we resolve this quickly, or do you wanna continue your charade?"

One of them sneers, “Look who decided to crash the party. Here to play hero?”

You tilt your head, scratching at your neck. “Wow, I must be slacking if I’m getting an invite to parties like this. But hey, if you’re offering free entertainment, who am I to refuse?”

THWIP.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at one of the thugs, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying up to dangle from a nearby street lamp. He struggles and curses as he hangs there, the webbing holding him securely.

Another thug charges in, swinging a crude metal pipe. You leap over him effortlessly, grabbing the pipe mid-air and twirling it like a baton. “Wow, talk about a swing and a miss. I’d say better luck next time, but I’m not really into giving second chances.”

"Whoop!" You deliver a swift kick to his side, sending him sprawling into a nearby alley. He crashes into a heap of garbage with a muffled thud.

The remaining thugs, now visibly annoyed, glance at each other, clearly weighing their options. One of them, the largest and most boisterous of the group, musters up some bravado. He cracks his knuckles and sneers, “You think you’re funny, huh? I’ll show you funny!”

You raise an eyebrow and sigh dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to have a nice chat?” You flick your wrist and a web shoots out, sticking over his mouth. “There you go! Now we can all enjoy some quiet time.”

He charges at you with a muffled, bull-like roar, but you easily sidestep, letting him stumble past. As he tries to regain his balance, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking him back and sending him crashing into a stack of wooden pallets. The crates topple over with a loud clatter, and he ends up sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

!!!

Your senses tingles just in time. Another thug lunges at you with a wild swing, and you catch his fist mid-air, twisting his arm with a practiced flick. Using his own momentum, you deliver a sharp uppercut that sends him reeling backward. He crashes against a nearby wall, dazed and disoriented. Quickly, you shoot a web at him, pinning him against the wall.

The last thug, now clearly outmatched, takes a step back, his form shaking. “You’re not worth it,” he mutters, raising his hands in surrender.

You laugh and walk over to him with a thumbs up. “That’s the best decision you’ve made all night.”

You shoot a web at his feet, pinning him in place. “Why don’t you just sit tight and enjoy the show? I’m sure the boys in blue will be along shortly.”

With the thugs now subdued and securely webbed up, you turn to Morgan, who’s watching with wide eyes. She lets out a shaky breath, clearly relieved.

“You know,” you say slowly, deepening your voice, “I didn’t expect to see Tony Stark’s daughter in a place like this. What’s the story?”

“Oh. Oh, you… know who I am,” Morgan says, catching her breath and chuckling weakly. “Well, I was just out for a... walk, and I made a wrong turn. Next thing I know, I’m being chased by a bunch of guys.”

"Uh-huh," you say, shaking your head with a hint of disbelief, the slits of your mask narrowing as you scrutinize her. "You’ve got a real knack for picking your strolls. Queens is kind of a crime magnet, you know. And you, being as famous as you are, might as well have a bullseye on your back. Just saying."

Morgan’s expression shifts to embarrassment, red flushing her cheeks. “Yeah, I know. I actually came here to meet someone about some tech. You know, to see if I could get my hands on something... a bit more... advanced.”

You raise an eyebrow, perplexed. “Advanced tech? You’re like... Tony Stark’s daughter. You have more tech at your disposal than most governments. Are you sure it's not drugs?”

"I am not a crackhead!" Morgan scowls and sends you a glare. “Sometimes, it’s not just about having access. It’s about finding unique pieces or... getting a better deal. Plus, sneaking out to do something on my own—well, it’s a bit of an adventure.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Teenage angst? Really?"

"Where’s the fun in having everything handed to you on a silver platter?" Morgan smirks. "A little thrill never hurt anyone.”

You just wave a hand at her, shaking your head again. “Fair point. Just please try not to make it a habit of going out at night alone. You uh... got a ride home?"

Morgan licks her lips, her expression thoughtful. "Guess... Guess I could call my dad."

You nod, giving her a thumbs up. "Good idea. And remember, if you ever find yourself in a pinch again, don’t hesitate to call for help. I patrol Queens. Just... don't make this a habit."

Morgan lets out a chuckle, her nerves easing. “I’ll do my best. Thanks for the rescue.”

With that, you turn and leap into the night, your form quickly vanishing into the darkness as you swing away. A sudden tingle on the back of your neck makes you glance back, but you see Morgan still standing there, her gaze fixed on where you disappeared.

You brush off the feeling—must have been a false alarm.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 3:18 AM - Queens District, Gotham City.

After a few hours, you decide it’s time to call it a night. Returning to your warehouse, you strip off your suit and slip into civilian clothes. Stepping out into the dimly lit streets, you keep your head low and your pace casual, blending seamlessly into the nocturnal cityscape. Gotham's alleys and shadows are no place for the spotlight, and drawing attention could be dangerous. Here, the key to staying safe is blending in—letting the city's dark corners swallow you up.

You pull out your phone and dial Damian’s number. Sure, you can handle yourself, but right now, you're out in your civilian identity. Better to play it safe.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na…Batman!

The Batman ringtone echoes softly in the alley, its familiar chime cutting through the muted sounds of the city. You can’t help but smile at the stupid thing—the Batman brand (made without Batman's permission) has become so popular that it’s practically a commercial empire. Bruce, of course, loathes it. He's filed at least twenty lawsuits trying to shut it down, but the brand keeps growing.

There’s even Robin merch, which you’ve collected obsessively over the years, much to Damian’s embarrassment. He’s never quite gotten used to his persona being reduced to a collectible item, but your enthusiasm for it is well-known.

After a few rings, Damian picks up, his voice steady and unmistakable. “Habibti?”

“Hey, Dames,” you reply, keeping your tone light. “Just checking in. How’s everything on your end?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can almost hear the faint rustle of paper or fabric in the background before he responds. “Everything’s fine. Just buried in homework. Why are you calling so late?”

You detect the edge of concern in his voice, and it makes you smile. “Oh, just heading home. Got a bit wrapped up with some errands. Didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Damian’s tone sharpens, his concern clearly growing. “Errands? At this hour? Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park after dark. Why are you out alone? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”

“I’m fine, Damian," you reply, sidestepping a wet puddle on the street. "Just a few things I needed to take care of. I’m heading home now, so no worries.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late, especially not alone,” he insists, his voice taking on that familiar stern tone. “Do you realize how many things can go wrong? You could be in grave danger..”

“I promise, I’m being careful," you assure him. "I’ll be home soon. Just wanted to check in and let you know I’m okay.”

Damian doesn’t relent. “Fine. But stay on the line until you’re home. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease lightly. “But okay, I’ll stay on the line.”

There’s a soft huff from him, as though he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Good. And, for the record, I’m not being dramatic. I’m being cautious.”

“Whatever you say,” you reply, your tone light. “By the way, are you free tomorrow? There’s this new comic shop I wanted to check out.”

Damian perks up at that.

Finally.

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the chance to enjoy a proper date. The usual routines—dinner out, a movie, or just hanging out—have been squeezed out by the demands of Gotham. Damian felt the lack more than he’d like to admit. He’s missed them—missed you.

“Yes, I’m available," he says, almost too quickly. He doesn't want to seem overly eager, but the anticipation is hard to hide. "I’ll make time and pick you up. What time, beloved?"

“How about noon?” you suggest, swinging your keys lightly as you approach your apartment building. “That should give us plenty of time to explore the shop and maybe grab lunch afterward.”

You reach your apartment building and slip inside, the familiar creak of the door signaling your return. Glancing around to make sure no one's watching, you crouch and bound up the flight of stairs in quick, powerful jumps, reaching your floor in mere seconds.

Heading down the hallway, you adjust your phone and catch the end of Damian’s statement just in time.

“—I’ll be there at noon,” Damian confirms, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

“Great,” you smile as you fumble with the lock. The sound of the key turning in the door echoes softly in the quiet hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as you finally open the door, stepping into the comforting familiarity of your home.

"I'm looking forward to it,” you continue, kicking off your shoes and setting them neatly by the door. “I’m home now, by the way! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

On the other end, Damian’s voice comes through the phone, warm and laced with the faintest hint of affection. “I shall see you then,” he replies, his care evident even through the small, digital speaker. “Goodnight, beloved.”

There’s a moment of silence as his words linger.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, letting the warmth of his voice settle before you slowly lower the phone from your ear.

You slip your phone into your pocket and step into your living room, where the soft glow of the television fills the room. A Filipino drama plays on the screen, its melodramatic dialogue and heartfelt scenes subtitled in English. The rest of the room is shrouded in dimness, with only the flickering light of the TV breaking through the darkness.

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you notice Selina perched on a bar stool at the counter. She’s cradling a steaming cup of coffee, its rich aroma wafting through the air. Her gaze lifts to meet yours as you enter, curiosity etched across her features.

“You’re home a lot later than usual, honey,” she comments.

You pour yourself a glass of water, the quiet clink of the glass against the faucet a small comfort. You sit down across from her, the chair creaking slightly under your weight. “Yeah, it’s been one of those nights. I wrapped up patrol and ended up dealing with some trouble. Nothing major, though. But I did run into someone.”

Selina takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Who?”

“Morgan,” you say with a grim look. “She was out in Queens on some sort of tech hunt. Had to give her a little lecture about roaming Gotham alone.”

“The redhead? That’s definitely unusual. What was she after?”

“She was hunting for some tech—apparently, even with the best gadgets at her disposal, she thought Gotham had something special,” you explain.

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Typical Stark. Always chasing the next shiny thing. Did you know her dad’s been trying to worm his way with the Bats lately?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

Selina takes a sip of her coffee, her expression bemused. “He’s been throwing money at them, trying to fund their operations. He’s got this obsessive need to upgrade superhero tech. Batman’s been turning him down flat. I guess his ego took a hit.”

You laugh, taking a swig of your water. “Can you imagine Tony Stark trying to ‘help’ Batman?”

“If those two could ever check their egos long enough to actually collaborate, it’d be a miracle,” she scoffed.

“Speaking of which,” you say, dumping your cup back into the sink, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Damian or Bruce would freak out if I accepted Morgan’s invitation for a Stark internship?”

Selina’s grin widens. “Oh, honey, that’s a show I’d pay to see. Damian would hit a 100 on the scale of overreaction. Bruce might be a bit more restrained, but he’d definitely hit an 11.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Lovely. Just what I need.”

Selina chuckles, shaking her head. “Remember when Bruce tried to offer you an internship? The look on his face when you turned him down was priceless.”

A twinge of awkwardness settles over you, and you rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, that was... something. It’s like he had this whole script for how he wanted the conversation to go, and when it didn’t, he kind of just... froze.”

Selina’s gaze softens a bit. “He thinks of you like family. And with you and Damian getting serious, he’s probably bracing himself for the long haul.”

You groan as you push yourself off the sink and head toward your room. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:03 PM - Empire Comics, Gotham City.

RING.

The bell above the door jingles as you and Damian step into the bustling comic shop. The aroma of ink, paper, and coffee fills the air, blending with the hum of excited conversations and the occasional laugh.

You’re sporting a casual look: a red cap with a Robin symbol on it, jeans, a white Batman shirt, and Damian’s soccer jacket draped over your shoulders. Damian is clad in his usual fit—a dark turtleneck, crisp cream pants, and black boots. He looks every bit the model for a high-fashion magazine, even in a comic shop.

The walls are lined with shelves packed full of colorful comic books and graphic novels. Display cases highlight rare editions and collector’s items, their glass gleaming under the shop’s lights. You’re in your element, eyes wide as you scan the rows, your fingers brushing the spines of the comics.

Grabbing one off the shelf, you flip it over with a grin, admiring the glossy cover. It’s an edition you’ve been eyeing for a while—a real gem.

“Do you want that?” Damian asks, his eyes flickering from the comic in your hands to your face. There’s a sharpness in his gaze, as if he's trying to dissect you with his eyes.

You nod, barely containing your excitement. “Definitely. It’s one of the limited editions I’ve been after.” You flip the comic over, eyes lingering on the price as you clutch it a little tighter.

Without a beat, Damian reaches for his wallet. “Let me handle it.”

A protest rises in your throat, but Damian cuts you off with a look that could freeze lava. His scowl deepens. “No arguments. It’s a treat for today.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Damian swiftly pulls the hood of your jacket over your eyes. “If you keep insisting on paying, I’ll just take back my jacket.”

“What?!” you hiss, instinctively clutching the jacket closer around you. “No way! You don’t even wear this.”

“Precisely. Which means I can reclaim it as a bargaining chip.” Damian’s lips curl into a smirk, smug satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Now, if you don’t let me handle this, the jacket’s going back to my closet. I suggest you reconsider.”

It takes a few more minutes of his gentle but insistent threats, before you finally give up. As he heads to the counter, you glance around the shop, taking in the array of comics and collectibles.

A newspaper rack catches your attention. The headline boldly reads:

“Spidey Foils Attack on Morgan Stark: Hero Swings in to Save the Day”

Damian returns shortly after, handing you the paper bag with a triumphant smirk. You beam at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. Damian hums at your affection, wrapping an arm around you to keep you close.

Emerald eyes flick to the newspaper on the rack, his expression shifting slightly.

“Stark was in an altercation?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. He leans closer, the scent of freshly printed ink mixing with the rich, smoky aroma of his cologne.

You glance at the newspaper, the pages rustling softly as you turn them to face him. “Looks like it. It’s been a while since I saw a headline like this. Spidey doesn’t get as much press as you guys do.”

“Speaking of Morgan,” you say slowly, deciding it’s time to rip off the bandage. You lean against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of your jacket. “I was actually thinking about applying for an internship at Stark Industries. It could be a great opportunity, you know? She’s offered me a spot.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Damian’s expression shifts from casual interest to a full-blown scowl. His lips curl back, revealing a flash of teeth, and the muscle of his jaw rolls beneath bronze skin.

“Wayne Industries is far superior.”

Rolling your eyes, you allow a hint of amusement to creep into your voice. “Oh. I know. But Morgan’s offering me a spot. And honestly, it could be a huge opportunity.”

Damian’s eyes narrow, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve offered you spots and programs at Wayne Industries before. Why accept hers but not mine?”

You deadpan. “I’m your girlfriend. They’d just see me as a nepotism hire.”

Damian grumbles in response, his expression darkening as he reaches for the newspaper. His fingers brush against the glossy paper with a soft rustle, and his gaze locks onto the photo of your vigilante form, captured mid-swing through the city. The image is dynamic, full of motion and energy, but Damian’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes it.

You shift on your feet, the squeak of your Converse against the floor drawing his attention. Trying to break the tension, you clear your throat. “So,” you begin, your tone light but with a hint of curiosity, “have you ever encountered Spidey on the job?”

Damian’s expression hardens at the mention. His lips thin into a line, and a look of disapproval settles over his features.

“The Spider?” he scoffs “From what I’ve seen, they’re nothing more than an amateur.”

You feel a pang of offense at his harsh words but manage to keep your expression carefully neutral. “Really? I’ve heard they’ve done some impressive things.”

Damian’s emerald eyes lock onto yours, the frustration behind them clear as day. “Impressive?” he retorts, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “If you consider reckless behavior and a complete lack of tact impressive, then sure. But to me, it’s far from professional.”

Ouch. That was expected, but it still stung.

“Everyone has their own style,” you say, your eyes fixed on the floor as you run your tongue over your lips. “What might seem clumsy to one person could be strategic for someone else.”

“Strategic?” Damian spits out in a laugh. The newspaper crumples under his grip. “Their approach is more about spectacle than substance. They swing around like a circus act, with no real strategy. It’s a wonder they manage to accomplish anything at all.”

Frowning, you look back at Damian, who stands rigid, his shoulders tensed. “Maybe their methods look a bit rough, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t making a difference. They’ve managed to help a lot of people.”

“Helping people isn’t just about flashy moves and headlines,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He shoves the paper back onto its shelf, the paper crumpling from the force.

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, struggling to control the anger rising within you. As much as you loved Damian, his insufferable egotism could be unbearable at times. Your eyes focus on the comic book display, the vibrant covers searing into your retinas.

“You’re one to talk,” you can’t help but snap. “Robin and Batman are practically on the front pages almost every week. And what, you’re saying their efforts are worthless just because they don’t meet your standards? That’s pretty unfair. Just because they deal with lesser threats doesn’t mean they’re any less of a hero than you guys are.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Damian hisses, his tone sharper than intended. The sting of your criticism and his bruised ego fuel his words.

Damian craves validation more than he likes to admit. His entire life has been a constant battle to prove himself—whether it’s measuring up to his father’s expectations, competing with his peers, or affirming his place within the shadow of his legacy. He’s used to being the one in control, the one whose actions are seen as perfect. When that perception is challenged, it’s not just his skills or methods that are questioned; it’s his very worth.

The irony, of course, is that your approval matters more to him than anyone else’s. Your opinion matters to him, and your criticism hits harder than any public scrutiny ever could.

“I’m saying that they’re trying to help!” you snap, your voice rising to match his. From behind the counter, the cashier gives you a wary glance. “They’re doing things that you guys can’t always do.”

Damian’s expression hardens, his eyes narrowing. “What can’t we do?”

“Helping the little guys!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. You gesture toward the crumpled paper, your movements sharp and erratic. “Spidey—they stand for exactly what you stand for—the belief that everyone deserves protection and justice.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, his pride visibly wounded. “Maybe you should reconsider what you’re so willing to defend. It’s important to recognize when someone’s approach is flawed, even if it’s someone you admire.”

You shake your head, refusing to back down. “I’m not saying Spidey is perfect, but they’re out there trying. That counts for something.”

With a sigh of resignation, you tug his jacket off and shove it into his arms. Damian’s face scrunches up in hurt, the gesture cutting deeper than he lets on.

“I’m going home,” you say quietly, turning on your heel and heading for the exit.

Damian watches as you slip out of the shop, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth from the argument. But as he catches a glimpse of the hurt in your eyes, his anger begins to dissolve into regret.

Without hesitation, he follows you, his footsteps quickening until he catches up. Gently, he grips your shoulder to stop you.

“Beloved,” he calls out softly, his tone now tender. His earnest gaze meets yours, regret pooling in his eyes. “I apologize.”

You stop and turn to face him. “Apologize for what, Damian?”

Damian hesitates, searching for the right words. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken feelings.

You try to move past him, your steps feeling heavy. “I just need some space right now."

Damian doesn’t let go. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No. I need to walk and blow off some steam.”

With a final, apologetic look, Damian steps back, giving you the space you need. You turn and start to walk away, the heat of the sun only intensifying your already heated emotions. The city, bustling with life, seems to close in around you as you move deeper into its more crowded parts. The shops grow closer together, the crowds thicker, the noise louder, and the streets narrower with every step.

Lost in thought and simmering with frustration, you’re suddenly jolted back to reality by an alarming noise—a commotion coming from a nearby alleyway. The muffled voices and scuffling footsteps cut through the city’s din, pulling your attention.

A group of masked individuals are cornering someone in the alley. The victim, pinned against the wall, is desperately trying to fend off the assailants. The attackers are demanding valuables, their threats laced with violence. Despite the bustling city around them, no one seems willing to intervene. The crowd keeps a safe distance, choosing to look away rather than get involved.

You glance down at your civilian attire—a shirt and jeans, not exactly ideal for a fight.

But someone has to help, and if you’re the only one who will, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the alley.

“Hey!” you call out, trying to draw their attention away from the victim. “Pick on someone your own size!”

The muggers turn their attention toward you, and suddenly, their target comes into sharp focus. Tousled red hair spills out from beneath a white beanie, and thick black frames are crookedly perched on her nose.

Your eyes lock with hers, and you freeze—Morgan.

What is it with this girl and finding trouble?

Her eyes widen in sheer disbelief at the sight of you, practically screaming, Are you out of your damn mind? You can almost hear her thoughts. You flash a reassuring smile, throwing in a thumbs up that you hope translates to, “Relax, I’ve got this,” even though you’re pretty sure you’re both in deep shit right now.

Shaking your head, you refocus on the muggers. There are ten of them in total. Your goal is to keep their attention away from Morgan and buy time until help arrives—or if help arrives.

“Ten on one, huh? Not exactly fair, but hey, I’m feeling generous today,” you say, your voice steady despite the overwhelming odds. “Let’s make this interesting. If you take me on and win, I’ll buy you all a round of whatever you’re drinking. And if you lose”—you flash a cheeky grin—“well, let’s just say you’ll be spending the night in a cozy little cell, courtesy of the GCPD.”

The muggers burst into laughter, clearly entertained by the sight of an unathletic-looking eighteen-year-old in a Batman shirt stepping up to them with such bravado. You just grin, letting their amusement roll off you.

“Yeah, I get it,” you say with a shrug, rolling up your sleeves to your shoulders. “I might not look like much, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. So, who wants to take the first swing?”

The laughter fades as the muggers size you up. One of them, a lanky guy with a scruffy beard, steps forward, cracking his knuckles and sneering.

“Alright, girly,” he taunts, “unless you want to back out now, you’re about to get a taste of what we’re all about.”

Before he can react, you pull your arm back, focusing on the momentum. With a swift, forceful punch, you drive your knuckles straight into his jaw. The impact lands with a solid thud, sending him crashing into the alley wall, his head snapping to the side.

One.

The other muggers freeze. They exchange glances, their earlier laughter choked off. Morgan’s mouth falls open in shock.

“What the fuck,” she mouths at you.

A grin stretches across your face as you size up the remaining muggers.

“So,” you whistle, “who’s next?”

One of them steps forward, but you’re ready. A brutal left hook catches him square on the cheekbone, and he staggers back, blood erupting from his nose. He collapses to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Two.

A woman with a wild, frizzy mop of hair barrels toward you, snarling menacingly. You sidestep her clumsy swing and deliver a powerful uppercut. Her head snaps back with a satisfying crack, and she crashes into the alley wall with a loud clang, blood streaming from her split lip and chin.

Three.

Before you can catch your breath, a wiry man with a rat-like face tries to dart around you, aiming for Morgan. But you’re quicker. You grab him by the collar, yank him close, and drive a vicious knee into his gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath, and you follow up with a hard right hook that sends him sprawling into a puddle of muck.

Four.

Adrenaline surges through your veins, and the earlier argument with Damian feels like a distant storm driving your fists. Each punch lands with a mix of frustration and resolve, the anger you’re trying to process fueling your strikes.

Two more muggers, a lanky guy with a snake tattoo and a burly man with a scarred face, charge at you simultaneously. You sidestep the lanky guy’s wild swing, then deliver a brutal, bone-crushing kick to his ribs. He crumples with a pained gasp, collapsing to the ground with a wheezing groan.

Five.

You pivot to face the burly man, deflecting his punch with a forceful block. With a grunt, you slam an elbow into his gut, making him double over, gasping for air. Before he can recover, you drive a fierce knee into his face. He crashes into the alley wall, blood and sweat mingling as he slides to the ground, clutching his face in agony.

Six.

That’s around half of them. You turn to face the rest.

“Last chance,” you blow a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Either you leave now or join your buddies in the hospital.”

The remaining muggers scramble, retreating as fast as they can down the alley. The noise of their hurried escape fades into the distance, leaving you and Morgan.

Breathing heavily, you survey the scene. The alley is littered with fallen muggers—some groaning in pain, others unconscious. Blood stains your hands and the ground, and your knuckles are bruised and swollen.

Morgan slowly rises from her crouched position, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and awe. Her gaze flickers over the scene—the battered muggers, the bloodstained ground, and you standing amidst the chaos, breathing heavily.

“That was…” she starts, shaking her head as if to clear the shock. “You’re something else. What the hell?! I didn’t know you could fight like that!”

You give a wry, tired smile. “Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Morgan steps closer, her expression softening from disbelief to something akin to admiration. “Seriously, though, that was insane. I thought we were done for, but you—”

DANGER.

Your instincts kick in with a jolt of alarm, making your hair stand on end. Everything slows to a crawl.

You see it: one of the muggers, still on the ground but moving, starts to stir. His fingers slip into his jacket, reaching for something concealed. Each movement seems to stretch out in excruciating detail, from the twitch of his fingers to the barely perceptible shift of his body. Morgan, still caught up in her surprise and relief, is too busy chatting to notice.

The mugger’s hand emerges from his jacket, revealing a glinting gun. You quickly fire a web, aiming to disarm him. The webbing sticks to the gun, but the mugger has already squeezed the trigger.

Without a second thought, you react instinctively.

“Get down!” you shout, pushing her aside.

BANG!

The sharp crack of the gunshot reverberates through the alley, and you feel a searing pain in your ribs. A hot, burning sensation spreads through your side, intensifying with every heartbeat. Morgan’s scream pierces the air, her horror evident as she watches you stagger.

You stagger back, clutching your side.

Well... shit.

“Motherfudger—” you grit your teeth, the pain in your side intensifying. You turn your focus to the mugger scrambling to flee, his gun now ensnared in your webbing.

With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot another web, pulling him toward you. As he comes within reach, you slam his head against the wall, the impact knocking him out cold.

Morgan rushes back to your side, her face pale. “Are you okay? Holy shit! Holy shit! You're shot.”

Her gaze then turns to the webs scattered across the alley, her eyes widening in realization.

“You’re—”

You hush her, slamming a hand over her mouth. “Quiet!”

She mumbles into your palm, eyes darting nervously. “Y-you’re Spidey!”

“Listen,” you say softly but firmly, removing your hand once you're sure she won’t start screaming, “we need to keep our voices down. I’m hurt, and we need to get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

Morgan bites her lip, running a hand through her frazzled hair, white beanie long discarded on the ground. “But you’re hurt, and the police—” She trails off, glancing around at the mess and the moaning muggers scattered on the ground.

“I’ll be fine,” you cut her off. “We don’t need the police right now. Just help me get out of here.”

Morgan’s face twists but she nods. “I know where to go.”

Both of you soon find yourselves swinging through the alleys. You grit your teeth, pushing through the burning pain in your ribs and focusing on the task at hand. Ignoring the searing ache, you accelerate, swinging through the city with Morgan clinging to your side. You take the longer route, weaving through the shadows to avoid detection.

Finally, you drop down into an alley beside her penthouse building. Morgan’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of your shirt, a stark contrast against the white. She steps back, shock and concern etched across her face.

“Damn,” she curses. “You’re really hurt.”

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” you grunt, pressing a hand against the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Now, let’s get inside before I bleed out or pass out—whichever decides to happen first.”

Morgan doesn’t waste a second. She grabs your arm and pulls you toward the back door of her building. The heavy steel door creaks open, and she nearly shatters the elevator buttons with the force of her pressing.

You lean heavily against her as she steps into the elevator with you. The harsh fluorescent lights inside the elevator are glaringly bright, intensifying the pain in your ribs with their sterile, clinical glare. As the metal doors close with a soft, echoing thud, the outside world fades away. For a fleeting moment, you find some relief as the lift begins its ascent, the gentle hum of the machinery offering a small distraction from the throbbing ache in your side.

Morgan keeps glancing at you, nervously biting her lip. “Just hang in there. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

You manage a shrug, despite the discomfort. The pain isn’t as overwhelming as it might be for most, thanks to your spider abilities, but the real kicker is the identity reveal.

"Did I at least look badass?"

"Oh my god. I literally hate you."

When the elevator finally dings open, Morgan practically drags you out, guiding you swiftly down the hall to her penthouse. The door swings open, and she ushers you inside.

You collapse onto the plush couch, wincing as you sink into its cushions. The pain in your ribs throbs with each breath, and as the adrenaline fades, you feel every ache more acutely.

Without wasting a second, Morgan strides across the room and shouts into the air, her voice echoing off the sleek, modern walls.

“PEPPER, I need you!”

You’re caught off guard as a series of robotic arms extend from sleek panels in the walls, their metallic surfaces catching the ambient light. The arms are intricate, equipped with various tools and sensors, whizzing towards you.

One of the arms reaches out, its end featuring a gentle, flexible grip. It carefully tugs at your shirt, and you reluctantly slip it off, exposing the wound on your side. The arm’s sensors begin to glow softly as it scans your injury.

The room fills with a soft, synthesized voice. “Scanning gunshot wound. Location: left lower rib, depth: 4 cm. Severe damage, high infection risk. Blood loss: 150 ml. No internal bleeding. Administering anesthesia. Cleaning and debridement soon.”

Tiny robotic tools emerge from compartments within the arm—sterilizing swabs, a precision scalpel, and a fine, retractable syringe. The anesthetic solution is applied gently, its cooling sensation numbing the pain.

“Uh, what the actual fuck is going on?” you blurt out.

Morgan watches with a stony expression, her focus fixed on a tablet in her hands as she monitors your vitals closely.

“Oh, that’s PEPPER. She’s a Stark Industries AI I’ve had integrated into the penthouse. She’s pretty good at this kind of thing. Coded her myself."

The robotic arm emits a soft beep before starting the process of removing the bullet. You feel a series of sharp, targeted tugs as the bullet is gradually extracted, each pull sending a brief jolt of pain through your side. The bullet clinks as it drops onto a metal tray.

“Isn’t... isn’t PEPPER your mom’s name? Damn, you actually coded this?” you ask, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

Morgan gives a small, proud smile, her eyes meeting yours.

“I’m the next in line for Stark Industries, after all,” she says. “So yeah, I figured out how to make this kind of tech. And yep, Pepper’s named after my mom. She used to patch up my dad whenever he got into trouble.”

A fleeting, wistful look crosses her face, but she shakes it off quickly. “PEPPER stands for ‘Personal Emergency Protocol and Protective Emergency Response.’ It’s a tribute, and it’s supposed to handle everyday stuff and emergencies like this.”

The robotic arms continue their work, the AI’s voice providing updates. “Bullet extraction complete. Administering wound care and infection prevention. Proceeding with final checks.”

“Just hang tight,” Morgan says. “We’re almost done here.”

"This is—this is insane! It’s insane," you hiss at her, leaning back as the machine starts bandaging you. "Is this what rich people do? Build robots that can do fucking surgery?!"

Morgan chuckles softly, her eyes still focused on the tablet as she adjusts the settings. “When you have the resources, why not make the best use of them?”

The robotic arms complete the bandaging, applying a final layer of antiseptic and securing the bandages with a gentle press. The AI’s voice announces the end of the procedure with a soft chime. “Wound care complete. Vital signs stable. Patient recovery in progress.”

You let out a deep sigh of relief as the robotic arm finally withdraws. You stretch out your shoulders and take a moment to appreciate the absence of pain. “Well, thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one... or maybe a lot.”

Morgan’s smile is faint but warm, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “Well… you did save me today. And… on that night. I’d say we’re kinda even now.”

Suddenly, a new chime interrupts the moment. Morgan’s brows furrow as she glances at the tablet, her confusion giving way to awe.

“Whoa,” she breathes, eyes widening. “You’re healing at an insane rate... Your tissues are already regenerating. This is... freaky. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You wince slightly as the last of the bandages is applied. The robotic arms retract with a soft whir, leaving behind a faint, antiseptic scent. You manage a tired smile, though your face is still flushed from the pain and the adrenaline crash.

“It’s the spider stuff,” you explain. “Enhanced abilities. Healing and pain tolerance are part of the package.”

Morgan’s expression shifts from shock to a wry grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of disbelief and admiration. “No shit. You treated that gunshot like it was just a scratch.”

The redhead places her tablet on a nearby table and takes a seat directly in front of you. Her demeanor is a blend of fascination and a newfound respect. “So, you’re Spidey? I mean, I knew you were something special, but this...” She gestures to you with a grin. “This is next-level.

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “You think I’m special?”

Morgan’s cheeks flush slightly as she stumbles over her words, clearly flustered.

“Uh, well, yeah. I mean, I think you’re really smart and capable—like, a genius. I mean, your skills with chemistry and science are incredible. The way you analyze problems and come up with solutions, it’s like you’ve got a grasp of things that usually takes years to master. And then there’s the tech you’ve built—it's insane. Seeing you in action like that? It’s next-level. I didn’t expect you to be, like, superhero-level special.”

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by her enthusiastic praise. “Well… thanks,” you say, a wry grin spreading across your face.

Morgan, still flustered, clears her throat and tries to change the topic. “So, how long have you been doing this?”

You shrug, rubbing your eyes as the weight of the day settles in. “A while. It’s... been a lot. Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the bigger the threats get.”

“Huh,” Morgan leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. “I guess I’m in it now, too.”

“Woah,” you laugh, raising a hand. “No, no. I see where this is going. I’ve read too many comics. I know what you’re about to say.”

Morgan’s gaze narrows. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You lean back with a groan, your head tilting back against the sofa. The action causes your chest to rise and fall more rapidly, sweat clinging to your skin. Your throat bobs with each breath, and the effort makes your neck arch slightly.

Morgan’s eyes wander, taking in the sheen of sweat on your chest and the way your skin glistens. Her face flushes deeper as she stares.

You waggle a finger at her with a grin. “I know where this is headed,” you say, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ve seen the trope before. The whole ‘I’m in this now too’ speech. And trust me, it’s usually followed by—”

“By what?” Morgan blinks, snapping out of her daze.

You give her a knowing look.

“Okay, fine, you got me,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “And before you say anything, I’m not just looking to tag along for the excitement. I genuinely want to contribute. I’ve got resources, skills, and—”

She gestures to the high-tech surroundings of her penthouse, where one of the robot arms gives a casual wave. “—I can do more than just sit on the sidelines.”

Pursing your lips, you nervously bite on your fingernails, glancing away. “See, this is where I’m supposed to give you the ‘I can’t put you in danger’ speech. The whole ‘this is too dangerous’ line. Normally, in a story like this, you’d be the love interest.”

Morgan slumps. “I appreciate that, really. But I’m not just some bystander here.”

“Morga—”

The door creaks open, and a soft, synthesized voice echoes through the apartment, cutting you off.

“Welcome home, Tony.”

Both of you freeze.

The front door swings fully open, revealing Tony FUCKING Stark himself.

His face is stony as he takes in the scene. His eyes dart from you—shirtless and in nothing but a bra, with bandages wrapped haphazardly around your torso—to Morgan, who looks flustered and disheveled.

You and Morgan stare right back, just as wide-eyed. There’s a beat of awkward silence as Tony’s brain catches up with the situation. He glances at you, then at Morgan, and back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, hey, Dad,” Morgan says, her voice hitting a pitch that could break glass. She scrambles to smooth her hair and adjust her clothes, her face a portrait of embarrassment.

Tony’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to piece together what he’s walked into. “Well, this is... unexpected. I didn’t realize I was interrupting... whatever this is.”

You, still sprawled on the couch, cross your arms over your chest, your face blazing red. “Um. Hello, Mr. Stark. This... looks exactly like it’s not what it seems.”

Tony’s gaze sharpens as he scrutinizes you. His eyes narrow, and he points a finger at you with a blend of suspicion and recognition. “Wait a second. Aren’t you that Wayne kid’s girlfriend? The youngest one. Darryl, right?”

“Damian,” you correct, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Yeah, him.” Tony squints. “So, what’s the deal? Am I looking at a tabloid scandal in the making here?”

Morgan’s face flushes a deeper shade of red, clearly mortified. “Dad!”

Tony’s expression shifts to one of mock seriousness as he holds up a hand, covering his eyes with exaggerated drama. “It’s okay! I’ll be in my workshop, pretending I didn’t see a thing. Just... try not to make any more headlines while I’m gone.”

“Sh—she’s not—!” you start to protest, but Morgan cuts you off with a rapid, high-pitched explanation.

“She’s the Stark intern I told you about!” Morgan lies straight through her teeth, sending you a look that screams, 'Go along with it!' “I was just showing her how some of the bots work!”

Tony squints at Morgan, then at you, and back at Morgan with a grimace. “For the love of tech, Morgan, next time you give your intern a hands-on demonstration, maybe keep it... less hands-on?”

Morgan sputters and gapes, but Tony is already turning on his heel and strutting out of the room. Over his shoulder, he adds with a shout, “Be who you are!”

The door swings shut behind Tony with a soft, final thud, leaving you and Morgan in an awkward silence.

“Does this mean I actually have to become an intern for your dad's company now?”

“Yes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better excuse? Like, say, that I’m just a really good friend or something?”

Morgan rolls her eyes and flicks your ear. “Dude, chill. I can get you cool tech. I mean, who wouldn’t want access to Stark Industries’ gadgets? I can be the guy in the chair and all that cool Oracle stuff. Think of it as a tech upgrade for your superhero gig.”

“You want to be the guy in the chair? Seriously? I am not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

Morgan gasps in disbelief. “Why not?! I’m perfectly capable of providing a little tech support. And! I just showed you how I can help with your injuries.”

“I’m not sure if I want to gamble my safety on your ‘tech support.’”

“Come on, it’ll be fine!”

“I’m not letting you be the guy in the chair.”

“You’re just repeating yourself.”

“You keep pushing the ‘guy in the chair’ thing.”

“Well, you keep rejecting me.”

“Because you’re a civilian!"

"Am I?! Are you seriously doubting my tech skills?”

“More like your impulse control.”

Morgan huffs dramatically, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Ha, very funny. You’re one to talk! May I remind you who exactly got shot between us?”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing up your hands in defeat. “You win! You can be the guy in the chair!”

Morgan’s face lights up with a smirk as she pushes her glasses up with a satisfied flick of her fingers. “Perfect. But just so you know… I’m not planning on getting into any alleyway brawls.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Not like you could do anything with your spaghetti arms."

"Ass!"

“Also," you add. "You say that now, but I’ve seen how people get when they’re itching to help. You’re not allowed to step a foot into any of my alleys. You stay where it’s safe, understood?”

Morgan raises her hands in mock surrender. “Got it."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 8:12 PM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

The moon casts long, eerie shadows across the grimy streets of Crime Alley, its pale light barely penetrating the oppressive darkness. The night air is cool and sharp as you swing effortlessly between buildings.

Morgan clings tightly to your back, her grip firm. Her breath comes in quick, exhilarated bursts as the wind howls around you, whipping through her hair and making her voice rise with the rush of the night.

“This is incredible!” she shouts, her words lost momentarily in the roar of the wind. “I had no idea you were so… so agile! I’m practically flying!”

You chuckle, tightening your grip on her. “Glad you’re enjoying it. Just remember to keep this between us, okay? I already texted my mom, told her I was working late on an internship. She’d totally lose it if she knew the whole story. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know.”

Morgan nods enthusiastically, her laughter mingling with the wind. “Secret’s safe with me! Besides, this is way cooler than any boring internship!”

As you approach the warehouse, you swing gracefully from the rooftops, landing lightly on the building’s edge. You gently set Morgan down, her eyes wide with curiosity. You lead her to an open window, and together you step into the warehouse, emerging into the loft area that overlooks the cluttered first floor.

Tables cluttered with tools, spare parts, and old electronics fill one side of the warehouse. Shelves stacked with various gadgets, blueprints, and half-finished projects line the walls. A makeshift bed, complete with a thin mattress and a worn blanket, sits in a corner, flanked by a few of your personal touches like a small stack of comic books and a faded poster of a vintage comic.

“It’s a bit scrappy, but it gets the job done,” you explain, glancing around the space. “I’ve done a lot of work here over the past few months.”

Morgan sets her gear down on one of the tables, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She starts pulling out a few gadgets, laying them out with a smile. You watch her with interest as she reveals the basics for now: a comm device, a sleek laptop, and a set of earpieces.

“Alright, so here’s the rundown,” Morgan says, holding up the comm device. “This little beauty will keep us in touch no matter where we are. It’s got encryption and a few extra features that’ll come in handy for tracking and coordinating.”

She places it on the table and picks up the laptop, opening it to reveal a high-resolution screen. “This is my command center. Well... laptop. It’s loaded with security protocols and a few surprises. I’ll be able to monitor everything from here, plus it has advanced analytics.”

Finally, she holds up the earpieces with a grin. “And these are for communication and hearing everything clearly, even in the middle of a mess. They’re noise-canceling and have a range that can reach the entire country.”

You stare at her blankly.

"You are... oddly prepared for this."

Morgan shifts her weight and shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m really into heroes, okay?! Stark Industries has some pretty cool special projects.” She coughs lightly as she sets the equipment down, arranging it on one of the tables. “Just wait until you see what else I’ve got in store."

You shake your head with a smile, letting her dive into the setup. As she busies herself with the tech, you move to the corner of the warehouse where you’ve set up a small training area. You pull out a yoga mat, your muscles aching from the day’s activities and the previous night’s adrenaline rush.

Spreading the mat out on the floor, you begin a series of stretches and exercises to ease the tension in your body. The quiet hum of the warehouse is soothing until suddenly, your ringtone starts blaring through the speakers.

Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na… Batman!

You perk up, eyes wide, as the theme song fills the room. Morgan’s snort echoes through the space as she looks over at you, clicking something on her laptop.

“Nice fucking ringtone,” she laughs. “Damian’s calling.”

You squint at her, then glance at your phone, which is sitting a few inches away on the table. “Did you just hack my phone?”

“Hacked,” she corrects with a smirk. “You’d be surprised at what I can do with Bluetooth and a laptop.”

You roll your eyes and settle back down to squat on the floor. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the tech expert here.”

Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. “Consider it a skill I picked up. Besides, if you’re going to have me as your tech support, you need to get used to this kind of thing.”

The ringtone continues to ring, and Morgan raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you going to answer that, or do you want me to handle it for you too?”

You wince. “We had an argument.”

“Trouble in paradise,” she squints before pointing to the door of the warehouse. “Maybe you want some privacy?”

You glance at the screen, where Damian’s name is flashing. With a resigned sigh, you reach for the phone and press the end button. Morgan whistles and grimaces.

“Yikes.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the discomfort. “I’ll talk to him when I feel like it. Let me do my yoga in peace.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

"I'm sorry, this caller cannot be reached—"

With a sharp, irritated breath, Damian swipes the call away, the screen of his bike’s console dimming to black.

You didn’t want to answer? Fine. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

The bike’s engine roars to life with a deep, throaty growl, cutting through the night air like a predator on the hunt. Damian deftly navigates Gotham’s tangled mess of traffic, weaving between honking cars and startled pedestrians. The bike’s tires bite into the wet asphalt, the city lights reflecting off its sleek frame as he darts past another red light.

Tonight’s patrol is anything but routine. High-profile cases, gang activity, and urgent calls stack up like a never-ending to-do list, and Damian can already feel the weight of the week ahead pressing down on him. Gotham’s underbelly churns with unease, as if the city itself is bracing for something darker on the horizon.

BUZZ!

Just as he begins to settle into the rhythm of the ride, the steady hum of the bike’s engine is interrupted by the sharp buzz of his comm link. He glances down at the small screen embedded in the bike’s console, his eyes narrowing.

“Robin? You there? I’ve got something I need you to check out. It’s near your location.”

The familiar voice of Oracle crackles through the earpiece, cool and composed, but with a hint of urgency that sparks Damian’s interest. A digital map flickers to life on the dashboard, zooming in on a narrow, dimly lit alleyway nestled deep within one of Gotham’s most rundown districts.

“I’m picking up unusual activity,” she explains. “There’s a gang meet-up happening in that alleyway near Queens. From the chatter, it sounds like they’re discussing something big—possibly a new drug shipment or an upcoming operation. Get some eyes on them.”

“Understood. I’ll check it out,” he replies curtly. Damian’s grip tightens on the handlebars as he adjusts his course, the bike’s engine growling in response as he veers sharply toward the indicated location.

It only takes a few minutes before Damian pulls up to the alleyway. He slows the bike to a stop, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement before he parks it in a shadowed corner, blending in with the darkness. The engine’s deep rumble fades to a low, menacing purr before it finally falls silent.

Damian pulls off his helmet, his hair tousled from the ride. He shakes his head slightly, letting the cool night air ruffle through his dark locks. The city’s muted sounds reach his ears—the distant wail of sirens, the occasional shouts, the drip of water from a nearby pipe.

The alleyway ahead is cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a faulty streetlamp. Shadows stretch and twist along the grimy walls, creating an unsettling landscape.

He dismounts and approaches the entrance to the alley with silent steps. As he ventures deeper, the muffled sounds of voices become clearer. The air grows heavier, thick with the smell of smoke mingling with an acrid tang of something burning and the less pleasant odors of old beer and rotting food.

Damian reaches into his earpiece and taps the control for his embedded mic. The small device activates with a soft, almost imperceptible beep and he begins recording.

“Did you hear about latest shipment?” One voice says, his accent thick and unmistakable, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy Russian lilt. “It’s stolen Stark Tech. Black Mask, he’s making big moves, yes? Big tech deals coming soon.”

Another voice, sharper and edged with a typical Gothamite drawl, chimes in. “Yeah, I heard. Looks like he’s tryin’ to offload some high-end stuff. Somethin’ to do with the Octavius project.”

A third voice, younger and nasally, adds, “Octavius? Isn’t he locked up in Blackgate? Why would he be involved in any of this?”

"Money," the Russian explains, "Black Mask, he uses connections, push deals forward. Octavius, he is in prison, yes, but influence, it is not gone. We get in on this... payout could be very big."

Damian’s eyes narrow as he tries to move closer, but something tugs at him from behind. He glances over his shoulder and freezes when he sees a thin, webbed strand clinging to the edge of his cape. It’s almost invisible in the dim light of the alley but stands out starkly against the dark fabric of his cape.

Spidersilk.

Scowling, Damian tugs at his cape, attempting to peel away the stubborn webbing. It clings tenaciously, resisting his efforts with an almost defiant grip. Frustration flares as he yanks harder, the strained fabric slapping against the nearby wall with a loud snap.

The voices in the alley fall silent, replaced by the shuffle of feet and urgent whispers. Damian curses under his breath

Damian curses under his breath. He quickly snaps off the cape, leaving it behind in the shadows, and just as he does, a gang member swings a crude metal pipe toward him. Damian reacts instinctively, raising his forearm to block the attack, the clang of metal echoing through the alley.

Snarling, Damian wrenches the pipe from the thug’s grip and drives it into the man’s ribs with brutal force. There’s a sickening crack as bone gives way, and the thug emits a sharp, agonized wail before crumpling to the ground, clutching his side in pain.

Standing tall, Damian slowly steps out of the shadows, the darkness sweeping across his face like a shroud. The white of his mask catches what little light there is, giving it an eerie, spectral glow.

With a deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness, he draws his katana from its sheath. The blade catches and distorts the scant light, gleaming with a sinister, predatory sheen. As he spins the weapon with precise, practiced ease, the razor-sharp edge slices through the darkness, emitting a soft, chilling hiss.

“Here’s a piece of advice,” Damian sneers, his voice distorted into a menacing growl by his modulator. “You’re all out of your league. I suggest you leave now, before you make this any worse for yourselves.”

One of the gang members, either too reckless or too foolish to retreat, lunges at Damian with a rusty knife. The blade catches the scant light, its edge glinting menacingly as it arcs toward Damian’s side.

With a fluid, practiced motion, Damian sidesteps the attack, his hand shooting out to grasp the thug’s wrist and wrench it sharply. The knife clatters to the grimy ground as the thug lets out a pained cry. In a seamless follow-up, Damian flicks his katana, slicing across the thug’s torso with a precise cut that wounds but doesn’t kill.

Damian follows up with a brutal strike to the thug’s face, slamming him against the alley wall. Blood spatters onto the cracked pavement as Damian’s punch leaves the thug’s face a bruised, bloody mess.

“Had enough?” Damian growls, his voice a chilling rasp. The thug, dazed and barely able to stand, makes a feeble attempt to swing at Damian.

Damian easily deflects the pitiful attack, then brings the hilt of his katana down with a sharp crack against the thug’s temple. The thug crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even hits the pavement.

“Let this be a lesson, Damian calls out to the other men. He twists his wrist, adjusting his grip on the katana, letting blood drip from the blade in a slow, deliberate descent. As he advances towards the remaining gang members, the metal scrapes against the ground with a harsh, grating sound.

“That next time, you won’t be so lucky,” he continues, his carved jade eyes darkened with flecks of shadow, swirling like wisps of smoke.

The thugs, now visibly terrified, back away slowly, their bravado gone. The oldest of them, a burly man with a scar that cuts through his rugged face, steps forward.

“Alright, alright, we’re done here,” he growls, his voice betraying a tremor of fear. “We’ll leave. Just... just don’t kill us.”

Damian flicks his sword back. “Smart choice. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”

The men scramble to their feet, their panicked retreat echoing off the narrow walls as they disappear into the shadows. The sound of their hurried footsteps gradually fades, leaving Damian alone in the quiet aftermath.

He sheaths his katana, the blade slipping into its scabbard with a soft, final click. His breathing is steady, but the adrenaline still buzzes beneath his skin. He scans the alley, taking in the mess left behind—smears of blood painting the pavement

His comm link crackles to life again, Oracle’s voice cutting through the silence. “Robin, report. What’s the status?”

“I recorded the conversation for you,” Damian replies, his voice steady as he turns. His boots crunch on the asphalt, the sound piercing the quiet as he kneels down to retrieve his discarded cape. He scowls at the stubborn webbing still clinging to his cape.

“That, and I’m starting a personal case,” he adds. He moves closer to examine the webbing, his gloved fingers deftly tearing away part of the fabric. The strands of webbing glint faintly in the dim light.

“A personal case?”

“Yes,” Damian confirms. He tugs his torn cape back into place, the frayed edges fluttering slightly as he smooths the fabric over his shoulders. He takes a moment to scan the alley one last time, the glinting remnants of webbing still catching his eye.

“I'm going on a hunt."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you trudge up the creaky, worn stairs of your apartment building, your footsteps pounding against the wood. Your muscles protest with every step, body aching from the lack of sleep.

Both you and Morgan were up all night setting up communication devices and sketching out possible upgrades for weapons and gadgets. Your mind is a foggy mess of blueprints and circuitry, making it hard to focus on anything but the thought of finally collapsing into your beloved bed.

Reaching your door, you fumble with the keys, and push the door open. The familiar scent of home—a mix of Selina's favorite lavender incense and the lingering aroma of last night's takeout—hits you, momentarily soothing your tired mind.

Inside, the windows are drawn open, and sunlight illuminates the living room, casting warm, golden beams across the worn-out furniture. Selina is sitting on the couch, engaged in an animated conversation with someone. You blink in confusion, your brain still foggy from sleep. Since when did you guys have guests?

You squint, then do a double-take.

Tony Stark. The Tony Stark is lounging on your couch, looking like he belonged there.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

You blink again, but he’s still there, looking impossibly real with his feet propped up and an easy smile on his face. It’s not a hallucination. This is real.

“Uh, Mom?” you manage to stammer out.

Selina turns and gives you a warm smile. “Look who finally decided to join us. Honey, you didn’t tell me you topped the rankings for their program!”

You… did?

“Uh, I did?” you ask, bewildered. You have no recollection of even applying for anything. The only time Tony knew about your existence was yesterday when you were literally shirtless at his apartment.

Tony chuckles, standing up and extending his hand. “You sure did, kid. Impressive work. I’ve been keeping an eye on the top candidates, and your projects really stood out. Thought I’d come by personally to congratulate you and talk about the next steps.”

You shake his hand, still in shock. His grip is firm, and his presence is undeniably magnetic. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’m… honored?”

“Honored, impressed—whatever you want to call it,” Tony says with a smirk, nodding at Selina before clapping a hand on your back. “Just know I’ve got big plans for you.”

Something feels off.

Your spider senses are buzzing like a live wire, setting your nerves on edge.

You force a smile, trying to mask the unease gnawing at you. The room feels too small, the air too thick. The sunlight streaming in from the window seems blindingly bright, almost as if it's glaring through a veil of distorted reality, making everything feel unreal.

As everything whirls into tunnel vision, the only thing you can focus on is Tony Stark, who seems too calm, too composed.

“Mom, would it be alright if I talked to Mr. Stark outside? We’ll be back,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

Without waiting for a response, you yank Tony toward the door. The latch clicks shut behind you with an ominous echo, and you steer him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the apartment building. The corridor feels tight and constricted, with the flickering lightbulbs casting uneven shadows that dance along the peeling wallpaper.

Once you reach the corner and are out of earshot, you turn to Tony. “Okay, what’s really going on?” you ask.

Tony raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that. I needed to talk to you about something important, and this seemed like the best way to get your attention without causing a scene.”

You furrow your brow, struggling to piece together what’s happening. “I don’t even remember applying for any program. Morgan just mentioned it to me. Are you sure you have the right person, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s expression turns serious as he pulls out his phone. With a few swipes, he activates a holographic screen. A video begins to play, and your heart sinks as you recognize the scene.

The video shows you from months ago, in your Spidey suit, captured by a bystander's shaky phone camera. The camera focuses on the moment when a car, careening out of control, crashes through the guardrail of a bridge. A web is shot, the thread catching the car just before it plunged into the river below. There's a grunt from you as you strain to pull the car back onto the bridge, the muscles in your arms and shoulders visibly taut under the suit. Onlookers gasp and cheer when you succeed, landing lightly on the bridge beside the car.

Tony’s eyes bore into yours. "That's you, isn't it?"

Your heart skips a beat. The hallway seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down your back as you stammer, "What? I—I don't... No?"

Tony's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "Come on, kid. Don't try to play me. I know it's you. Holy shit. What a catch! 4,100 pounds?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," you lie and swallow hard. "That's probably fake you know right? It's probably some edit on Youtube."

"Oh, sure," Tony purses his lips and pulls up another screen. Your eyes scan it and you wince. "Guess this is fake too, huh?"

The screen displays medical records of your injury from yesterday—a gunshot wound that healed unusually fast. The data outlines the severity of the wound and highlights the rapid recovery process. Tony’s finger traces the timeline, pointing out the abnormal speed of your healing.

"Wowie," Tony gasps in mock-surprise. "Not exactly a normal recovery rate for a regular teenager, wouldn't you say? What the hell does your mom feed you, kid? Magic beans? And this—"

He pulls up another screen. It's a scan of your DNA. The image is a dense matrix of colorful strands and data points.

“Would you look at that,” Tony continues, crossing his arms. "You got some Spider DNA on you, kid. This is some next-level genetic crossover."

You exhale deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety. “Did Morgan tell you about this?”

Tony shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nope. I have access to the records and all data from the bot. Guess she forgot to clear it.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “And before you ask, I don’t just dig through people’s private stuff for fun.”

He points a finger at you, a self-assured smile growing on his face. "So. I’m right? You’re the... Spiderling. Crime-fighting Spider?"

"Spidey," you correct, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. "Look. Mr. Stark. What do you want?"

Tony adjusts his glasses, peering down at you with a look of genuine appreciation. "Well, first, I want to thank you for saving my girl. I owe you one for that."

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

"Second," Tony continues, his tone shifting to business, "I’m here with a proposition. I’ve seen what you can do, and let’s just say I’ve got some big plans that could use a spider-shaped wrench in the works. Plus, I’ve got some nifty gadgets to keep you happy.”

You wince and shake your head. “Mr. Stark, I’m not looking to upgrade.”

"Well, you’re in dire need of an upgrade," Tony says, pulling up a picture of you in your suit and making a gagging face. He adjusts his glasses with a look of disdain. "Systemic. Top to bottom."

You roll your eyes.

"But before we get into that," Tony adds, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful, "I’ve got to ask: why do this? Why play the hero? Is it guilt? A sense of responsibility? Or just a really bad habit? What's your emo backstory, kid?"

You shift uncomfortably against the wall, the cool, rough surface pressing against your back.

"It’s... complicated," you finally say, your voice low. "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t just stand by and act helpless."

"So, you’re playing the hero for the little guys, huh? Who else knows about this gig of yours?" Tony mutters

You exhale a heavy sigh, rolling your neck to ease the tension. "Morgan knows, and... Selina. And now, you."

Tony nods slowly, his fingers idly peeling back a section of wallpaper. "How’d would you like to spend a month at Stark Industries, kid?"

You sputter, "I can't just... What? Start living with you?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not exactly down to make the three-hour commute to your place."

"Okay, who said I was agreeing to this?"

"I did," Tony whistles and starts to move toward your apartment door. "Unless you want me to tell your ridiculously hot aunt that her kid got shot—"

THWIP.

Tony freezes, his foot now stuck as the sharp sound of the web echoes through the corridor. He looks down, eyes widening slightly as the web wraps around his ankle.

You stand with your hand outstretched. “Don’t tell Mom.”

Tony raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “So, what’s it going to be? Make a decision now, or do I need to start spilling secrets to get your attention?”

You groan, your head thudding against the wall as you wrestle with the decision. After a moment, you exhale sharply, pushing the doubt aside. “Alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if we’re doing this, I need to be in the loop on everything. No surprises.”

Tony’s smirk widens as he extends his hand.

“Deal. Welcome to Stark Industries. You’re going to fit right in.”

"..."

"Now. Can you... get me out of this?"

 ༻⊰───⋅

The dining room at Wayne Manor was unusually lively this morning, a rare and welcome shift from the usual quiet. Bruce, seated at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, was partially hidden behind the day’s newspaper, only the top of his head visible as he read. The rustle of paper was the only sound he made as Alfred moved around his chair, silently refilling his coffee cup with a fresh, steaming brew.

To Bruce’s right, Dick and Jason were engaged in conversation. Every so often, their banter would erupt into laughter, the sound warm and familiar. Tim sat across from them, his laptop balanced precariously beside his plate, its glow reflecting off the food he barely touched. His eyes darted between the screen and the table, more absorbed in whatever was on his laptop than the breakfast laid out in front of him. At the far end, Cass cradled her latte in both hands, taking slow, thoughtful sips as her gaze wandered out to the gardens, lost in some distant thought.

Amidst the calm, Damian was anything but. His face was locked in a deep scowl as he hacked away at his breakfast, the knife in his hand scraping harshly against the plate, leaving deep, jagged scratches. Each slice seemed to require more effort than the last, the grating sound of metal against porcelain cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you trying to eat your plate?"

"Die."

Bruce peered over the top of his newspaper, his brow furrowed in concern. The rustle of the paper paused as he glanced at his son, his gaze shifting from the newspaper to Damian. "Is something wrong, son?"

Damian’s grip tightened around his knife, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked like it might crack. "The burger is insufficiently cut."

Tim, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, barely looked up from the screen. He let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "He’s mad because his girlfriend hasn’t been replying to his messages."

Damian’s eyes shot a sharp glare at Tim, but the anger in his gaze softened just enough to betray the truth in his brother’s words. His jaw twitched as he tried to maintain his scowl. Bruce raised an eyebrow, his concern now tinged with curiosity.

"Damn," Jason said, pausing mid-bite of his eggs. He leaned back in his chair, waving his fork around with a smirk. "What did you do? Did she finally get tired of you?"

"Don’t start, Todd," Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Jason. "My relationship status is none of your concern."

Dick leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. "Busy, or just avoiding you? There’s a difference."

"She might just be busy," Tim chimed in, taking a leisurely sip from his coffee cup. He set it down with a deliberate clink and met Dick's gaze with a knowing look. "Did you know she topped the Stark Industries Young Innovators Program?"

The table fell silent for a moment, the hum of conversation abruptly cut off.

The newspaper, now forgotten, slipped from Bruce's fingers and landed on the table with a soft thud. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line, fighting to control the storm of emotions churning beneath his otherwise stoic facade. He looked as though he were struggling to choose between bursting into laughter, breaking down in tears, or punching a hole in the wall.

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

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

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

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

Bruce’s expression shifted to a frown.

“Of course, I had already known she was impressive,” Bruce said slowly, his voice dripping with a hint of petty resentment. “It’s just… wonderful to see someone finally acknowledging it. Stark finally catching up.”

“Looks like he’s stealing your kid,” Jason snorted, shaking his head. "Who do you guys think is going to win the custody battle?"

“Tony,” Tim said with a laugh.

Bruce’s head snapped up, betrayed. “Tim—”

“Tony,” Tim repeated, scrolling through the article. “She accepted. She’ll be spending a month in Stark Tower’s living quarters. All expenses covered.”

“What.”

“Yep,” Tim said, not looking up from his screen. “All the perks of the job. Stark’s rolling out the red carpet.”

Damian’s scowl deepened, his frustration now entirely focused on his offending meal. He resumed his aggressive cutting, the knife scraping furiously against the porcelain, each slice resonating with his irritation.

Bruce slammed his coffee cup down on the table with a sharp clink.

“Stark,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with bitter resignation. “Of course, Stark.”

Stares and knowing grins were exchanged around the table.

“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by that billionaire showboat,” Bruce grumbled. “Not a drop of responsibility in that man. How on earth is he going to handle being a… mentor to her? Stark’s idea of responsibility is throwing money at a problem and hoping it magically solves itself. He’ll probably just have her parading around his tech labs, showing off to his high-profile friends while she’s supposed to be learning. It’s all a game to him. He’s just going to pat her on the back and call her a genius while he takes all the credit.”

“Oh my god,” Dick grimaced, trying to stifle a laugh. “The adoption senses are tingling.”

Bruce shot him a withering glance but was interrupted by Alfred’s calm, yet pointed voice. “You’re taking this a bit personally,” Alfred said. “If I were you, I’d be congratulating the young miss for her accomplishment. It’s a remarkable achievement, and it reflects well on her character.”

Bruce’s scowl didn’t fade, but his expression softened slightly. “I’m not questioning her achievement,” he muttered, his tone begrudging.

“She’ll be fine. If she can handle you, she can handle Stark,” Alfred snapped.

Bruce gasped in offense.

Alfred continued to move around the table, placing a pitcher of water in the center. As he wiped his hands with a cloth, he hummed thoughtfully. “Young Miss Kyle is more than equipped to manage whatever Sir Stark throws at her. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate her success and perhaps focus less on the competition.”

He glanced at Bruce with a hint of a smile. “We can invite them for a celebratory dinner, Master Bruce. It would be a fitting way to honor her achievement and show our support.”

CLANG!

A sudden, explosive smash shattered the calm of the room, followed by a harsh metallic scrape. Damian’s knife came down with such violent force that the plate beneath it cracked audibly, sending shards skittering across the table.

Alfred’s weary sigh broke the tension, and he glided over to collect the shattered remnants of the plate, his practiced hands carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

“I hope you enjoy cereal, Master Damian."

༻⊰───⋅

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im-not-a-ghost · 8 months ago

Text

Pick a kpop song and I'll tell you who is having naughty thoughts of you [18+]

Minors do not interact. This is part 1 of a series of 3 posts. We will try to get a bunch of details that will help us identify this person. This will be a lengthy reading, so I may have to publish several posts. If that's the case, I will write down the link to the other parts so that you don't get lost.

Slow it down make it bouncy ~

Threads of fate oracle cards | The Void, Underworld, Patience, Fate

This person may be someone you share a very special connection with. One that is very intimate, and that doesn't mean that you necessarily had physical contact with this person. You are very close with this person, closer than you've ever been with anyone else because you know things about each other that no body knows. That's the intimacy I'm talking about. Another thing I am picking up on is linked to the egg represented on the fate card. It reminded me of the drama series "Alchemy of Souls". In the series, Naksu/Mudeok and Jang Uk share a "private joke" about birds and their eggs. Jang Uk compares Mudeok to a fragile egg that was left alone at the top of a tree and that needs to be taken care of and protected at all costs to be able to survive and see the light of day. Thus, he compares himself to a surrogate bird mom charged of watching over that egg until it can soar high in the sky. This comparison may be significant to you and this person. The dynamic of the two characters overall may be similar to the one you share with this person. Jang Uk and Naksu/Mudeok both need each other desperately at first and their relationship is mainly one based on a mutual accord to take advantage of the other's position and skills, as they're aware they have no other option but to cooperate to reach their personal goals. But the more the plot progresses, the closer they get and the more special their bond becomes. With the combination of Void, Underworld and Patience, I really get that vibe of two people that were forced by external circumstances to meet each other and learn to cooperate because they have a common destiny. In doing so, they have to learn patience and to face their shadows while keeping their relationship hidden. This feeling of secrecy comes off very strongly. If you know this person, you may not be in contact with them at the moment and whatever happened between the two of you is a secret that both of you share. I also got the message that either one of you could be a psychic. The purpose of that person then may be to awaken the other's psychic potential. We will get further details with two different decks to see if these intuitions are further confirmed. In terms of zodiac signs, I was mainly picking up on Scorpio but there may be other signs that come up later on in the reading.

White Numen Tarot cards | page of swords, 7 of cups, 2 of cups, page of pentacles, knight of wands, Black Numen, back of the deck Moon

In terms of zodiac signs, we have the following being represented : Scorpio, Cancer, Leo, Pisces, Gemini, Virgo. I am getting a clearer picture of who this person could be and what is going on between you. I am shown that they are close to you in age and in energy. Their path and maturity when it comes to their spirituality is similar to yours. This is a person that tends to mirror you. You could have met this person at a time in your life where you were feeling a bit lost or unsure about your future. This was a turning point in your life and it was also the case for this person. I get a perfect place perfect timing vibe from this spread. You or they may be a student. You learn a lot from each other. Though you are very similar, your differences allow you to grow drastically and question your beliefs. This is a person that you may feel very attracted to on a physical level. This person may have several centers of interest that keep them busy. You may be contacting them a lot using social media. You could have met them through travelling or they could come from a different culture. With the energy of the Moon I get the message that this person may have brought a lot of old stuff to the surface when you met them. Fears you thought you had overcome. Worries about the past and future. They could also be someone you dream about a lot and/or a person you met at night. This person definitely is linked to you through the force of karma. Your souls knew of each other before. As for the type of bond you share, I feel like putting a label on it wouldn't be relevant. What you need to know is that this meeting happened for a reason and that you felt it coming. You knew right away that this person would play an important role in your journey, and they probably felt it too.

Crystals oracle cards | Meteorite, Citrine, Moonstone, back of the deck Tourmalined Quartz

First of all, I feel compelled to mention the colors that were associated with these cards. Soft browns, beige and pastel purples/pinks seem to be relevant. What comes first to mind is how soft this person can be. I will know focus on each card individually as some details on those caught my attention.

Meteorite - Connect to your "star stuff" : this card mentions that meteorite comes in three forms and that people who may need to work with their energy are "children of the stars". The majority of the messages revolved around cosmic and galactic energy. This made me think that this person could spend a lot of time stargazing or looking at the clouds as a way to feel connected with you. And you may be doing the same. The other thing I was picking up on is that maybe your souls come from the same original place. If you believe in concepts such as starseeds, light language and such, this may resonate with you. I also thought of Saint Exupery's The Little Prince.

Citrine - Manifest your masterpiece : this card revolved around dreams and artistic endeavors, of doing everything in your power to manifest your wildest dreams. So you and this person may have a common creative project that you work on, a common goal or dream that you talked about. This may be the secret we were mentioning in the beginning. (I also heard "in the beninging" from that meme lmao so maybe you share a lot of private jokes and memes)

Moonstone - Find your natural rythm : this card mentioned travelling as well as star gazing. So your person may travel a lot in their daily life. It's a stone ment to increase empathy and intuition among other things. So it wouldn't be surprising if this person was a healer in blooming, a natural empath. I also got the message that they were incredibly sensual. Taurus energy came in strongly here.

Tourmalined Quartz - Restore your perfect light : with this card I was told that your person is often surrounded by a lot of people whom may not have the best intentions towards them. A lot of people look up to them but also envy them and wish for them to fail. Your person may be struggling with impostor syndrome as well as social anxiety.

All these cards combined lead me to believe that the person we are talking about is someone that is quite popular and radiates a lot of light and love around them. They have a pure heart and soul, are very loving and generous but may face a lot of backlash and challenges, because their light tends to trigger people's shadows. This may be something that questioned them and made them think they were a bad person, or that maybe they deserved to be treated badly. This may be something that you have struggled with as well. Which would explain why your paths crossed.

In another reading, we may be enquiring about the content of this person's thoughts and maybe why you met them. I hope that this reading was insightful and helped you figure out who this person was. I would be more than happy to get your feedback in the comments. Stay tuned to get the tea about this person ~

Mr. Rover, I'm coming over ~

Threads of fate cards | back of the deck The Void, Death, The Alchemist, The Explorer

This is really interesting. Your energy may be tied to group 1 as well. If you hesitated between the two groups, you may want to check out group 1's reading. With the Void card, I am told that you are not in contact with this person. They likely live at a distance from you. Sometimes, you may feel like you and this person are worlds apart and that there is no way you could understand each other. Yet, you do. You are polar opposites. And everything may look like you wouldn't match. However, this person gets you like no other. With this spread I am picking up on fixed sign energy mainly, especially Scorpio and Aquarius, as well as Pisces. The Alchemist card makes me think that this person could be a tarot reader or at least they are interested in forms of divination. Butterflies and stars seem to be relevant to this connection. The Explorer card denotes an energy of being restless, feeling like you don't belong where you are and wanting to broaden your horizons. Both you and this person may have connected over the feeling of being different from the rest of your community, of feeling like where you are isn't what's meant for you and more is waiting elsewhere. Of feeling like your body is too small for you. Like you are not truly comfortable in your skin and wish you were something or someone else. You both may have struggled with anxiety and severe depression. You both may have gone through a dark night of the soul. You both are good manifesters and have big ambitions. You both tend to uproot belief systems and push yourselves beyond your limits because you have a deep desire and need for expansion. You could have met this person while travelling, this travel could have been an unconscious one. Meaning, you could have met this person in the 5D before you met them in person. For some of you, you don't know this person yet. But you feel them energetically. Especially, if you practice meditation or lucid dreaming. We will get further information with two more decks. Hopefully, this could confirm what we've been talking about for now. I also get the message that both of you could have the capacity to communicate with spirits/ghosts. Another thing that could have brought you together could be the passing of a person. This is very specific, but for some of you I get the message that the spirit of a loved one interfered in your favor to get you to meet this person. They did so with the hope that it would help you cope with their passing.

White Numen Tarot cards | back of the deck High Priestess, Queen of cups, 8 of pentacles, Hierophant, knight of pentacles, 9 of wands, White Numen

Taurus energy is heavily present here, as well as Leo and Scorpio. So fixed sign energy definitely. With the High Priestess, this person is definitely into the occult and likely to have psychic abilities. This is a person that gives off a very mysterious vibe. They are very secretive and closed off, they mind their own business and don't share their secrets with just anyone. They are very protective of their space because they just know how people's envy can sometimes affect the outcome of their manifestations. This person is highly intuitive and sensitive. They are caring and nurturing. A natural healer. They have a lot of feminine energy that they gladly share. They are dedicated, hard working, patient. This is a person that doesn't give up easily. The word "failure" is not a part of their vocabulary. This person is determined to win and learn no matter what. This person is aware that whatever outcome they get, they will always be victorious one way or another. This is a person that is traditional but also very spiritual, they are well educated and incredibly wise. They could be a teacher or a mentor of some sort. They are extremely cautious and may sometimes be slow to act. But you can be sure that whatever this person does, they will reach their goal. They like to create and work with the Universe. They follow their path slowly but surely, one step at a time and make sure that they learn their lesson. This is a person that understands how the Universe works and goes with the flow. They are not afraid to take a turn or face struggles because they know that at the end of the day, they will get what's right for them and meant for them. They have a lot of confidence and inner knowing that allows them to navigate life peacefully. People could say that this person is married to their work because of how dedicated they are. They are loyal to a fault and are not the kind to abandon people out of the blue. They are very respectful of others and always try to include everyone. This person is also naturally beautiful and sensual. They instantly make you feel safe and understood. You may have met this person in a work or educational setting. Again, for this group I am getting a very fated meeting. Your energies were aligning way before you met. And this person may have consciously manifested you into their life.

Crystal oracle cards | back of the deck Epidote, Libyan Gold Tektite, Malachite, Kunzite

Right off the bat I get a very charming, exotic vibe from this person. Most of these stones are mined in hot countries, especially African ones. The colors also felt very sensual. They kinda reminded me of Egypt and Cleopatra specifically. This person could be a history nerd. They could be of African descent. I will focus on each card individually to point out certain details that caught my attention.

Epidote - Upgrade your version of you : this stone is mentioned as the "get what you give" stone. Which highlights this person's spiritual nature and generosity. This is a person that works on themselves a lot, that constantly tries to be better and do better. They have a bit of a workaholic attitude.

Libyan gold tektite - Banish your "blahs" : this stone forms in the Sahara desert. So this person could have North African to Central African origins, especially Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt. This peron is goal oriented and pretty stubborn. When they have something in mind, it's hard to get them to change their point of view. Sometimes this person can exhaust themselves pretty quickly because of how hard they work. They tend to work extremely hard at a high frequency very early on and thus burn their energy very quickly.

Kunzite - Open up your love channel : they have trust issues because of past relationships. They tend to be hard on themselves and blame themselves for past failures when in reality they were not responsible for what happened. They tend to put others' needs first and forget their own. This person is very loving and can sacrifice themselves in the name of love.

Malachite - Claim your success : this person is humble. They may tend to bring themselves down or attribute their success to others because they may feel like they don't deserve recognition. They have a very altruistic nature. They are very creative but have a hard time following through with their ideas. They tend to be all over the place sometimes, especially if they've been giving a lot of their time and energy to others.

With the combined energy of all these cards, I picture a woman with a motherly nature, that tends to be the mom of the group. Someone very discreet and quiet that always encourages others and shows affection through acts of service. Someone that can do benevolant work just for the sake of giving. A person that is very sensitive to people's struggles. The kind of person that would cry seeing an animal being hurt and out in the streets. The kind of person that would give out their clothes and money to a person in need. A person that was raised in a religious household and taught to never look down on people and never forget where they came from. Someone from a modest family that rose up to success through their hard work and strong inner belief. A person that has a strong moral compass and lives according to their principles, regardless of what people may think of them. Someone that, because of this mentality, tends to be alone and has a hard time connecting with other people.

I'm the charmer ~

Threads of fate oracle cards | back of the deck Paradox, Love, Self Love, Play

The person we are talking about is someone that may confuse you a lot. With this Paradox card, I get a Star vibe from it, which reminds me of Aquarius. So this person could have Aquarius as one of their main signs. This also tells me that you could have met this person online or if you met in person, your main mean of communication is the Internet. I also get the vibe of someone being a bit popular and very busy with their work and hobbies. This person could be very active on social media and thus investing in many projects with different people. The spread also gives me a feeling of two friends walking on the line of romance. The lines may be blurred with this person. At some moment you may feel like they only perceive you as a friend but other times things they say or do may make you question their feelings for you. And this could actually be because this person is feeling the same toward you. I feel like both of you aren't sure of what the other means to you and what you want out of this connection. This could be a FWB situation or just a mutual crush that both of you kind of ignore for some reason. Peacocks and dolphins may be significant signs. Overall, I get the vibe that you and this person get along very well and have a lot of fun with each other. No matter the distance or the time spent apart, whenever you see this person again or interact again, it always feels like you never really were separated. It's like the last time you spoke was yesterday, even if you may have been in a no contact situation for decades. The affection you have for each other is never dying off. I get a very good vibe from this spread and this person. This is someone who's intensions are pure and loving. I kinda get a starcrossed lovers vibe from this group. But more importantly, I feel like the main reason why this person is special to you is beacause they are a part of your soul tribe. This is someone that uplifts you and supports you no matter what, though you may be complete opposites and have different opinions about the world. This person just respects you deeply and appreciates you for who you are. I pick up on a lot of affection and gratitude for each other. It's like both of you only truly feel at peace with one another. Not only does this person give you love but they also gently nudge you into loving yourself more instead of constantly nurturing others. When both of you are interacting, a lot of healing is happening. One thing that may really help you identify this person, I feel, is that this is someone you share a lot of laughter with. You may have a lot of private jokes, secret codes that only you know of, memories of deep conversations that you couldn't have had with anyone else. Honestly this really gives me a best friends to lovers vibe. I also pick up on Pisces energy.

White Numen tarot cards | back of the deck Judgement, Hierophant, Emperor, 2 of pentacles, 5 of pentacles, 5 of swords, 2 of wands

Before I dive in any further, I wish to point out that while I shuffled the deck cards kept falling in big groups and it felt like the energy was all over the place. This gave me the impression that there may be several people that are thinking of you. So if you were drawn to different piles, this may be a confirmation that this is your case. Also I felt like one person specifically was doing their best not to think of you but it's just something that they can't help. If this person ends up thinking of you despite their resistance, then things get out of control and they feel like they can never get their composure back again. In terms of Zodiac signs, we have Scorpio, Taurus, Aries mainly. For some of you I think your exes could be potentially among the people that think of you. Whether those were just friends or actual lovers. I feel like many people who may not have manifested any sign of attraction for you ar now reminiscing about you and wishing that they had given you a chance. Which to me is further confirmed by the spread. With he Judgement card and the combination of the cards, I am given a message that this person or these people could be coming in and out of your life lately and some of them may be trying to find an opportunity to express their attraction. I particularly pick up on the energy of someone you may have had a fallout with because of external circumstances, that is now realizing how much you mean to them and wanting to come back into your life. This person I feel misses the feeling of being with you and more importantly they feel like their chance was stolen from them. Like something happened that prevented them from truly giving your relationship a chance. Like, for example, let's imagine you moved into a city and met a person. Things were going well and this person developped feelings for you. When they were about to reveal their feelings to you, you announced them that you were moving out of the city because of your work. This kind of feeling. For some, it could even be that you got into a relationship with someone else before they could even confess their feelings to you and they were cut short by that. Out of respect for you, they chose to remain silent but now they just can't hold it in anymore. This is someone that envisioned a future with you and wanted to commit to you, but they may have taken a long time to find the courage to make the necessary adjustments in their life to enable this connection to flourish. Another possibility is that your faith or your family were a main obstacle in your connection, which caused you to separate ways.

Crystals oracle cards | back of the deck Smoky Quartz, Sapphire, Labradorite, Herkimer Diamond

First of all, I picked up on very specific details that may not resonate with everyone. One person may be a smoker. One person may have a pet cat or a pet dog. One person may have blue eyes.

Smoky Quartz - Arm your spiritual warrior : this is a stone that speaks about protecting your energies from energy vampires and people that may stand in your way. So maybe the person we're talking about may have been someone that wasn't always good to you.

Sapphire - Find your tranquil place : this stone speaks about freeing yourself from the judgmental opinions of you others may have as well as grudges you may hold. So this person could have helped you with your self confidence over the years but they could also have hurt you in other ways. This may be a person you have mixed feelings about because of your common past.

Labradorite - Protect your magic : Canada may be significant. Pisces is coming up again with this card. This person may have helped you with reconciling with love and romance. They may also have helped you realize your own worth.

Herkimer diamond - Power wash your energy : this is a cleansing crystal. Despite its name, it is not a diamond. This person may thus have been someone that you mistook for something they were not. People may underestimate or overestimate this person. They could be someone that enjoys travelling or you may have met them while travelling. New York may be significant to some of you.

With all that being said, I feel like many energies are being mixed within this group but the overall vibe seems to be that most of the people we're talking about are people from your past that you may not be in contact with anymore on a daily basis. Some of them you may not even suspect of having such thoughts about you. You may be happy that some of them are not in your life anymore but others you may miss and wonder about.

#pick a card #love pac #18+ pac

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