#they are just the two spideys and that one vigilante

[yannawayne]

iv. what's up danger?

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

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

A typical dinner at the Waynes.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Wednesday, 6:54 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City. 

Three Days Later

THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the occasional rustle of clothing as you pack your things. You carefully fold your favorite hoodie, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. Next, you grab a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and your worn-out sneakers. 

You pause, your fingers lingering on a framed photo resting on the edge of the dresser. It's a snapshot of you and Damian at a carnival, his arm slung over your shoulder, his lips gently pressed against your head. 

It’s been three days of radio silence between you and Damian. Three days of not speaking, which is practically a record for your relationship. And just when you were starting to get used to the peace and quiet, Bruce had to go and invite you and Selina to a celebratory dinner tonight. A gourmet guilt trip.

With a sigh, you place the photo gently on top of your clothes. Then you move to your desk, gathering a stack of notebooks crammed with sketches and half-finished plans scribbled on napkins and crumpled scraps of paper. You tuck them into the side pocket of your bag, carefully arranging the chaotic collection so that it all fits.

The door creaks open, and Selina steps into the room, her arms crossed with a proud smile playing on her lips.

“Packing up for your big adventure?” she asks.

You look up from your suitcase, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s only for a month, but it feels like I’m leaving for a year.”

“A month isn’t so long.” Selina walks over, her feet thudding softly on the floor. She picks up a small figurine from your desk, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think of it as a chance to stretch your wings and maybe learn a thing or two.”

“Thanks.” You smile and turn back to your packing, reaching for your suit. The sleek, black material glistens under the soft light filtering through the window. You run your fingers over the spider emblem stitched into the back, feeling the familiar texture beneath your fingertips.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing the suit, are you?” she asks.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the suit in your hands. “I thought I might need it. Just in case.”

“Well, you’re not planning on fighting crime in Stark Tower, are you?” she snarks, hands finding her hips as she gives you a look that clearly says she’s not buying your excuse. “This internship is a chance for you to have a life outside the vigilante shtick. It’s good for your future. A chance to live a normal life.”

“Normal? Mom, I stopped being normal the day I got these powers. There's no going back to that.”

“Maybe not,” Selina concedes, running gentle fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have something close to it. You deserve to have options, to see what else is out there for you.”

You meet her gaze, your resolve unwavering. “I hear you. But I think I need to bring it. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Selina sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “God. You are just as stubborn as me,” she says, rising to her feet with a resigned smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind about this internship. Give it a real shot, okay?”

“Promise,” you hum, feeling a small sense of relief. As you reach for the suit to tuck it into your bag, your phone buzzes insistently.

Quickly, you glance at the screen.

Morgana:

Busy tonight? There’s a shipment near the docks. Tech equipment from what I see.

You could infiltrate. They have valuable info.

It's… Black Mask.

For a while, you stare at the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen, itching to swipe through the new messages. But Selina is still standing nearby. With a soft cough and a resigned exhale, you place the phone face down on the floor, deliberately ignoring the message for now.

You turn your attention back to your suitcase, refocusing on the task at hand. Selina watches you with a knowing look but doesn’t press further. The silence in the room is filled with the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft clink of zippers as you continue packing.

“Ready for tonight?” Selina asks.

You nod, though a knot tightens in your stomach. Bruce’s congratulatory dinner feels less like a celebration and more like an impending test, especially with the unresolved tension between you and Damian hanging heavy.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you reply, attempting to sound confident.

You zip up the suitcase, taking a moment to glance around the room. Everything seems to be in place, but you double-check, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything essential. 

Selina nods approvingly, then steps closer, bending to pull you into a hug. “I’ll go get dressed. You do too, alright?”

Selina leaves the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Turning back to your suitcase, you rummage through the clothes, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a red jacket. After slipping on some socks and sneakers, you reach for a black shirt. But as your hand hovers over the fabric, your gaze is drawn to your suit laid out on the bed.

The spider logo on its back glares at you, its eight-legged emblem almost seeming to reach out with an imperceptible pull, as if urging you to embrace your other self.

After a moment of inner conflict, you give in. You carefully pull on the suit beneath your clothes, the snug material wrapping around you like a second skin. With the suit in place, you slip on your black shirt, followed by the jacket and jeans. You tuck your mask into the pocket of your jacket.

Wearing a superhero suit under your clothes for a fancy dinner—definitely not a sign of insanity. Totally normal behavior. Call it creative paranoia.

With everything packed and ready, you head downstairs. Selina is still in her room, and you catch sight of her as she steps into view, looking a touch more formal than you in a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that hugs her curves. It’s short, tight, and elegant.

“Done already?” she hums, moving to her vanity and starting on her hair and makeup.

You nod, leaning against the doorframe and giving your hair a casual tousle. “Yeah, figured I’d keep it simple. Not sure I’m in the mood for fancy.”

Selina glances at you through the mirror, a small, reassuring smile curling her lips. “You look great. And don’t worry too much about tonight. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

The clock on the wall reads 7:00. You have three hours before the dinner, and Selina, always the early planner, will be occupied with her preparations for a while.

Pulling out your phone, you check Morgan’s message again. If you played your cards right, you could handle the shipment bust quickly and still make it to the dinner on time.

Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the doorframe and tug your hood back on. You head downstairs, making sure to keep your movements casual and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

“I’ll be heading out for a bit. I want to get some flowers for Alfred,” you call out, your voice carrying through the house.

Selina glances up from her vanity, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We need to leave once the driver arrives.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod, turning and heading out of the room. You make your way downstairs, slipping out the front door and into the crisp evening air.

Once you’re in the privacy of a nearby alleyway, you waste no time. Tugging off your shirt, you shove it into the pocket of your jacket, feeling a rush of adrenaline. You slip on your mask, adjusting it carefully until it fits snugly, the familiar material settling comfortably against your skin. Your jeans, jacket, and sneakers stay on for practicality, and you plan to put the black shirt back on later.

With everything in place, you secure your earpiece and gadgets, pressing the earpiece into position and activating it. The familiar hum of your tech springs to life, and you’re ready to move. 

The city’s sounds fade as you slip into the shadows.

“Morgz? You there?” you call out, already scaling up the side of a building.

A crackle of static precedes Morgan’s voice. “Yeah, I’m here. You on your way?”

“Just about to leave,” you reply, grabbing onto a ledge and pulling yourself up. “Any updates on the shipment?”

“It’s scheduled to arrive in about 30 minutes. The tech equipment is being unloaded from a truck into a warehouse. Security’s decent, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re only 15 minutes away from your spot right now.”

“Got it,” you confirm, reaching the rooftop and taking a moment to scan the area below. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You launch into action, web-slinging towards the docks with a focus on speed. Normally, you’d be showboating and performing flips, but tonight, every second counts. The journey takes a bit longer than expected—20 minutes instead of 15.

As you approach the docks, you spot a boat pulling up to the edge, its silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Surprised you even took this up,” Morgan’s voice murmurs through your earpiece. “Thought you weren't allowed to patrol on school nights.”

“Technically… I’m not,” you reply, weaving between buildings and adjusting your trajectory for a swift descent.

“Yeesh. Going rebellious already?”

“Teenage angst, remember?” you quip, a grin forming beneath your mask as you prepare to intercept the shipment

Landing on a rooftop adjacent to the warehouse, you take a moment to plan your entry. The warehouse is a large, industrial building with a few tall windows and a side door that looks like it’s used for deliveries.

Security cameras are mounted on the corners of the building, rotating every now and then. You quickly survey the area, noting the guards' position.

There are a couple of guards patrolling the perimeter, walking in predictable patterns. One guard is stationed near the side door, checking his watch occasionally. The other two are more mobile, taking turns walking around the exterior and scanning the area.

Beyond the security, you see five workers moving boxes from the boat to the warehouse. The open doors at the far end reveal crates of tech equipment being unloaded.

You activate your earpiece. "Update. Three guards outside. Five active workers. They've got cameras. Can you get those down for me?"

Morgan's voice crackles through your earpiece. "On it. Give me a sec."

You watch the cameras, waiting for them to go offline. The guard near the side door looks at his watch again, oblivious to what's about to happen. 

After a tense moment, Morgan's voice comes back. "Cameras are down. You've got about an hour before the system kicks in again. Oh. That and there are about 5 more guards inside."

"Perfect," you hum.

You time your movements with the guards' patrols, slipping through the shadows. You approach the side door, keeping low and quiet.

Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, with stacks of crates creating narrow pathways. The workers are busy unloading the truck, their focus on the task at hand. You crawl up the walls swiftly and silently.

You spot a terminal near the back of the warehouse, its blinking lights indicating it’s connected to the inventory system.

Time to get to work.

“I'm at the terminal. What’s next?” you whisper into the earpiece.

Morgan’s voice comes through with a steady tone. “Plug in the flash drive to copy the inventory data. While that’s running, find the main control panel for the security system and plant the tracker. This will help us monitor future shipments.”

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Got it. Flash drive first, then tracker."

You slip to the terminal and plug in the flash drive, which hums softly as it starts copying data. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, you head to the security control panel hidden behind some crates and quickly plant the tracker.

"The tracker is set," you inform Morgan.

"Great job. The data copy should be done soon. Once it’s finished, you can pull the flash drive and get out of there."

You head back to the terminal, keeping an eye on the workers and guards. The flash drive's light blinks, signaling it's almost finished. After a few tense moments, the light turns solid.

"Data copied," Morgan confirms. "You’re clear to go."

You pull out the flash drive, tuck it into your pocket, and start heading toward the exit, blending into the shadows. Just as you reach the door, you hear voices nearby.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Your heart stops as the guard’s flashlight beam sweeps dangerously close to your hiding spot. You freeze, pressing yourself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing.

“Probably just a rat. Let's check it out just in case.”

You curse silently under your breath, watching as the guards start moving in your direction.

The first guard steps closer, his flashlight scanning the area. You silently crawl up the wall, positioning yourself above him. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at the flashlight, yanking it out of his hand and into the darkness.

“What the—” the guard starts, but you quickly web his mouth shut and pull him up towards the ceiling, wrapping him tightly in webbing and securing him to the roof. You knock his head against the metal, and he passes out.

The second guard, alarmed by the sudden commotion, turns his back to you as he draws his weapon. The rifle fires, but your spider sense helps you dodge the shots. 

Cursing, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can react, you web his hands to the floor and sling his weapon away.

Dropping from the ceiling, you slow your landing with a web and slam your foot down onto his head, knocking him out.

Despite the quiet disposal of the two guards, the earlier rifle shot already alerted the other workers and guards in the warehouse. You hear shouts and hurried footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s here! Find them!”

Guards scramble, their flashlights slicing through the darkness, casting erratic beams that dance across the warehouse walls. You sprint away, weaving between crates and machinery, but a new threat emerges from the shadows—a massive, burly man, easily twice your size. He’s built like a brick wall, his muscles straining against his uniform, and his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone, etched with a permanent scowl.

“Who’s messing around in 'ere?” the giant roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous space. He brandishes a rifle, and from the looks of it, he seems to be their leader.

You glance at your watch—damn, it’s been two hours already. 

Only an hour left.

Still… you could probably get one fight in before leaving.

…

Swinging out of the shadows, you land in front of the giant, hands on your hips.

“Hi, Mr. Villain!” you call out, catching a punch he throws and giving his hand a playful shake. “I’m Spidey, your friendly neighborhood nuisance. Always nice to meet someone with such a ‘heavy’ presence. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a security problem here—totally my bad.”

The giant snarls at you. He fires his rifle, but you deftly dodge the bullets. With a swift move, you fire a web at his feet and arms, pinning him momentarily to the ground. The rifle is knocked from his hands, clattering out of reach.

The guards scramble to regroup, and you spring into action. Flipping back into the air, you disarm the remaining guards—quick web blasts here, a roundhouse kick there, an uppercut thrown. Each guard crumples under the assault, slamming against the walls one by one, webbed together in a tangled heap.

There’s a snap as the leader breaks free, roaring in fury and charging at you. You duck under his swinging arm and fire a web at a stack of crates. The crates topple and crash into his path, heavy wood and metal smashing together. He stumbles, cursing and flailing wildly.

“Careful there! You might just crush your own merchandise,” you taunt, sidestepping his erratic swings.

In that moment of distraction, you snatch his gun away with a quick webshot. But as you turn to face him again, a jolt of pure adrenaline slams through your veins, sharp and unrelenting, like an electric shock.

The world sharpens into hyperfocus. 

DANGER!

Your instincts scream at you to move. You leap to the side, but it’s already too late. A shadowy figure springs from the darkness, their knife catching a deadly glint in the harsh warehouse lights.

The blade slices through your suit, leaving a searing, agonizing wound. You stagger, clutching your side as blood seeps through the torn fabric and pools on the cold concrete. With a pained grimace, you muster the strength to shoot a web at the attacker, slamming them against the wall with a forceful swing.

“Spidey?! Come in. Shit. What happened to staying stealthy?” Morgan's voice crackles through the earpiece. “PEPPER, run back their vitals on me.”

A mechanical voice responds through your earpiece. “Vitals are stable. The wound is a deep six-inch laceration on the left side, with moderate blood loss, but the suit's padding has helped. The injury missed major organs and arteries. Immediate first aid and stitches are recommended.”

“Looks like I’ve got a new scar to show for tonight,” you heave, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as the giant stalks toward you. “But I’m not done yet.”

The man's roar shakes the warehouse.

“You think you can take me, you puny spider?!”

You lift your chin, tilting your head with a smirk. “Puny? That’s funny. I’ve taken down bigger.”

The giant lunges, brandishing a scrap of metal like a battering ram. You barely dodge, feeling the whoosh of air as it swings past. You retaliate with a web shot to his face, but he roars and swats it away, his massive arms tearing through your webbing.

“Careful there, big guy,” you quip, “I’m not into heavy metal, but thanks for the offer!”

His hand clamps onto your chest, lifting you off your feet with an alarming strength. He hurls you against a stack of crates, the impact slamming you into the wall. You slide down to the floor, dazed and with blood trickling from a split lip.

While you're down, the giant strides toward you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a mini earthquake. You struggle to rise, just as he launches a flying knee. Your senses scream, a blaring alarm urging you to move.

!!!

With a yelp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that hits where you had been seconds before.

“Hey, watch it! I’ve got places to be after this!” you yell.

Before you can react, a powerful punch slams into your face, sending you spiraling backward.

“Owie. That one’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” you groan, pain radiating through your skull. Desperately, you shoot a web at his legs, hoping to slow him down. The webbing holds for a moment before he rips through it with sheer brute force.

Groaning, you shake off the dizziness, rolling your shoulders to loosen them before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Alright,” you mutter, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, the webs aren’t working. Guess we’re sticking to fists. Put ’em up, big guy.”

Laughing with a guttural, mocking tone, the giant charges at you. As he lunges, you brace yourself and bring your fist up to guard your face. With a burst of power, you jab forward. Your knuckles connect with his face with a sickening crunch, the sound of bone shattering and flesh splitting echoing through the warehouse like a thunderclap.

JAB!

The man staggers back, his head snapping violently to the side, blood spraying from his jaw. Before he can recover, you launch into a spinning kick. Your leg connects with explosive force, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud.

You follow up with a powerful jump, driving a kick into his ribs. The impact echoes with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and collapses, slumped against the wall.

With quick reflexes, you shoot a web at a high pipe, coiling it tightly. You yank the pipe down with all your strength. It crashes onto the giant with a resounding clang, the impact knocking him out cold.

You take a couple of deep breaths, blood and sweat mingling on your clothes and face as you survey the wreckage. The giant groans weakly—alive, but definitely out of commission for the moment.

“Looks like the big guy’s all out of steam,” you murmur, wiping the blood from your brow with a grim smile. “Now, time to find that exit before my own steam runs out.”

With a final glance at the chaos you've left behind, you swing toward the exit. The cut on your side throbs with each movement—though it's slowly healing, the pain and blood are still very much present.

"Spidey? You alright? What the fuck, you just beat that guy within an inch of his life."

“He’ll live,” you huff as you swing through the streets. After fumbling around for a while, you pull your phone from your jacket and curse at the time. 

Only ten minutes before the car arrives. 

“Uh, Morgz, do me a favor. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

"Christ. You just busted down an illegal tech deal and now you're out for flowers?" Morgan’s response comes through the earpiece before you hear some typing. “There’s a florist two blocks from your current location. I’m sending you the address. But—You really need to take care of that wound.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply. There's a ping as the location pops up on your phone. “Just need to pick up some flowers. Trust me, it’s important.”

You adjust your swing to head toward the florist, landing quietly in the alley outside. With quick movements, you slip off your mask and start changing. You discard your jacket, revealing the bloodied suit underneath. The suit’s dark color masks most of the stains, but it's still a grim sight.

Pulling on your shirt over the suit, you try to conceal the worst of the mess. The sticky, wet feeling of blood against your skin is unpleasant, and you grimace as you adjust the shirt. Finally, you slip the jacket back on, hoping it will help you blend in and give you a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and glance at your reflection in the nearby puddle. The image staring back at you is a disheveled mess: hair tousled, face bruised and bloodied, jeans stained with grime and blood, and a jacket barely concealing it all.

“Not my best look,” you bite your lip. “But it’ll have to do.”

With a sigh, you step into the flower shop. The bell above the door jingles softly, and the warm, floral scent is a welcome relief from the warehouse’s stench.

The florist looks up from behind the counter with a curious glance. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your disheveled appearance but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

In Gotham, a bloodied teenager is probably just another Wednesday.

“Evening,” the florist says, his voice carrying the neutrality of someone accustomed to the oddities of city life. “What can I do for you?”

You give a quick nod, trying to keep your tone casual despite the blood still seeping through your shirt. “Need something nice. Simple. No need for anything flashy.”

The florist nods and starts arranging a bouquet of flowers. You drift over to a corner and find yourself looking at some daisies, their bright, cheerful colors a stark contrast to your current state.

“Spidey? How’s it going?” 

“Alright,” you shrug, though she can’t see it. “Can I get a rundown on my vitals again?”

Morgan’s voice hums and there’s the sound of clicking keys. “Vitals are stable. The cut is slowly healing, but you’ll need to properly bandage and get some of that stitched later Happy to say you're not going to die bleeding out.” 

She pauses, and then adds, “You’ve got a couple of broken ribs though.”

You blink in surprise and pat at your sides, feeling nothing. “Really? Guess that’s my pain tolerance working overtime. Didn’t even notice.”

“Please tell me you’re getting that treated first,” Morgan says, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Nope,” you reply, moving to pay for the flowers. “Already running late. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

Morgan’s voice is laced with skepticism. “She’s going to find out anyway.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the twinge in your side. “I’ll just say it was a mugging.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that?” Morgan asks, her tone dry.

You let out a small, pained chuckle. “In Gotham, maybe. But realistically…no. I’m just hoping to buy myself a little time before it all catches up to me.”

With the bouquet in hand, you head back out into the night. You tuck the flowers into your free pocket and swing off into the darkness. As you soar through the city, you reach for your earpiece and say a quick, “Goodnight, Morgz,” before shoving it into the pocket of your jeans.

Just as you near the bridge, your phone rings. You glance at the screen and curse under your breath—Selina’s calling, and from the look of it, she’s been trying to reach you multiple times over the past hour.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

You answer the call, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Selina’s voice comes through, clearly agitated. You can hear her huffing as she closes the apartment door, the background noise of a car engine rumbling outside. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting forever. We’re all set to head out.”

You quickly scan the streets below as you swing past, trying to gauge your location. “Uh, I’m on 2nd Broadway… actually, make that 3rd Broadway. And… 4th of Broadway! I’ll be there in… twenty minutes tops. Almost there, Mom!”

There’s a pause.

“... Are you swinging?”

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, narrowly dodging a pigeon that flaps angrily past your face. “Just a bit of a detour. You know how it is.”

“Honey. I can hear the wind. Are you really swinging around? It’s a school night. You know the rules—”

You wince, knowing you’ve been caught. “Just… had a few things to take care of. I’m on my way. Promise. Actually, why don’t I meet you at Wayne Manor instead? I’m near the bridge. Ya know, the one by the docks.”

There’s another pause on her end. 

“Why are you near the docks?!”

You avoid the question, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Long story. Look, I’m running late. Can we just meet at Wayne Manor? I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

Selina’s frustration doesn’t ease, but she sighs. “Fine. Wayne Manor it is. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “Understood. See you soon. Love you, Mom!”

༻⊰───⋅

BEEP.

Selina scowls as she ends the call and heads down to meet Alfred. The gritty streets of Gotham greet her, the cacophony of sirens and street chatter providing a harsh backdrop to her mood.

Alfred, noticing her irritated state, opens the door for her with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you Miss Kyle. May I ask where the young miss is?"

Selina forces a smile, trying to mask her frustration. “She’s… handling something that came up last minute. She’ll meet us at the manor.”

"Very well. I trust she’ll be punctual." Alfred says, a hint of concern in his eyes, but he says nothing more. He closes the door behind her as she slips into the car, adjusting her coat and glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The engine starts, the low hum blending with the city’s background noise. As the vehicle pulls away, Selina leans back against the cool leather seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, her mind already racing through the conversation she knows is coming.

You were dead meat.

༻⊰───⋅

After nearly an hour of high-speed swings through Gotham, you finally touch down in a secluded area near Wayne Manor. You're breathless and disheveled, your earlier efforts to look presentable having fallen short. You quickly scan the area, making sure the security cameras don’t catch your arrival.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you adjust your clothes and press the doorbell. The chime rings through the grand entrance. You glance at your phone and wince—you're an hour and thirty minutes late.

The swinging took longer than expected, and to make matters worse, you had to intervene when this ginger reporter was being robbed. You couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Now, as you wait by the gate, you hear footsteps approaching from inside. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, who freezes for a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and clearly worse for wear. You lean against the gate, your fingers curling around the metal.

“H—Hey, Al.”

“Goodness me!” Alfred exclaims, hurrying over to the gate and pulling it open wide.  He rushes over, opening the gate wider and pulling you inside with a practiced ease. His gaze sweeps over your injuries, concern etched deeply into his features. “Miss Kyle, you’re in quite a state!”

You manage a tired smile, carefully pulling the bouquet from your jacket. It’s in rough shape—torn petals, crushed blooms, and snapped stems. It looks like it’s on the verge of dying.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, wincing as you hold up the sad arrangement. “These… are for you. I, uh, ran all the way here. I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

Alfred takes the flowers with a gentle smile, his concern momentarily overshadowed by a touch of warmth. “Thank you, Miss Kyle. However, I assure you it’s fine. The others have already started eating. They won’t mind if you—”

“It’s fine! This is just…,” you pause, pursing your lips as you scramble for a plausible excuse. You force a smile, shaking your head and pulling your jacket hood further over your face to hide the swelling bruise around one of your eyes. “Hah, you know how Gotham can be.”

Alfred gives you a sympathetic glance but says nothing more. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

He guides you through the grand hallways, your footsteps echoing in the vast space and mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. As you reach the dining room, the door swings open, revealing a table set with care and already abuzz with activity. Selina, Bruce, and the others are seated, their animated conversations abruptly halting as they turn to look at you.

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

Selina’s eyes narrow into slits, her irritation barely concealed behind a strained, tight-lipped smile. Bruce’s complexion drains to an ashen hue, his eyes are wide as saucers, looking like he’s about to pass out from shock. He casts Selina a panicked glance, which she meets with a weary sigh, her hands momentarily covering her face as if trying to shield herself from the mess. She looks utterly drained.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

Next to him, Cassandra’s face is blank. Her fingers fidget with her utensils as she shifts her gaze rapidly between you and Selina, trying to piece together the fractured narrative from your battered appearance and Selina’s body language.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing, stands up and approaches you with slow, measured steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice a deep, resonant murmur. His hands, surprisingly gentle for their strength, settle on your shoulders. His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the dark depths of a stormy sea, now soften with the tenderness of a lighthouse guiding you through a night. “What happened, kiddo?”

There’s a strange, twisting sensation in your gut, flaring just beneath your ribs. A lump rises in your throat, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, your eyes begin to well up.

“I—” you begin, but the words falter. Your gaze drifts across the room and locks onto Damian’s eyes. They’re like emeralds, gleaming with a ferocity that seems to pierce through the walls you’ve built. Though he remains silent, his piercing look conveys a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

A wave of shame is crashing into you, pushing your words back down. “Just… a rough night. Got into a fight.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow, and a wave of seething anger ripples through him. You try to ignore it. 

“And who was this?” he demands, his voice a controlled, simmering growl.

“It’s okay. It ended up alright,” you try to shrug it off, forcing a casual tone. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just a run-in with some rando on the street.”

Everyone’s reactions vary, but it’s the look in Selina’s eyes that strikes you the hardest. Selina’s weary gaze peeks out from behind her hands, and the sight makes your face crumple.

“Pull off your hood,” Selina commands, icy and devoid of warmth. As she straightens in her chair, her blood-red nails dig into the mahogany table, turning her knuckles as pale as frost.

You keep your gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, scuffing the dried mud across its pristine surface. The silence in the room grows heavier with each passing second.

“Take off the damn hood and show me your face!”

Scowling and clenching your jaw, you yank the hood off. As it falls away, the full extent of your injuries is laid bare. Selina’s eyes widen as they take in the black eye, the bruises, and the cuts that mar your face. Her shock quickly morphs into a deepening scowl, her lips trembling as she fights to control her rising anger.

Everyone waiting for the outburst that is sure to follow.

Instead, Selina’s hands fly to cover her face, and she looks as though she might fall apart at any moment.

Bruce stares at you with something akin to horror.

Before anyone can react further, Damian abruptly stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the room. 

His muttered words are barely audible, “I’ll take care of their injuries.”

Bruce moves back to Selina’s side, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he tries to offer comfort. 

You can hear his soft, reassuring whisper as you walk away, “You can stay for the night. It’s too late to head out now. Give her some time.”

Selina, her face still pale and troubled, nods gratefully, her gaze tracking Damian as he helps you toward the manor’s second floor.

Damian ushers you into his room, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. He motions to the bed, and you sink onto it with a heavy sigh, the weight of the day dragging at your limbs.

You watch Damian retreat to the bathroom, your gaze lingering on the raw, bloodied skin of your knuckles, tinged with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Moments later, he returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels before you, reaching out to tug off your jacket, but you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to discover the suit beneath.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” you rasp. Damian silently nods, moving to his closet and pulling out one of his cotton shirts and boxers. He hands them to you with a resigned sigh and leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you need.

You take the clothes from Damian and head to the bathroom. As you push open the door, the dim light casts long shadows across the tiled floor. You deliberately avoid meeting your reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the full extent of the mess you’re in.

Once inside, you drop Damian’s shirt and boxers onto the floor, followed by your jacket, shirt, and pants. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound as it lands. With a deep, steadying breath, you begin peeling off your suit, slow and painstaking.

As the suit peels away from your skin, the blood and sweat that have soaked into it reveal the severity of your injuries. You wince as the cut on your side comes fully into view, a raw, angry red line that stretches from just below your rib cage to the middle of your side. It looks even worse up close—jagged and still oozing a bit despite the healing process.

You quickly change into Damian’s boxers, opting to keep the shirt off for now. You carefully bundle your suit and hide it under your jacket and pants, folding it as neatly as you can manage. With a deep breath, you step back into the room.

Damian’s eyes narrow as he assesses the cut on your side, now reduced to a four-inch scar due to your enhanced healing abilities. His gaze is hard, and you can almost see the weight of the lecture that would have come if he’d seen the injury in its original, more severe state. 

“Sit down,” Damian finally speaks, his voice firm. He begins to open the first aid kit, movements slow. You drop your ruined clothes in a far corner and plop back down on his bed, rubbing your hands together nervously.

A beat passes as Damian finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the anesthesia, preparing to start stitching you up. You shake your head and push his hand away. “I can take it.”

“No,” Damian scowls and continues his work. He applies the anesthesia despite your protests, injecting it around the wound to numb the area. The needle pierces your skin with a sharp sting, followed by a dull, throbbing sensation as the anesthetic begins to take effect.

He sets the syringe aside and picks up a pair of sterilized tweezers and needle and thread. You watch as he carefully makes the first stitch, his hands steady and precise. The thread pulls tight, closing the wound with a series of tight, even stitches.

His long lashes flutter over his hooded eyes with each focused blink, his emerald gaze intense and filled with concern. The warm ambient light of the room casts a gentle glow on his deep tan skin, accentuating the chiseled contours of his face in a soft, almost ethereal light.

The beam of light highlights the light almost invisible scar that stretches from his cheekbone to his crooked nose, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbone and the strong, defined line of his jaw. Your gaze drifts to his full lips, noting the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

His hair is meticulously styled, with longer strands on top falling in inky, sleek waves across his forehead, remnants of gel catching the light. Damian’s thick, well-kept hair frames his face like brush strokes, adding to his strikingly handsome appearance.

Unable to hold yourself back, you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Damian hums, a low, soothing sound that rumbles in his chest. He keeps his eyes focused on your wound but tilts his head slightly to press a soft, tender kiss to your wrist.

With the stitches complete, Damian shifts his attention to bandaging the wound. He secures the bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he smooths out the edges. Finally, he raises his head and meets your gaze, eyes conveying everything he can’t say aloud.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into Damian’s embrace, dropping your hands onto his shoulders. He responds instinctively, taking your hands in his. Large, calloused fingers gently lift yours, pressing a tender kiss to each of them before moving to softly kiss your bruised knuckles.

With a whisper of your name, Damian draws your hands over his shoulders. You smile, sinking deeper into his embrace, arms draped over his strong back. Damian holds you close, lifting you off the bed as he pulls you into a hug. His arms wound up around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“You know, trying to keep secrets from me is pointless,” Damian murmurs, a thinly veiled threat in his words peppering kisses up the side of your neck. “I am the son of the greatest detective in the world. I will find out what happened.”

You chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me hold you, you insufferable know-it-all.”

Damian’s grip tightens slightly. His forehead rests against yours, hearts swimming in his emerald eyes. “You’re lucky I tolerate your nonsense. But seriously, you need to start talking.”

“Maybe later,” you reply, smiling against his shoulder. “Right now, I just need you.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, it’s already 1 AM, but you and Damian are still awake, watching a show on his television. You’re curled up together on his bed, the flickering light from the screen painting the room in shifting hues of blue and gray, casting gentle shadows that dance across the walls.

You rest your head against Damian’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Despite the late hour, the warmth and comfort of his embrace keep you from drifting off.

“This show is surprisingly bearable,” Damian murmurs.

You smile, nuzzling closer. “Told you it was worth a watch. Thanks for staying up with me.”

Damian’s fingers gently stroke your hair, each touch a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “Of course I’d do it, even if it means enduring your rather questionable taste in television.”

You scoff, pretending to be wounded. “Questionable taste? This show is a gem. You just don’t want to admit I’ve expanded your horizons.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Expanded my horizons? More like subjected me to a marathon of pedestrian entertainment.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite his words. The episode continues, the soft hum of the TV blending with the comforting rhythm of Damian’s breathing. The earlier tension and worry seem to dissolve into the background, replaced by a quiet intimacy.

Damian’s hand moves slowly, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumb begins to trace gentle, deliberate patterns on your back. You shiver slightly at the unexpected sensation, a delicate ripple of warmth spreading through you. His touch is soft yet firm, spelling out something with careful precision.

Though you don’t fully grasp the intent behind his touch, Damian’s fingers trace a delicate script across your skin, inscribing the words of Talia’s favorite Arabic love poem onto your back.

“My life shall be sacrificed for her beauty,” his thumb whispers across your skin, “my blood shall be spilled freely for her, and though I burn for her painfully, like a candle, none of my days shall ever be free of this pain. Let me love, oh my God, love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it was and is.”

The gentle pressure of his touch, the rhythmic way his thumb moves, slowly eases you into sleep. As each verse of the poem is imprinted on your skin, you find yourself drifting off, nestled against his chest. Damian tenderly presses his lips to your temple, wishing you sweet dreams.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 3:02 AM - Damian's Room, Wayne Manor.

Dick moves stealthily down the moonlit hallway, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. He reaches Damian’s door and pushes it open with a gentle nudge. Despite his careful approach, the old hinges protest with a loud, protesting creak, shattering the quiet of the night and immediately stirring Damian from his sleep.

The sudden noise jolts Damian awake, his reflexes kicking in. His eyes snap open, and in a heartbeat, his muscles tense as he instinctively tightens his protective embrace around you. The world outside fades as his focus zeroes in on the intruder.

Damian’s gaze narrows into a steely glare as he locks onto Dick. In a seamless, fluid motion, he throws aside the blankets and reaches beneath the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of a gleaming katana.

Without hesitation, he draws the blade with a swift, practiced flick, sending the katana arcing through the air toward Dick. 

SHINK!

Dick stumbles back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. The katana thuds harmlessly into the wall beside him, its sharp edge embedded in the wood just inches from his head. 

"Such a dramatic wake-up call… Good morning to you too," Dick grins, clearly used to this routine. “Alright. I know it’s late, but Selina is still up. I think she wants to talk to Y/N.”

Damian’s snarl is a low, dangerous rumble. “If you wake her, I will cut your hands off.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Come on, baby bird. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let her know she’s needed.”

Damian’s eyes remain locked on Dick, a burning intensity that could have melted steel. Yet, after a long, tense moment, he grudgingly nods, the anger in his posture easing ever so slightly. With careful precision, he unwinds himself from the cocoon of blankets that envelops you, making sure not to jostle you awake.

!!!

But as Damian shifts, your senses stir, your eyes fluttering open to the dim light of the room. Your hand moves instinctively, reaching out to grasp Damian’s wrist, your fingers curling around him with a surprising strength. The sudden contact startles Damian, and he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you.

Confusion and concern flash across your face as you murmur, “Dames?”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting a tender regret. “It’s okay. I apologize for waking you, but Miss Kyle is calling for you.”

You tense immediately, and Damian feels a pang of guilt unfurl in his gut for disrupting your rest.

You sigh softly and rise slowly, wincing slightly as though the wound still bothers you. Although your injury has healed, you  keep up the act, unwilling to make it too obvious that you’re fine. You know you’re on thin ice, and the last thing you want is to make things more suspicious.

Damian instinctively moves to support you, his hand steadying your back with a reassuring touch as you rise. Dick, lingering at the doorway, casts an apologetic glance your way.

Damian helps you to your feet, his touch steady and reassuring. He retrieves his soccer jacket from a nearby chair and drapes it around your shoulders with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The jacket, well-worn and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, envelops you in its soft, reassuring warmth. 

As you and Damian approach the door to his room, you hesitate and turn to him.

“I think I need to handle this alone,” you say quietly. “Can you wait here?”

Damian's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates, his protective instincts flaring.

“Are you sure?” he asks, running a hand up your back.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yes, it’s better this way. I’ll be fine.”

Damian’s expression softens reluctantly. “Alright. I will be right here if you need me, beloved.”

You watch as Damian retreats to his room, his hand sliding around the katana lodged in the doorframe. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he withdraws the blade, the metal glinting momentarily before the door closes softly behind him. Dick, meanwhile, falls into step beside you and guides you down the corridor. His presence is steady and reassuring, a calming force in the tense atmosphere.

As you walk, Dick leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Your mom’s been on edge all night. I’m… not sure what’s going on, but she made it clear she wanted to talk to you immediately.”

You nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady.

Dick’s expression turns serious, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You really gave us a scare,” he says, his tone softening. “Just remember, as a future Mrs. Wayne, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of his words offering a small measure of comfort. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead as you reach the door to Selina’s room.

You turn the knob and push the door open.

Tall windows, framed by heavy drapes, stand slightly ajar, allowing the Gotham breeze to drift through the room. The curtains flutter rhythmically, whispering softly against the glass panes. Selina stands by the window, her silhouette etched sharply against the city’s glittering skyline. Her back is to you, tense and rod-straight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and she turns her head slightly, her gaze meeting yours with a cool, unreadable intensity.

"Are you going to start talking, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I was just—” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I passed by, okay? I saw the situation and I had to intervene—”

Selina cuts you off with a sharp twist of her head. “I have eyes. I know what happened. I was informed about a tech shipment—an underground tech shipment by the docks. It was infiltrated. They found all the men webbed. Webbed. To the walls and floors. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

You sigh, the weight of the truth settling heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah. Okay,” you admit, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. “It… was planned.”

Selina’s eyes narrow dangerously as she strides towards you, heels clicking sharply against the floors. Her silhouette, framed by the soft, muted glow of the city lights filtering through the window, looms larger than life.

“Did you have a single clue as to whose men those were?” she demands, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip crack.

“I knew,” you say quietly, “I knew they were connected to Black Mask. It was a tip-off, and I thought if I could just—”

“You thought? You thought what? That you could handle it alone?” Selina’s eyes flash. “This isn’t some playground for you to experiment with your powers. You’re dealing with dangerous people—people who won’t hesitate to kill. And if you get yourself hurt—or worse—what good are you to anyone?”

You lower your eyes, feeling the sting of her words as if each one were a reprimand meant to cut deeper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Sorry isn’t going to undo this mess!” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of a table.

A hand tangles itself into her hair, strands of hair failing over her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What you’ve risked by acting recklessly? I’m not just scolding you because I’m angry. I’m scared. You’re my responsibility”

Your anger surges, and you shout, “I know, Mom! I know!” The words escape before you can stop them.

Selina’s expression shifts from anger to hurt, her eyes momentarily softening before hardening again. “Don’t take that tone with me."

“Excuse me?” you snap, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost something? Every time I bring up my mother, you just give me the bare minimum! I was going to start digging eventually.”

Selina’s eyes widen, a mix of hurt and frustration flashing across her face. “You think I’m holding back information from you? I’m trying to protect you! When your mother died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get hurt."

“We’re so past that! I’m already knee-deep in this world,” you say desperately, your voice rising. “Mom, look at me! Just look! I have Spider DNA in my veins. My boyfriend is a vigilante. I’ve faced kidnappings and attempts on my life ever since I was born! You can’t keep treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered from reality.”

“I raised you! ” Selina screams, raw and primal, the words tearing from her throat with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned. “I gave up everything to keep you safe, to try and shield you from the worst parts of this life because I couldn’t bear to lose you too!” 

Her voice shatters mid-sentence, the tears slipping from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. But she doesn’t stop, pushing through, her words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush. “Every time you put yourself at risk, it’s like ripping open a wound that never heals! Don’t you get that? I can’t—I won’t—lose you, too!”

The raw emotion in her voice shatters your anger, melting it away like ice under a warm sun. You step forward, your movements gentle as you grab onto her shoulders, guiding her down into a chair. 

“I know, Ma,” you murmur, your voice softening as you try to soothe her. “I know it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Selina breathes heavily, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I know. I know you’ve been through so much. It’s just—I don’t want you to be a target for Black Mask. He’s a fucking monster, and I didn’t want you to be in his crosshairs.”

“I’m already in his crosshairs,” you whisper, bending down and reaching into your sock, where you’ve hidden the flash drive containing the information you retrieved from the warehouse. You had tucked it in earlier while changing in the bathroom.

“This,” you continue, holding up the small device, “is information on all his future activities. This was the mission I had earlier.”

Selina’s eyes widen in alarm, her fear quickly reigniting into fury. “Have you put no thought into the rules I set? Putting yourself in that kind of danger—” 

“Danger I’m already in,” you cut her off. “Danger I’m about to face.”

"Y/N," Selina hisses out in warning, her eyes flashing dangerously, fangs glinting in the moonlight like a cornered cat.

“What? You think you can stop me?” you scowl as she stands. “I’m done playing by your rules. And if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Selina’s eyes narrow, and a scornful smile twists on her lips.

"Prove it."

“What?” you manage to choke out.

Without a word, she launches herself toward you. Her foot whips out in a sharp, hard kick, sending you reeling backward. You hit the small balcony with a heavy thud, the harsh chill of the metal biting into your skin.

A pained grunt escapes you as you scramble to regain your footing, the cold air wrapping around you like a bitter embrace. 

"Prove it, honey," Selina taunts, her voice dripping with contempt as she saunters toward you. She draws her claws with a slow, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Show me you’ve got some fight.”

Before you can fully recover, Selina is on you again. You barely evade her claws, landing heavily on the cold metal railings. The chill bites into your feet, but you push off the railing with a powerful leap, ready to re-engage.

Selina's leg sweeps toward you with brutal intent, aiming to knock you off balance. Reacting quickly, you shoot a web to the railing, swinging yourself back into position and avoiding her strike.

You retaliate with a hard kick to her chest. The impact sends Selina sprawling, her body slamming into the ground. She rolls to absorb the blow, springing back up.

Her eyes flash with anger as she leaps from the balcony’s ledge, executing a high-spinning kick. You twist in mid-air, grabbing the edge of the balcony to dodge her attack and pulling yourself back onto solid ground.

“If you try to stop me, if you try to control me, you’ll only push me further away,” you shout, breath coming in sharp bursts. “And I promise, I’ll fight back with everything I’ve got.”

"Then fight!" 

As she swings at you again, you snatch her wrist, twisting it with a sharp, decisive motion. With a sudden push, you force her own claws against her, the cold metal slicing into her shoulder.

Selina hisses in pain, her body recoiling as she shoves you away. The razor edges of her claws carve a deep, angry line across her shoulder, a vivid stripe of crimson blooming against her skin and staining her outfit.

The sight of it catches you off guard, a sharp pang of guilt gripping you as her pain registers. You stand frozen, eyes locked on the streaks of red that disrupt the perfection of her skin. 

“Mom—” your throat tightens. “I’m so—”

Selina starts to smile, a small, almost reluctant grin that slowly grows wider. The sight is so unexpected that it momentarily takes you aback. Then, much to your surprise, she begins to laugh—a rich, genuine sound filled with a mix of relief, amusement, and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“You think this is funny?!” you exclaim, bewildered and on the verge of anger.

Selina looks at you with a bitter smile, her laughter fading. She clutches her bleeding shoulder, her expression softening as she lets out a long sigh.

“You really are my daughter,” she murmurs.

You slowly ease from your defensive stance, confusion furrowing your brows.

“Alright, fine. Point proven,” she continues, voice gentler now. “Trying to cage you would only make you fight harder to claw your way out. Literally. I should know better than anyone how that feels.”

“O… kay?” you mutter, still grappling with the sudden shift in her demeanor. “So, I guess we’ve proven my point. What now?”

“Now,” she says slowly, “we talk. Like sane adults. No more clawing each other’s faces off.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, both of you sit on the edge of the bed, cradling cups of warm jasmine tea from the tea set provided in your room—because, of course, each guest room in the Wayne Manor has one.

The steam rises gently from the cups, warming your fingers and offering a soothing contrast to the cool air. Selina sits across from you, her shoulder wrapped in bandages.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you fill Selina in on everything that’s happened: the mugging with Morgan, the shooting when you saved her, and the whole "guy in the chair" thing. You’re honest about all the other stuff and the support you’ve received, but you leave out the fact that Tony Stark knows your secret identity, keeping that bit to yourself for now.

Selina stares at her cup of tea, her eyes wide with disbelief. The steady ticking of a clock fills the room, punctuating the silence as she processes what you've just shared.

“So, you’ve been pulling all the strings?” she asks. "Orchestrating all of this?"

You lick your lips, choosing your words carefully. Orchestrating is a strong word. More like everything is falling into place. But that does sound better.

“Something like that,” you say, nodding.

Selina blinks, taking a slow, contemplative sip of her tea. “Trying to rein you in would be a lost cause at this point,” she says, setting her cup down. “So, what exactly is the plan from here?”

You place your cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, the porcelain’s gentle chime briefly breaking the quiet. “I need to dig deeper into Black Mask’s operations. With Morgan’s help, I’ve got the tech and the intel, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”

Selina nods, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup, her gaze distant. “Batman will notice. The moment you step out into the city proper, you’re going to be a target. And once you’re on his radar, a contingency plan will be set.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your fingers.

Selina’s gaze hardens. “And that’s what worries me. Bruce is just a man—no powers, no special DNA. But if he sets his mind to something, he can take anyone down. I don’t want you caught in that crossfire.”

You open your mouth, but Selina cuts you off.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

You glance at her, a thread of dread weaving itself into your thoughts. “Contingency plan?”

Selina nods, her tone heavy. “When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

Selina’s expression softens slightly. “I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

“Metropolis?” you ask, your disbelief coming through with a half-smile. “Seriously?”

Selina winces, her expression sours. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

She cracks her knuckles, releasing some of the tension in her hands.

“It’s still an option if things get too messy. But for now, I’ll help you as much as I can here."

༻⊰───⋅

Damian walks up the stairs, his steps muted against the polished wood. In his hand, he clutches a thick blanket he’s taken from the storeroom. The absence of your presence has made his room feel uncomfortably cold, and he refuses to go back to sleep without you there.

As he nears the guest room where you and Selina are deep in conversation, he slows his pace, the soft hum of your voices drifting through the slightly ajar door. 

He knows he should respect your privacy—a lesson he’s learned the hard way after being caught tailing you during patrols more than once. But his curiosity tugs at him. 

He lingers outside the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, straining to catch snippets of the conversation drifting through the slightly ajar door.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

The voices are muffled, but Damian can detect the guilt in Selina’s tone.

“Contingency plan?”

There was a pause.

“When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

Damian freezes.

"Metropolis? Really?"

Selina’s voice carries a note of sorrow. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

Damian remains frozen in place.

Hunt? Who was hunting you down that made Selina think it was necessary to move rather than seek help from his father? Did she not trust Batman's abilities? Did she not trust his?

His grip on the blanket tightens until his knuckles turn white, the rough fabric digging into his palms like a searing brand. A bitter, acrid taste rises in his throat, mingling with the bile of frustration and helplessness.

Had he not proven his devotion enough? Each time he threw himself into the fray, each time he fought with everything he had, did she still doubt his ability to protect you? His every act of defiance, every sacrifice, should have been proof—shouldn’t it? 

Did she think that running away was the answer? Did she believe that abandoning Gotham and leaving him and Bruce out of the fight was a better choice? Her secretive plans, her carefully crafted illusions of safety, were they really a solution?

Panic starts to claw at him, twisting his insides into a tight knot. Or maybe it was because of him? 

Gods, he knew you were too good for him, but was he so inadequate that she thought hiding you away was the only option? The thoughts gnaw at him like ravenous insects, feasting on his insecurities. He can almost feel the raw, hot sting of failure as it eats away at him from within. 

He remembers the first day he was left with Bruce, the way his own father looked at him, the way his brothers looked at him—like something about him was inherently wrong. 

He was the outsider, the boy who had to claw and tear and rip his way into their world, proving his worth to a family he barely understood, a family that barely understood him.

Every mistake he made, every bout of uncontrollable rage, felt like blood on his hands—dark, sticky, and impossible to wash away. Another mark on his name. 

And now, Selina’s confession feels like another blow to his fragile sense of self-worth. If even she doesn’t trust him, if even she thinks he’s not enough to protect you, what does that say about him?

His legs grow numb, his head spins with disorientation. The edges of his vision blur, and each breath comes in shallow, frantic bursts. He stumbles forward, driven by an overwhelming need to escape. His body moves on its own, carrying him towards his room.

Was he what Selina was protecting you from?

The thought strikes him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling. The blood, the violence, the cold efficiency with which he was taught to kill—it all comes rushing back. Damian was trained to be an assassin, raised by the League of Shadows to be a weapon, a tool of destruction.

He feels numb as he stumbles into his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to comfort him. He collapses onto the floor, his legs giving way as he sinks to his knees. Clutching the blanket to his chest, he tries to draw some warmth from its fabric, but it feels like an inadequate shield against the cold, hollow emptiness that gnaws at him from within.

The voices of doubt and self-loathing grow louder, echoing in his mind. Damian doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, trying to control his breathing. Time seems to blur, each second stretching into an eternity. His thoughts spiral, a maelstrom of fear and insecurity, until he hears the soft creak of the door opening.

You stumble in, and he freezes.

Your eyes widen as you take in his disheveled state, the blanket clutched tightly in his hands, his face pale and eyes wide with panic. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Dames," you whisper. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head, unable to meet your gaze. He doesn't deserve to.

You hush gently, raising your hands to his face. "Can I touch you? You’re having a panic attack, baby."

He nods, his breath still coming in shallow gasps. Your hands are warm and steady as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

"Look at me," you murmur softly. "Focus on me. Breathe with me."

He struggles to follow your instructions, his eyes locking onto yours. You take a deep breath in, exaggerating the motion, and slowly exhale. He tries to mimic you, his breaths hitching but gradually evening out.

"That's it," you encourage. "In and out, nice and slow. You're doing great."

Damian's grip on the blanket loosens slightly as he continues to focus on your breathing, finding a semblance of calm in the steady rhythm. Your presence anchors him, drawing him away from the chaotic storm in his mind.

"You’re safe," you whisper. "I’m here with you. Just keep breathing."

Gradually, the tension in his body begins to ease. He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The panic that had gripped him so fiercely started to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of security.

He sits there, the silence heavy around him, before his voice breaks through it, rough and raw. "Are you scared of me?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air. He doesn’t mention what he overheard, but the question reveals the depth of his doubt.

You gently brush a strand of hair from his face, your eyes soft with understanding. "Scared of you? Damian, I’m not scared of you."

He clenches his fists, the blanket still wrapped around his hands. "I… I can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like I’m always falling short."

"You’re not falling short," you reassure him softly. "You’re human, and you’re trying your best."

You lean in, your lips pressing against his in a tender, reassuring kiss. As you pull back, your eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" you whisper.

Damian takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor as he gathers his thoughts.

“I overheard part of a conversation between you and Selina,” Damian begins, his voice sharp and dripping with bitter resentment. “She spoke of a contingency plan involving an apartment in Metropolis and expressed concerns about someone hunting you down. If… If she felt the need to protect you from something by leaving, does that mean that I’m not enough? That I’m not capable of keeping you safe?”

His words come out with an edge. He meets your gaze with eyes darkened by hurt and anger. “I wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could safeguard you, not merely another liability. But now it seems I’m just… inadequate. As if my dedication and efforts amount to nothing.”

You start to speak, but Damian interrupts. “Who’s hunting you down? What’s going on? Beloved, I’ve let you into my life—please, let me into yours.”

“I know, baby,” you say softly, running a hand through your tousled hair as you try to gather your thoughts. “Alright, okay, I need to tell you about something important. It’s about the spider vigilante, alright? There’s something you need to understand.”

“Again with this?” Damian scoffs, his hurt evident as he starts to rise from the floor. The movement makes you panic, and you grab his arm, pulling him back down.

“Nonono, wait,” you say urgently, trying to steady your voice. “Forget that for now. There’s something else I need to talk about—something personal. It’s about me, and I need you to listen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay. There’s a lot more going on than you realize. I’m investigating Black Mask. He’s got some operation threatening Gotham, and it’s connected to everything that’s been happening lately. I’m trying to figure out what he’s up to, and…”

You pause, struggling to find the right words. “And I might have something to do with that vigilante spider you’ve seen around.”

Damian’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He stands there, his mind racing as he pieces together the implications of your confession.

The increased absences, the unexplained injuries—suddenly, everything starts to make sense. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. How did he not connect the dots? The vigilance, the secrecy—it all makes sense now.

You’re the one being hunted.

Brows threaded together, Damian steps closer, taking your hands in his. His fingers brush over your skin, gently massaging small circles.

“I understand,” he says with a grave tone. “I suspected as much. You don’t need to explain yourself, beloved.”

You smile in relief, misinterpreting his seriousness for support of your dual life as Spidey.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, your tone warm and reassuring. “Just… couldn’t find the right moment.”

Damian’s eyes soften, but a steely resolve glimmers within them as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering.

If the spider is the threat, then it’s the spider he’ll take down.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 7:53 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Hours later, Damian pulls up to the sleek, glass-fronted Stark Industries building. The structure towers above, its façade a mesmerizing expanse of reflective glass panels that catch and scatter the sunlight, creating a dazzling play of colors. A polished steel entrance welcomes visitors, a bustling crowd already walking in and out.

As the car comes to a smooth stop, he turns to you with a soft, reassuring smile. You reach over, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips.

His fingers gently brush your cheek as he murmurs against your lips, “Be careful.”

“I will,” you beam, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Promise.”

With one last lingering look, Damian reaches over to unlock the car door. You open it and step out onto the curb, unloading your bags. Damian gives you a final wave as he shifts the car into gear, gliding smoothly down the street and disappearing into the city’s bustling flow.

You clutch your bags tightly in your hands. Exhaustion pulls at your every muscle—patrol, the fight, and the travel have left you feeling like you're on the edge of collapse. After everything that went down last night, you can’t help but feel a bit relieved about the month off from school, courtesy of your internship.

Bags under your eyes betray the sleepless night, while the oversized shirt and sweatpants you’ve borrowed from Damian make you look more like you’ve just rolled out of bed than a professional intern.

Technically, you did roll out of bed, having snagged only about three hours of sleep.

How the hell did Batman and the Robins manage to juggle this kind of life week in and week out? Right now, you feel like death is just a breath away, waiting to claim you.

“Hey, kiddo!” Tony Stark’s voice calls out from a distance, cutting through your fog of exhaustion. “You planning to stand there and stare at the building all day?”

He steps out of his sleek convertible, tossing his keys to the valet with a flick of his wrist that’s more showmanship than necessity. As he strides towards you, his eyes do a quick sweep over your state.

“I offer you the top spot in my program, and this is how you show up?” Tony says, giving you a light shove on the shoulder.

You give a weary sigh and shuffle alongside him into the building. “Good to see you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony continues with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first intern to look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone.”

He leads you into the sleek, glass-walled elevator, pressing the button for the upper floors. The elevator hums softly as it ascends.

You turn to him, trying to muster the energy to keep up with his banter. “So, where’s Morgan?”

“Working on your new tech stuff,” Tony replies. “She’s buried under a mountain of circuits and cables. If you’re lucky, you might get to see her emerge from her tech fortress.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the upper floors of Stark Tower. Tony leads you down a pristine, modern hallway where glossy surfaces catch the ambient light, enhancing the tower’s futuristic vibe. He stops in front of a door adorned with a sleek plaque bearing your name.

You gawk at it, your sleep-deprived brain barely processing the sight. “Damn.”

Tony pushes open the door, revealing a spacious, elegantly furnished room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and the room is equipped with a large, comfortable bed, a sleek desk, and a cozy seating area.

“Welcome to your new digs,” Tony says, gesturing grandly. “I’d say it’s a bit of a step up from your old place. Given your current state, though, I’d suggest you take it easy for now. Rest up, and maybe try to look less like you’ve just walked off a horror set, okay?”

Despite your exhaustion, a small but genuine smile tugs at your lips as you take in the surroundings. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. It’s really… nice.”

With a casual salute, Tony heads towards the door. “Anytime. Now, go on and get some rest. I’ll let Morgan know you’re here. If she manages to claw her way out from under her tech mountain, she might swing by to say hi.”

༻⊰───⋅

A few hours later, you’re well-rested and dressed in a much more presentable outfit: a crisp white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked neatly into flared slacks, and paired with white sneakers.

After one last check in the mirror, you give your appearance a satisfied nod, then rub the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You head out of your room and make your way toward the elevator.

Pressing the button, the elevator doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss. You step inside and swipe your ID card against the scanner. The elevator's high-tech screen lights up, displaying a seemingly endless list of floor options. You whistle as you scan the array, finally selecting the tech room.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, a voice suddenly speaks up, making you jump with a startled yelp.

“Good morning!” the voice says cheerfully. “Welcome to Stark Tower. How can I assist you today?”

You quickly recognize the voice as FRIDAY, the building’s AI system. You’ve read about it in papers and seen it on TV before. The holographic interface on the screen activates, displaying a friendly, animated avatar of FRIDAY. The AI greets you with a warm, digital smile and a cheerful tone.

“Oh. Hi!” you respond, a bit thrown off. “I’m, uh, just heading to the tech room.”

“Understood,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “I’ve already noted your arrival. The tech room is on your left once you exit the elevator. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help with, sexiest vigilante.”

You blink at the nickname.

“That’s definitely Morgan’s touch,” you mutter.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a workshop that looks like it’s been hit by a tornado of technology. Equipment is strewn everywhere, and tangled wires snake across the floor. In the center of the chaos, a few remains of a fire extinguisher lie scattered. Morgan is crouched in the middle of the mess, her hair a wild tangle and her face streaked with grease and soot. She’s working intently, completely absorbed in her task despite the disorder around her.

You clear your throat, and Morgan looks up, freezing mid-action. Part of her shirt is charred, and a small flame flickers from one of the devices she’s holding.

“Let’s be honest,” she says, waving a wrench at you, “you’ve seen me in worse shape.”

Shaking your head, you step into the room.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” you remark, your eyes scanning the cluttered area.

Morgan quickly puts out the fire and brushes a few stray wires out of her path before standing up and stretching with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Between the latest tech malfunction and the mini-explosion, it’s been one chaotic circus.”

“Should I even ask what set off the explosion?”

Morgan chuckles dryly, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. “Oh, just a little experiment gone wrong. Nothing major. Just some excitement to kick off the day.” She steps over to you, grabs a case from a nearby workbench, and hands it to you with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as you take the case from her. With a click, you open it to reveal a pair of sleek, high-tech glasses.

Morgan plucks them from the case and holds them up with a grin. “For you. They’re packed with all sorts of features—real-time data, targeting assistance, and even advanced communication options. Basically, they’re your new best friend in the field.”

You slip the glasses on, adjusting them to fit comfortably. The world immediately sharpens, and a translucent display overlays your vision, showing various readouts and notifications. You gasp in awe, your amazement reflected in Morgan’s fond smile as she watches your reaction.

She then moves to grab another device—a metal-looking belt that covers your entire stomach. At its center is a spider emblem. She clasps the belt around your waist and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Tell it to go on,” Morgan instructs.

Confused, you turn to her. “Huh?”

“Just think of a suit wrapping around you and command it to do so.”

You give her a skeptical look but decide to give it a try. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focus on the idea of your suit materializing.

“Activate?”

Immediately, you feel a tingling sensation as nanoparticles begin to stream from the belt, enveloping your body. The sensation is oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. The suit materializes in shimmering panels, stretching and shaping itself around your form. The glasses transform into a sleek helmet, molding to fit your head with a satisfying click.

The entire process takes mere seconds, and when you open your eyes, you’re fully suited up. 

The suit fits perfectly. The color is a deep, vibrant red that covers the majority of the suit. Black accents trace intricate web patterns that start from the center of your chest and radiate outwards.

The chest emblem is a bold, black spider, its legs extending across your torso and seamlessly merging with the web patterns. The helmet, now a sleek, black mask with a smooth, glossy finish, features white eye lenses that glow faintly. The same high-tech display you saw in your glasses is now visible in the helmet.

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

"What. The. Fuck."

 ༻⊰───⋅

[eyesxxyou]

My Hero

☆🕷️。・hobie brown x blackcat!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.3k

synopsis. you and Hobie have long been playing the game of cat and spider. you chase, you fight, you fuck, you fight again, and you two love your games. until you find your life in danger because you stole something you shouldn't have

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🐾warning: p in v sex, unprotected sex don't do that children, a bit of sub!hobie, riding, reverse cowgirl, oral (m receiving) a bit of anal play not much though, hobie being kinda whiny and needy.

You always had a way of coming back into Hobie’s life when he needed you to the very least. Just when he was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t head over heels obsessed with the Black Cat as he thought he was, that he’d be able to look at you one day and not have the irresistible urge to kiss you and take you wherever the two of you might be, whether you be allies or enemies that day. He’d think that smile of yours, filled with chaos and mischief, framed in the silver fangs of your piercings, was just like any other, and that he didn’t have every inch of your body committed to memory.

Then you’d pop back up from wherever you spent your down time and bring back with you all the emotions he thought he had discarded in the rubbish bin down the street as well as your usual additional bullshit that he always played his own part in. That’s how you ended up in his very own bed, his real bed, the one he sleeps in every night, in just a thong and a baby tee that says 'I love (the love is a heart) to make men cry' as your hair now black as the night sky.

He never told you where he lived. No one would have assumed that the vigilante Spider-Man would live on a canal boat. But you were smart, crafty. If anyone were to figure it out, it would have been you.

Hobie was just swinging back on to his docked boat when he felt the familiar tingle of his spidey-senses going off. The prickling of his hair standing as his body moved by its own fruition. He leapt out of the way just before one of your knives could catch him. It came from overhead, the top of his boat where you perched yourself. The knife lodged itself in the wooden deck between his booted feet and he looked up at you.

There it was. All those feelings. They disgusted him but he loved you. He loved your slightly violent ways of showing love that never leave him wounded for long. Your usually pure white hair now raven black in wild curls, bad luck and even worse intentions radiating off of you. The smallest twinkle of fondness in your eyes as you look at him with that grin of yours.

“You always gotta try ‘n kill me every time we meet?” Hobie asks you at you drop down from your perch in front of him with the agility of a cat and snatch up your knife from his deck. You’re in regular clothes with a duffle bag tossed over your shoulder and cat-ish makeup on your pretty face. “I never try to kill you, hon. Just testing your reflexes.” You tucked your knife away, Your hand coming to rest on his chest affectionately. “Miss me, Bee?”

Always. “‘Aven’ crossed ma min’, luv.” He spoke gruffly. You looked up at him with knowing eyes. “I missed you too.” You got up on your toes, your hand coming to the nape of his neck to pull him close and kiss him, a friendly hello to make up from your aggressive one. Hobie kissed you back immediately, didn’t even have to think about it, how body did all the work for him. He knew he should be asking questions. How the fuck did you figure out where he lived for one. But oh— it’s like you knew that kissing him would make him nice, malleable, agreeable, and dumb. Hobie’s not dumb. He’d wise up quick so you had to beat him to the punch.

“I need your help, Hobes.” You murmured against his lips before he kissed you once again in sloppy play fighting with your tongues. “I’m in trouble.”

“When are you no’?” He left out in a slight breathless chuckle, finally pulling away. Wised up. “Wha’cha do?”

You nipped softly at your bottom lip, containing a slight smile. But if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a bit of fear behind those eyes. “I stole something I shouldn’t have.”

“Those are the only thin’ worth stealin’.”

“Bad people are after me, Hobie, and I need a place to lay low for a little bit.” Your lips twitched a little. Yes, definitely fear. “I need help and I heard Spider-Man is in the business of helping people.” It was definitely a shot at your pride. You hated admitting you needed help, spent years drowning because you denied everyone's attempts to throw you a life raft. Hobie knew you’d rather stab yourself in the foot. And that meant this was serious.

"Come on, le's ge' inside."

And that's why you're here in his bed, because the fear of being suffocated in your sleep in your own home left you paranoid. Hobie settled down beside you in his narrow bed with his arm tossed behind his head, the action pulling his shirt up just enough to reveal his naval and that beautiful happy trail leading down his low-hanging sweatpants. "Wha'cha take?"

"Nosey much?" Yet, you cozied up right beside him in his rather cushy bed. You liked the way he smelled, like musk and sweat and the faint hint of faded body wash. Some days, depending on the activities, he smelt metallic, like blood, and you loved that even more. You love his sharp, stoic beauty. Loved his hair and the unmarked flesh of his neck that was usually either bruised or cut in some way. Sometimes done by your own hand.

Hobie's hand was on your thigh, the pads of his fingers messaging your flesh as he looked at your face, dimly lit by the waning moonlight reflecting off the broad ocean and glittering into your face. Your lips were wet, full, pouty. Your eyes sharp and piercing. He could see the pretty peaks of your nipples beneath your shirt. He wanted to run his thumb across them, call you his pretty girl. Mumble into your mouth incoherent words of ignorant admiration. "You came t'me, lovie. I feel I gotta righ' to know wha' kinda trouble you're in."

You two couldn't keep your grubby paws off of each other, always stealing touches, slight caresses like you two were fooling anyone. Every fluid movement between you two, always playing off each other's last, was done like something of a ritualistic dance. You take something from him, he takes it back, whether by hand or by web, you get up close and with both of your quick instincts you're fighting over the objects of your desire, seeing who's wit will prevail in the end. Your banter often followed the same routine.

"Well, I feel I have the right to reserve that info. Jus' do your job, pretty boy. Keep me safe so people don't come and ruin this pretty face you like so much." You pull him close and place a soft kiss on his slender cheek before dropping the matter all together. "But— I am very grateful for your kindness. My hero." You press your lips against the shell of his ear, peppering kisses against his skin.

You shuffled about in his bed, maneuvering between his legs with your hands against his sweatpants to pull them down. "I want to thank you."

Hobie let out a breathy chuckle as you worked to pull his cock out from his pants. "I don't need thanks, par' of ma job, but I won' refuse one." Not with lips like yours and a sharp tongue that could turn so, so soft when put to good use.

Your hands held his half-hard cock, twitching with the pumping blood that made him grow harder by the second, and you stroked him softly, gathering saliva to spit on his tip and spread down his length. Hobie shuttered under your touch, looking down at you through hooded lids as his tongue poked out to wet his lip then nip at it. "Go easy." He murmured, knowing he mercilessly beat his cock earlier to the thought of you, not knowing when he might see that pretty body of yours again.

You always start so slow, feigning a sort of innocence about the way you kiss his leaking tip and suckle on it as you look up at him through your long lashes. You'd keep going on like this forever if you had the choice but Hobie was impatient and restless. Grunting with pleasure and disapproval, he'd tuck his fingers in the curls of your hair and get a nice, firm grasp before pushing your head down further.

You'd relent, let your jaw slack so he could sink his cock further into your mouth, the sensitive tip of his dick dragging across the plain of your tongue. He'd let out something of a strangled, choking whimper before biting his lip. "Fuckin'-" He'd let out in a breathy moan as his head would fall back and he'd guide you head up and down the length of his cock.

It happened every time and this was no different other than the slight way from the waves rocking the boat. His fingers were in your hair, guiding your movements as his dick slid along your tongue against your throat. "Goo', kitty." He stroked your head and pulled your head away to stroke the tip of his cock against your saliva-coated lips.

You took him all the way to the hilt, let him settle down your throat before swallowing. It drove him crazy, made him shiver as he pressed your face to his pelvis and coaxed you to do it again. You swallowed and swallowed before pulling your head back and swirling your tongue against the head of his cock. You bobbed your head at a nice, steady pace, reveling in every hiss that escaped his dark, pretty lips.

He was losing himself to you, to that mouth, to that dark gaze of yours. Head like this made him fall in love. Made him completely mad for you. And oh, you were bad, so bad and he needed you. He needed to be inside you, needed you in top of him.

Hobie moaned softly. "Come'ere." He pulled you off his cock and pulled you up the length of his body.

You kissed him, hand stroking his length in gentle strokes while you sat on his thighs. His tongue found yours, your teeth nipped at his full lip. "You like to pretend you don't miss me but you gotta miss head like that."

"You have no idea, luv."

You climbed further on top of him, kneeling above him with your hands caressing the sides of his pretty face. "Just lay back and let me thank you, hmm? I'm not always so grateful." You pushed him back against his few pillows. Hobie lied with a hand behind his head, watching as you got up and turned around to give him a nice view of your ass from behind.

You pulled your thong to the side, that pretty pussy of yours on display for him, nice and wet. You reached back and took him into you hand to drag the thick of his cock between your pussy lips, stroking your aching clit with his tip. You got him nice and wet with the creamy juices of your cunt before lining him up against your wanting entrance.

He slid in so nicely, the tip stretched your nether lips apart. Your back arched subtly as you pushed your ass back more and let him sink deeper within you. Hobie pulled a single hand from behind his head and grabbed a handful of your ass to get a better view,

That pussy of yours could make a grown man weep. So wet, so tight, so mind-numbingly soft. You knew how to move your hips in just the right fashion to make him want to cum inside every single time. Just the sight of your lips hugging his cock was enough to make him crumble in ways no other could make him. He’s whimpered for you for fucks sake and one rested in his throat right at this very moment.

You sat in his lap with his member sitting snugly in you. You rocked your hips nice and slow, circling in a way that left you shuddering. Hobie squeezed your ass then smacked it with a sharp swing of his palm. “Don’ start teasin’ now, kitty. Show me.” He pressed his hand against your lower back just enough to get a nice view of his cock inside of you. His thumb rubbed circles against your asshole and earned him something of a whimper.

You placed your hands on his thighs as leverage and raised your hips, moaning at the feeling of his thick cock dragging against your sensitive walls. You went until only the tip remained before sitting back down and taking him in once more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" The last one was long and drawn out as you felt him nuzzle against your cervix and press against that soft place in your walls that made you grip his thighs tight and need him a little more.

Hobie cupped your ass with his hand, this thumb still tentatively rubbing circles against your tight rim of muscles as you took him over against and again. That pretty pussy of yours so idyllic it looked more like a fleshlight than anything. It gripped him like a vice, like a sin, oh you were such a sin and you felt so good.

"Shit, luv– fuck. Treatin' me good f'once aren'cha?"

You rose until your pussy let him go with a nice, wet pop and swiftly turned around to straddle him as you were before. "I can treat you so much better, Hobes." You reached back, let him take your cunt again and watched his face as his brows furrowed and his mouth fell open with the beginnings of a moan.

Your eyes rolled back as he entered you fully, lids fluttering. You stroked his head and rutted your hips against his own, your clit stroking against his pelvis. You moaned softly, looking down at his pretty face looking equally as fucked out.

Hobie's hands grappled at your hips, thighs, and ass, unsure of where he wanted his hands the most. "Keep fuckin' me like tha'." His hands finally settled on your waist, forced you up and down on his cock like his personal sextoy. His hands were under that little baby tee you were wearing, squeezing handfuls and fondling your breasts.

Hobie's head rolled back, his eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure of it all. With a pussy like this, if you asked him to give up being Spider-Man, he would. With a pussy like this, you could ask him anything and he'd agree with you. So nice and tight and wet. He could feel that slick of yours dribbling down his length, rolling in clear pearls over his balls.

You grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at you. "Keep those eyes on me, Bee. Pretty eyes like those, I wanna see'em." Those eyes that look at you in a hooded daze, not a thought in that brain of his just you, you, you. His hands stroked the sides of your body, cupped your tits, grappled at your hips, forced you to fuck him harder.

He reached between your legs and stroked your swollen clit with his digits. He needed you to cum for him, before him, you had conditioned him like Pavlov. He can't cum unless he knows you've cum first. He needs to see that expression of absolute euphoria across your face to finally know relief himself.

"Please cum f'me, luv. Please, please, I need i'. Y'know I do. Please." Hobie panted and begged. And oh the way your pussy squeezed him in segments, pulsing and quivering with the beginnings of an orgasm.

You squeezed his jaw harder, looked him in the eyes with your forehead pressed against his. The tips of your noses touches, the heat of your breath met the others and you felt the desperation in his breath.

He pinched and rolled your clit between his fingers, watched you lose your breath and ride a little harder. "Come on, luv. 'm good fo' i'. Jus' cum f'me." He kept murmuring, watching your expression, playing with the clit he knew from top to bottom. Your pussy was beginning to make a nice, creamy squelch around his cock, your cunt quivering with your climax.

Your hips bucked as you sat in his lap and pulsed around his cock. "Fuck, Hobes. Shit, oh my- fuckin' God." He stroked your clit through your orgasm, your rocking hips milking his dick, a womb begging for his load. You were left shuddering uncontrollably with eyes barely able to stay open. Oh you were high on it, dick like this doesn't come by often and you were intent on enjoying it as you always do.

You fucked him hard, left a creamy ring around the base of his cock, fucked him because you needed him to cum because that was the whole point of this. You liked the face he made when he came. The slight smile, a daze in his gaze, the complete loss of control of every extremity.

He submitted himself entirely to you, let you spit in his mouth, slap his cheek, do whatever you wanted to him because he can feel nothing but the way your pussy milks him for all he's worth.

"My hero," you cooed. Stroking his cock as he came in nice, thick ropes inside you. His large hands squeezed your ass, your thighs, your waist, grappled at you as the very breath got knocked out of him. His lips sought out yours as they always eventually do with a wanton moan. He kissed you like he was in love, all tongue and teeth, all consuming. A kiss that says 'don't leave just yet, let's just sit here'.

You know for certain that he's in love with you and you find it adorable. You could say you reciprocated it, could say you wanted a nice, quiet life with him. But you both knew you weren't built for that, not when your allyship was so unstable and one moment you could be working together for a greater cause and the next you have a knife to his throat and intend on taking a little more than just a little blood. It's never hard feelings, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to get ahead under the oppressive eye of fascist government.

Hobie half wondered if you were just here to get the drop on him, make him let his guard down to attack him. There could never be trust between the two of you, not complete trust anyway.

"You know we can't, Bee." You pulled away from him, pulled off of his softening cock and laid down beside him with your thong settling back into place. "As much as I'd love to, you know we're not compatible."

Hobie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I beg to diffa. We're compatible, we're fuckin' soulmates. I jus' can' figure out if we're sworn to be lovers or enemies." You look up at him, at his distant eyes that don't look back at you but instead out of a narrow window at the silver sea.

"What do you think's gonna happen while I'm here?"

Hobie finally looked down at you, his lips slowly pulling into something of a lopsided smile. "We're gonna fuck a lo', eventually hate each otha a lil' more, still fuck while we hate each otha. You'll probably try t'kill me at some poin' 'n 'm okay wit' i'. But at the end o' the day, I ain' gotta Scooby Doo, mate."

You sit up, lean in, and kiss him. In another universe, you could love him without hindrance. You've tried to love different versions of him but none compare to your Hobie, not even the Prowler Hobie you stumbled upon and made yours for a little while.

No one could compare to your hero.

[hollyoongs]

THANK YOU, JAKE ✦ S.JY

pairing tasp!jake x news intern!fem reader

summary when you told your friend about the challenge that your boss put you on in order to work on the company, which was taking a picture of the amazing Spider Man, Jake makes it come true.

genre fluff

warnings both of them like each other, cameo of Jay and Ri-Ki, everything is NYC and I tried to make it short for the other one that I'm planning to make it in the future <3

a/n I can finally get this one up here, I'll do the second part with smut, but Jake's fluff is already needed in this profile. Shout out to the editor of THIS Jake Spider-Man, my jupi @glitterjay and also to my lovely moot @ja3yun, this is the spidey!jake I was preparing ;) [PART TWO: 🕸]

wc +3.0k

It was one of those days where everything seemed to conspire against you. As you trudged through the bustling streets of New York City, your camera bag heavy on your shoulder, you couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that clung to you like a stubborn shadow. The sweltering heat of the summer sun only added to your irritation as you made your way to the Daily Bugle, where you were interning as a photographer.

Your future boss, Mr. Jameson, was notorious for his gruff demeanor and demanding nature. Today seemed to be no exception, as he barked orders at the staff, his voice reverberating through the newsroom like thunder. Your friend, Jay, was massaging his forehead, and you couldn't help but go there first. He looked up to see you and gave you a tired smile.

"Rough already?"

"And it's not even 9 a.m." Jay spat in anger, and you opened your bag to give him some of the jelly you always carry around. He took them slightly happier, opening as he started talking again. "He's putting stupid challenges on everyone here. Rumor has it that he's getting jealous of the other newspaper company since they took the #1 place from us."

"Well, wish me luck." You braced yourself for another onslaught of criticism as you approached his desk, hoping to avoid his wrath.

"Ah, there you are," Mr. Jameson said, his tone dripping with impatience. "I've got a special assignment for you."

You felt your heart sink at his words, knowing that whatever task he had in store would likely be arduous and thankless, just like Jay said. But you nodded, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

"I want you to get me a picture of Spider-Man," he said bluntly, his eyes narrowing in a challenging glare.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his request. Spider-Man? The elusive vigilante who swung through the city was a hero to some and a menace to others. Getting a photo of him in action was no small feat, and you knew it.

"But how am I supposed to…" you began, but Mr. Jameson cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I don't care how you do it; just get it done," he said firmly. "And make it front-page material, or you'll be out of your ear."

With that ominous warning hanging in the air, you felt a wave of panic wash over you. How were you supposed to capture a photo of Spider-Man when you could barely catch a break in your own life? Desperation clawed at your chest as you racked your brain for a solution. He looked at Jay, and he was with his mouth open. She was simply screwed.

The hours passed slowly, and 7 o'clock of the night finally reached, which made you fly to the only place you find comfort at the moment. Shim Jake's place. Feeling all the weight on your shoulders, you sigh as you knock on the door. His aunt opens before your knuckles can touch the door.

"Hey darling… Oh no, bad day?" like a button, your eyes got watery, and she hugged you. You hold your tears as she loses you in the warm hug. "I'm going to buy food. Jake and Ni-Ki are in the room. I know what you like."

"You are truly the best, May."

"I know, darling. Go." She left you, and you entered the house, going directly to the Australian boy's room. You knocked, and you heard things falling.

"Who's it?"

"Who else, Ni-Ki? Come on, I had a bad day, and I need you guys."

"Hold on a second!" A few seconds passed, and Jake was the one who opened the door, his messy hair, sweat pant and big white shirt and hsi big glasses that made him look more handsome than usual in front of you. "Hey lensgirl, what's wrong?"

You went for a hug, this time with tears going down and your crying getting noticeable.

Jake was taken aback by your sudden display of emotion, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you pulled away slightly. "It's just… work," you managed to choke out between sobs. "Mr. Jameson… He wants me to get a photo of Spider-Man for the front page, and I- I don't know how to do it. I'm so screwed, Jake."

Jake's expression softened with understanding, though you had no idea just how much he truly understood. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, guiding you to sit on his bed. "We'll figure it out, okay? You're not alone in this."

Ni-Ki, hearing the commotion, poked his head out from behind the doorframe. "Jake can help," he said, and you could feel Jake getting tense. You looked up to Ni-Ki.

"What?"

"Jake knows Spider-Man. You could get the picture." You open your eyes as your eyes travel again to Jake's.

"Since when?!" You practically shouted at him, and he gave a shy smile, which you loved, but the thought of him being friends with the hero and not telling you was in your mind.

"I'll tell you right after you clean and calm yourself. You know what? Go to the bathroom." As you were protesting, Jake obligated you to go inside. The boys went straight to the room and locked it, Jake basically punching Ni-Ki for opening his mouth.

"Are you being serious?! Why did you say that?"

"You know I'm fond of her, and I can't stand her crying. And also, I'm doing you a favor; you've liked her since forever, and with this, you can make a move. And you know that she loves Spider-Man. I consider this a win."

Jake's heart raced as he processed Ni-Ki's words. He couldn't deny the truth about them. He had harbored feelings for you for what felt like forever, but he never found the courage to act on them, and because of the sudden powers he got after being bite by a spider, the dangers were too much to the point he would rather die with the secret in order to keep you save. That's how much he loved you.

But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. Keeping his identity as Spider-Man a secret was crucial, and now, with you unknowingly on the brink of discovering the truth, he felt the pressure mounting.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Jake turned to Ni-Ki. "Okay, okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "But we have to be careful. She can't know about this, Ni-Ki. It's too risky."

Ni-Ki nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't say anything else, I promise. Only you have to stay cool, you get to nervous around her. I'm surprise you're not right now" he assured Jake.

"Because someone open his mouth"

"Stop crying and be grateful. I pulled a move that you couldn't make for the past 4 years."

It has already been two days since that weird conversation and the explanation of Jake being friends with Spider-Man. It was so odd to you, but the most odd thing was when he told you by text, "I will send you the address where he's going to be."

And here you were, going into the alley for him to arrive. It was getting late, and you could feel your heart beating fast when you saw a few guys in there, cigars in their hands, their auras as bad as how they looked.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them said, which you ignored completely.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you ignored the leering comments from the men in the alley. You clutched your camera bag tightly, feeling a surge of unease as you realized just how vulnerable you were in this dimly lit space.

Just as panic threatened to overtake you, a familiar sound cut through the tension—a whoosh of air followed by the distinct thud of impact. Before you could even process what was happening, Spider-Man descended from the shadows, landing gracefully in front of you with his trademark agility.

"Hey there, fellas," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I don't think the lady appreciates your company."

The men scoffed, eyeing Spider-Man with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. "And who are you supposed to be, huh?" One of them sneered, taking a step forward. You started taking your camera out of your bag, setting it up for a good shot, and to make it take as many photos as you could as both men focused on the hero.

Spider-Man's demeanor shifted subtly, his stance becoming more assertive as he addressed the group. "Let's just say I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and I'm not too keen on seeing people hassle innocent bystanders, especially this pretty girl," he replied, his tone firm.

The men hesitated, sizing up the masked vigilante before them. But before they could make another move, Spider-Man sprang into action, his movements a blur of speed and precision. With calculated strikes and well-timed dodges, he swiftly incapacitated the would-be troublemakers, leaving them groaning on the ground in defeat.

You watched in awe as Spider-Man effortlessly dispatched the thugs, a surge of gratitude welling up inside you. Once the immediate threat had been neutralized, Spider-Man turned to you, his masked eyes meeting yours with a sense of warmth and reassurance. You took your camera and looked at the pictures, so many good enough to be front page material.

"Are you okay there?" he asked, his concern evident even behind the mask.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you in his presence. "Yeah, I'm okay," you stammered, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded before you. You felt some drops of water falling on your face, looking up at the sky and wondering if more drops were falling. "Damn it, it's raining."

"Then let me take you out of here." without a warning, his hand wrapped around your waist, both of your bodies covering the camera. "Hold on tight lensgirl," you frown at the nicknmae. There's only one person that could call you like that, but you couldn't think much of it as you held dear life to him as he swang you around places.

You ended up on your apartment building—in your balcony, to be more exact—and the roof kept both of you off the water, you went inside for a moment to leave the camera in your bed and return. He was hanging from the ceiling as you watched him, forcing you to believe that everything that happened in the past ten minutes was not a dream.

"Don't you want to stand up? So you don't get dizzy."

"I like it this way. Don't worry. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"No problem, that's my job."

"Because you're a hero," the masked guy sighs in front of you. making you feel slighty sad for it.

"Some people don't think so." and it was true, all the fake rumors to paint him as a bad guy made you think about how much free time all this people have to just tear the life of someone who really wants to help.

"But you are, at least I think that."

"It's nice to have a fan as pretty as you."

"Let me say thank you."

"But you already did."

"I meant the trip, not you saving me." You approached him more, and the sound of the rain at the back made the scene more lovely. Then slowly took the mask, only showing his lips. You were surprised by the familiar shape, making your mind go wild. No wonder Ni-Ki and Jake got nervous; no wonder Jake was the only one that could help you with the hero; and there's no wonder why he called you "Lensgirl."

Jake was Spider-Man.

Leaving your thoughts behind, you place your lips on his. The kiss was electrifying, a rush of emotions coursing through both of you as your lips met in a tender embrace. Raindrops fell softly around you, adding to the surreal moment as you shared this intimate connection with the masked hero who had just swept you off your feet—literally.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. Everything suddenly made sense—the mysterious conversations, the unspoken tension between you and Jake, even the strange nickname he had given you. It was all because he was Spider-Man, the hero you had admired from afar, and now he was the man whose lips were pressed against yours.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of you tangled together on that rooftop balcony.

"Thank you, Jake," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

"Wait… how?"

"You let out "Lensgirl," and I've stared at your lips too much to actually know the shape," he finally dropped himself, taking off his mask completely, revealing his red cheeks and normal shy demeanor.

He actually searched your face for any sign of rejection. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "But I wanted to tell you, not in this way; I've got to learn to also shut my mouth up. I… I care about you more than you'll ever know."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up to cup his face in your hands, the weight of everything finally sinking in. "I care about you too, Jake," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I never imagined…"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss, sealing the unspoken words between you with a promise of something more. 

With a smile on your lips and love in your heart, you leaned into Jake's embrace, letting the warmth of his touch chase away the chill of the night as you watched the city skyline glitter in the rain.

"Please write a good news about me."

"Trust me, you'll sure have it, Spidey."

"I just realized that I've to thank Ri-Ki, damn it."

[playmiya]

BYS, a MIYA ATSUMU social media au in which you're the editor of the campus newspaper and moonlighting as a vigilante, only second to tokyo's very own spider-man. when a crimewave hits shinjuku, you're given the perfect opportunity to uncover the mystery of his identity to finally establish yourself as a journalist, but will his unmasking his identity come at the cost of your own?

pairing: spider-man!miya atsumu x vigilante!fem reader. updates (almost) daily! warnings: plot-required violence, drinking, unsanitary jokes and cursing content: slowburn, crack, the dates and math do not add up, minimal angst, mutual pining, college setting, everyone's playing volleyball & fluff

playlist: bys by keshi, say by keshi, the reaper by keshi, home is far away by epik high, love story by epik high and iu, summer's over interlude by majid jordan, pick up the phone by young thug and travis scott, love love love by epik high & gen z luv by central cee

index profiles: shinjuku sufferers / am i the asshole? / the lore entities chapter one: the best idea of kenma's lifetime chapter two: when ur whole crew doesn't know a damn thing chapter three: the attack of explosive diahhrea chapter four: +1000 aura for [name] chapter five: fascinated by gambling chapter six: suna has strep chapter seven: a spidey sense for romance chapter eight: i just get so passionate about feminism chapter nine: z-tier bitch chapter ten: the big book of roblox chapter eleven: we’ll fuck chapter twelve: tha greatest moron of our life and times chapter thirteen: #humbleking chapter fourteen: it couple chapter fifteen: the talk & more, COMING SOON

extras moodboards: [name] | atsumu send an ask to be added to the taglist

taglist: @diorzs @egoistars @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @dailyakira @giocriedpower @southernfrogprincesd @iiwaijime @punkhazardlaw @dazqa @gsyche @loverlunaire @milesmoralesluvs @thiisisntlovely @kuroppiii @ihatetakumi @sillygooseymood @writing-for-the-hell-of-it

[fryingpan1234567]

so what if the Bats were Spiders instead?

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne grew up with arachnophobia instead of chiroptophobia. he found secret experiments in a lab beneath their family estate, and it didn’t take him long to pick up the family business.

neurotoxin experiments. spiders.

in a different universe, Bruce Wayne became Spider-Man.

in a different universe, Dick Grayson didn’t need to be bitten by a spider to pick up the Spider-Man mantle. he grew up knowing how to do all the acrobatics and combat anyways— all B had to do was give him web shooters and a suit. but there couldn’t be two Spider-Man’s. so he became Nightwing. but with a blue spider on his chest instead of a bird!

Nightwing’s webs come from his escrima sticks. they’re packing some serious voltage, so sometimes in a pinch he’ll use them instead of his police-issued taser. his favorite part about the whole spider thing is that he can fully just… throw himself off of buildings. and not die. he’s an adrenaline junkie, what can he say?

in a different universe, Jason Todd did everything the same. tried to steal the wheels off the vehicle of the most famous vigilante in Gotham. B picked him up and let him choose the spider and gave him the power to do good.

Robin “giving him magic” didn’t stop the Green Goblin from caving in his skull. although spiders you thought you’d killed do have a way of disappearing.

and returning. in a different universe, the Red Hood took the black widow as his mascot and nobody could do anything in Gotham City without him knowing about it. he single-handedly put down all the arms dealers in the city.

in a different universe, Tim Drake made his own spider. he’d been a fan of Thomas and Bruce Wayne’s work for his whole life, or at least since he learned how to read— and he figured he could get Spider-Man’s attention if he was able to replicate the project as young as he did.

oh, he got Spidey’s attention all right. befriending and adopting an alien symbiote will do that. player 4 has joined the game.

in a different universe, Venom is co-piloted by Tim, who really does like aliens. B thinks it’s a tiny bit weird, but while Tim is tiny his alien companion is very much not. it’s extra armor.

Tim works at the Daily Bugle. nobody knows how exactly he gets the quality kind of photos he does of Gotham’s Spider-family situation, but who’s complaining? he’s just really good at his job.

in a different universe, Cassandra Cain was bitten by a spider before she even met Bruce Wayne. her mother had trained her for combat for her whole life. she couldn’t prepare her for superpowers.

B was happy to help. in a different universe, rather than Cass becoming Blackbat, she took on the alias Black Widow. watch your back for her, though. she’s got the same deadly instinct in every universe.

in a different universe, Stephanie Brown became the first Spider-Woman. of course, she wasn’t the only one, but there’s something about being the original, isn’t there?

she knows she’s funny. she thinks it’s part of the job; it feels right. she’s the closest to the average canon Spider-Man. she could’ve been recruited to the Society at any point in time. and there’s something about that too.

in a different universe, Damian Wayne was born with superpowers. he’d inherited Bruce’s from birth. Talia was quick to hand him off once she realized her baby could crawl on walls and ceilings. the Spider Cave was getting a bit crowded, but what’s one more dangerous, unpredictable, biologically enhanced child? bring it on.

aside from Hood, Tarantula is the only Spider willing to kill a man on the field. yeah, as in. bird-eating tarantula. Robin. get it?

of course, in a different universe, he still had his katana. wouldn’t be Damian Wayne without it. his favorite thing is to swing down from a skyscraper with his webs and run through bad guys like kebabs. B says it’s immoral, but who can be mad about stabbing Doc Ock’s goons?

in another universe, Duke Thomas is the most famous member of the family. he’s the other closest to canon Spider-Man. he takes the day jobs, he talks to the press, he’s the least-hated at the Daily Bugle.

his webs glow. that makes night ops harder. so he sticks to the sunlight. people started calling him the Spider-Signal. which doesn’t make a lot of sense? but Duke is the kinda guy to just kinda shrug it off, because he’s not gonna take on the entire city’s press on his own.

Miguel O’Hara stayed the bleeding hell away from this universe. this group of bats spiders were too unpredictable to have in the Spider Society at all. there were no missions there, but constant surveillance. (until. you know. Miles Morales rocked up with a proposition to take down a tyrannical system with horrible judgement and a corrupted leader. and then Miguel couldn’t ignore the Wayne family anymore.)

how I love the multiverse. endless possibilities, amirite?

(please ask me to write more for this au. drabbles. more characters. PLEASE)

[urrockstar-xe]

starstruck - p.parker x fem!reader

posted nov 7th, 2023 10:15 pm

my silly little imagine i wrote today just for you silly little guys

summary: after a nasty run in with the Rhino, Spidey goes to his favorite civilian, who happens to be good with bandages, but not great with science.

reader is implied to be bad at science and thinks Midtown High is a nerd school, reader is also implied to know spidey fairly well atp

part two :)

masterlist

wordcount: 1.2k

the sound of "thwips" and wind coming from outside your window mixed with the usual city noise that served as your own personal lo-fi as you studied.

A sudden knock on your window caught your attention, grabbing you away from the task at hand. a bird, you assumed, turning back to your laptop and trying to find the point you left on, right, essay, you begin typing again,

in the early- thump thump Thump

three more rapid knocks on your window. Okay, not a bird.

but a spider.

you groaned, moving your laptop to your nightstand and standing from your warm bed, hissing at the cold hitting your bare legs, and cursing yourself for not doing laundry when the sun was out.

You walked towards the window, opening your curtain to reveal the familiar mask of New York's very own superhero. 

“spidey, we talked about this” you spoke in a sing-song voice as you pulled your window open, another hit of the cold wind hitting you as Spiderman stumbled into your dark bedroom. Laughing quietly and breathlessly as he did so. “Need your assistance,” he groaned once more, sitting on your floor and watching you through his mask as you closed the window. 

“You're hurt?” you moved to turn on the lights, cringing at the sudden brightness and then wincing at the sight of Spiderman’s side, “what the hell did you do?” 

“I fought a giant rhino” his response was too quick to be one of his usual snappy jokes, causing you to give him a confused and mortified look in response as you hurriedly dragged the first aid kit out from under your bed, 

“Don't worry about it- hey, wasn't that in your bathroom before?” he asked, before taking another deep breath and turning his gaze to your ceiling. “yeah, moved in here after you fought that lizard guy” you mumbled back, focused on getting out the proper supplies

or at least what you thought was the proper supplies

“hey aren't you cold? why aren't you wearing pants or like a onesie or-“ 

“Oh, you mean like yours?”

“Alright, touche”

You can’t help but laugh at the stupid word exchange the two of you had as you watched Spiderman peel off the top half of his suit, careful to leave his mask untouched and you respected this as he was vulnerably showing you a different side to the hero already, allowing you to see what most couldn't which was most definitely the rocky side of being New York’s Spiderman and definitely not his abbs (though you appreciated those too)

“By the way, not that I took what you said seriously or anything or that it hurt my feelings but, this is a suit, not a onesie,” Spidey said through small gasps of pain, leaning his head back into the edge of your bed as you cleaned the gaping stab wound in his side. 

“I’m sorry” You're not sure if you meant the onesie or the pain he was in but either way worked at this moment as just his shaky breaths alone made you feel guilty

Spidey stayed unusually quiet as you cleaned him up, so far having avoided stitches pretty well as you topped it off with as much bandaging supplies as you had. 

He groaned once more, before picking his head back up and looking back at you as you stood up and made your way to your desk, carefully picking up the roll of paper towels that you were previously upset at yourself for leaving in your room after cleaning this morning, although now that feeling was replaced with gratitude as you used a few sheets as a barrier to not get blood on your doorknob-

“Hey, where you goin'?” you turned your attention back to the masked vigilante who was just bleeding out on your bedroom floor. “Just to the bathroom, to clean my hands, why? Is there more?” You asked, panicked you’d have to go rummage through every cabinet in your house for more bandages. 

“Just be fast okay? Don’ wanna be alone' ' His voice sounded weak and barely audible which honestly made you panic more as you nodded in response, leaving your room to not only wash your hands but also grab a water bottle and the package of bread from your counter.

Quickly you examined the bread, searching for any sign of mold as you walked back into your room and sat across from Spiderman, setting your new items down and opening the water bottle.

“Let’s make a deal, Spidey, you drink this and you eat some of this bread at least one piece and I’ll turn around so I won’t even see a little of your face” You began negotiating, Spidey responded by lifting the bottom half of his mask to just barely above his nose, taking the water bottle with shaky hands. 

You stilled, watching him take a drink and then quickly looking down and fumbling with the packaging of the bread when you realized you were just staring at Spiderman’s lips.

Thankfully though, he ignored it, instead deciding he had the energy to tease you about something else, “bread? Just plain bread?” 

You scoffed, taking out a slice and handing it to him, watching him to a bite.

“you get what you get and you don’t throw fits” you scolded the way you did the little boy you babysit occasionally, earning a choke in response before another quiet chuckle,

okay so he’s not all lost, good. 

You sighed, putting your hand on your cheek for a second and realizing just how warm you had gotten, “listen, you wanted me back fast and this was the only thing I really had in my kitchen right now so-” He cut you off before you could finish your explanation, “thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

I don’t know what I’d do without you, These words that Spiderman just said to you rang in your ears for a few seconds until you sighed once more, nodding. “Although some pizza-” You groaned as he began talking, earning another more lively chuckle in return, a lingering smile on his face, this time you allowed yourself to stare, having never seen even the smallest bit of his face let alone his smile. It's nice.

“What is?” he frowned in confusion, you felt your face heat up once more. “Your smile it’s nice,” you explained, earning a nod of thanks in response as he bit into the slice of bread. He hummed as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted before once more leaning his head back into your bed.

You tried to ignore the way he looked like this, he’s injured, take a cold shower.  “So, what now huh?” you asked quietly, suddenly anxiously aware that other people lived in your apartment.

“Oh, my bad, I’m so inconsiderate- I-I’ll get out of your hair, your family is asleep and it’s school night I- my bad, I’m sorry” You watched as he stood up incredibly unstable as he did so, “hey, you don’t have-” “thank you, for you know, lettin me stain your nice carpet” he joked meekly, letting out a weak laugh as he gasped once more, struggling to put on the remains of his mangled suit, 

“Okay, Jesus, c’mon Spidey, let me help you with that” You mumbled, standing up and doing your best to help him into the top half of his suit and then watching him shove on his left glove while the other hung in his mouth.

He tried to talk, words muffled by his glove but quickly released as you took it from his teeth, causing his attention to fall completely back on you as he stopped his actions. “See you around?” He said, in an attempt to sound normal and not in immense pain. “Be safe, Spidey, don't really know what I’d do without you” You threw his words back into his face in a soft tone, gently pulling his mask down over his nose and mouth. 

“Of course,” he responded in a similar tone, almost starstruck as he put on his right glove, thanking you quietly once more before limping back out onto the fire escape outside your window, not sparing a second look as he swung into the noisy city and out of your quiet and now rather lonely room.

After cleaning up the mess you had made, you quit studying for the night, no longer able to focus with the image of Spiderman’s smile stuck in your head, you settled for bed.

But you didn’t get to sleep for another few hours.

After spending a few unfortunate hours in school the next day you had finally been free to go home and take a nap but of course, not before meeting the tutor your counselor had found for you, a student from the fancy school not too far from yours, Midtown High but of course you and your friends just considered it the school of nerds-

“Hey, You Y/n Y/l/n?” The voice that You had thought sounded awfully familiar took you away from your thoughts as you turned around to see who you assumed was Peter Parker, your tutor. “Peter?” You ask with a friendly smile, holding onto the straps on your backpack.

He looked almost starstruck before he shook his head and gave you a similar polite smile, “Nice to meet you”

[sarahghetti]

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 124 }

joy.

peter parker x fem.reader

10 stages of love

notes: unedited; post no way home; no one remembers that peter parker is spidey; both the reader and peter are in their second year of university.

{ joy is the coldest lover i know | only because she never comes }

1. first sight

lab had kept you on campus for far longer than usual, and it was nearing midnight when you completed your research with your professor, dr. kingsley.

he kindly asks if you would like for him to walk you home, but you declined his offer, saying that it was best for him to head back home to his wife, that you would be just fine by yourself. after all, you had no reason to be afraid, since you went home alone almost every night.

despite how new york city was known to be a dangerous place, you considered yourself quite lucky to have never faced any problems or issues during your walk back to your apartment.

perhaps it's thanks to that vigilante... what was his name again? wait, it was spider-man.

as you crossed the darkened streets of the city, you allow your mind to wander, thinking back to all those videos you saw plastered all over the internet. lately, there's been sighting of a young man swinging around new york, dressed in a skin-tight suit that bore the motif of a spider.

whenever you could see him clearly from the video's blurry screen, you realize that his form was quite lean and lithe, and you figured that he was a hero that was just starting out. during your free time, you find yourself browsing through youtube and tiktok, just to see if anyone had caught any further sightings of spider-man.

the sound of some rowdy laughter makes you stop in your tracks, and you saw a group of guys standing on the sidewalk, blocking your usual path home. you purposely took a step back, not wanting to draw their attention as you turned around to search for an alternative way home.

with your hair whipping in the cold wind, a sudden whistle causes the hairs to stand from the back of your neck. "whoa, hey babygirl, you lost or somethin'?"

ignoring their catcalls, you quicken your pace-

only to bolt out into a run upon hearing their footsteps chasing after you.

their laughter was heard intensifying, taking absolute pleasure in your panic and fear. the weight of your bag that carried your school belongings was weighing you down, and you half considered tossing it at them to make a clear getaway-

but when you found yourself suddenly trapped, with all three men surrounding you, there was a feeling of despair felt in the pit of your stomach.

"p-please, just let me go, i'll give you all the money that i have."

"come on, don't be so scared and shy. we don't want your money, we just wanna have some fun with you."

you brace yourself, ready to scream for dear life when a rich chuckle was heard coming from just a few feet away from you.

"didn't your mothers ever told you assholes how to treat a lady right?"

your throat felt dry when your would-be attackers stopped gaining up on you, facing whoever spoke in that cocky tone as you saw spider-man standing before you.

it was undeniable that it was him, with the suit and all. his mask was all that was seen as he tilts his head to look at you. the three goons talk amongst themselves, not believing that this was the real spider-man as the quickly gained up on him.

"come on, there's no way this guy's the real deal, it's just some poser lookin' to get laid by 'saving' her."

you gasp, taking a step back once punches were thrown, and spidey dodged every single one of them. he manages to grab one of their arms and twist it back, kicking him away as another one tried to tackle him from the front.

being distracted by the two thugs, spidey was unaware of the third one, coming at him with a blade shining in his hands.

"spider-man, watch out!"

your warning came a second too late as the man manages to slash at spider-man's left arm. you hear him let out a hiss of pain before kicking the knife away. with your mind racing, you look onwards to see spidey managing to detain all three of the guys miraculously, even with his injured arm.

with your heart felt pounding within the confines of your chest, you look at spider-man, seeing him continuing to grip at his injured arm all while meeting your gaze from beneath his mask.

"are you okay?" spidey's voice was gentle, and you mentally cursed, jinxing yourself for ever believing that you could spend all your days remaining safe while in the dangerous city of new york.

2. introduction

"you're hurt." you ignored how shaky your voice came out, coming closer to spidey as you gingerly touched at his injured arm.

he replies to your statement with a strained laugh, "it's alright, i've experienced a pain much worse than this." the way his voice cracked near the end sent a sudden sharp pain within your chest, but you quickly ignored the feeling as you coaxed him to follow you home.

"wait, it's okay, i don't need any help...!"

"i'm not letting you say no, spidey. i have to help you or else... i won't ever forgive myself if anything bad happens to you. what if your arm gets infected and you get sick?"

your words manage to silence the young vigilante, making you break out into a tiny smile. "just... let me do this for you as a thank you, for saving me."

you see spidey give you a gentle nod, and you continue to lead him back to your apartment complex. the walk was relatively peaceful and silent now, and thanks to how late it was, not a soul was even awake enough to witness you taking spidey into your apartment.

you gesture at him to wait on your couch as you head to the bathroom and search for some neosporin ointment, cotton, and a roll of bandages. it wasn't much, but you hoped it would be enough to help out spidey and his pain.

returning back to him, you kneel on the ground and ask him to take his arm out of his suit. spidey remains silent, simply giving you a nod before freeing his arm. seeing the fresh cut on the side of his bicep, you apply the ointment on the cotton before gently dabbing at the wound. a light hiss escapes from spidey, and you softly apologize for hurting him.

"the cut isn't too deep, but it'll take some time to heal." once the ointment was placed over the wound did you finally wrap the bandage around it, making sure it was completely covered before sitting back with a laugh.

"perfect. i'm no doctor or paramedic, but i'm sure that you'll be healed in no time, spidey."

you hear him let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward as he reaches out to you with his uninjured hand. "if you don't mind me asking, what's your... what's your name?"

you blink up at him, finding yourself leaning into his touch when you tell him your name. spidey repeats those syllables, making your heart flutter even more at the sound.

a few moments pass, with neither of you saying a word. as if awakening from a trance, spider-man backs away from you, adjusting his suit once more when he places his injured arm back inside of it.

he coughs, standing back to his full height as he walks over to your fire escape. "uhm, thanks for helping me. i-i gotta go, so-"

"wait...!" you call out to him, your voice sounding hopeful as you prayed that he would tell you his true name.

"what's your name...if you don't mind me asking?"

you wait with bated breath, seeing spider-man still hanging from your open window. and even though you couldn't see him, somehow, you knew that he was smiling from beneath the mask.

"you can call me peter."

with that final phrase, spider-man left your apartment, and you knew that you would never be the same after such a fated meeting.

3. interaction

you were distracted, and you knew that you were.

but you couldn't help it.

you could not stop thinking about him-

about spider-man / peter.

despite your troubled thoughts, you did your best to remain completely and utterly normal throughout the entirety of your classes. yet none of your professors caught on to your less-than-optimal state. it wasn't until you went to do research with dr. kingsley that your inability to focus was made to be achingly obvious.

dr. kingsley calls out your name with concern, "are you alright? there's something going on with you, since you spent the last hour reviewing data we had already completed weeks ago."

upon realizing that your professor was right, you felt your blood turn ice cold. looking back at the desktop's screen, you chew at your bottom lip, upset that you had wasted so much time. "i'm sorry, dr. kingsley, l-let me pull up the right file and-"

"no no, i insist that you go home now." his voice was gentle when he takes a hold of your arm and forces you to stand up. "classes are getting tougher now that midterms are right around the corner, and i realize that it may have been selfish of me to require you to do all this work. tell you what, you may come back and do research with me after your midterms are complete. are we clear?"

"yes sir." you grab all of your belongings together, shooting a grateful expression at him. "thank you for your understanding, and i promise, i'll be back soon!"

dr. kingsley merely gives you a wave, wishing you luck on your midterms before going back to his lab. with a sigh, you head out of the building, craving for something warm and sweet to cheer you up. as you walked across campus, you felt the hairs standing at the back of your neck-

you look behind you to see a boy around your age standing several feet away from you. his features were indiscernible, but you figured it was just another student.

but just in case...

without glancing back, you dart away from the concrete path and into the grass, making a shortcut towards your university's café.

but when you heard footsteps still following you, you had a hunch that it was the same boy with brown hair. with a click of your tongue, you run towards one of the campus buildings, keeping yourself pressed against the wall in hopes of hiding yourself from him.

why does the world feel like messing with me all the time? first it was those three goons, and now this totally random guy was chasing after you.

when you caught sight of his brown hair was when you made your move, tackling him from the side as he landed to the ground with a grunt.

anger was felt sizzling through your veins as you glared down at the guy, only to feel it simmer down. the boy that fell to the ground looked... soft, achingly soft. he had matching, coffee brown eyes and full lips that were painted in a frown, still in pain. he struggles to get up, yet when you looked towards his left arm, you saw something that made your blood freeze up even further.

it was a bandage wrapped around his left bicep, letting you know just who this guy was.

"peter?"

he lets out a nervous laugh, standing back to his full height while brushing back his hair. "y-yeah. here and in the flesh... i didn't think we went to the same university."

4. attraction

your mind was spinning, unable to comprehend or even believe that spider-man was actually here. you couldn't believe that he was revealing yourself to you like this.

"come with me."

you quickly grab on to peter's arm, leading him towards the café while trying to hold back the heat that was threatening to dye your cheeks. for starters, you weren't expecting spider-man to be so cute, with his doe eyes and full lips parted in a half grin-

he was totally the type you would go for.

but one thing was bothering you-

why was he so willing to reveal himself as the spider-man to you? wasn't the whole point of being a vigilante to keep your superhero identity a secret?

so just why did peter basically out himself to you?

with the café in sight, you enter with peter in tow, making a beeline towards the further table in the back. letting go of his arm, you take a seat across from peter at the table, with you looking around to make sure no one would hear you or listen in.

"is it really you, spidey?" you ask peter in hushed tones, with him answering you with a nod.

you look back to his arm, "does it still hurt?"

peter shrugs while smiling at you, "it's nothing a little ibuprofen can't fix. i'm fine."

relief was felt coursing through you, "that's great!" you tell him before clearing your throat, wishing to ask him this specific question, "listen, i just wanted to reassure you that your secret is safe with me, b-but i was just wondering, isn't it better to keep your identity hidden from anyone? w-why did you basically confirm that you and spider-man were the same person?"

peter gives you a deprecating smile, "you're a smart girl, much smarter than you let on..." he thrums his fingers against the table, as if searching for the right words to say.

after a few moments of silence, peter speaks once more. "i don't know, i guess i was just... tired to keeping this a secret. i didn't want anyone else i cared about get hurt from my dishonesty so... so i came clean to you right from the start."

he closes his eyes before leaning forward, placing his hand over yours. peter opens his eyes once more as a deep pain was seen settled within his gaze.

"i already lost everyone that once meant the world to me, and i guess i just wanted something to change, that's all."

peter gives you yet another smile, but this one was much softer, much kinder as he kept his gaze on you. with you sitting with peter, you felt as though you were the only two people in the world, allowing the strange warmth to take over as a new emotion began to blossom deep within your chest.

5. date

you were currently finishing up your essay when a series of knocks were heard coming from your front door. taking out your headphones, you stopped playing the music from your phone and went to answer the door.

but what you weren't expecting was to see peter parker himself standing in front of you with a bouquet of daisies in his hand. you take a step back, feeling the familiar warmth gracing your cheeks as you called out to him.

"p-peter, what's this?"

ever since your first meeting, you and peter had started becoming closer as friends. of course, you couldn't deny that you had one of the biggest crushes on him, but there was no way in hell you were admitting that to him.

sure, you had some study dates here and there, but this was the first time you saw peter standing outside of your apartment with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. and he was dressed kind of nicely, too, ditching that plain t-shirt for a sweater that fit him to perfection with a dark pair of jeans, completing his overall look with a pair of converses.

"hey, i-i was hoping you'd like to... go on a date with me...?" his words came out a bit slow, and you could practically see the anxiety shining within his eyes. he was afraid of rejection, but little did he know that you would never deny this chance to get closer to him.

"like, a date date? a real date?"

that's when peter flashes you a genuine smile, "yeah, a real date."

you look behind you, seeing your essay still displayed on your computer screen as you quickly ignored it, setting it aside to complete at a later date.

because there was no way you were going to say no to going on an actual date with peter parker.

6. holding hands

peter ends up taking you to a movie with a dinner afterwards. the date was completely casual, and you found yourself having the time of your life.

the sky had long darkened as stars littered across the expanse of the universe. your heart felt peaceful while you walked with peter.

"so... the city is not in need of any saving?"

your question earns a chuckle from peter. "nope, not tonight. i think the police can handle all the petty crime seen around the city for once."

you laugh with him, playfully running your hips against him as peter gave you a feign expression of pain. he rejoins you in your laughter, but this time, taking your hand.

this wasn't exactly the first time you had held hands together, but the emotion remained the same. the touch was so soft and benign, void of any urgency the moment peter interlocks his fingers together with yours. he smiles down at you, with you doing the same as you decided to walk closer to him.

keeping you by his side, peter takes your hand to press his lips against your knuckles, filling you with a sudden joy you weren't sure you had felt in a long time.

all you knew was that you never wished for this feeling, or this night, to ever end.

7. first kiss

you and peter spent the next couple of hours just walking around the city, talking about your lives and how you grew up.

you had parents who loved you, but desired to be a bit more independent, hence why you attended a university a bit further away from home.

peter didn't have anyone that was close to him anymore, telling you that his aunt had passed away a couple of years ago, that his death still stung him to this day.

you knew that this was just another part of peter that he was afraid of showing; the one who truly had lost everything within a blink of an eye. after he admits to how lonely he was to you, the silence returned, but only because the pain and empathy you felt for him was so raw that you didn't truly know what to say.

so you spent the next couple of minutes walking back home in silence, with peter still holding hands with you. with your lips pursed, you gently gave peter's hand a squeeze, catching his attention as he meets your gaze.

he gives you another tiny smile, squeezing your hand back in reply.

time goes by in a blur, and you found yourself standing in front of your apartment. peter remains silent, but you could see how shiny his eyes had become, alerting you to how he was having a difficult time holding back his emotions.

not saying a word, you take a hold of his face, framing it with your two hands. he looks at you, allowing a single tear to fall from his eyes before leaning in to softly kiss him.

he gasps, feeling him let out a slight hiccup before kissing you back. you allowed your lips to slot perfectly against his, tasting the saltiness of his tears when you deepened the kiss.

after a few seconds, you pull away from the kiss, gently caressing at peter's skin when you ask, "do you wish to spend the night here, with me?"

peter remains silent, merely wrapping his arms around you as he hugged your form even tighter to him, never daring to let you go as you invited him into the comfort of your apartment.

8. relationship

your relationship with peter was something that was still growing, yet already there was some rockiness felt along the way.

for starters, peter had gone back to his vigilante duties, often leaving you on read each time you would send him a text to check on him. but regardless of how his silence and distance hurt you, you knew it was only because peter was busy saving people.

but that didn't make it any easier.

each night, you found yourself aching for his presence, with all of your texts piling up with each day. you knew peter could see each and every one of them, but had yet to make an effort to even call or text you back.

truth be told, you were hurt. couldn't peter spare you even just a few minutes of his time? can't he call you so you could talk; so you could hear the sound of his voice? and why, whenever you search for him on campus, was he always nowhere to be found?

why did he feel so far away now, when things haven't even begun?

as the days morph into weeks, you decided to burn the sadness that was felt in the pit of your heart. you turned that sadness into anger, stopping all of your contact with peter as you went on with your life.

if he wants to give up on our relationship, then fine. it's better now when we're barely a few months in than suffer in the longterm.

thanks to your spite, you end up blocking his number, cutting off all contact with him. you refused to allow the guilt to fester within the pit of your stomach and tried to move on.

it continued on like this for a few more days, with you feeling the tiniest bit better without having to stress about peter and what he was doing. even if you were still hurting, you wouldn't force yourself to go through such unnecessary pain ever again.

and just when you were so confident that you could do this; could leave peter at a blink of an eye-

it all came crashing back down on you.

when you came home, you expected your apartment to be empty-

not to see peter parker himself settled on your couch with the utmost look of defeat on his face. he was still dressed as spider-man, and you were left flabbergasted, unable to react or respond as you looked from him to the sight of your open window, the one that lead out to your fire escape.

"get out, right now, just what the fuck are you even doing here?" you spat out with as much venom as you could muster, only to wince when peter's head fell.

"i'm sorry, you have every right to be mad at me, b-but, i can't do it. i can't let you go."

peter sounded like he was going to cry again, and the sound of his pain was enough to push you forward.

"peter..."

"i know that my life is a fucking mess, that everyone is probably better off without me. i realized that i was being selfish when i tried pursuing a relationship with you."

"b-but, i was so happy being with you that i forgot all about that. all i wanted was to fall deeper for you, but my stupid thoughts prevented me from making you happy. i'm just... so scared all the time."

feeling your own tears welling up within your eyes, you come closer to him and join him on the couch, wrapping your arms around him as you allowed your lips to brush against his unruly locks of hair.

"it's okay... it's okay. i get it, i do... all you need to do is just... trust me, peter." peter then clings to you, hiding his face within the curve of your neck while letting out a sigh of your name.

"it's just... you won't ever forget about me, right?"

"never ever."

you seal your promise to him with a sweet kiss, knowing now that you could never leave this boy with a heart of gold behind at all.

9. love

you and peter both lay back in bed, with you resting your head against his chest. you simply spent the entire day basking in each other's presence. as you listened to the gentle beating of his heart, you reach out to grab a hold of his hand, linking his fingertips together with yours before giving it a squeeze.

peter let's out a soft chuckle, taking a hold of your hand to press a lingering kiss at the back of it.

after you and peter finally communicated about your mutual feelings, you came to a mutual understanding. with your relationship growing stronger, you knew that you could never truly leave peter, that this boy who lost everything deserved to have a happy ending for once in his life.

as if reading your thoughts, peter takes a hold of your chin and leans closer to you, giving you a kiss that made your mind turn blank. you end up relishing the warm that he exuded, kissing him back with as much fervor to show him how you truly felt.

he pulls away first, staring deeply into your eyes while tracing at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

"i've never felt so happy before... i can proudly say that this is the first time i have felt so much joy in my life-

"and it's all thanks to you, i love you." peter completes his statement by pressing yet another searing kiss against your lips, the sensation of it all enough to make your heart burst with happiness in response.

"oh peter parker, i love you, too."

as you and peter continued to lay in bed together, you knew that sharing this type of life with him would not be an easy one-

but you loved him enough to try, knowing that it was all going to be worth it in the end.

10. commitment

peter held your hand, leading you to the graveyard with a solemn expression on his face. knowing that this was an important day for him, you remain silent, just keeping your hand interlocked with his as you prayed that this would be enough to ease his pain.

you follow him throughout the cemetery, only stopping when he stands in front of a gravestone. he was silent, giving you a moment to read what was engraved:

here lies may parker...

"hey may, it's been a while." peter's voice breaks, and he sharply inhales before continuing, still giving your hand a tight squeeze. "i just wanted to tell you that you don't have to worry about me anymore..."

"i know how i told you about ned and michelle forgetting all about me, and for the longest time, i was stuck in such a deep darkness, one that i wasn't even sure i could even get out of."

"but... i ended up escaping that darkness, and it's all thanks to her." peter looks over at you with true love shining within his eyes. "i met her due to certain circumstances, and i was so happy i was able to protect you that night."

you could feel your tears forming, but no words would come out, instead, you mouthed the word i love you to him, basking in his sweet smile.

"i just wanted to tell you that you don't have to worry anymore, may. that i found someone who truly is my soulmate, who makes me happier than anyone in this world."

peter looks away from you briefly to stare at the bright morning sun, "so if you're up there, please know that i am happy now."

no words were spoken, but you swore you felt the sun warming your body as a gentle wind goes through your hair, the sensation making you let out a soft giggle as the sound catches peter's attention. he looks down at you with his own grin, saying your name when he reaches down to touch at your lips.

and as you were caught in his embrace, you were unaware of how brightly your golden wedding bands shone from beneath the intensity of the sunlight.

a.n. - it's been roughly 2 and a half years since no way home's release, and i was finally able to write a comfort fic for peter parker 🥹 he deserves his happy ending.

i apologize for any errors in this story, but i hope you readers enjoy this anyways.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads ( Homelander x OC )

chapter one: first impressions

chapter directory

summary: holding the heart of a self-proclaimed god is hard work, but someone's gotta do it. who'd have ever thought it would be some nobody, a simple street level hero-branded-vigilante, who would ascend to one of the seven coveted thrones and do just that?

tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

It’s a night like any other in the concrete jungle of New York City.  A streak of red swings through the streets by lines of webbing, eyes peeled for anyone disrupting the peace in his friendly neighborhood.  Well, not his neighborhood exactly.  He was just a vigilante after all.  There’s plenty of fun to pick from, but only one instance could be so special to the city’s one and only Spider-Man– to Benjamin.

It’s not the quippy banter with the thugs breaking into the back of a bodega, nor is it the amusement he gets from webbing each of the fools in one big pile on the ground that makes this night memorable.  It’s the interruption, the anomaly that appears all too silently from the sky.

“And just what do we have here, hm?” 

The bug turns in surprise, steeling himself against the rush of anxiety that shoots through his veins.  This is no ordinary supe here to gripe about him stealing their thunder.  This is a man– a god, perhaps– in a whole ‘nother league. 

Ben would recognize him by voice alone because it was impossible not to hear it at least once a day.  Hell, hide the costume and he’d probably still recognize that face– because it’s everywhere. Billboards, magazines, fucking cereal boxes– you name it, he’s probably there.

Before him stands The Homelander, captain of The Seven, pretty much the face of Vought International.  World’s most powerful supe.

“Oh, y’know.”  He gestures.  “Riffraff doing what they do, and me doing what I do.”

“Nicely done,” Homelander says, professional smile etched into his face like he’d rehearsed this.  “You know, good work like this is why we’ve been nipping at your heels, kiddo.  Really wish you’d stop making us chase you around.”

And there it is.  This was no chance meeting– as if one of the big boys from The Seven would ever be caught dead in an alley in Harlem of all places.  Spidey cocks a brow behind his mask.  Vought must be desperate.

See, he’s been particularly unlucky lately.  

Even before he donned the mantle of Spider-Man, it was never about being in the big leagues.  Benjamin mused upon the idea of it, but he could never find himself truly taken with the idea of selling himself as a hero.  Not only was the mere idea of commercializing his ability to do a unique good revolting, it would strip away one of the only true freedoms he has.  Of course, Vought knew nothing of his reasons– not that they’d care either way– and were ardently pursuing him to fill the now vacant seat formerly belonging to Translucent.

And now, as his luck would have it, they’ve sent their biggest dog to fetch their desired toy.

Benjamin’s sixth sense tells him nothing in the moment.  No hidden danger, no tickling of warnings to bolt.  A goose chase spanning two months finally coming to a titanic head as The fucking Homelander himself holds him not-quite-hostage in an alleyway. 

“You’re still their top pick, you know,” Homelander says, nodding over to the webbed pile of crooks.  “You play by their rules without even being on the team.  A little… sloppy, but effective.  Tell me, how is it you’re going to turn down a spot in the biggest of the big leagues, hm?  You’ve pretty much skipped the line.”  Homelander scuffs the sole of his boot against the ground, kicking a pebble to the side as he meanders closer.  “What, is vigilantism more fun?  You like having all those warrants?  Vought could clear ‘em up.  Get you set straight in the eyes of the law, make you official.  Pay you for your late night troubles…”

Ben bristles as he comes closer.  It’s not the proximity necessarily, it’s… 

It’s like he’s looking straight through the mask.  

Benjamin releases a tight breath.  “My answer isn’t changing.” He says firmly, despite the anxiety cooking in his chest.  He is not a confident man by any stretch.  The most bravado he’ll ever know in his life comes from being Spidey.  Nobody can see him– nobody knows who he is when he’s got the mask on. He can be whoever he wants.  But right now he feels see through.  

Pick your words carefully,  he thinks to himself.

“I’m not a show pony for Vought to extort.”

Don’t cave– do not give him that satisfaction.  It’s what he wants.

He wouldn’t work for Vought.  He’s chosen years of barely scraping by rather than taking a tech job with them as a regular person, why the fuck would he do it as a supe?  What, he’s just supposed to ignore the endless skeletons in their closet?  The pain and suffering, all the people he’s seen online talking about how Vought threw money at them to not sue after some accident or another only to up and disappear?  

Ben idolized heroes for so long.  His powers didn’t manifest until his late teens and he grew up wanting to be just like the superheroes that made the world a better place– until he realized that those types were so few and far between that they might as well not even exist.  All of his childhood heroes were NDAs and settlements, pain and suffering, all covered with media stunts and weak, lazy apologies.  Posters were torn down, action figures tossed in the trash– he moved on and eventually became the hero he wished his idols would've been.

“Show pony? Pfffft,” Homelander laughs, blowing a raspberry.  “Please.  Look at yourself.  Skin tight red and blue suit, leaving messes of webs everywhere you go.  Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but you’re already there.”

“They parade you guys around like trophies,” Ben counters, trying to keep the edge off his tone.  “I’m not in this to make money for some rich-fuck shareholders, y’know.”

“And?  See, you told every single agent before me that you were in ‘this’ to make a difference.”

Fuck.

“You know how much fucking range you’d have in The Seven?”  Homelander splays his arms wide as if to show the scale of the world.  Agitation is starting to write itself on his face, leaking free in the twitches of his eye and those rapid blinks.  He clearly didn’t expect to have to work for this.  “You could help anyone anywhere, all you have to do is say yes.”

The worst part?  That’s not technically a lie.  And it’s not not tempting. 

“I’m sure you’ll see reason,”  Homelander smirks, sauntering just the slightest bit closer.  “Benjamin.”

The bug’s heart drops to his gut, eyes going wide and glancing in the direction of the pile of webbed crooks in the hopes they neither heard nor will a last name be following. 

Fuck, fuck– 

They have his name. 

“Don’t–”

“Don’t what?”  Homelander asks innocently, lips curling even sharper.  “You really thought we wouldn’t know who you are?  Pff– hah!  Please.”

Closer and closer, every step feeling like a lifetime.

“I can see through that mask, you know.  Can see how scared you are.” Homelander tuts as he comes within arms reach.  “I can hear the pitter patter of your little heart…”

Ben gulps, breaths coming heavy.

“And…”  Homelander leans forward, voice a whisper. “I’m sure you understand, Mister Colyer, that I could kill you right now…”  A hand falls to rest on Ben’s shoulder, gripping tight.  “I really don’t like being told no.”

Ben’s voice shakes and his knees quake, totally ready to dart as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“I'm… not– I'm not doing it.”

His sixth sense doesn’t stir.

Homelander’s bluffing.  But, really… So is he.

It’s like the world froze.  Time stands still as they stare at one another.  Benjamin can see the anger dancing in Homelander’s eyes, but nothing comes of it.

Not even when the bug backs away and that leather clad hands falls free from his shoulder.

“Look, uh… this was nice, y’know?”

Smooth, Ben.  Smooth.

“But uh, just call me Randy Jackson, because it’s uhm... it's gonna be a no from me, dawg.”  Terrible time for humor, but something had to break the tension.  “Goodbye, Homelander.” 

And with that, Ben bolts, vaulting up and off the side of a building to propel himself into the night.  

Homelander remains in the alley, still stunned, a piercing ring deafening the world around him.  He lingers, thoughts racing.

Turned down by the bug, huh champ?

Of course, of fucking course there would be some commentary.

“Hey big guy, you gonna let us go?”  

And of course there’s some filth bold enough to interrupt him.

Homelander turns, eye twitching as he scans the pile of mud practically cocooned in webbing.  They expect him to release them.  After all, Spider-Man is a vigilante.  None of his catches are technically official, though there’s usually enough evidence for that fact to be ignored.

“C’mon, you know we ain’t done no harm!  Me and the boys were just walkin’ by is all.”  

The man in question chuckles nervously at him.

Homelander saunters closer, hands behind his back.  He stands over the man, inspecting every little detail.  The growing fear in his eyes, the way he sweats.

Putrid. Echoes the voice in his mind.  Remind them of who they’re talking to. Of the god they disrespect.

He lifts his foot, placing it dead center on the man’s chest.

“No– please, I didn’t–”

He presses down slowly, grin etching onto his face as pleas turn to tight gasps.  The others in the webbing try to scramble, but they can’t escape.

They’re at his mercy.  As they should be.

A crunching sound precedes his favorite part.  Ribs and muscle give way and a loud squelch graces his ears and the ringing– oh the ringing stops. It's serene, knowing what power he holds.  What iron fist he truly has wrapped around the neck of this world.

Attaboy.

To think they’d think him so low as to aid them.  To think they’d get to live after seeing him rejected so brazenly.

Now for the rest.

As he takes care of the others, he wonders just how persuasive he'll need to be with the little spider.  What threads must he pull to get his way?

[laiosynth]

kung lao in the spider-monk au

none of this super awesome epic story will make sense without PART 1 !!! explains how liu kang became spiderman

all story below the readmore VVV

when liu leaves for america, lao is hurt. he knows, logically, that raiden is the one to blame, but liu didn't even fight to stay or take lao with him.

and then deadpool comes along.

the vigilante slash mercenary is just stopping by, purely coincidence. decided he wanted to see the place. kung lao, of course, was naturally curious, and approched to say hello. to his surprise, deadpool is fluent in mandarin, and they strike up a lengthy conversation about their different lives. at one point, deadpool mentions "his spider-monk back home". kung lao naturally asks about it.

deadpool pulls out his phone, and pulls up a selfie of him and spidey- spidey's mask is half- up his face, and he's in the middle of trying to eat a taquito. deadpool is going on about the selfie, but.. kung lao is focused on the face. the lips of this 'spidey'. they have the exact two matching scars that liu's lips have, from when they were 8 and had the brilliant idea to get into body modification. it's the same mouth kung lao has seen scarfing down soup after training that reaches for a bit of taquito in the picture.

deadpool realises after a few seconds of silence that kung lao is in shock. and then that kung lao is crying. oh, shit.

kung lao spills immediately. he's ranting. he's raving.

HOW could liu do this?? first, leave without a hint of remorse to america of all places, second, start taking up dangerous hobbies, and third, NEVER FUCKING TELL HIM????? what was he thinking!? the idiot will get himself killed doing stupid shit without kung lao there.

deadpool offers the condolence that "he's definitely guilty about it, and i know he misses you. assuming, here, that you're the 'other half' he's always waxing poetic about."

and then, because he's an agent of chaos, deadpool offers payback: a secret to keep from liu. that way they're even. deadpool can offer training. (aka, wade really likes this kid and wants an excuse to hang about)

lao accepts immediately.

it's the next month that sees good news finally arrive-- in the best decision he's made since the 18th century, raiden is sending kung lao overseas to be with liu kang.

kung lao moves in on liu's last day of school.

raiden never told liu that lao was coming. liu kang comes home to find lao standing in the flat, like an idiot, staring at the doorway.

hugs. embraces.

then kung lao gives liu the tongue-lashing of the century. liu, fully aware at this point he's been a dick, takes it. then they hug again.

they spend the entire summer break together causing chaos in NYC, finally back together again, the dynamic duo.

and then liu discovers kung lao's secret-

not only has kung lao been training with deadpool, he's started his own stint as a vigilante.

needless to say, the fight that ensues is a whirlwind of huge, horrible emotions, name-calling, blame-throwing, and hurtful words.

they've made up by the end of the night anyway, because they both get miserably sad when they're mad at each other. unfortunately, their solution to the newfound power imbalance they've correctly identified as the unfair factor is possibly the dumbest plan any teenage vigilante has EVER thought of.

they're going to infiltrate oscorp, steal one of those fancy spiders that bit liu, have it bite lao so he has powers too, and then be on their merry way.

and they do it. and it fucking works. by some miracle, it works. peter and ned, now in on the secret, are their guys in the chair. mj is their strategist. they infiltrate, they steal, they escape, and oscorp are none the wiser. and even more miraculous, the spider doesn't kill kung lao.

kung lao develops powers, though they're slightly different from liu's-- he can't stick to things, and he isn't quite as strong. however, his regeneration is more comparable to deadpool's than to liu's, and he's got bones of steel-- he's practically impossible to hurt now. fitting.

and so he takes his RIGHTFUL place at liu's side as an equal vigilante, and after they're out of their month-long grounding for pulling that stunt without telling matt anything, they're a veritable vigilante family. matt is trying to obtain legal guardianship over them, and they're fine with that.

(lao, as a vigilante, calls himself styx. he's visually not a successor to deadpool, but when you see him on the field, deadpool's humor and violent tendencies have very much rubbed off on him.)

[sadbigemini]

So, to start off, Happy Pride! And I'm here with more MHA shit. We have ourselves a long one today. I have nothing else to say, let's get into it!

First, Just Some Tidbits You Can Add To Fics

Midnight's persona is so ingrained in her that she forgot and didn't think of how that would affect her students or how they would feel about it

The class is super close and trauma bonded. They find comfort in each other after nightmares, they help each other with panic attacks, with flashbacks, etc. Aizawa lets them break the not staying in each other's dorms rule bc of it

Dadzawa offers his capture weapon to comfort his kids/students like a weighted blanket

Where Aizawa was a vigilante before he got into the hero course

Dadzawa sees the Three Dumbingos in Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki or Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima or a combination of the two lol

Quirk accidents are a common occurrence, especially In stressful or highly emotional situations. Regardless of age, though probably more common in children

Roki has a slight phobia of fire

Midoriya Hisashi as a good dad bc their isn't enough fics with it that way

A Whole Lotta Smallish Fic Prompts

Villain/Vigilante EraserMic(Cloud?) ‘adopting’ a bunch of kiddos that need homes. And creating an army against the HPSC. They'll be like the mob lol

MHA group home AU ran by you guessed it EraserMic or by Nezu and they're just caretakers

Todoroki Shouto gets OFA and is mentored by Good!All Might. It's mostly to piss off his sperm-donor but also because he is a secret AM fanboy

Sentient quirks, whether that's expanding on Tokoyami and Dark Shadow or giving someone else a sentient quirk too

Jirou knows about OFA. She overheard the knowledge of All Might's no might form and OFA, his quirk, with her own quirk. Not purposely ofc

Mido with a pyrokinesis quirk! Which has been done before but not enough! Mido's kinda a pyromaniac... Was he born with it? Did it manifest when he was four? Did it manifest much later and he was thought to be quirkless?

Sero with a cartoon physics quirk. Vigilante. Named Toons? He also listens to some tunes on patrol lol I think he'd love puns ngl. Pranks, an ungodly amount of pranks. So bad endeawhore will be sobbing in the aftermath. SeroRoki besties.

Chisaki Izuku. Mido as Chisaki Kai’s younger brother. Has an Activation and Deactivation quirk (Superpower wiki for more info). Anything he touches that can turn on and off he can turn them on and off, quirks to bodily functions (kinda the same thing I think lol) to technology. He defies Overhaul at every turn bc of Eri. He escapes with Eri and is found by Aizawa. Dadzawa, PapaMic

Shirakumo Oboro is reincarnated into one Toogata Mirio. Shirakumo Oboro died on July 15th (I think he died around this time but the timeline isn't that clear) and on the same day Toogata Mirio was born. Okay, but if I remember correctly Shirakumo was made to give Aizawa a friend like Mirio is to Amajiki. So, like it's literally perfect lol– ah! But the ages, he died 13/14 years ago and Mirio is like 18. Sooo???

Someone give Sero, our resident tape dispenser, OFA, so he can have Danger Spidey Sense. Ig there's Black Whip too, which would help with mobility. A bit like Spider-Man’s Iron Spider Armor/Suit. Sero would be living his little Spider-Man fanboy dream!

Hatsume Mei being Nezu's only personal student. The chaos– the shenanigans, the hijinks they would get into! This could just be pure crack but I think some of you could put a serious spin on this.

MHA/Soul Eater crossover. Think more MHA and heroes than Soul Eater or finding a way to mesh the lore well enough

Aizawa infiltrates the LOV and redeems them

More class B and Shiketsu fics

Shiketsu AU. Quirkless Midoriya accepted? Monoma will be there and his class B is better shtick, now Shiketsu is better shtick. Shinsou there too?? Camie helps them find their class on the first day

Jirou as MC with medical training and a quirk called Body Manipulation (look on Superpower wiki for more info). Vigilante armed with a Monster High metal bat (I think Jirou, Mina, and Toga would love Monster High). Operator is her vigilante name. Fellow vigilante and partner in crime Toga Himiko. Toga has a blood portal quirk. Vigilante name Transfusion. The two act as paramedics for an underground hospital. Future Proteges of Recovery Girl. And it's pride month so maybe you can do a rare pair with those two, Jirou/Toga

Aizawa is practically adopted by the Midoriyas! All the Midoriyas either see him at the park, cat cafe, or they share the same train sometimes. Quirkless Midoriya Izuku or he helps him with OFA. Aizawa teaches Bakugou how to control his anger and that quirkless doesn't mean useless. So, no bullying! Pining EraserMic! Aizawa kinda becomes like the Midoriya adults’ younger brother while he's like an uncle to the youngest

Twice-Centric fic. Twice is Mic's CI (and friend) who infiltrates the LOV for him

Technomancer. Mido has a technopathy and mental continuation quirk (again Superpower wiki). Mido commits sewerslide and gets this quirk (they are mixed into one). He is a tech/electro ghost, he's kinda like an AI. Now he helps different heroes especially his favorites like Eraserhead and Present Mic. But also his favorite vigilante Kaminari?? Tokoyami?? Tokage?? Roki??? His hero and vigilante name is Technomancer. Takes over the HPSC?? Nezu is intrigued by him immediately ofc. Our beloved Power Loader loves him. Absolutely loves him they work on support gear projects together. Hatsume and Power Loader can make him a robot body to possess basically!!!

Oh, How The Tables Have Turned (and how you have turned on each other): This AU(?) is lots of world building fun. A fic about how the quirked were first oppressed heavily by the quirkless and how the roles swapped. How there still is quirk discrimination but now it's more the quirked against each other than another oppressor. How quirks are everything in society now.

A Couple Quirk Ideas

Add Insult To Injury. Insult Empowerment. The quirk allows the user to get stronger when insulted. Talk shit, get hit

True Self Recognition Quirk (again Superpower wiki for both)

One Big One For The Road (Midoriya Tears™ is a quirk)

Midoriya can manipulate them from the volume to the strength to where they go. He needs to drink lots of water and will get dehydrated with quirk overuse

Mido thought he was quirkless because his mom has a secondary passive quirk that's very similar to him. That many other family members have possessed. Hence the Midoriya Tears term. And maybe he is a false negative for quirklessness

BUT HOW DID NOBODY ACCOUNT FOR IT BEING A QUIRK?!! I'LL TELL YOU–!!

–because everyone heard quirkless and that's all they paid attention to. Also the Midoriya Tears are very much a reoccurring trait with various power levels. The person who originally had the quirk was from ages ago– maybe at the dawn of quirks? And it steadily appeared or didn't and was still passed on to the next regardless.

Obviously our Mido’s quirk is the strongest version yet bc MC privilege lmao. And no one knew bc he obviously never trained it. Why would he when he thinks he's quirkless? And it's just a ‘Midoriya thing’. ALSO plot armor lol

Maybe Bakugou guesses but everyone is like, 'your delusional.' and then he's like, ‘Deku is still delusional even if he has a quirk!’?

Or good Bakugou from the start who is driven crazy trying to convince his best friend he has a quirk while scaring his bullies away as he tries to get him to stand up for himself too??

In this fic please give Sero, our beloved tape dispenser, OFA, so he can live his truth and have his little Spider-Man fanboy dream!

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[therealdisneyfan2319]

The Spider and The Witch Chapter 2: The Visitor and The Proposal

Summary: After gaining Spidey powers in an experiment gone wrong, Y/N finds an unexpected visitor in his room who offers him the proposal of a lifetime

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Mild language

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The last person you expected to see spinning in your desk chair was Tony Stark.

“Holy shit!”

“That would be ‘holy shit, Mr. Stark’ to you,” Tony answered as he grabbed your desk to stop himself from spinning.  

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” you mumbled, dropping your backpack to the floor.  

“I’m kidding.  Just kidding.  Ask Peter, he’ll tell you about my sardonic sense of humor.”  He extended his hand to you.  “You must be Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you gulped as you shook his hand.  Your hand was sweaty.  Hopefully he didn’t notice or care too much, but the Tony Stark was standing right in front of you, shaking your hand, in your bedroom.  

“Peter told me about your little…mixup in the lab the other day.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, wandering around your room as he looked at everything on your shelves.  “Guess that’s one way of testing your experiment.”  You chuckled weakly, watching him as he picked up a science fair trophy you’d won in high school.  “First prize, huh?”

“Junior year.  Natural occurrence of bioluminescence in various ecosystems.”  You felt wildly inferior telling the head of Stark Industries about the science fair project you spent hours working on back in high school.  But you figured Tony wasn’t here to discuss your high school endeavors.  “Mr. Stark-”

“I get it.  You’re a busy man, I’m a busy man, let’s cut the bullshit and get right to it.  You can do things now, things some people only dream of.  I’ve been looking for someone to take over for Peter for a while now.  The job’s yours if you want it.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“It’s a lot, I know.  One minute you’re studying for…what are you studying?” He snapped his fingers and cocked his head as if he was trying to remember a long forgotten conversation between the two of you.

“Biochemistry.  Studio art minor.”

“One minute you’re studying for your bio midterm, the next minute you’re hanging from the ceiling and shooting webs out of your wrist-?”  He looked down at your arm hanging by your side, almost asking you to show off.  You flicked your wrist in front of you as a web shot wildly from your wrist, landing on the window over to your left.  “Aim’s a little off,” Tony noted, “but we can work on that.”

“Mr.-”

“Peter’s old room is free.  You can take that.  It’s right next to Vision’s.  He’s got a bit of an issue with phasing through walls, but that’ll get better the second he sees you naked for the first time.”

“Mr. Stark, thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested.”  

Tony studied you.  You felt like he was trying to unravel the deepest depths of your brain.  He looked you up and down, his eyebrows raised as he tried to figure out what was really going on behind your eyes.  “You sure?”

“Yeah.  I mean Peter’s told me enough stories to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.  Peter told me you’d say no.”  He stared at your Back to the Future poster, his hands once again shoved in his pockets.  “We can’t all be heroes now, can we?”

The room suddenly felt too hot as your face tinted red with shame.  His unspoken disappointment hung in the air.  While you knew you weren’t under any obligation to join, you knew that Peter’s loss left an indelible hole on the team.  It was a sensitive situation.  Logistically they were just fine without a Spider-Man, but the lack was felt all over the compound and in the City of New York as well.  It had been a long time since the neighborhood web-slinger fought off the local urchins.  Sure, there was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but he stuck to more of the vigilantes and the underground crime rings.

“Look, Mr. Stark,” you explained.  “I appreciate the offer, I really do.  I just, I don’t know…I want to go to med school, you know?  I want to be a normal guy doing normal college things.  I know Peter loved being an Avenger, but the things he’s told me…I mean, that last accident, Mr. Stark-?”

Tony averted his eyes as he picked up the Rubik’s cube on your nightstand.  He fiddled with it, turning sides absentmindedly.  He shook his head, chuckling as he tossed the toy from one hand to another.  “Yeah.  That was a shitty night.  I, umm…I blame myself.  I shouldn’t have put him in that situation.  Look at him now.  Bright kid, hell of a future ahead of him, just sucks his life went this way.”  He trailed off as he placed the Rubik’s cube back down.  “I get it.  Less danger when your feet are firmly planted on the ground, right?  You’re not going to break your neck performing surgery.  But if you ever want it, the offer stands.”

“Thanks,” you replied, extending your hand.  Tony grasped it firmly, looking you in the eye as he shook your hand. 

“You ever need an internship or something, just let me know.  I’ll hook you up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.  That means a lot.”

******

“Still can’t believe you turned him down,” Peter griped as Kirby smashed Pikachu.

“In what universe did you think I’d say yes, Pete?” you quipped as Kirby jumped up to the next level only to be flattened by Donkey Kong.

“I think you should do it.  Just give it a try at least.”

“Dude-”

“Y/N, it’ll be good for you.  Look, if anything it’ll help you get used to living with these powers.  It’s fucking weird.  I’ve known that for a while, but just being in an environment where you can experiment and train will help you a lot in the long run.”

The two of you sat in an awkward silence for a while, the only sounds in the room coming from the game on the TV.  As much as you hated to admit it, part of you knew that Peter was right.  Ever since you gained the “Peter Tingle” as Peter’s Aunt May lovingly called it, you felt you were going through the world slightly slanted to the left.  Everything was ever-so slightly off.  Tony had experience working with both Spider-Man and designing the technology for his suits; he was a great resource for you.

“Do you think Mr. Stark would be okay with a part-time commitment?  I don’t want to drop out of school for this.”

“I don’t see why not,” Peter shrugged.  He threw the Switch controller down on the couch next to him.  “See if you can go over winter break.  That’s about a month.  Plenty of time to train and get a basic handle on things.  If you like it, great.  If not, then you come back and keep going with life.  That’s a fair trade-off.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you reluctantly agreed.  

“Plus you can put down that you had a Stark Internship on your med school applications.  Harvard Med would totally kill to get someone who worked at Stark Industries.”  You smiled at that thought.  Harvard was your dream medical school.  There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to help boost your chances of being accepted.  

“Lemme see your phone.  You’ve got his number right?”  Peter tossed you his phone.  You scrolled through his contacts list until you found the number that filled you with both excitement and dread.  Placing the phone to your ear, you waited for a familiar voice to say hello.

“Mr. Stark?  It’s Y/N.  I have a proposal for you.”

[serpentinespider]

Earth-6198 Flash ref!! Yippee!!

His appearance and personality are based almost entirely off of MCU Flash (with some of my own personal touches obviously), though the reasons he acts the way he acts are different. I also took several aspects from the comics, story-wise. He’s probably the character I’ve put the most thought into for this AU. I love him dearly :]

Abbreviated info under the cut! (It’s still pretty long, though.) Content warning for ableism.

I wouldn’t call Flash a bully exactly, because that would imply aggression; he’s just, well, a teenage boy. He also comes from a pretty wealthy family, which makes him entitled, plus his parents don’t really give him any positive attention. He makes insensitive jokes and generally tries to keep himself as the center of attention because he’s insecure and seeks approval from his peers. Will do pretty much anything to be liked, and if that fails he’ll act out for attention. He’s very resentful of anyone he considers to be smarter or “better” than him. Flash has a running rivalry with Harry Osborn. Harry is somewhat GNC, has stereotypically “cringe” interests, and is disabled (t1d) so he’s an easy target for Flash’s mean jokes. (Flash thinks that he’s “allowed” to make ableist jokes at others’ expense because he himself is disabled.) 

Flash has cerebral palsy which affects his fine motor skills and ability to walk. His parents got him into physical therapy as early as possible, and he responded well to it— but not well enough for their liking. In Harrison Thompson’s mind, the goal wasn’t to improve Flash’s quality of life, but to “fix” him. Flash grew up with his parents constantly looking down on him, insinuating that his disabilities were his own fault. Sentiments like “you just have to work harder to compensate; if you fall behind, it’s because you’re not trying hard enough” were common. He’s taken that mentality to heart, and has very little self-worth + large amounts of pent-up stress and anger that he takes out at anyone else who is also “abnormal” (hence his meanness towards Harry). 

He has also latched onto Spider-Man as a more… positive(?) reflection of these feelings— his father, who’s a police chief, hates Spidey, so liking him is like Flash’s small way of going against the stuff his parents say (even if it’s subconscious/he doesn’t fully know that’s why). 

In sophomore year, Flash dated Felecia Hardy. They were the world’s most obnoxious couple, always getting in very public fights, breaking up but then getting back together dramatically a week later, etc. Felecia and Flash both have huge crushes on Spider-man, leading Flash to have a sexuality crisis and Felecia to break up with him for good after a few months of dating.

Black Cat was commissioned by an anonymous benefactor to steal an “alien clone” from Alchemax… she’d never done anything NEARLY on that level, but she was being offered a lot of money so she agreed. She did manage to steal the thing, but the deal fell through, and suddenly she had one lab-grown alien and no money to show for it.  At a loss for anything else to do, panicking a little, Felicia dumped the alien onto the only person she could think of: her ex-boyfriend Flash. 

Now, despite what his parents might tell him, Flash is very smart, and figured out what the thing was. Flash is, at first, very hyped about this. His first thought is, of course, to become a vigilante like his idol Spider-Man. Flash has a strong desire to be useful— not in the “I want to help other people” sense but in the “I need to prove to others that I have worth” sense. So, he crafted the Anti-Venom identity for himself!

Around this time, Spider-Man was in the process of fighting his first big villain, Hobgoblin, so the two ended up teaming up to try and take her down (in the least violent way possible). This caused some internal conflict for both Flash and Spidey… 

Flash centered his whole identity around "fitting in" to the point that he actually has no identity of his own. He doesn’t know what he likes, he has no concept af his own style outside of mimicking others that he sees as influential, obviously the most prominent of these being Spider-Man. Which obviously comes with its own twisted irony since Spidey himself is so insecure in his own masculinity (mainly because he’s trans). The two of them were sort of trapped in this feedback loop of insecurity and validation when they first teamed up... Spidey longs for connection, but was unable feel comfortable around Flash as he felt like he has to perform to live up to Flash’s expectations. Meanwhile Flash had based his whole personality off of liking Spider-Man and put on this macho facade to try and impress him. But that just made Spidey feel more inferior, afraid he isn’t passing well enough, etcetera… their dynamic made even more complex by Flash’s very obvious (and unrequited) crush on Spidey.  They’re awful, I love them :3

[thelovelylolly]

Hi love, i saw ur requests are open i was wondering if you could do a frank castle x teen reader where reader is basically a female peter parker. Maybe frank meets her as spider women and later finds out shes just a kid doing all this messed up shit. Only write if u want too ofcourse thank youu <3

Spidey

Summary : On his normal patrol of New York, Frank runs into a vigilante with spider powers. Warnings : mentions of violence (but its not a lot), teen reader, this is a platonic frank x reader!!!, not proof read Notes : frank being a father(ish) figure >> (also thank you for the request, its a rlly fun idea i love it! i had to write these over the course of three days bc ive been very stressed and tired but i hope you still enjoy it!)

Frank had heard talk about someone with spider-like powers swinging around New York City at night, taking out low level robbers and such. He didn't really believe that though. A person with spider powers? Yeah, right. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it.

On patrol one night, Frank was driving around the streets of New York City with his eyes peeled for any activity. As he turned a corner, he saw a group of robbers running out of a store with bags full of products. He quickly parked and got out of his car, only to hear the robbers grunt and yelled.

He looked over and saw two of the robbers wrapped up in a...spider web? The others were chasing something down into an alleyway. Frank sighed and ran after them.

In the alleyway, a figure was swinging around and landing kicks and hits on the robbers. There was spider person he had heard about. Whoever they were, they had a mask on to conceal their identity. "Oh, come on fellas! I thought this would be harder!"

Frank rolled his eyes at the remark as he grabbed a nearby brick and chucked it at one of the robbers. The fighting stopped as the robber fell to the ground, knocked out, and they all looked at Frank.

One of the robbers took the spider person's pause to punch them. The spider person stumbled back while Frank charged at the rest of the robbers, easily taking them out.

As he caught his breath, Frank walked over to the spider person who was catching their breath, too.

"I had it covered, you didn't need to step in," they spat.

"It was five to one-"

"Three to one once they got down here. I can handle myself. I don't need the big bad Punisher to come save me," they cut him off, brushing past him.

"You know about me?"

"Of course I do. And I know you know about me."

With that, they shot a web up and swung away.

--

You kept your head down and hood on when you walked to and from school. A black from the night before had bloomed around your eye and you didn't feel like making up an excuse. Your hands ran up and down the straps of your backpack as you watched your shoes on the pavement.

Your shoulder hit someone and you stumbled before glancing back at whoever it was. "Watch it!" You yelled.

Then you realized who it was. The Punisher.

Frank froze when you yelled at him. He recognized your voice from the spider person. You were glaring at him in attempt to hide your slight fear.

He looked around before pulling you into the opening of an alley.

"You're the spider person from last night," Frank said, low enough for you to hear and no one else.

"I'm not, you have me confused with someone else," you spat in reply. You tried to walk away but Frank grabbed your arm and kept you in place.

"You have a black eye, kid. I watched you get punched right there last night, and you're not a great liar without your mask."

"I...got into a fight at school-"

"Bullshit," Frank quickly cut you off. You glared up at him, crossing your arms in front of you.

"So, what are you going to do? Call the police on me? Tell my parents?"

Frank sighed. "I should. You're a kid going around and fighting crime at night. This vigilante shit is not a game-"

"I know it's not a game!" You said a bit louder than expected. You and Frank quickly looked at the people passing by, making sure no one had heard anything, then looked back at each other. "I know it's not a game. I want to protect my city. I want to help."

"There are already people helping, we don't need to worry about a kid trying to be hero."

"I'm not a kid! I'm 17!"

He sighed once again, already done with your attitude. "Fine, you wanna help? Swing around tonight and I'll find you, then you're staying by my side-"

"What? You wanna protect me or something?"

"Yes. I do. I don't need another kid hurt because they wanna pull some stupid shit."

"...okay, dad," you said teasingly. "See you around."

You turned and left. Frank watched as you disappeared into the crowd of people walking by on the sidewalk.

[hollow-prior]

Hurt People, Not Pets (The Rules of Vigilantism)

This is part four of a planned five-part mini-series involving Daredevil and Deadpool teaching Spidey about the unspoken rules of vigilantism. I started the series years ago and currently, this is the only part I ever finished. Ah well. Part of it might as well see the light of day

Fandom: Marvel (Daredevil, Deadpool, Spiderman)

Warnings:

Canon-typical violence/fighting.

Descriptions/mentions of dog fighting and animal murder.

There was a new vigilante on the scene.

That in and of itself was hardly cause for concern. Every so often some newly-enhanced shitbag showed up on the scene, wearing a handmade costume and bearing an alias that could only have come from a random word generator. 

Darkwar, Redfuel, Gangrene. They were all terrible.

Though, as Foggy liked to remind him, somebody named Daredevil didn’t exactly get to judge. Let those without sin cast the first stone and all that.

As far as Matt was concerned, that was different.

Matt had gotten stuck with a name he didn’t particularly want; they did their damned hardest to choose their own. They got their asses handed to them by common criminals and were sure to let whichever mugger or thug it was know their ‘superhero name’.

In the long run, though, he supposed it didn’t matter who chose their name. These new vigilantes popped up occasionally to bumble around and play hero. They didn’t last long. 

They never did.

Apart from getting in the middle of an important mission and screwing the whole thing up occasionally (Yes, ‘Jem Spell’, he was still mad about that), they weren’t a big problem. For the most part, they stayed off of Matt’s radar which, let’s face it, was better for everyone involved.

This person, though? He was different, at least according to Peter.

The teenaged wallcrawler had shown up during one of his fights, jumping in and taking on his share of the crooks with a cheerful, “Hey Double D!”

All throughout the fight he kept up a steady stream of chatter, his words going in one ear and out the other. After so many fights alongside him, Matt was used to filtering out his voice until it was little more than background noise.

The majority of the scumbags were already scattered across the pavement in various states of consciousness and, with Spidey’s help, the last few were quick to join them. Spiderman webbed them up and called the police and, despite Matt’s better judgement, he let him.

Something more important had caught his attention.

With the adrenaline of the fight wearing off, everything started to come into focus again, his senses spreading further throughout the secluded alleyway. A pipe in one of the buildings adjacent was leaking, a steady drip, drip slowly coming into focus as another sound began to make itself known.

Thump, thump, thump.

The heartbeat wasn’t the quick-paced thump-thump-thump of Peter’s or his own steady beat. It was something else entirely. Before he could move or say anything at all, Peter looked over.

“Wade,” he complained. “You could have helped!”

Wade hummed in acknowledgement and Matt could just picture the shit-eating grin he wore under his mask. “You and Red had it covered."

The sound of sirens came from a few streets over and without saying a word, the three made the unanimous decision to relocate. After all, bashing heads in the name of vigilante justice was generally frowned upon by officers of the law. They'd already learned that rule, thank you very much.

Once they were up on the nearby rooftop, Matt turned to them. “What are you two doing here? Talk.”

Peter was the first to speak. “We have a new target.”

That news was met with a raised eyebrow and threatening silence. Wade took over. “Red, dearest, there’s a new fuckhead to kill.”

“No! No killing,” Peter admonished, shoving Wade out of the way to take over once more. “Double D, I know you’re picky about who we uh- work on but this guy is terrible.”

“Everyone we deal with is terrible.”

Peter made a noise of frustration and finally, Matt conceded. With a sigh, he motioned for them to speak. “Fine. Who is it?”

There was a pause as Peter and Wade looked at each other, like they hadn’t expected him to give in so easily.

“He goes by the name Predator. You know the human trafficking ring? Well, some of them are involved in a dog fighting ring too. That’s what Predator’s been tracking down.”

Deadpool took over from there, pushing Peter aside with a gentle shove and taking his place two inches from Matt’s face.

“Mr. Predator-What’s-His-Face is taking down the dog fighting ring. Only problem that poor, sweety Petey has with this is that he’s taking down the people and the dogs.”

“He kills them, Red!”

While his teammates were perfectly capable of making complete sense on their own, their words might as well have been gibberish.

It took him a moment to piece the puzzle together.

Well. That certainly wouldn’t stand.

“What kind of intel do you have on him?”

—-—

Two nights later saw the three of them up on a rooftop, a fair distance away from their usual spot. It had taken hours of dedication and a lot of patience but, finally, they had gotten the information they needed.

Of course, most of Matt’s time had been spent corralling the other two rather than actually interrogating his informants, but it didn’t matter.

They’d gotten what they needed in the end.

In just short of an hour, there would be a group of the city’s worst thugs arriving for a show. Already, Matt could hear the dogs snarling and growling within the run-down warehouse.

It didn’t take long for Predator to show up.

The first thing Matt noticed was his heartbeat. Loud and fast, pounding away with a barely concealed anger that coursed through him.

Matt was familiar with the feeling. 

From the snickers and snarky comments coming from the left of him, he could gather that the guy had a pretty… intense costume. Black and covered in silver spikes, with a mask straight from a low-budget horror movie if Spidey and Deadpool were to be believed.

Just as he opened his mouth to tell them to shut up, there was a sudden commotion from the building next door.

All previous amusement was forgotten as the sound of shattered glass rang. Matt didn’t need his enhanced senses to hear the piercing screams that followed.

The three of them took off like a shot from a gun.

What remained of the window pane shattered as Matt crashed through it, followed closely behind by Spidey.

Deadpool chose a more… ostentatious entrance.

He came in through the front, kicking the door down and practically screaming the words to some 2010s pop song. The singing – if you could call it that – continued throughout the ensuing fight and, annoying as it was, Matt couldn't help being impressed with Deadpool's lung capacity.

Matt ducked to avoid a flying fist, popping up to deliver his own blow immediately after, and was met with the chorus of some god-awful sailor song.

After the fight, he would tell Deadpool that he hadn’t known he was there. He would say it was an accident, he got too caught up in the fight. But in the moment, he was all-too-glad to shut him up with a fist to the mouth.

The three of them ducked and weaved, working like a well-oiled machine, as their opponents began to drop like flies around them.

While Spidey was more acrobatic, jumping and flipping over whoever was in his way, Deadpool was all muscle and sharp blades, cutting down anyone brave enough to stand in his way. The two of them were complete opposites, with Matt's style falling somewhere between the two extremes.

By the time the fight was over, the three of them were breathing heavily. The sound of loud barking pierced through the post-fight haze and, as his senses returned to him, Matt’s focus shifted to the reason they were here in the first place.

Predator.

The man in question was standing just feet away, a slight wheezing coming from his leather-clad chest as he heaved in breath after breath. He wasn’t as used to this as the other three and it showed.

Without a glance at the them, he began to approach the dogs tied up in the corner, serrated steel blade in hand.

Deadpool was the first of them over there, throwing an arm around Predator’s shoulders and pulling him in for a side hug. Given the height difference between them – Predator was about five seven to Deadpool’s six three – it made for a bit of an awkward maneuver. 

“Somebody’s been a naughty, naughty boy,” he said, swaying from side to side and pinning the guy’s head against his chest, wrenching his neck with each movement.

To his credit, Predator fought tooth and nail to get free, cursing under his breath all the while. Against Deadpool’s hulking form, it was no use.

The other two watched the proceedings, making no move to intervene. Matt had been on the receiving end of that treatment far too many times, he was more than happy for it to happen to someone else this time.

When Deadpool finally released his captive, shoving him towards Matt and Spidey, the two were on him like white on rice.

Spidey caught him as he stumbled, steadying him quickly before letting him go as if he’d been burned. Not seconds after he had released the man, Matt was in his face, teeth bared in the Daredevil snarl that had sent much braver people running for their lives.

“What the hell!?!” The man took a staggering step back, his back slamming into the support pillar behind him as he tried to put some distance between him and the devil. “What's this 'sposed to be?”

Daredevil moved, pinning the man against the pillar in the blink of an eye. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke. “A little arachnid told me you’ve been picking fights with the dogs."

Predator tried to protest but a quick slam of his head to the stone pillar shut him up.

"Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home, pack up that costume, and forget you ever wore it.”

"And? What if I don’t?”

His question was met with a thoughtful hum, as if Daredevil was simply pondering the question.

Out of nowhere, he slammed Predator against the pillar once more, a loud crack ringing out.

Leaning in close, he hissed something far too quiet to hear. Whatever it was had Predator blanching, frantically shoving at the devil’s chest with all his strength.

Matt just grinned, a feral bearing of teeth. The action was designed to intimidate and by God, it worked.

Daredevil released his prey, allowing the man to stagger back a few steps until he hit the wall. Predator took a few seconds to gather his senses before he was off like a rabbit, scrambling away from the run-down warehouse.

With that dealt with, Matt turned.

A little ways away, Spidey sat crouched on the ground, trying to convince the dogs to accept some belly rubs from him.

Given that said dogs were snarling giants, straining to escape and just barely held back by only the chains around their necks, he wasn’t making much progress.

Matt found Deadpool over in the opposite corner of the room, cooing and speaking to something on the ground.

A step closer revealed it to be a rat.

A hulking, beefcake of a rat.

Such a creature was a staple in New York, as fearless as Daredevil himself. Which may explain its tolerance of the massive, masked human looking back at him. As Deadpool chattered to the rat, telling it all about his day, the creature simply stared at him, nose twitching.

Standing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, listening to Spidey coo at the dogs and Deadpool monologue to the rodent, Matt was hit with the realization that these were the people he worked with every night to keep his city safe.

...

Dear lord, New York was screwed.

[icyfox17]

New tag game bc I'm bored

List 5-10 of the most obscure crossovers you have floating around in your brain !!

1. Dumbass!crimeboys x halcyon!crimeboys

-> arguably the most obscure since it's a crossover between two aus that aren't even posted publicly, but i gen adore it sm<3 db!crimeboys is a hero au where tommy is just. Welp. A dumbass<3 he's my fav tommy ever guys 😭😭 he's my friend's au and I just SOBS most precious guy ever... And halcyon crimeboys is a detective au. Basically take the dumbest tommy and tired older brother Wilbur and make them meet the smartest crimeboys. It's very silly:))

2. Psych x Dsmp

-> okay hear me out. Hear me out. Shawn Spencer is literally Tommyinnit. They are the SAME. Now Phil as Chief Vic, Techno and Wilbur as twin detectives who both function as Jules and Lassiter (platonic ofc), and Tubbo as Gus. It fits way better than it should 😭😭

3. Critical Role (specifically Mighty Nein) x Dsmp

-> guys. Guys. I went on a rant on here like a year ago BUT CADUCEUS AND TECHNO'S CHARACTER DESIGNS ARE EERILY SIMILAR TO EACH OTHER. Tall pink dude w animal traits (cad is more cow, tech is more pig)? Cad is like c!Phil and c!Techno to me... (Is it bc of the tea obsession? Maybe...). I just also think that clingyduo would get along with Jester and Nott/Veth like a wildfire. OR OMG FOOLISH-- Does anyone remember Foolish building dick statues everywhere?? Yeah, he's definitely a follower of the Traveler.

4. 911xMCU

-> okay ngl guys this just came 2 me bc I realised that everyone calls Bobby Cap like how all the Avengers call Steve Cap and I was like lmfao imagine a scene where someone says Cap and they both respond to it.

5. Cw Flash x Pjo

-> okay this isn't my idea but it's one of my fav fics ever WHY DOES IT WORK SO WELL LMFAO

6. Spider-Man x Dick Grayson & Wally West

-> PETER IS LITERALLY DICK AND WALLY IN ONE PERSON 😭😭 SUPER SMART SCIENCE BRAIN + SILLY GOOFY + ACROBATS they're the same. I need them to meet so badly sobsosbsosbsosvsosbsosbsisbsjs Not sure which versions of which I just. Need it. Pls 😭😭😭

7. Justice League Unlimited x Young Justice (tv show)

-> This one has its own separate post here, but omg it makes me SO UPSET GUYS 😭😭😭

8. TMNT x Batfam

Okay not obscure bc they have had both a movie and a comic BUT HEAR ME OUT. SPECFICALLY THE 2007 MOVIE VERSION OF TMNT. This scene is literally Dick and Jason I can't do this guys WHY DO THEIR COLOURS EVEN MATCH

9. Dceu!Bruce & Barry x MCU!Irondad

-> okay my mental illness is full blast here but omfg they are the same duo THEY ARE THE SAME I need them to swap sons for a day plspslspslspspspdlfkfdishskdfjdksklaskd

10. Any vigilante au Tommy x Spider-Man

-> this is hidden in my notes app and is both like my own version of Tommy and Spidey but omfg I'm attached it's such a fun idea to play around with rahhhshshshss. I have a scene where Tommy and Spidey have a miscommunication over Blade lmfao and it lives rent free in my mind. Like Blade is a vampire but does NOT dress the same as Technoblade who might also secretly be a vampire in Tommy's universe lmfaooo

Okay and Bonus One that literally no one will understand except me

11. Magnum PI remake x Orphanduo (Techno and Skeppy)

-> Katsumoto is literally Technoblade guys. THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON. And omfg Magnum and Higgens are so happy duo ngl 😭😭😭

OKAY THAT'S ALL FOR NOW YIPPEE

Tag time :D

@sammiekel @jiksvokrat @cristalmystery @ghosts-and-blue-sweaters @sleepdeprivedofmycorn @sunflowervc @angrilydancing and anyone else who wants to join in!!